In the 1950s, my grandfather immigrated to Israel from Morocco with his wife and four children. He packed a limited number of items for the trip and did not forget to take his knife with him. This should be known, grandfather was a leather goods artisan in Morocco, Maroquinerie, a profession continuing the age-old culture of designing bags and leather goods. When they arrived in Israel, the knife he loved so much took on a completely different meaning.
In the 1960s, my grandmother, my grandfather, and their family moved to the lower city of Haifa. Grandpa worked in the port of Haifa as a painter, and one day, while painting a ship, Grandpa fell from the scaffolding and hurt his back. His two friends, who carried him home, begged him to inform the port authorities for support and compensation on their part, but Grandfather only asked that he be left with his family, so that they would take care of him.
I know this story from my childhood but in my imagination, grandfather never fell on his back, but grew wings just before the fall and landed on his two feet. This event, of course, had a profound effect on the family, who once again moved their residence, this time to Tel Aviv. Grandfather returned to his favorite knife and worked as a leather bag craftsman until his retirement, with the magnificent family he founded in Israel by his side.
At Maroquinerie I would like to investigate and ask universal questions about people who are cut off from their past and arrive in a foreign place - about the hope, the alienation, the fear, the cut off from the past, the ability to build a new life by killing your old shadows of identity.