The young yeshiva boys sat hunched over their Torah portions as their elders, dressed in their long black coats and wide beaver hats, debated the interpretation of the Law and Prophets.
In the stalls mothers visited while buying their briskets and beets to make borscht. Outside the children amused themselves with a stick and a ball. Nursing mothers with their babies at their breasts sat on a bench. The scene of this Sunday’s Passover afternoon was the same as it had been for a century past. It was a good day, a happy day for the Jews in their small village.
But for the Christians in the city of Odessa, there was quite a different drama being enacted. As the church bells pealed out, calling the faithful to worship, their religious fervor was forgotten as they sat in their pews. Dressed in his robes, the bearded priest looked out to his flock in a moment of silence, then began: “This is a tragic day. A terrible act has been perpetrated upon one of our beloved children. At dawn this morning an innocent child was found murdered at the very door of this holy place. We are civilized people who live for the brotherhood of man and the kingdom of heaven. We preach and teach love, but our words go unheeded. Who in this land could be so vile as to violate this angel? Who could be so perverse as to want the blood of this precious lamb? In the name of our Savior, the life of this maiden must be avenged.”
Before the priest had finished a hue and cry rang throughout the sanctuary. As one voice they called out, “KILL THE JEWS, KILL THE JEWS … DEATH TO THE JEWS!” The parishioners ran from the church, the women and children told to return home, the men gone to saddle their horses…
Moishe was returning home flushed with excitement as he felt the kopeks in his pocket. He had sold three pairs of boots today. He would keep only a small part for himself and the rest he would give to Dovid. Going up to the front door, he paused, then looked into the far distance. Coming down over the hills he saw the smoking torches and the galloping horses. An army of students had joined in the crusade. Although the shouting was still not distinct, he knew. He’d seen this and heard the words before. Quickly he went into the house and stood in front of Chavala… “Pogrom, pogrom…”
Chavala clutched her heart but told herself she mustn’t panic. If ever she needed her wits, it was now. She had Moishe come with her to the kitchen to open the trapdoor to the cellar, which was hidden beneath a heavy movable cupboard. After the two had managed to swing it open, she then went to summon her father. Without preamble—“They’re starting, papa… they have come to kill us.”
Taking his holy books, he obeyed.
When all the children were assembled, she sent them down. Dvora carried the canister of water, Sheine the matzohs, and Raizel the bottle of goat’s milk. They were back in Egypt. But here there was no Moses to lead them across the parted sea and drown their oppressors. Handing Moishe little Chia, Chavala said, “There, safety is in your hands, light the candles.” Then she paused and handed him the death pellets.
Moishe could only look at her, stunned.
“Remember Masada,” she told him.
“What about you, Chavala?” Moishe said.
“I’m going to Dovid. With God’s help we’ll join you.”
After she pushed back the cupboard with all her strength she started toward the front door but retreated back against the wall as the door crashed forward. And then her courage left her and in its place was terrible, stark fear. These, she knew, would be the last moments of her life. She stayed rooted to the floor, barely breathing. Her fears became even greater at the sounds of furniture being thrown against the wall. The most shattering sound of all was the crashing glass. They must have been in papa’s room and had evidently found nothing, because the footsteps of heavy boots were heard going into her sewing room. Mama’s diamond earrings, the gold bracelets Dovid had given her on their wedding day, the small diamond-and-amethyst brooch which had belonged to his grandmother. But the jewelry didn’t matter, she only prayed Dovid was hiding and safe. Until now Chavala considered calling on God’s help useless, but in this moment … “Please God, don’t let Dovid come home now, keep him safe, although I know I am unworthy, I beg you.” The rest of her pleas remained silent as she heard the clash of her sewing machine hurled against the wall. The bread they ate came from the toil of that machine. Hearing the screams and wailing beyond the confines of where she stood, she knew the wave of horror that had fallen over her people. They were being tortured and beaten, they were being dragged from their hiding places in cellars and garrets and put to death. Smoke rose up from the burning houses and the winds shifted so that she stuck a rag in her mouth for fear she would be heard choking.
