No Time for Tears

by Cynthia Freeman

  She went immediately to the bank and withdrew the thousand dollars she had in her account, which now would show no balance, added it to the amount from the sale of the stones, then made arrangements to have the money sent the fastest way possible.

  When Dvora received the $2,500 she was stunned. How Chavala knew, Dvora could only guess. Never mind. It was wonderful to have a family, and she thanked God for both her sisters. And she didn’t feel at all diminished by Chavala’s help. Instead she felt strangely rich, not because of the money, but because it was a gift of love. From a loved one.

  More—and Dvora was enormously excited by this—was the news that Dovid and Reuven were coming to see them, that Reuven would be staying with them … Looking up from her gardening, she heard the sound of Dovid’s car approaching. Quickly she picked Pnina up and went to greet them.

  After the introductions between Reuven and little Pnina, Reuven went out in the field to see his uncle and cousin, and Dvora and Dovid could settle down to a chat.

  “The house is almost ready?” Dovid asked.

  “Yes. We’ll be moving in in about a month … I hope Reuven will be happy with us, Dovid.”

  “He will, I’m sure…”

  “Does he say much about Chavala?” She knew it was a risky subject, but felt it better to bring it up now and in terms of Reuven rather than Dovid.

  “Not much… not yet…”

  “You know, Dovid, Chavala never complains. I only hope you know … oh, I’m sure you do … that this separation isn’t easy for her either. You may not agree with her, but what she’s doing isn’t for herself—”

  Dovid was grateful when Ari and the two boys came in and interrupted them.

  “Dovid, how good to see you.”

  Dovid nodded, a bit stiffly. “Everything looks good Ari. It’s remarkable what you’ve accomplished in just this last year.”

  “Look at the help I’ve had,” Ari said, smiling at Zvi. “And this year should be even better with Reuven here … you think you’re going to like being a farmer?”

  The thought had never been far from Reuven’s mind … times at Athlit and especially the night at dinner with Aaron … the echoes came back … “I want to be a scientist like my father …” That had been the dream. Well, even at Reuven’s age, with what he’d been through, he knew you sometimes settled for a little less than the dream … Not grudgingly, in fact happily, except … if only he could reshape his world so that his mother and father would be together, be a family, and he and his father would work the land the way Ari and Zvi were doing … and his brother Joshua would know the feeling of sacred earth beneath his feet. Could he ever understand his mother? For what she had done? … He looked at his father, then at his uncle Ari. “When I was in America that’s all I ever thought about… yes, Uncle Ari, I’m going to like being a farmer…”

  Dovid looked at his son, felt a deep bond that went even beyond the two of them. The flame of Zion would never be put out. It would be passed from generation to generation. It was eternal. And with the sweet joy of that conviction came a deep sadness about Chavala. If only she could understand that, despite everything else, their lives without one another were incomplete … and that all the desperation Raizel and Lazarus endured, the hardships Ari and Dvora shared, were part of the riches of life. But then … he was responsible too for them not being together … his love of Eretz Yisroel, how did he square that with his love for Chavala? Well, he could only hope. In his head he knew the truest legacy in life was the deep abiding love of a man for a woman. When would he and Chavala know that in their hearts…?

  He was so deep in thought he scarcely heard Dvora say, “Reuven, darling, go get your things from the car and, Zvi, you bring uncle Dovid’s.”

  When the boys left, Dvora said to Dovid, Tm sorry, Dovid, for … well … for the circumstances that brought Reuven back, but since he is here I can tell you it means so much to Zvi. He’s talked about Reuven like a big brother.”

  Dovid hesitated for a moment. “I’m glad some good comes out of this separation …”

  Fortunately, the two boys came in then with the suitcases. “Where do you want these, Aunt Dvora?” Reuven asked.

  She smiled. “In your and Zvi’s room. We’ll unpack them later, after dinner… And welcome to our home, Reuven.”

  He pushed the thought of his mother aside. “It’s good to be home… I mean in your home…”

  Dovid did not miss his son’s slip of the tongue. Perhaps it had somehow been planned for his son not to be a stranger living in an alien place. Reuven was part of five thousand years of Jewish history … maybe it was no accident he was here at this moment, to help claim the heritage that had been promised so long ago…

  At four o’clock in the morning Reuven was initiated into the life of a farmer.

