Sheine stared at Chavala, who blathered on as though she hadn’t heard a word. “You amaze me, Chavala, what happened to that pioneer spirit? Your determination to go to America? You remember when you told me that when papa died nothing could stop you? Not even Dovid … you said he loved you so much that he’d do anything, even give up—”
“Things change, it doesn’t seem so important now—”
“Doesn’t it? That’s shocking, coming from you. You, who more than any of us despise poverty, but I know what’s happened. You’ve let yourself be Dovid’s peasant wife … what you really want is a stove and a hut and a little plot to plant your vegetables. Yes, you’re a peasant, that’s what you’ll always be. Well, I’ve waited a long time to get out of here and be rid of all your beliefs, yours and Dovid’s. I don’t need you,” and she ran from the room, hysterical.
As the rest of the family sat in stunned silence, Dovid got up and went to the girl. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tried to take her hand but she pulled away and turned her face toward the wall. Softly he said, “Sheine, what’s happened to you? Please talk to me.”
You’re right, Sheine thought, my love for you is so painful, to be this close is agony.
“Tell me, Sheine, say whatever you feel, I’ll understand.”
She turned slowly and looked at Dovid, and then finally said it… “I love you, Dovid—”
“And I love you too, Sheine, and want to help you. That’s why I want you to come to Zichron—”
“You didn’t hear what I said, Dovid. I love you.”
The impact of her true meaning hit him like a thunderbolt. “Sheine, you mustn’t say that. It’s not true … I’m married to your sister—”
“How well I know that. But you asked, and now, even if I have no pride, at least now I feel free. Dovid, I’m not shameless … I love Chavala too, but I can’t help my feelings … at least now you know why I can never live with the family.”
Dovid held his face in his hands. How could he help Sheine, she would never believe that this was only the infatuation of a young girl and that one day she would look back on this as just a childish phase … ? “You can’t live alone, Sheine, have you thought of that?”
“Yes, but I don’t intend to live alone. I’m going to be a nurse.”
At least now that he knew, he could understand her behavior. He would have liked to take her in his arms and hold her and tell her that he understood, but under the circumstances that would only be cruel. After a long silence he said, “Come, Sheine, we’re leaving soon. See Chavala. I don’t want to leave without the two of you coming together again as sisters.”
She got off the bed, looked once more at Dovid, then without a word went to Chavala. They sat awkwardly together, then Sheine said, “Please forgive me, Chavala, if you can.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Sheine. I know how hard life has been for you with papa. You’ve had nothing except the worry and responsibility … but won’t you please try, at least give it a chance and come home with us?”
She took Chavala’s hands in hers. “Thank you for wanting me, but I’m sorry. I’ve other ideas … I’m going to be a nurse—”
“When did you decide that?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now.”
Chavala looked at her sister’s hand in hers. “It’s been so long since we’ve been a family. Will you at least come with us for a little while?”
“No, Chavala, I’ve already been accepted as a student nurse.”
Nothing could change Sheine’s mind. “You’ll write?” Chavala asked with tears in her eyes. “We’ll worry about you—”
“Of course I’ll write, and please don’t worry about me. I know for the first time in my life what I want to do with it. And … I love you all.” And at this special moment she truly meant it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHEINE, TO KEEP HERSELF sane, had planned, plotted her life with great care. Whenever she had the chance to escape from the Old City, she would wander up the hills to the German hospital and sit on a bench against the wall. She would watch the nurses dressed in their white crisp uniforms that rustled as they went meticulously about their duties. At the end of the long corridor a small group of handsome young doctors stood like disciples, listening to Herr Professor explain the findings of the cases they had seen that morning. This was a special world, a white, immaculate world she longed to be part of. But how? She became aware of her Jewishness. For the first time her Jewishness became an obstacle, something to wish away. This was her first venture into the world of non-Jews, and the feeling of difference, of being separate, came as a shock. They were fair-skinned, blue-eyed and blond. Names she had not heard before sounded melodically in her ear … Christine, Helga, Greta, Gretchen … And the German she listened to was softly spoken, not guttural. And speaking Yiddish, she could understand much of what she heard. Compared to it, Yiddish sounded … well, uncouth, smacked of the ghetto. She got up unhappily and left this place she felt she could never enter.