Suddenly her fear left and in its place came an overwhelming hatred. How long would it be before this monster discovered her, not only her, but her precious family imprisoned beneath where she now stood? Mama hadn’t given her life so that the lives of her children should end in a massacre. If it meant dying, she would die. But not until she killed this crazy devil. Her eyes fell on the large butcher knife. Reaching for it, she inched her way along the wall until she stood to one side of her sewing room. She listened as her heart beat like a drum. It seemed too quiet. She peered through the crack of the wooden slats. His back was turned away from the entrance, and dear God, he was going through her sewing basket. Now he fondled the gold bracelets and put them in his pocket. Taking off her shoes, she walked softly into the room, and plunged the knife between his shoulder blades. As though in a daze, she picked up the metal leg that had been broken from the machine and with all her strength brought it down over his head. The body fell with such a thud that the flimsy floorboards shook. For a long moment he … it … quivered as the last breath of life was dissipated. Chavala stood trembling. She thought her legs would give way as she steadied herself against the wall. Looking down at the body, an even greater fear came over her … what if the devil should be found at this moment? Oh God, what had her vengeance brought down on the family? Why hadn’t she let him kill her? That she should even have committed an act so violent … but with all her overlapping fears, she brought herself up short … she had to deal with them as she had with this monster … Quickly she covered the body with rags and the debris he had created, mopped up the bloody floor and shut the door. She went back to the kitchen and sat at the table, holding her face in her hands. Dovid, where was Dovid? Once again, terror washed over her… Dovid was dead, she knew it. Nothing else would have kept him away. Should she go out and try to find her husband? But what about the ones huddled together below? She prayed Moishe would survive. He would be the only one to protect the family if anything happened to Dovid and her. As the confusion in her mind flew back and forth, she suddenly became aware of less and less noise in the village … was it possible that the wave of horror had ended? She was afraid to hope, yet it truly seemed to be abating. She listened. There was no more shouting of KILL THE JEWS. She looked at the cupboard, which covered the trapdoor, wondering why God had spared this house. She would never know the answer, but for the first time since her mother’s death, a rush of tears came down over Chavala’s face.
Unsteadily she got up from the kitchen table and walked past the closed door to her sewing room, past her father’s bedroom, in front of which lay the broken front door. She took a deep breath as she stood framed in the doorway, then without hesitation found herself standing against the wall on the front porch. Her shock was total. Most of the village was in flames. All she heard were the agonizing, mournful cries of the living. How had the Angel of Death passed over their house? Why had God singled them out to be saved? Why? And then the thought of Dovid rushed back to her, and she managed the strength to run across the road. All that she had feared was well-founded. Dovid lay on the floor in a pool of blood. His hands and ankles were bound with rope. His face had been battered almost beyond recognition. She knelt at his side. Drawing him to her she heard his shallow breathing. He was alive. Cradling him close to her as a child, she whispered, “My dearest Dovid, don’t die. Don’t leave me. I l
ove you, dearest…”
Somewhere from the valley of his consciousness Dovid’s eyes fluttered. Still, he knew he was dead. Chavala was, too. They were together. But if he was dead why was the pain so great? Did one suffer in death as in life? Chavala’s sweet voice soothed him…
“My darling, I’ll be back in a little while and we’ll take you home. Do you hear me, dearest?”
His eyes fluttered yes, and she gently put the pillow beneath his head, covered him with a blanket and put a cup of water to his lips. They were too swollen to take it. Kissing him, she left and ran across the road.
When the family came up from out of the darkness and saw Chavala, they clung to her, and as though with wings of an eagle she embraced them all and tried to quiet their fears. She poured mugs of milk when they sat at the table and put out the sponge cake. After they had finished she told Sheine to go across the road to Dovid and watch over him, then motioned to her brother to follow her.
Inside her sewing room she tore away the rags and exposed the … creature.
Moishe stood back in horror, looking at the huge butcher knife now dried with blood.
“What happened?”
