Sisterland

by Linda Newbery

  ‘You just told me,’ she said. ‘It’s as if we never were.’

  Afterwards I knew that she was frightened of me, but at the time I saw only disgust. No longer could I stand it. The years of separation, the hoping, the journey, and for this I had been waiting! I got up and left, walked out of the café without a goodbye, I did not even wait the return of the kind Thorntons, who must have been so disappointed with the lovely day they planned. I returned to my lodgings the Refugee Committee had arranged for me. I was meant to stay one night more but I collected my bag and caught the next train back to Dover. That same night I left England and have never returned.

  So, Hilly, that is the last time I have seen my sister. I do not blame her for it. I do not blame myself. I blame events. But, you say, she has not forgotten me – in her confusion she asks questions? Perhaps Sarah Reubens is still there inside her? Perhaps she remembers that once we were sisters?

  Can you please tell her I do not blame her?

  Heidi sat alone at the table with tears burning her eyes. For a moment, bleakness and emptiness threatened to overwhelm her. She would not cry; she was utterly determined not to cry. People were looking; they had heard the German conversation, they had seen Rachel shove back her chair and walk out, they knew there had been an argument. Heidi was not going to add to the spectacle by sitting there in tears. She blinked rapidly, smiled at a lady in a feathered hat at the next table, and took a butterfly cake from the plate. What was the point in crying? She was Heidi Thornton, a Northampton girl in London for the day. She had English parents who loved her, and a house to live in, with a room of her own. She was an only child, and happy with that.

  ‘Oh, where’s Rachel?’ asked Auntie Enid, returning, looking around. ‘Has she gone to the Ladies’?’

  ‘She had to leave,’ Heidi said.

  As you will know, there are those who attempt to deny the Holocaust, who say it has been exaggerated, even that it did not happen. Those like myself who bear the scars (yes, the number tattooed on my arm, and other scars you cannot see) find that our witness is not acceptable. We find that we were too closely involved to be believed. We are not objective enough. We cannot be relied on to tell the truth. This I cannot understand. It is why I have written about my experiences for those who collect such accounts. It is my testament. If you are interested to read what I have written I will send it to you.

  Aaron and I were married and came to live in Palestine, now Israel. As you will know from the television and newspapers, it is not the safe homeland we hoped. We came here with optimism and hopes, but again we find ourselves in a country on the edge of war. Israel is seen as the bully, with its tanks and helicopters and army. But there is atrociosity on both sides, suicide bombers come into cafés and buses, to kill at random, to terrify. Bitterness and blame reach back to before the time of our coming. The holy places of three great religions are trampled and fought over.

  But it is our home, and I shall never leave. We have a saying, When you’re unhappy you laugh, and when you’re hungry you sing. If there is one thing I have learned, it is be happy when you can. Love the blessings life gives you. Aaron and I had each other, and soon we had children: son Daniel, daughter Sarah. And we have fine grandchildren, four: Samuel, Esther, Ruth, Chava. Samuel is a soldier in the Israeli army, Ruth is a teacher. Chava is the youngest, still at school, she is seventeen, the same age as you. And, can you believe that I am a great-grandmother, as my dear Esther has a beautiful baby boy, David. A next generation!

  I am eighty-two years old now, and not in good health (this is the damage of my time in Auschwitz, come back in my old age). Alas, this means I am unable again to travel to England so I fear I will never see my dear sister once more.

  But in Yiddish we have a word beschert, which means meant to be. How much was meant to be and how much was not, I cannot know. But maybe it was beschert that before I die I should receive your message and know of my sister, and that she has been happy in her family life, and that you exist. Israel is not at present a welcoming place to travel, but if you or your family could make the journey it will be the delight of us all.

  This is a very long message and I have tired myself struggling with my memory and my dictionary. I have waited more than fifty years to send it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for making it possible.

  G—d is good.

