Noa Nimrodi

“American tradition.” Her voice becomes louder when she says the word “American.” Sounds like pride. “Everything else, I make,” she says. “What I make for Chuseok, Korean Thanksgiving.” “I brought some Israeli salad—cucumbers and tomatoes, onions and olive oil,” Ema explains. “And the bourekas are a pastry with cheese filling.” She sets the salad and bourekas on the table. Safta-Harmony is still smiling and bobbing her head. It’s possible they don’t understand each other’s accents. “Food unites people from all cultures,” Mr. Park says. Sounds like a cliché. Still . . . maybe the food I drew in my sketchbook does relate to peace somehow? Maybe clichés become clichés because they’re overused. But they wouldn’t be overused if they didn’t work. “Tell us more about Chuseok,” Abba says to Safta-Harmony. “It means Autumn Eve, and it’s a three-day festival. Here in America, we celebrate on Thanksgiving. Easier this way. Korean calendar is lunar, so the date changes.” “Just like the Jewish calendar.” Ema sounds excited, as if she just found out Chuseok and Rosh Hashanah are long-lost cousins.”
― Noa Nimrodi, Not So Shy