To Be An Israeli: The Fourth Book in the All My Love, Detrick series

by Roberta Kagan

  “We should go,” she said. “My mother needs me.”

  He nodded. Neither of them said the words that they feared to hear—would Katja’s father survive?

  Mendel quickly threw some underclothes and two clean shirts into the bag Katja had packed, and the two of them were on their way.

  Katja stared out the car window, and Mendel held her hand, his thumb gently caressing her fingers. Katja’s mouth was terribly dry. She realized that she was not breathing through her nose, and she was panting.

  When they arrived at the hospital, Katja asked to be dropped off at the door, but Mendel refused. He didn’t want her to go in alone. He wanted to be with her, in case things had gone bad, in case she needed him. In case… It took several frustrating minutes to get a parking place. A trickle of sweat ran down Mendel’s brow, and he wiped it away with his forehand. He circled the parking lot until finally, a car pulled out of a spot, and Mendel quickly rushed the car in.

  Katja jumped out of the automobile and began running toward the door. Mendel was tall and limber and easily caught up with her.

  “Kat, Kat…slow down…please.”

  Her pallor was even grayer than before as if her face had turned to ash.

  “Come here.” He grabbed her arm and turned her toward him, and again, he wrapped her in an embrace. “Let’s go in together. All right?”

  She nodded.

  The hospital smelled of alcohol and disinfectant. The walls were white, sterile, and foreign. Nurses and doctors, clean, detached, and dressed in white, dashed about as Mendel gave Isaac’s name to a woman sitting at a circular desk a few yards away from the front door.

  The receptionist thumbed through a Rolodex file and then said, “To the right until you come to the corner then turn right again, and you’ll see the waiting room.”

  “Thank you,” Mendel answered. Then turning to Katja, he put his arm gently around her shoulder. “Come on, Kat…let’s go.”

  Katja felt as if her knees might buckle. She was grateful for Mendel’s strong grip on her shoulder. It felt as if he were holding her up. She thought that if he let go, she might fall to the floor.

  When they got to the waiting room, Zofia was sitting all alone in a maroon-colored, straight-back chair in the center of a row of identical chairs. Her eyes were red, and her skin was covered in blotches. She looked small, very small.

  “Katja…he’s gone,” Zofia said, appearing shell-shocked, her grief welling up behind her eyes like water behind a dam. “Your papa is gone.”

  Katja ran to her mother. Mendel followed her. Katja fell to her knees in front of her mother and began to weep. Then Zofia was weeping, too. Mendel stood helpless, waiting to do something—anything, to make this better.

  “He was not even fifty…why? Why did he die so young? Why?” Katja asked.

  “The doctor thinks it’s because he had such a hard life. He thinks it has something to do with the years of starvation. Oh, Katja, how am I ever going to live without him? How, Katja, how?” Zofia’s nose was running, and tears covered her face. “I can’t go on. I don’t want to go on, not without my Isaac…”

  “You’ll have to go on for us,” Mendel said, “and for your future grandchildren. They will need you…”

  “I can’t. I can’t.”

  Katja just lay, crying softly, with her head buried in her mother’s lap, breathing in the familiar smell of her mother, the smell of harsh, homemade soap.

  Mendel walked over to the nurse’s station and asked for two glasses of water. He returned carrying two paper cups. Neither mother nor daughter took even a sip.

  CHAPTER 10

  Mendel took care of all the funeral arrangements, but he felt utterly helpless. There was little else he could do for Katja or Zofia. He’d been at Katja’s side, held her hand and kept her steady as she walked to the gravesite.

  Immediately following the burial, everyone returned to the main dining room at the kibbutz. A large bottle of water waited outside. The tradition was that anyone returning from the graveyard must wash their hands before entering the house. Each of the mourners and guests poured water from the bottle over their hands before they walked inside. This was an old a ritual: the significance was that they would not bring death into the house.