  Blessings,

  Your Great-Aunt Rachel

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Long Shadows

  HOW TO GET TO ISRAEL

  By air: Ben-Gurion Airport, between Tel

  Aviv and Jerusalem, is Israel’s international airport. There are daily flights from

  Heathrow. Those intending to travel

  should be aware that security is extremely

  rigorous. The situation in the Middle East

  is still extremely volatile, and travel for non—

  essential purposes has been discouraged.

  Passengers should consult their tourist

  office for up-to-date information before

  booking.

  The Holy Land – travel brochure

  ‘No, you can’t possibly go!’ said Rose. ‘Who in their right mind would let their daughter go to Tel Aviv? Now, in the middle of all this violence?’

  Hilly had hidden today’s newspaper, which carried news of another suicide bombing on a bus full of commuters, and ominous statements by representatives of both sides. ‘But I’ve got to go,’ she pleaded. ‘And soon! If I don’t – if one of us doesn’t – we’ll never see Rachel!’ She glanced at her grandmother, who had pushed her chair back from the table and was examining her knitting pattern. ‘There’s no way Heidigran can go, nor you, Mum, while you’re looking after her – even if you wanted to. And there’s no chance of Rachel coming here. We can’t just forget about it!’

  Her mother shook her head. ‘If it were anywhere else, I’d agree with you.’

  ‘Dad?’ Hilly pleaded. ‘Please, think about it, at least!’

  He said nothing, glancing at Rose. They had finished eating, but no one had moved to start clearing away the dishes.

  ‘I don’t see why you’re suddenly making a big thing about this,’ said Zoë. She leaned over to look at the pasta left on Hilly’s plate. ‘If you’re not eating that, can I have it?’

  ‘Sure.’ Hilly passed over half a plate of pasta; the sickness had left her with a dodgy stomach. Zoë, at least, had a healthy appetite – was that a good or a bad sign?

  ‘After all,’ said Zoë, digging in with her fork, ‘we never even knew Rachel existed, two days ago. Doesn’t mean you have to jump on a plane, not when you’ve got e-mail. Why should it change everything?’

  ‘Because it does!’ Hilly looked at her in mild exasperation. ‘E-mail’s not the same as actually meeting someone. And it’s not just Rachel – it’s all of them. Our relations! A whole branch of the family we didn’t even know we had!’

  ‘You’ve sprung it on us very suddenly, this idea,’ said their father. ‘We’ll have to give it a lot of careful thought.’

  ‘I have given it thought,’ Rose said sharply. ‘And it’s a definite no, as far as I’m concerned—’

  ‘I needn’t miss school! I’ll go in the Christmas holidays—’

  ‘It’s not school that’s bothering me! It’s much too dangerous out there. And going on your own? I’d never have a second’s peace, worrying about you—’

  ‘I’ll promise to be careful! Never to get on a bus, or go into busy streets!’ Hilly tried. ‘We don’t even know exactly where Rachel’s house is, do we? She lives there, she doesn’t sound as if she’s terrified, every minute of her life! I expect we get a distorted picture here – we only hear about the violence, not about ordinary life.’

  ‘There are lots of questions to be asked. Lots of things we’ll need to find out, before we decide,’ said her father.

  Hilly gave him an encouraging smile. ‘I’ve already done some internet searches about flights and stuff.’
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  ‘And, yes, I can understand why you’re desperate to go. If you don’t, if you miss this chance, you’ll always regret it, the rest of your life.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad!’

  ‘Wait!’ said Rose. ‘Nothing’s decided yet. How much is the air fare? Where’d the money come from? Even if we get to the stage of agreeing, which I’m certainly not ready to do yet. We’re already paying for your history trip to Berlin.’

  Hilly was silent, knowing that her savings wouldn’t begin to cover the cost of travel.

  ‘We’ll find it, somehow,’ said her father.

  ‘I can pay,’ said Heidigran, unexpectedly.

  Everyone turned to look at her. She had shown no interest in the conversation till now.

  ‘Pay, Mum?’

