33 years ago, the boy was 12 years old. A happy childhood, the love of a big family, attention and care, a home, prosperity. His life seemed cloudless and secure.
The elders had attained their status through years of hard work. The boy didn’t understand this, and they never explained it.
Every Saturday, all relatives gathered in a large, cozy garden. This was the boy’s favorite day. Another meeting was about to occur, but the clouds suddenly got darker. The boy was told that a war had started. There was no need to worry; it was far away. Summer continued as usual, Saturday after Saturday. The war was still far away. The adults reassured each other. It felt like nothing had changed.
But on one Saturday, the adults decided that it was time to do something. They needed to save their families and assets — homes, money, property, bonds, jewels, bank deposits.
But none of that happened. Later that day, the war came to their doorstep. The line between “there’s still time” and “it’s already too late” turned out to be too thin. Everyone fled. All the relatives, and all the neighbors. Their close-knit clan was scattered across different countries. The lives of many people changed quickly and radically.
For 15 long years, the boy’s parents had been working on restoring at least a slight part of well-being of the family. Debts, pawnshops, side jobs, thriftiness, destitution were the boy’s mother's companions through all those years. The father was always traveling across the country and the world in search of income for the family.
Life went on. The boy grew up, studied law, and became an investment banker. He lived in 4 different countries. He didn’t settle anywhere. The family’s prosperity was restored. It took decades.