  Inside the mirrors had been covered, and the women of the kibbutz had laid out food. Friends that Isaac and Zofia had made who lived in town and on other kibbutzim came to pay their respects. Zofia and Katja wore no shoes, only their stocking feet. Most of the time, Zofia sat with her arms folded across her chest breathing deeply and looking out the window. Mendel brought her plates of food, but she did not eat. Katja lay in Mendel’s arms. Quietly, with his fingers, he fed her bits and pieces of food between her moments of grief.

  One night after they retired to their rooms, Mendel ran Katja a hot bath. Then once she was warm and wrapped in her robe, he sat her down on the bed.

  “Kat, I was thinking, do you want your mom to come and live with us?”

  Katja looked into his eyes, resembling deep-green pools, so kind and so sincere. What would she do without Mendel?

  “I think it might be good for her, but I don’t know if it’s what you want.”

  This might be a good time to tell him what she had meant to tell him before she lost her father. It had been a month since she’d had her last period. “Mendel, before all of this happened I wanted to tell you something,” she said.

  He cocked his head to the side and bit his lower lip. “You can tell me anything, Kat. You know that.”

  “I’ve missed my period for a month. I think I might be pregnant. I know we were careful I don’t know how this happened. And now, my father…”

  “Kat, sweetheart, I don’t know what to say. I’m happy that we are going to have a child.”

  “I was afraid you’d be upset. We are hardly managing now financially. What will happen when we have a baby?”

  “We’ll be all right. If I have to get a second job at night, I will. We’ll manage. I’m more than happy. I’m thrilled! A baby is a gift from God, Kat.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Yes, of course, I’m sure.” He held her in his arms.

  “I would like my mother to move in. She would be very helpful with the baby. If she lived with us, I wouldn’t be worried about her all the time. I would always know that she was all right. But can we afford it?”

  “As long as I have you, I am as rich as a king. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.” He smiled. “Come lie down. You’re tired. Get some rest.”

  “I’m going to miss my papa, Mendel. I loved him so much.”

  “I know. I’m going to miss him, too. That’s why I want to do whatever I can to take care of you and your mom. I want to make sure your mother is all right. It’s what he would have wanted.”

  “Yes, that’s true. He loved her so much. She loved him, too. I can’t believe he is gone. Losing my parents has always been my greatest fear.”

  “I know,” Mendel whispered as he held her in his arms rocking her gently. “I know.” He remained awake long after Katja’s breathing slowed down, and he knew she had fallen asleep.

  CHAPTER 11

  At first, Zofia was reluctant to move in with Katja and Mendel. “This kibbutz is my home. I’ve been here so long… I don’t know…” She wrung her hands in the fabric of the apron of her dress.

  “Mama, I’m going to have a baby, and Mendel and I would like you to live with us, to help me, to be there for your grandchild. Papa would have wanted it.”

  Zofia nodded and took Katja’s hand. “A young couple doesn’t need a mother living with them.”

  “You’re my mother, and Mendel loves you, too. Please, Mama, do it for us. Come move in with us. You’d be such a help to me with the baby. You’d be doing us a big favor. Will you, please?”

  Zofia squeezed Katja’s hand, and then she nodded. “I will. I’ll move in with you.”

  Until Katja mentioned the baby, it seemed as if the light ha
d left Zofia’s eyes, and Katja feared that her mother would soon follow her father in death. But with the coming of a grandchild, Zofia seemed to have regenerated a little. She was able to pack her things and say goodbye to her friends. Then three days after the seven-day shiva period ended, Mendel, Katja, and Zofia drove back to Tel Aviv.

  CHAPTER 12

  Katja was glad to have her mother with her. During the first trimester of her pregnancy, she experienced terrible morning sickness so severe that sometimes she was unable to get out of bed. The vomiting was followed by overwhelming heartburn and then exhaustion. She began missing days at work. She missed so many that finally, her boss let her go.

  Money was tight, but Mendel got a second job at night working at a restaurant. With a smile, he said he didn’t mind because he knew that very soon his law practice would start picking up, and he would get enough clients to build a good reputation. Zofia offered to take a job working as a seamstress at a bridal shop, but Mendel said that it was best she stay at home with Katja. Times were tough financially, but Mendel was happy that he was going to be a father. The only thing that concerned him was that Katja was unable to keep anything down, and she was not gaining weight.