  ‘You thought I wasn’t listening, didn’t you?’ she said, looking triumphantly round the table. ‘But I was. Hilly wants to go on holiday and she needs a plane ticket. Why can’t I buy it for her, if she wants it? I’ve got money sitting in the bank, doing nothing.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ said Reuben on the phone. ‘Yes, course you are. How’s Rashid going to take all this?’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ Hilly said. ‘He’ll understand.’

  Afterwards, Hilly thought: I should have known. I should have been more careful. Now I’ve blown it. How did I honestly think he’d react? He’s a Palestinian; he’s lived out there. What did I expect?

  All week, with all its upheavals and adjustments, she had been counting first the days, then the hours till Rashid came back from Oxford on Friday evening. She had tried to summon him in her thoughts: his voice, the exact colour of his skin, the way he threw back his head when he laughed; the way he had looked at her just before they kissed for the first time.

  He was to pick her up at the bus station. While she waited, she continued reading a book she had found in the school library: On Being Jewish, by Julia Neuberger. It was more than relevant; the opening chapters described Julia Neuberger’s grandmother receiving children from the Kindertransports, before the war. Hilly had only meant to pass the time, keeping an eye on the clock and looking out for Rashid, but he surprised her by arriving early, finding her completely absorbed in reading. ‘I thought we might go the country park, then get something to eat later. OK?’

  ‘Great!’ Hilly put the book away in her bag, saw Rashid looking at it, at the black cover embossed with a Star of David in gold; she saw his puzzled expression, but neither of them made any comment, not yet. Maybe he thought she was reading it for a history assignment.

  Later, she realized that his reaction to seeing the Star of David must have been similar to hers on seeing Pete’s swastika badge. To him, it was the Israeli flag, the symbol of oppression.

  Yet, for the first half hour or so, everything was better than she could have wished. Rashid parked the car within view of the lake; they kissed, clung to each other without speaking, smiled into each other’s eyes; they had the whole evening, and, as Rashid was staying with his family, the whole weekend. Arms round each other’s waists, they walked slowly along the edge of the lake, skirting white dollops of goose-droppings. The sun was going down behind them, its reflection gilding the lake’s surface. A raucous quacking, like coarse laughter, sounded from the reed-fringed island.

  Then Hilly told Rashid everything that had happened, and the idyll came to an abrupt end.

  He became increasingly silent as she talked, his expression withdrawn. ‘So,’ he said at last, ‘you’re Jewish now. Is that what you’re saying?’

  Their shadows on the grass were distinct and separate.

  ‘It’s not for me to decide, is it? I am. A quarter of me, anyway. Can you imagine how weird that is? Suddenly you’re not quite who you always thought you were?’

  ‘And that changes everything, does it?’

  ‘Yes – in a way it does. No, not everything!’ Not you and me, she wanted to say; but Rashid had become aloof and unapproachable. He turned away from her, looking across the water. Lights were being switched on in the yachting clubhouse.

  ‘Quite a week you’ve had, one way and another,’ he remarked.

  ‘You could say that!’

  ‘And it’ll take a lot of getting used to. That much I can see. What I don’t see is why you need to throw yourself into it. It doesn’t have to change who you are, does it? Only if you let it! That book you’ve got—’

  ‘I’m curious!’ Hilly said. ‘That’s not hard to understand, is it?’

  ‘No, but – On Being Jewish—’

  ‘It was the Nazis who wanted to stop people reading books! It’s a free country – I’ll read what I like!’

  They were walking again, aimlessly; Rashid kicked at a dried head of sorrel. ‘It’s not just reading, is it? You want it all, the whole Jewish thing.’

  ‘I want to find out. I want to understand. God is good, Rachel said. She can still think that! After all that’s happened to her! I want to know. I want to see things from her point of view.’

  ‘She’s an Auschwitz survivor. You think you can understand what that feels like? You want to? As for this sudden plan to go to Israel – don’t you watch the news? Don’t you know what’s going on out there?’

  ‘Course I do – well,’ Hilly conceded, ‘not as much as I ought to know. I’ve watched the news every day since – since I’ve known you.’

  ‘And why are you the only one? It’s the same for your mum and sister, isn’t it? – they’ve found out all this, just like you have? They’re not dropping everything to fly nearly three thousand miles, are they?’