Back at her home, she felt so bleak, defeated, she even thought about ending her life that seemed hopeless. But then she thought of all she’d managed to live through so far and told herself to stop the self-pity and solve her life, not destroy it. So what if she’d been born Sheine Rabinsky? That could be changed. But what about her raven hair and deep brown eyes, and the olive tint of her skin? Papa had allowed no graven images or mirrors in his house, but she’d hidden a small, broken piece of mirror under her thin mattress. Looking at herself, she thought there was some beauty in her face… from her mother she had inherited the delicate features and unblemished, smooth skin. Why, she could pass for some of those French women she’d seen in Odessa who had married Russian men of nobility. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself dressed in finery, and the image became alive. If she changed her name, perhaps … she suddenly remembered the large bronze plaque that hung in the entry of the hospital inscribed with those who had founded the institution, and the name “Professor Beck” lingered. Why? Who knew? But in that moment Sheine Rabinsky became “Elsa Beck.” But what about her coloring? Her mother was French and her father German. Where was she born, something that could easily be checked up on. She’d figure that out later … she’d come a long way in her transformation already. She’d need to absorb it, try to adjust herself to it…
She took from the small alms her father had gotten and hid the money away until she had enough to buy a German primer. She slowly accumulated more secondhand books, books on anatomy, Latin and the techniques of nursing.
By the time she applied as a student nurse she not only had become Elsa Beck, born in French Equatorial Africa, but she spoke fluent German and her knowledge of nursing was equal to a graduate’s. In two years she had taught herself anatomy and even knew most of the generic names in Latin. She was as obsessed with the task she’d dedicated herself to as she had been with Dovid. Not a moment was wasted. Scrubbing, cooking, her head was filled with the lessons she was mastering. A dialogue went on constantly … she asked the questions, and she answered them. Sheine knew that one deception created another, but at least, she felt, Chavala had to be told.
So after one especially grueling day, she wrote to Zichron.
Chavala sat for a very long time trying to make some sense out of it. There were no answers to why Sheine had done this unbelievable thing. Papa had once said there was a dybbuk in Sheine, but who knew what really had made her go to such extreme lengths? All Chavala was sure of was that she had failed. She looked at the letter again … “So I ask you, Chavala, to explain to the others that if and when you write it will be addressed to Elsa Beck. Please try, if you can, to understand and not to judge me. We all in our own ways must find our own solutions and salvations …”
Chavala could just not accept it, not now. Sheine was lost to them, as lost as if she had died. Which in a way she had.
Life for Elsa Beck started at five in the morning. The disciplines were rigid, exacting. If a cor
ner of the bed had one small wrinkle, Head Nurse Holstein ripped it off and the student was chastised without mercy and a privilege was taken away. In Elsa Beck’s case, no such penalties were handed out. Elsa was, in fact, the most precise, careful and prompt student Nurse Holstein had ever encountered, and for this she gained the admiration of not only Nurse Holstein but the entire staff. Her discipline and devotion did not, however, exactly endear her to her sister nurses. But that didn’t bother Elsa Beck. She had become a nurse for the sake of her own survival. She did not fraternize with anyone, and was, not surprisingly, considered a recluse.
When graduation came she held highest honors, and now was ready to become a full-fledged member of the elite. Indeed, the first time Nurse Beck walked into the operating room dressed in her surgical garb, she knew the title of Head Surgical Nurse would soon be hers.
Long live Elsa Beck.
Get thee behind me, Sheine Rabinsky.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS NOW 1908.