  Zofia was busy trying to stretch their food as much as possible. Katja was exhausted, so she slept a great deal, and Mendel was working. This tight and difficult schedule allowed little time for grieving. Although sometimes when Katja was asleep, and Zofia was sitting quietly in the kitchen preparing dinner, tears and memories came upon her like a tidal wave.

  Zofia missed Isaac and often talked to him when she was alone. He’d been the love of her life. Without him, the light that had guided her through all of her trials and tribulations had dimmed. Her only true happiness was knowing that Mendel was there to care for Katja when it was time for Zofia to join Isaac. And of course, the baby…soon, a wonderful new life would join them. Mendel and Katja had agreed to name the baby for Isaac. If it were a boy, the name would be Isaac. If it were a girl, it would be Ima. Just knowing that Isaac would have a “name” here on earth comforted Zofia.

  Because Katja was having such a difficult time with her pregnancy, Mendel slept very lightly. As soon as Katja stirred, he would awaken to see if she needed anything. When she was dizzy and vomiting, he stood like a soldier, alert and waiting, right outside the bathroom door. When Mendel returned from work, he tried preparing her favorite foods, but she still continued to vomit. Secretly he blamed himself for causing her to be so ill, and although she seemed happy about her pregnancy, he was riddled with guilt.

  Things began to get better during the second trimester of Katja’s pregnancy. She was able to keep some food down and gained a modest ten pounds. Although she still had bouts of horrific heartburn, she began to look more like herself. Her color returned, and she was now glowing. Mendel finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

  As the time to give birth drew nearer, Katja became uncomfortable in a different way. She was not used to being so large, and her body felt cumbersome. But even more challenging were the thoughts that invaded her mind. She’d already come to love this child she’d not even seen yet, and this stirred thoughts of Helga, her birth mother. Katja began to understand how hard it must have been for her birth mother when the Nazis had taken her child away from her. This pregnancy had forced Katja to look at Helga with new eyes, the eyes of a mother.

  When she’d gone to see Helga in Germany, Katja had been disgusted with her. She’d found it difficult to forgive her birth mother. But now she realized that all the things Helga had told her were true. She now understood how Helga must have loved her even though she was forced to give her away. She wondered how she would feel if she knew that the child whose heart beat under her breast would never grow up to know how much she loved and wanted it. It must have been terrible for Helga, even more terrible than Helga had been able to express.

  Several times Katja sat down at her kitchen table with a pen and paper in hand and tried to compose a letter to Helga. But she’d been unable to write it. She could not express in words what she was feeling. So she would abandon the paper for a few weeks and then try again later. But still, the letter remained unwritten.

  CHAPTER 13

  Ima Zaltstein was born on November 13th, 1965; at eleven o’clock in the morning. Katja had labored for sixteen difficult hours while Mendel wrung his hands and wished he could take the pain instead of her.

  He’d waited in the maternity waiting room of the hospital with Zofia, who hardly spoke but watched the clock as the lines of her face deepened with concern.

  When the doctor came out, wearing his white cotton lab coat, they both stood. Zofia leaned on Mendel. He could feel how wobbly she was, and he put an arm around her to hold her up.

  “You have a baby girl. Both mother and baby are doing fine.”

  Zofia sighed aloud, and Mendel felt the tension leave his shoulders.

  “Can we see them?” Mendel asked.

  “Yes, but don’t stay long. Your wife is exhausted. Let her get some rest.”

  Mendel nodded and took Zofia by the arm. They both entered the hospital room where Katja lay surrounded by white walls and white cotton blankets. When she saw her mother and her husband, Katja smiled. To Mendel, she looked like an angel. Her hair was disheveled, scattered about the pillow in a giant halo of golden curls, and her face was luminescent. In her slender arms, she held a tiny blanket-wrapped bundle. Mendel felt his heart skip a beat as he carefully moved the cover aside so that he could see his daughter’s face for the first time.

