by Bodie Thoene
“But what should we do with this stuff?” Shoshanna was not really asking. It was a statement of dismay.
“Send down to the Yeshiva school. Get some young men to move it,” he answered as he shuffled toward the heavy wood door. “Tell Eli Sachar we need help moving boxes,” he instructed. “He will pick the strongest students and send them to help. And I will bring back instructions for preparing this rat poison.”
At that, Hannah put her hand to her throat. Perhaps it was rodent poison! Perhaps the nice American Jew had not meant for this powder to be eaten by humans at all. Ah, well. They would know soon enough. Either they would die, or Rabbi Lebowitz would come back with an Englishman!
***
To any righteous Jew it was a great honor to be chosen sandek, or godfather, at the circumcision of an infant. For Aaron and Etta Lubetkin, their choice of sandek for baby Yacov had become a matter of discussion among the community.
Dr. Eduard Letzno, the apostate Jew, the Zionist who no longer believed in the Eternal, took his place in the seat of the sandek as the circumcision ceremony began.
This apikoros wore a prayer shawl. On his head he wore a yarmulke just as any devout Jew must wear, but he had no beard. He fooled no one! His suit was cut like those of the people in Saturday Warsaw. He was no longer one of them. Why then, had Rabbi Lubetkin chosen such a man to be godfather for his son?
This was such a question! Oy! Frau Rosen led the yentas in the discussion. Would the Eternal bless this occasion? they asked. The kibitzers answered with a thousand clucks of their tongues and wags of their heads. “Oy! Oy! Oy! Such gehokteh tsuris!”
This phrase had been chosen as appropriate for the occasion of a circumcision; it meant “chopped-up troubles!” The yentas were careful not to let Rabbi Lubetkin and Etta hear their disapproval, however.
Frau Rosen hissed quietly like a steam radiator in the corner. “After all, nu? Nu! It is the privilege of the papa and mama to pick the worst sort of trayfnyak for the sandek if they wish!”
“Oy! They have done that!”
The yentas gathered around Frau Rosen as if to warm themselves by a stove.
“God forbid something should happen to Aaron and Etta! Oy! To think that the baby should be raised by such a metsieh!”
“He is no bargain! Oy gevalt!”
“Even if the man is as unkosher as ham, what business is it of ours? I ask you.”
“Etta’s father, the rabbi, would have something to say about this, I can tell you! You think a rabbi in Jerusalem would stand for such a thing? Oy! This Letzno fellow is practically one of the goyim himself!”
“True, true! But I know for a fact that Eduard Letzno comes from a good family. Even if he is a black sheep, he was also circumcised! You can’t put that back!”
Hearts fluttering with the shock of it; tongues wagging with the sensation of it, the yentas of Warsaw lined up to witness the berith milah of tiny Yacov Lubetkin.
A few feet away in the crowded room, Rachel eyed them angrily. She did not approve entirely of Dr. Letzno as choice of godfather for her brother, but the gossip of these women caused her cheeks to glow red with indignation. She, too, wished that he had a beard and dressed like a proper Jew, but Papa said that the heart of Eduard Letzno was sealed in the Covenant even though he lived like a goy! After all, had he not been the first doctor on the scene when the homeless Jews from Germany had been so much in need? His heart was Jewish, Papa said. So maybe he didn’t need a beard.
Anyway, Rachel was certain that the baby would not mind who held him during the ceremony. Maybe Dr. Letzno could grow a beard before he saw Yacov next time. Then Yacov would not remember that it was the doctor who held him when Mohel used the circumcision knife! Rachel hated that part of the ceremony. Just the thought of her baby brother feeling pain made her head swim. And she was not the only one!
A chair was provided behind Mama . . . just in case. She had fainted when Samuel had been circumcised. This, too, had given the yentas something to talk about.
At last, all was accomplished for tiny Yacov Lubetkin as it had been for every Jewish male since the time of Abraham and Isaac. The baby slept peacefully in his cradle as the guests filed out with words of Mazel tov! In the end it made no difference that Eduard Letzno was sandek. Everyone knew the apostate doctor was leaving for Palestine in three days anyway, so, the Eternal be praised, he would not be around to influence the life of the littlest Lubetkin! Oy! Such a relief!
