Authors: Cynthia Freeman
“Then you will have to assert yourself as the head of the family. Ben-Yehudah almost killed himself inventing modern Hebrew. He wouldn’t speak to his wife for three weeks because of her resistance. How long can a woman be ignored? She gave in. I wonder if he’s so happy now. I understand women can talk a lot.”
The two laughed.
“Where are you staying in Jaffa?” Dovid asked.
“In this hell hole I wouldn’t spend the night. Plonsk was beautiful compared to this place. As soon as I can get my papers I’m walking to Petach Tikvah.”
“You mean today?”
“Today.”
“Well,
mazel tov.
Till we meet again.”
The road to Jerusalem was an obstacle course … Arab marauders ambushed travelers on the way to the Holy City, possessions were stolen and lives were at extreme risk. The road was narrow, and large boulders had to be cleared before one could go on. It wasn’t until they had gone beyond the gorge at Bab el Wad that they allowed themselves to feel even a little safe.
Three days and nights they had traveled, resting at the settlements. Now, within miles of the Holy City, Sheine dropped to the ground in exhaustion. “I can’t go on.” She hated this place and even, for the moment at least, Dovid for wanting to come here. He had drawn beautiful word pictures of Eretz Yisroel. Well, what they’d seen so far was dirt, sand and mosquitoes that had bitten her so that painful welts were on her arms and legs. Why hadn’t they gone to America, like Chavala wanted, instead of this hell on earth? Sheine had momentarily forgotten the pogrom they’d fled from. She looked at Chavala who had ridden most of the way on the back of a donkey because she was carrying the baby, little Chia. How charitable of her to let them ride from time to time. Papa was an old man, so she didn’t begrudge him riding the beast, but Chavala! What made her better than the rest of them? That baby was as much theirs as hers. How dare she act as though she’d given birth to it. Her mean thoughts were interrupted when Dovid said, “Why didn’t you tell us before, your feet are bleeding—”
“
Because
you were all so anxious to get to Jerusalem by tonight.”
“Yes, and the reason is we have no safe place to stay between here and Jerusalem.”
Sheine shot back, “What would have happened if we’d have stayed another day in Jaffa? At least there was a little excitement. If we’d stayed another day do you suppose the heavens would have stood still? I hate this place, I wish I’d never come.”
Avrum Rabinsky looked at his daughter for a long painful moment. “I fear for you, Sheine. I think there’s a dybbuk inside you, how could six children have been born of your sainted mother and have one such as you?”
Sheine felt the guilt intended for her. She loved her father and she had offended him … but he didn’t understand her, didn’t know that what haunted and taunted her by day, wouldn’t let her sleep at night. Dovid … If only she could stamp out her love, her obsession with him. All it caused her was pain. Standing up now, she said, “I’m sorry, papa, I’m very tired, please forgive me …”
Dovid picked Sheine up in his arms, “Come, I’ll carry you.”
“I don’t need any favors.”
Ignoring her, he lifted her up, and as they once again began the journey toward the Holy City she allowed herself to relax in his arms. He felt so good, so strong. It was hard to remember he was Chavala’s husband, especially when she didn’t want to … clinging to him, she fantasized what it would be like if he were her husband, how it would be to lie next to him in the night, wrapped up in his arms, feel his warmth. Then to possess him the way a woman did a man. She closed her eyes and let the fantasy take over. At least he was hers for this moment
When they approached the top hills just before going down into the Holy City the family stood in hushed silence. Clustered together, they had their first view of Jerusalem … Above the ancient wall could be seen the golden dome of the Moslem shrine, beyond the courtyard into the distance lay the Mount of Olives and high above sat Mount Scopus, where the faithful were being called to worship, the church bells tolling in the hush of twilight
Chavala looked out to the white limestone of the Judean hills. How many millions of lives had been ground into that dust, she wondered …
At last they reached the Damascus gates leading to the Old City and slipped through.