  ‘Neither am I dropping everything! It’s not till Christmas. And then only if it seems safe.’

  Rashid gave a humourless laugh. ‘Safe? Forget it, in that case. You’ll never go.’

  ‘Three thousand miles is a travellable distance. I thought Rachel was dead! Wouldn’t you want to go, if you’d just found out you’ve got a whole family there you never even knew about? Cousins – well, second cousins, one of them my own age – they’re like the other half of us, of my own family! We could have been them, if things had turned out differently. I’ve just got to meet them, it’s a way of – of – trying to put things right. And Rachel – I’ve got to meet her, and she’s eighty-two and not well enough to travel – how much time is there? We can’t all go. We’ve talked about it – Mum can’t, with Heidigran to look after—’

  ‘One of your cousins is in the army! What do you think they’d say, your Jewish relations, what do you think he’d say, if he knew you were seeing a Palestinian Arab? That’s if we are seeing each other, if that’s not assuming too much—’

  ‘I haven’t even met him yet! Why should that affect the way I—’

  ‘It will, wait and see!’ You don’t know how racist they are. An Israeli soldier sees a Palestinian like me, he sees either a terrorist, or the idiot who sweeps the street in Tel Aviv. He doesn’t see a human being. Believe me, I know!’

  ‘But you can’t know that he’s like that!’ Hilly flared. ‘Anyway, what would your lot say? I’m hardly a nice Muslim girl, am I? I don’t see that it’s for anyone else to decide – only us.’

  Rashid looked away. He picked up a stone from the path, turned to throw it, and sent it skimming across the water. Hilly had the fatalistic sense of everything going wrong. I can’t do this, she thought: I can’t manage all the different strands of my life. When one goes right, another gets messed up.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘you’re saying it changes everything, now that you know I’ve got a Jewish grandmother?’

  He shook his head. ‘That’s not what I—’ ‘Doesn’t that make you a racist?’

  ‘Now you’re just distorting what I’ve said.’

  ‘What about that taxi driver? Your uncle’s friend, the one who was shot? You didn’t hate him for being Jewish, did you? Why’s this different?’

  ‘Look,’ Rashid said, not looking at her. ‘It’s a big change, that’s all I’m saying. Half an hour ago, I had no idea you had a co
nnection with – now you’re all set to go out there. It needs some taking in – not because of what you’ve found out, but because of how you’re reacting. You had Jewish relatives in Germany – but that was then, and this is now. You don’t have to turn into a Zionist sympathizer! And you will, if you go out there. They’ll tell you Israel’s got a sacred right to their Promised Land, and the Arabs are a fanatical bunch of killers. Hilly, I’ve just come back from there! Israel’s the enemy. I hate them. I don’t want to, don’t want to hate, but I can’t tell you how much I hate them. Can you begin to imagine what it’s like to live under occupation? Curfews, road blocks, rules telling you where you can and can’t go? Soldiers killed my cousin, killed him in the street! Can’t you see where that puts us? It’s like – it’s like – I can’t even think of another example – no, it’s like I tell you my grandad was an SS Kommandant or something. Only this is happening now.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Hilly scuffed her shoe on a patch of mud rutted hard by bike tyres. ‘If I go out there, forget about you and me? Or – is it all off anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m saying. Just telling you how it seems. I’m not telling you what to do and what not to do – why should I? In your position I’d probably want to do the same. But it does change things, can’t you see that? Puts us on different sides.’

  ‘I’m not on anyone’s side! I’m just trying to make sense of what I’ve found out!’

  ‘Wait till you get out there, wait till you start reading Israeli newspapers and watching Israeli TV, then see if you can be neutral!’

  ‘Perhaps I’m not so gullible! It’s not as if I don’t know you —’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Rashid said flatly. ‘You just don’t understand. I think—Oh, forget it.’

  He stopped walking and stood, arms folded, looking out across the water. Hilly touched his shoulder. ‘Forget what? Don’t go all silent!’