Chavala explained with as little detail as possible. There was so much to be done.
“If he’s found here we know what will happen. He must be buried so deep that the dogs will not be able to sniff him out Start the digging near the cherry tree while I wrap him up in rags. Then I’ll help you.”
When the digging was finished Chavala poured alcohol over the body and the two of them dragged him to the small orchard and watched as he tumbled down the six feet. After the burial was finished they stood back, breathing hard.
In the darkness Chavala said, “Come, let’s wash him from our hands.”
With the help of everyone, Dovid was brought home and laid on Avrum’s bed. Chavala was grateful that the strong cherry brandy had dulled his senses so that he felt very little of that short journey. She sponged his body and spoon-fed him broth and that night she lay on the floor mat next to his.
What seemed to Chavala a miracle not to be questioned, the next afternoon Dovid awoke to full consciousness. She would not ask what happened, it was unimportant. Leaving him in Sheine’s care, she and Moishe went to see what they could do to help the bereaved. Except for a few houses all had been burned to the ground. The Chevra Kadisha, the ritual baths, the yeshiva and the shul were all in ashes. The cemetery had been desecrated, with many bodies dug up and scattered. The wounded lay in the roads and alleys. Yankel the milkman and his sons were heaping the dead into his cart to be taken up the hill. It was a devastation beyond all comprehension. Not even the devil could have invented such revenge. Manya’s family had all perished. Her eyes had been put out and her two youngest babies thrown from the attic to the ground. Rabbi Gottlieb’s beard had been torn from his face. He had been beaten with clubs until he lay beyond redemption. Those few who remained helped to bury the dead, whether theirs or not, as though the deceased belonged to them all, as indeed they did. The land of Canaan, from where they had all come, bound them together, one circle without beginning, without end.
Then those same who had survived rent their clothing, sat on the ground and recited the Kaddish, mourning the dead, yet praising God all the same….
CHAPTER TWO
CHAVALA’S APPREHENSIONS GREW. SHE expected the locusts to come hunting for the buried, but she had kept her fears from Dovid. Dovid’s health was returning, and thanks to his inherent strength he had sustained the beating. Her Dovid was a lion.
This morning she could no longer put off telling him of the great danger that hung over their lives. Sitting on the edge of the bed she took his hand in hers. “Dovid, I must tell you something, something I never thought myself capable of … the day of the pogrom … I killed a man …” And she told him every detail, right up to the point where she and Moishe had buried him. “We can’t stay … I only hope you’re well enough to travel.”
He would try to absorb what she’d told him about the killing later. It was no little thing to take in about your wife … a woman not like others, no question about that…
“How could I be otherwise with a wife who coddled me like little Chia?”
“I know we must leave. One day he will be discovered, they’ll come back looking for him …”
“All right, darling, but to get to Palestine is no easy matter.”
Palestine? Chavala hadn’t thought of going to Palestine. Why had she thought that what she so wanted was all that Dovid wanted too … So her dream that had looked to America was quieted. She knew her father’s wish had always been to die in Eretz Yisroel, and if for nothing else she would have to set aside her own hopes … but after he was gone and she had done her duty, well, then she would feel free to speak out. But she knew that talking against going to Palestine while still in Odessa was pointless … the devotion to Zionism was complete in Dovid now. She was sure … hopeful… that once Dovid found out the reality of that land he would want America as much as she. Dovid was, she honestly believed, being seduced by an impossible dream. He would have to see that…
“Right now there’s no way for us to go—”
“Yes, there is… we have the money.”
He looked at her. “We have the money? From what?”
“From my mother’s diamond earrings.”
“No, that’s the legacy she left you. It’s my place to provide. I am your husband…”
She didn’t want to argue that, but this was playing with their lives. “Listen to me, Dovid. I know that they will be back, and I can’t eat or sleep for thinking about it. But even if they don’t come back because of him, they will come back. Please, let’s not be here when the pogroms start again. You’ve heard what is happening in Kiev, in the Ukraine and in the settlements, you know the violence and burnings that are going on. No, Dovid, we can’t wait. Next time we might not be so lucky. That you’re alive is a miracle …”
Dovid looked at his wife. Actually he’d wanted this for a long time, and it was Chavala that was making it possible, arguing for it … he only hoped he could make it up to her. “Chavala … I never knew a man could be so lucky … you, my darling, are no ordinary woman…”
“How much do you want for these?” the jeweler in Odessa asked.