“Nothing really changed, Moishe,” Dovid said, “it only appeared that way. How well off were the serfs when they were freed, did they achieve freedom and equality? No. When slavery in America was abolished did the Negroes really become free? Where were the opportunities for them? And this new rebellion of the Turks …Do you really think they will give us liberty and equality? A revolution won’t change hatred felt for the Jews. It’s persisted for over two thousand years.”
“But the Yishuv seems to have great hopes that these young Turks will be more sympathetic to our condition—”
“I hope they’re right, but Chaim Weizmann isn’t so optimistic.”
“That’s because he’s pro-British—”
“Which he has reason to be. Britain is the only nation that has listened to him.”
“What about the Germans? The greatest scientists and doctors in the world are German Jews. When the Kaiser came to Palestine he spoke to Herzl and said he was in favor of a Jewish homeland—”
“I know, but you noticed that we still don’t have one, and besides, Germany has a treaty with the Turks. No. I believe the way Jabotinsky does, that this so-called rebellion of young Turks was only a political maneuver to gain power and not to create any great changes in Palestine for the Jews. Aaron thinks like Weizmann, but he’s in no position to speak out. For years he has worked so closely with the Turks, hoping that eventually the sultan would give Palestine a charter. He may be a dreamer, but he still hopes.”
For Chavala, politics was what men constantly, boringly talked about. If a rebellion had occurred, it hadn’t touched her life here in Zichron. For her there was one small sacred place that seemed unpenetrable … her home, and her family.
Chia had now grown into a chubby three-year-old girl with pink cheeks, blue eyes and fair hair. She was cheerful, precocious, always asking questions. Her devotion to and curiosity about the baby Reuven was apparent as she sat wide-eyed watching Chavala nurse him. In her mind she naturally looked on Reuven as her brother, much more than she did Moishe, and Chavala was the mother she had never known.
Raizel had grown in grace and loveliness. There was nothing too difficult for her to do as she assumed chores beyond a girl of eleven. Dvora, on the other hand, was a girl of great spirit who had never forgotten the Galilee, and deeply felt a yearning to go back to the land. For weeks she debated with herself, then got up the courage to tell Chavala and Dovid that she was leaving to join a youth group that had just formed in the Galilee—a girls’ training farm that had recently been launched thanks to the determination of Dr. Ruth Levy, herself a member of the second Aliva. She conceived the idea of a farm where girls would be taught, in addition to domestic science, market-gardening, poultry breeding and dairy farming.
With Dvora’s announcement Chavala’s world did seem threatened. She couldn’t share Dvora’s enthusiasm and excitement. She knew her reasons were selfish, but she’d already lost Sheine and now clung tenaciously to at least try to keep her family together.
Dvora, knowing Dovid would understand, told him, “Dovid, you must help me make Chavala understand I’m no longer a child. This means a great deal to me … everything, really. Zichron is fine for Chavala, but I’m not her.”
“Let her go,” Dovid told his wife. “It’s right. To deprive her would only make her miserable, and eventually you too.”
“We’re gradually losing them, aren’t we, Dovid? First Sheine, now Dvora …”
“They’ve grown up, Chavala. Give her your blessings so that she won’t need to feel any guilt.”
Chavala did, but the day that Dvora left, Chavala felt as though she had lost a piece of herself.
Dvora fitted immediately into life in the Galilee. In the early mornings she would wake up with a special excitement, dress and leave quietly while the others slept so that she could see the sunrise. She inhaled the perfume of the morning air, watched, felt nature all around her. The earth beneath her feet would soon, she felt, reveal all its secrets. She looked up to see the birds in flight. And with it all … there was a dream that lay dormant in her, a dream that would soon be awakened….