Eduard and Aaron closed the study door and prepared to close a final chapter in their friendship together.
“There are several thousand new refugees in Palestine, and a shortage of doctors. But even if I was not needed there, I would not stay in Poland, Aaron. The very fact that your congregation is playing such a part in helping the refugees at—”
“Every Jewish welfare agency in Poland is helping,” Aaron protested. “Why would I be singled out?”
“Because you are my friend.” Eduard’s dark eyes radiated concern.
“Do not flatter yourself, Eduard!” Aaron laughed. You are not that important, nu? The Poles should suspect me because we grew up together and played stickball on the same team?”
Eduard shrugged. He was not laughing. “Men have been arrested for less.”
“In Germany, perhaps.”
“The voice of Hitler reaches even to Warsaw.”
“And to Palestine. One place is as safe as another for us, Eduard. I am no Zionist. My congregation . . . my life . . . is here in Warsaw.”
“Where the Catholic anti-Semites despise you.”
“And in Palestine the Muslim Mufti makes speeches. Etta and I have decided . . . ”
“Etta would like to go home to Jerusalem.” Eduard crossed his arms as though this was his final argument.
“Etta is my wife.” Aaron lowered his voice. “She will stay here with me and my children in Warsaw.” He frowned. “Do not push me too far, Eduard.”
The silence between the two men was uncomfortable. Eduard stared up at the leather-bound volumes of Aaron’s library—all books of Hebrew literature and law. Aaron Lubetkin was an important scholar in the Jewish community in Warsaw. In Jerusalem, in the shadow of the Western Wall, there was a surplus of rabbinical scholars.
Eduard let his breath out slowly. “Yes. Well, I suppose I can practice medicine anywhere. But I see your point. A rabbi must have a congregation.”
Aaron smiled. “My congregation is here in Warsaw. We are three million strong here in Poland. Only half a million in the Mandate. If you find a congregation for me in Jerusalem, then perhaps . . .”
23
Rendezvous
The vaulted stone roof of the Tipat Chalev soup kitchen was an acoustic masterpiece. The clatter of one tin plate on the floor would ring as if an entire shelf of plates had collapsed. The scraping of a spoon against a porridge bowl reverberated like the clanging mess kits of ten thousand half-starved soldiers.
People came to Tipat Chalev to eat, not talk. If they had to talk when the room was packed with hungry diners, they shouted. Or they went outside.
Such acoustics left room for only one speaker at a time to be heard and understood. When the kitchen volunteers were confronted with the sight of people coming through the door, they revved up their speaking volume to full blast.
Perhaps that is why Hannah Cohen now stood before six Yeshiva students and shouted orders at the top of her lungs. “Oy! Eli Sachar! Pick up your end of the crate higher! HIGHER! Now you! Ari! Lower your end. Careful as you back down the stairs! Oy! Do not drop this Jell-O stuff! Such a mess! Such a mess!”
Her voice ricocheted off the ceiling and slammed around the room, splitting the eardrums of Eli and his fellow students. “EL-I-I-I! Not soooooo high! You’ll scrape the doorframe! Nu! Josef just painted that doorframe!”
Eli tried to nod his apology around the heavy crate. He backed cautiously down the narrow basement stairs as the densely packed Jell-O crate threatened to break loose from Ari’s grip an
d slam down.
“ELI-I-I! Do not let go! Oy! The crate will knock you down the stairs backward if you let go! Careful there! It will knock you over and you will break your neck and then what will I say to your mother, dear Ida, when you are dead from moving rat poison? Careful, Ari!”
If Eli had not been in such a tenuous position on the down side of a three-hundred-pound crate, he would have been irritated at Hannah Cohen. She was his landlady. She owned Cohen’s Grocery and he could also hear her in the store when she transacted business. Nobody talked as loudly as Hannah Cohen. Mama had said they would get used to her long discussions about bananas and crackers or kosher sausage, but Eli had never quite gotten used to her piercing voice.