Chavala stood nervously as the jeweler looked through his loupe examining the small diamond earrings, wondering how these tiny gems had come to a peasant Small they were, but perfect and blue-white. “So how much do you want?”
How much? Quickly Chavala tried to figure what it would take them to get to Palestine. “Tell me what they’re worth to you, if the price is right, I’ll take it, if not, I’ll go elsewhere.”
He inspected them once again. “Ten rubles.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind, but give me back my earrings—”
“Fifteen. I should have offered only twelve, but… for a pretty—”
“I shouldn’t take less than fifty, but give me forty and they’re yours.”
He laughed, “You’re crazy … I can buy them in the marketplace for—”
“Thank you, but these are very valuable. I know what they’re worth.” She, of course, knew nothing of the kind.
“My final offer is twenty-five.”
“Thirty.” Fire was in her eyes, terror in her heart.
The man laughed, shook his head. Counting out the money he said, “You should be a diamond merchant. To bargain, you know how very well.”
With the rubles securely in her hand, she said, “And you know how to cheat.”
Turning on her heels she walked with high dignity out the door, slamming it behind her.
As she hurried along the street the echo of the gonifs words rang in her ears. “You should be a diamond merchant …” A possibility? Well, a small pair of diamond earrings was buying their freedom. Diamonds meant money and money meant freedom, the power to be free, at least to challenge the world. The words would live with Chavala … “Y
ou should be a diamond merchant …” If they had lived to escape the tyranny and near-death a few short weeks ago, perhaps anything was possible…
When she returned home it was with the steamship tickets they needed for steerage. But her greatest pleasure was handing Dovid one gold napoleon that she was able to convert from the rubles she still had left even after the tickets had been purchased.
Chavala took some heart that at least geographically they were in the right place. Odessa was within walking distance and on the Black Sea. Since Jews had never been able to own property, that was a problem they didn’t have—there was nothing to dispose of. As always, Jews left with only what they could carry.
So on the twenty-second of May in the year 1906, the Rabinsky-Landau family closed the door behind them. There was nothing to look back on in fond memory, except, perhaps for that small sanctuary marked by a blanket, Chavala and Dovid’s universe.
Moishe wheeled Dovid’s handcart filled with their bedding, clothing, cooking utensils and little Chia’s crib. Raizel carried one basket of food, and Dvora another. Sheine insisted she would be the custodian of her own belongings, which she had meticulously packed in a paper carton.
Dovid and Chavala walked side-by-side, she with the baby in her arms, Dovid holding the rope for the goat to follow.
Avrum clutched his holy books to his chest.
Soon the small assembly was lost from sight, as Yankel the milkman wiped the tears from his eyes and blew his nose on the rag he had taken from his pocket. He stood in the middle of the road long after they disappeared, wishing their journey could have been his own.
When they reached the port in Odessa they were far from being alone. Theirs was hardly an isolated departure … from the small towns and hamlets of the Ukraine and the Russian-controlled parts of Poland hundreds of young men and women were packing their meager belongings, and with tears of good-bye to their parents, leaving for, they hoped, something better. Some merely ran away from home when fathers accused their sons of heresy. Zionism was a forbidden doctrine among many of the rabbis and the most devout. Their departure was met with family denunciation … God will send the Messiah was the watchword that rang through the religious of the shtetl, wait, wait But the youth of that day was the same as that of any other … it could no longer hold to the misguided rabbis and the devotions of their fathers. A new time was at hand, and the young were moving with the times. If the Messiah had not redeemed them in two thousand years, then they would redeem themselves. Through Zionism.
No Time for Tears Page 5
