The tragedy of Iraq’s Jews
Walk into my grandmother’s living room in north-west London, and you could be forgiven for thinking you had suddenly stepped into the Middle East. The coffee table is laden with treats, from homemade date-filled flatbreads to baklawa and nuts. Al Jazeera plays on the flatscreen, reeling off the latest news about the Israel-Palestinian conflict. In the corner of the room is a darbuka drum and my late grandpa’s backgammon set for anyone who fancies a game. In the kitchen there are two pots brewing: one making slow-steamed tea laced with cardamon, the other Arabic coffee ready to be poured into miniature cups. Unsurprisingly, my family are often here – along with the