To have to listen to her today was almost unbearable! Today was the day when he would meet Victoria in Christ Church! And here he was, when he should have been dressing in his goyim clothes! How could this be? Why him, of all the Yeshiva students?
At the bottom of the stairs they manuevered around sacks of lentils, finally placing the crate according to Hannah Cohen’s instructions. Eli mopped his brow. Ari mopped his brow and sighed. Hannah mopped her brow and sighed and thanked the Eternal no one was killed by this cursed stuff.
Panting with exhaustion after watching the dangerous descent, Hannah boomed down to Eli, “I asked for you special, Eli! Such a strong boy! Oy! If only I had been blessed with such a strong son to help me at the market, then maybe my back would not ache so bad, nu?” She touched her back and grimaced. Just watching the strong young men had made her ache! But it had not managed to lower the volume of her voice.
The knowledge that she had asked for him hit Eli with a hot rush of irritation. But he could not let on. Mama and Mrs. Cohen were friends, after all, and it would not do to have her saying to Mama, Something is bothering Eli, nu? Tell me, Ida. You can tell me. I love him like a son.
Eli gulped air and swallowed his first urge to shout back at her. “Always a pleasure to help you, Mrs. Cohen.” He regretted saying that. What if she asked him to carry boxes of fruit for her sometime? Ah, well. Better to be polite than shake his fist in her face. “But now I must leave. The others will manage without me. I have a . . . I was studying a passage of the Mishnah and suddenly . . . such a thought! It came to me as I was moving this crate! About the heaviness of a man’s burdens. And so I must go write it down.”
She clapped her hands once in awe. “Not only strong and handsome, but smart! So proud Ida must be!”
Ari was scowling at Eli as he ascended the steps to take leave of the work crew. Eli bowed slightly to Mrs. Cohen and then gave Ari the sort of look that said, Too bad I thought of it first, eh?
“Such a rabbi this one will make!” Hannah Cohen finally let her voice grow quiet in awe of the retreating Eli Sachar.
Out on the street and half a block away, Eli could hear her as she resumed her duties as supervisor. “PICK THAT END UP! LOWER! WATCH OUT FOR THE DOORFRAME! NU! WATCH IT! OY! OYYYYYYY!”
***
The lobby of the King David Hotel seemed nearly deserted compared to the activity during Leah and Shimon’s first day in Jerusalem.
“They’ve all gone to Galilee to guard the Woodhead Commission,” volunteered the desk clerk as he took the receipt of Leah’s cello. “They’ll be back next week. Probably ready for an encore performance from you. Of course, a good concert will not make as much impression on them as an Arab attack, that is certain.”
A portly English businessman overheard his words and volunteered, “That’s the difference between the Arabs and the Jews, eh? The Royal Commission will be more impressed by explosions than good music. We’ll be seeing the last of European Jews arriving here. I’m sure of that.”
Perhaps the man was not aware that he was speaking to recent arrivals. Or perhaps he knew very well whom he was talking to. The thought that Jewish immigration might soon be halted altogether did not seem to be a concern. His expression did not alter when the desk clerk handed the instrument to Shimon.
For a moment Leah considered commenting on the tragedy the closing of Palestine would be to those who remained in Europe with no escape, but the words would be wasted on a man such as this.
At that moment, Victoria Hassan emerged from the administrative wing of the hotel. She glanced toward them. Leah was certain Victoria saw them standing at the counter, but the young woman averted her eyes and hurried on as if they were not there.
Shimon nudged Leah. He had seen her, too. He had noticed the way she hurried from the building. Leah sighed, feeling again that she had somehow insulted Victoria. She would be glad when Tuesday arrived so she could ask her.
Through the glass revolving door, Leah watched her. She was, indeed, beautiful. Sunlight gleamed in her long black hair. She wore a dark blue dress of simple cut adorned only by a silver chain necklace. High heels showed shapely legs. It was no wonder that Eli Sachar was interested in her. She did not seem to fit the Muslim world.
Leah resolved that she would tell Eli they had seen her leaving the hotel this afternoon. Any news of her at all might cheer him up.
***
Eli hurried toward the restrooms where Moshe had stowed a carefully wrapped set of khaki-colored clothes on top of a high water tank.