When Avrum Rabinsky saw the Wailing Wall he actually trembled, sure his heart had stopped beating. The dream had been dreamt for so long he couldn’t believe that such a miracle could have actually happened. He hurried ahead of the family as he held his hand over his heart, and when he finally stood before it, he fell on bended knees and kissed the earth. It made no difference to him how neglected these holy stones had become … he was here. Getting up, he kissed the stone and with shaking fingers let his hands wander over its rough surface, repeating the prayer, “Hear, oh Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord is one. Praised be His name whose glorious kingdom is forever and ever.” And then he intoned, “Cause us, oh Lord our God, to lie down each night in peace, and to awaken each morning to renewed life and strength. Spread over us the tabernacle of Thy peace. Help us to order our lives by Thy counsel, and lead us in the paths of righteousness. Be Thou a shield about us, protecting us from hate and war, from pestilence and sorrow. Curb Thou also within us the inclination to do evil, and shelter us beneath the shadow of Thy wings. Guard our going out and coming in unto life, and peace from this time forth and forevermore.” He thanked the One Above for allowing him to come to this dwelling place, for letting him be a part of those who had gone before him, of the two thousand years that had brought him to this moment
Seeing her father embrace the ancient stones, his fingers exploring the tufts of moss that grew between the cracks, Chavala knew that he at least had come home at last, and she was grateful that her own self-centered desires had not denied him this. Those nights as they lay on deck, her secret thoughts had been full of discontent. She remembered looking up to the midnight-blue sky and berating herself for not insisting they go to America. No one had known the demons she’d fought inside herself. At times her anger was almost impossible to hide … her feeling that she should have spoken out in her unhappiness … She dared ask, silently, why should she have to sacrifice herself for the sake of an old man; he would have lived out his days in the village of his birth if the Russians hadn’t turned them out. She tried to convince herself that in America, if their stomachs were full, their feet shod, a roof over their heads and money in their pockets, then his dream of dying in the homeland would surely fade … But standing here now, watching her old father, Chavala knew in her heart such thoughts were a lie, a self-deception so that
she
might have her way. But one owed others, she reminded herself. There were debts to be paid. Nobody was born unto himself. Obligations were the kernel of love, and for the first time Chavala did feel at peace with the acceptance of knowing that this was right. Her father’s needs and desires were greater than hers, and she embraced her father as a mother would a child. Whispering, she said, “Come, papa, we must get settled. You have your whole life to come back here.”
The housing that had been provided for them was a stone hovel twenty-four steps above the street. It sat nestled in a dark, damp alley surrounded by other hovels that looked a thousand years old.
That night they ate in a dismal kitchen. In the other three rooms there were makeshift beds where the family finally lay down.
The next day Chavala, Dovid and the children went to explore this new world. The poverty seemed even more stark than in the little village south of Odessa. It also seemed no better than the streets of Jaffa, and the noise was deafening as they passed the crowded stalls … stop it, Chavala chastised herself. Remember why you are here … remember what you buried near that blooming tree in Odessa, and remember the fears that forced you and your family to run away. Be grateful … be
humble
, Chavala. Still, in spite of herself, the battle went on in her mind,
The poverty was bad anywhere, but here in the Old City Jews had been reduced to living conditions that were barely human. It was a way of life that was accepted and expected. They lived and died on the bounty sent from the Diaspora.
Neither Chavala nor any of her family had ever seen begging in the streets by
Jews.
It was shameful. Children holding out emaciated dirty hands went unnoticed as pious old men hurried on to worship. There was a sickly pallor about them … from one generation to the next they had lived in the hovels and dark alleys huddled together. It seemed nature had accommodated their size so that they could fit into their cramped quarters. The men were small compared to both Dovid and Moishe, who was only fifteen. They were round-shouldered from bending over their books and scrolls. The Rabinskys might have been terribly poor in Russia, but it didn’t seem so stark, so depressing. Meager as the living was, the Jews
tried.
Yes, there was charity … in every home nailed to the wall was the small blue-and-white tin box where a coin was dropped. Those who couldn’t make a living were helped, the poor gave to the poor and the poorer gave to those even less fortunate. In her small village there was a feeling of community … in spring they picnicked in the meadow, by the cherry tree. It seemed at times, when they were left alone to live in peace, that life had been quite sweet. Maybe it was the smells of mama’s delicious cooking, but for the little they had, it still did not seem like this. She guessed it was that people missed the things they knew as children. Whatever … there was a quality in their lives she didn’t feel here, here in this most holy and sacred of places.