Three years before, a group called Haikkar Hatzair, “The Young Farmer,” had been formed in the United States by twelve young students from the Jewish agricultural college in Woodbine, New Jersey, who were preparing to live on the land in Palestine. After leaving college each member of the group acquired practical experience in a specific branch of farming, anticipating the system that was later adopted by the chalutzim. With $5,000 they appealed to the Palestine Land Development Company to take over the farm, complete with livestock and equipment, for one year. The two youth settlements were within a short walking distance, and when one or the other was in need of a piece of equipment they readily shared…
Dvora had just come out of the milking shed when she saw off in the distance a young man carrying a small incubator. Looking in her direction he called out, “Shalom.”
“Shalom.”
As the two came closer Dvora felt a sensation new to her but ancient to females her age and older … Now face to face with the young chalutz, the feeling was both frightening and exhilarating at the same time. Feeling peculiar, she averted her eyes when he said “I’m from Haikkar Hatzair and I’ve come to deliver this. Incidentally, my name is Ari Ben-Levi.”
“And mine is Dvora Rabinsky,” she said so quietly he barely caught it.
As the two proceeded on to the main building Ari said, “How long have you been here?”
“For a month now. And you?”
“I arrived three days ago from America.”
“From America?”
“It’s not the moon.”
“I didn’t mean it that way … you won’t laugh if I tell you something?”
“I promise.”
“I was just thinking of my sister, who’s always wanted to go to America and here you’ve come to Eretz Yisroel… I don’t think this is making any sense.” She laughed nervously.
“Makes a lot of sense. My family escaped the ghettos of Poland and couldn’t understand my giving up the good life to come here and work. It just shows how the pendulum swings.”
“Your Hebrew is so perfect, I thought you were born here. I’m afraid mine still has a Yiddish accent. Is your name really Ari Ben-Levi?”
“I was born Richard Levi. Not bad, one generation removed from the ghetto. But it isn’t Richard Levi any longer, it’s Richard Lee. That’s what you call becoming Americanized … Well,” he said as they got to the poultry station, “it’s been very nice meeting you, Dvora …”
For the rest of that day she thought of Ari Ben-Levi and absolutely nothing else. Except that she might die if he didn’t come back soon. Very soon.
On Sunday he did. Looking up from her milking stool, she saw him framed in the doorway. She could hear her heart beat, her palms were wet. He was more handsome than she’d even remembered. “Shalom,” he said smiling and spreading his hands, “I guess I’m what you call an aggressive Amer
ican. I’d like to see you today …”
Swallowing, she said, “I’ll be through in about an hour.”
“No hurry … I’ll wait.” He waited, this aggressive American, a week before getting up the courage to come back, a week when his thoughts had been of Dvora and little else. She was absolutely the loveliest thing he’d ever seen … her hair was the color of rich brown molasses and her eyes a sort of amber. Her waist was slim, and her bosom just round enough to excite him. If there was such a thing, Ari felt this was love at first sight. And what a sight…
When her chores were done Dvora slipped into a pair of fresh white shorts and pulled the blue cotton knit top over her head, buckled her sandals and glanced at herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed in spite of the tan. She ran a comb through her hair and was out the door of the small bungalow she shared with three other chaveroth.
At first they just stood awkwardly, then Ari managed,” Since you know your way around better than I, what do you suggest?”
“Let’s hike to the top of the hill, the view from there is great.”
When they got to the top and looked about, there was a stillness that seemed to make them feel closer … as though they were the only two people left in the world. They looked out on the snow-topped peak of Mount Hermon. Pink and white clouds floated languidly in the blue sky, and below could be seen the Sea of Galilee. It looked even lovelier today, standing here with Ari, than the first time she’d seen it, when Dovid had said, “Come, Dvora, I want you to see this and remember it all your life.” She would remember it, and she would remember more this moment. Neither spoke. There was no need for words.
They sat down under carob trees, and Dvora unpacked the small lunch she’d brought with her. After they’d eaten they lay back and looked up at the sky visible in patches through the branches.
Slowly Ari’s hand found hers, and in the silence of that lazy afternoon he said, “I love you, Dvora. It happened the moment I saw you. I mean it, I don’t care how sudden it seems …”
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