  “She’s beautiful, just like her mother,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

  Zofia touched the baby’s cheek. A tear fell from her eye. “I wish your papa could be here to see her,” she said.

  “Papa is here, Mama, he’s always with us,” Katja said, reaching for Zofia’s hand then gently squeezing, her own life force coming through her hand, to give her mother strength.

  “We have a child,” Mendel said, his eyes glistening. “How do you feel?”

  “Good, but I’m starving.”

  “I’ll ask the nurse if you can have something to eat,” Mendel said. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go to the desk.”

  Mendel returned with some crackers and a cup of apple juice. “This is all they have, but they will bring you a lunch tray in about an hour.”

  “I’m exhausted. I’d like to try and get a little rest before lunch.”

  “We can go,” Zofia said, “and let you rest.”

  Katja chomped on a cracker. “Besides, you two have a nursery to set up.” Katja laughed.

  Nothing had been done for the baby. It was tradition. The crib could not be purchased, and nothing could be put together until the baby was born. It was done that way so the evil eye would not see that a child was coming and sweep it away before it was born—superstitions. Now it was up to Mendel, with Zofia’s help, to prepare for the day when they would bring little Ima home.

  “You get some sleep, and we’ll go and get started on that nursery. We’ll be back later tonight,” Mendel said to Katja.

  “I’ll see you then.” Katja smiled.

  The nurse came in and took the baby to the nursery. After everyone had gone, Katja broke into tears. Why did she feel so terribly sad? Why now, when she should be so happy? The baby was perfect. She’d examined her tiny fingers and toes, and Ima was beautiful. Katja was doing fine. Except for the pain of the stitches, she felt pretty good. So why the sadness? It was a feeling of overwhelming grief. Could it be because her father was not there? Of course, she’d tried to reassure her mother, but the truth was that she missed him terribly. He’d always been her stability, her oak tree. She could always lean on him, and now, when she needed him so badly, he was gone.

  And besides that, for some odd reason, she could not get Helga out of her mind. She was exhausted. She only had an hour to rest, but she couldn’t sleep. The pain of the labor had been terrible, but she could not imagine the pain she woul
d have felt if someone took Ima away from her now. A shiver ran up Katja’s spine. Suddenly she felt terrified. She rang the nurse’s bell.

  The nurse came in almost immediately.

  “Please, bring my baby,” Katja said. “I want to see her…”

  “I thought you wanted to get some rest, Mrs. Zaltstein,” the nurse said. “You said you were tired and wanted to sleep a little before lunch.”

  “Please, I need to see her right away,” Katja said.

  The nurse eyed Katja suspiciously and then nodded and left the room. Katja knew she was unstable and prayed that this feeling would leave her. It seemed like hours but was really only ten minutes before the nurse returned carrying Ima in her arms.

  Katja reached her arms out and took Ima. She held her baby close to her chest. Her heart was pounding. How must Helga have felt? She couldn’t get the look of pain that she saw in her birth mother’s eyes out of her mind.

  CHAPTER 14

  Ima was a difficult infant. When they brought her home, she didn’t sleep through the night. She would sleep for an hour or so and then wake up screaming. The constant crying unnerved Katja and her breast milk never came in. Finally, the doctor decided that it was best that they bottle feed Ima. The crying continued. The pediatrician was convinced that it was Ima’s diet, and he changed the formula several times, but he couldn’t seem to find a formula that Ima was able to digest comfortably. So each time she was fed, she cried. Katja was beside herself.

  When Ima was red-faced and screaming, Katja was trembling and crying. Zofia walked up and down the apartment trying to quiet the baby, and Mendel often got up at night to sit in the rocking chair, to hold his daughter and feed her a warm bottle until she finally quieted down and fell asleep. It was difficult for him because he had to be at work in the morning, but he wanted to be sure that Katja got enough rest. She was not working, but it seemed that she was always exhausted.