He slipped into an empty stall. A feeling of awe filled him! Mama would never suspect that he had gone to visit his Muslim sweetheart in a Christian church! All she would hear was how much he had helped Hannah Cohen. How lucky she was to have such a son! How Hannah Cohen wished she had a crate hauler to call son!
He changed quickly, wrapped his Orthodox garb into the same paper, and slipped it back on the tank. At this moment the first misgivings whispered in his ear. To walk from this place pretending to be anything other than a Jew was most certainly a sin. And to walk into a Christian church! Oy! The thought of it made him shudder.
He stared thoughtfully at the green moss on the walls of the lavatory. Outside he could hear merchants and peddlers hawking their wares. Would anyone notice that a Jew had entered the tiny cubicle, but a goy now emerged?
Eli drew a deep breath and winced from the tank odor in the air. Things would be better outside, he decided; he would think more clearly in the street. With that, he squared his shoulders and walked out into the teeming crowds in the souk.
Without the feather-like weight of his yarmulke on his head, Eli felt strangely undressed. In his khaki trousers and shirt, he blended easily with the English civil servants and off-duty soldiers strolling through Armenian Quarter. No one noticed him. No one at all. And yet he felt self-conscious. These English clothes were not for him. They felt sinful against his skin.
He walked quickly down St. James Road toward the Old City Wall. Just ahead was the Armenian Patriarchate Street, which ran parallel with the wall. The Byzantine tower of St. James Church was to the left. Christ Church was a short walk to the right, just past the barracks of the British soldiers and the headquarters of the Palestine police. In this ancient stone barracks known as Kishleh, every army since the time of Suleiman had housed it occupation forces. English soldiers with clean-shaven cheeks and short haircuts walked in and out of the building. They looked more at ease than Eli today, even though Jerusalem had always been his home.
He had been a toddler the same year that the English General Allenby had stood on a platform in front of Christ Church to accept the official surrender of the Turkish rulers—1917. What a year of hope that had been! Religious tolerance had been proclaimed right in this place as Eli’s father had held him aloft in the cheering crowds. Christian, Jew, and Arab alike had formed committees to clean out the sewage from the moat that surrounded the Old City wall. Eli had grown up believing that one day there would be a Jewish homeland as the British promised. He had grown up with Ibrahim and Victoria and a dozen other Arab children who had mingled freely in their games. No one had been afraid then. Times were better than they had been with the brutal Turkish government. Until Haj Amin became Mufti, there had been peace. Eli never imagined t
hat one day he would be sneaking out of the Jewish Quarter to meet Victoria in a place like this.
In all his years he had never set foot in a Christian church. That thought chafed his conscience just as the strange clothes chafed his skin. He prayed no one would recognize him: “I saw a goy who looked just like you!”
He told himself that he was here for Victoria. Here to finish their discussion. To be his wife she must convert! And for that one reason he had left his Orthodox clothing wrapped up and stowed on the water tank. On Yom Kippur, Eli would confess this sin to the Eternal and ask forgiveness. Somehow the end would justify his sacrifice of tradition for the sake of love. Would God see it his way? he wondered. Or was the Eternal looking on with disapproval already because Eli was even now breaking laws regarding the proper dress of a Jew? The thought made him shudder. It made no difference that he blended with the crowds. God was still watching. And Eli was about to enter Christ Church and sit quietly pretending to be one of them so he could be with her!
To his left, British guards stood in stone niches on either side of the iron gate of the citadel. Above them, soldiers patrolled the ramparts of the city wall. Eli halted, pretending to study the young English protectors of Jerusalem. He considered the fact that it was still not too late to turn back. Still not too late to retrieve his clothing from the hiding place and return to Tipat Chalev to move what remained of the crates. He did not have to go through the great iron gate on his right and enter the courtyard of Christ Church.
He had not dared to look at the church. He had averted his eyes from the bell tower during the walk. I do not have to enter, he thought now as he pivoted to face the entrance. Perhaps she will come here from the opposite direction and I will take her by the arm and we will find some other place—any place besides this place!