It especially galled her that the food brought to their table was provided by the alms of charity, and she made a pact with herself that her family would
not
live their lives without dignity, and dignity was earned from the toil of their hands and the brains in their heads. Nothing was too menial if it was an honest day’s work. She would give them a sense of purpose. If she had an ounce of strength they would not be put in the ranks of the despised and forgotten … her family would
not
live in filth, be clothed in rags. Not
hers…
Chavala counted out a few coins and gave them to Moishe to buy soap, a broom and three scrub brushes. When he returned she recruited the girls. Each was given a lecture on cleanliness. There was a good deal of religion talked about here, but if anything was next to godliness, it was cleanliness. They scrubbed the floors, religiously, and the walls and ceilings until they were spotless. Chavala herself washed everything in sight until her hands were raw.
Dovid stretched a rope on the flat-topped roof, then helped Chavala carry up the load. When she looked at the bedding flapping gently in the breeze she forgot her own fatigue and her aching arms … it was a good day’s work and next time she would save money by making her own soap.
No such satisfaction for Sheine. Chavala, she thought, had become obsessed with cleaning; now she insisted that the front stoop be scrubbed and the stairs washed down. “There’s a limit to how hard a person can work, we’re not mules—”
“Maybe not!” Chavala snapped back at her, “but we’re not pigs either. This place hasn’t been cleaned in a hundred years, and if you think I’m going to allow
my
family to live like the
others
you’re mistaken—”
“What makes you think we’re any different than the
others
, as you call them, no matter how much you scrub, this place will still be the ghetto—”
“But at least it’ll be clean.”
“A lot of good that will do us,” Sheine said, and ran from the room and down the stone stairs, where she almost collided with Dovid. Breathing quickly, she looked at him, and couldn’t help thinking, strange that men didn’t have to work, only women. Papa went to the synagogue and the Wailing Wall every day. And Dovid? What did he do with his time? Oh, she knew, she’d asked Moishe and he’d told her that Dovid spent his time in the cafe at the old slave market, debating and arguing about very important matters with the Lovers of Zion, like how best to correct those ignorant Jews back in the old country.
“Where were you going in such a hurry?” Dovid asked.
“
Out.
” She glared at him.
“I know, but where?”
“Where I
please
—”
“But why so angry?”
“Ask your wife. She’s a tyrant, she’d like to make slaves of us and I’m sick of it. That’s all she wants us to do, is scrub. For what? Look at my hands.”
He sighed as he saw Sheine trying to hold back the angry tears. “Chavala wants to make it a little better—”
“Better than what? There’s filth all around us. I hate it here—”
“This won’t be forever, Sheine.”
“I know, Dovid, as soon as the Messiah comes we won’t need the Lovers of Zion.”
“Please, Sheine, don’t be so bitter, and try not to be angry with Chavala. She’s trying to make a home for us. Now come upstairs with me.”
Chavala … always Chavala. Chavala the queen. Chavala the teacher … “No, thank you, I’ll be back later.”
“But it’s almost time for supper and papa will be—”
“What are you afraid of, Dovid? That if I leave this holy place and go beyond the Jaffa gate I might be taken by the Arabs and become a bad woman? Oh, don’t worry about me. Go see your immaculate wife.”
Dovid waited until she disappeared down the narrow cobblestone alley, then stood there, feeling that the responsibility of Sheine’s deep hurt was properly placed on his shoulders. Those evenings they’d sat in the dimly lit kitchen and he’d talked about the glories they’d find in Eretz Yisroel. True, things weren’t as he’d hoped, but his own devotion, determination still held. Yes … if he’d known the realities he would have prepared them in a different way. If he hadn’t been so naive he would have understood … made them understand … that just coming here was only the beginning, not the fulfillment. He’d been so caught up in the notion of building a new life for all Jews he’d deluded himself. The truth was, he’d been ignorant, and his fears now were as great as Sheine’s. For over a week he’d wandered the streets, become convinced he would never find what he was looking for in Jerusalem. Now he knew that Eretz Yisroel meant Jerusalem only for Avrum, and that to wrench Chavala away would be an almost impossible task. But what could he do to make a living here? Slowly he walked up the stairs to where Chavala waited.