  “Time to get up, Reuven,” Dvora said, nudging him gently.

  Stretching, he shook off sleep. “What time is it?”

  “A little after four.” She laughed. “Your father has already milked the cows. In fact, he couldn’t wait to get started this morning.”

  Reuven jumped quickly out of bed, shivered slightly as he put on his robe and went to the outhouse. When he returned he dressed hurriedly, walked into the kitchen and joined the others in a breakfast of cucumbers, tomatoes, cheese, homemade bread and tea.

  Afterward, Dovid placed the plow in Reuven’s hand. “All right, let’s see you plow a straight line.”

  Reuven looked at his father. “What do you think I am, a genius? A straight line… I can’t even move this thing—”

  “You’ll learn.”

  By noon, after hours of sweating, Reuven stood back with Dovid at his side and looked at the furrows, then looked at his father. Both laughed.

  “Did you ever grow crooked wheat?” Reuven asked his father.

  “Once or twice… after lunch it’ll be straight.”

  “I see, you were just testing, is that it?”

  “Just testing. You see, I did think you were a genius.”

  At the end of that day when Reuven gratefully got into bed, he said goodnight to his father and added, “I’ll plow a straight line tomorrow if it kills me.”

  It wasn’t precisely “tomorrow” that Reuven managed that wondrous achievement, but after four days he could say to his father as he followed along, “You’re going to have to keep up the seeding a little faster.”

  Except for the Shomer guardsmen to defend the settlements, no Jews could carry or own guns, by order of the British. Well, that was a law Dovid would not honor, not when it came to his son. Taking his German carbine out of its case, he handed it to Reuven. “I’m going to teach you how to defend yourself. Now remember this is to be used for that one purpose and no other…”

  Each morning at dawn Dovid took Reuven to the furthermost reaches of the farm. He taught him the safety devices, how to load and unload the gun, how to clean and care for it. At first Reuven missed every empty bottle, every tin used as a target. But then, gradually, under Dovid’s patient tutelage, he was able to take aim and split a rock as Dovid threw it up into the air.

  Reuven’s next lesson was how to defend himself with a bullwhip. The first day Reuven thought his arm was going to fall off, but after a while he began to catch on to the technique until, finally, with a flip of the wrist he could cut a leaf to shreds. It was not a lesson Dovid was happy his son had to learn, but it was, like survival, a fact of life…

  A week had passed since then, and now, as Dovid looked across the field watching his son plow, the sight brought a special joy to him, tempered by the thought that his son would almost surely have to live all of his life with a plow in one hand and a gun in the other.

  And the thought nudged him … shouldn’t he have considered the dangers when Reuven wanted to return with him? In a way Chavala was not so wrong after all. She wanted peace and safety for her family, her sons especially, and how could he blame her for that? She’d known more than her share of violence and tyranny and
bloodshed. This morning Dovid wasn’t so sure of himself. And yet, sitting on the fence watching Reuven parting the soil into deep furrows, with Zvi behind planting the seed, how could he really question that this was their heritage, and that it was worth fighting for?

  At noon Dvora came into the field with food to feed her men. She put down the basket and stood resting her hands on the fence where Dovid sat, then looked out at the two boys in the distance. Neither spoke for a moment, then she said, “Reuven’s so much like you … it’s amazing how quickly he’s learned … I only hope what we’re doing will make it easier for them—”

  “I’m not sure anything will make it easier. But at least they’ll grow up never knowing what it feels like to be a ghetto Jew. They’ll be free men, and that’s really what this is all about… they’ll be able to live their lives in dignity, with pride in their Jewishness. I think that’s about the best legacy we could give them.”

  She nodded, but felt more at ease with less grand notions … “Reuven is going to miss you when you leave tomorrow.”

  “I know … if only I didn’t have to be away so much. On the way back from America I even considered getting a small farm and working it with Reuven. It’s what I’ve always loved the most, using my hands. But that was foolish, I can’t go back, too much has happened, too much to do …”

  The valley that Dovid for so long looked to made up the southern Galilee. Few knew and understood the land better than he did … those years in Athlit had earned him the reputation of a man who knew how to make the desert bloom. He knew that beneath those marshlands lay a floor of fertile, black, yielding soil. What was needed were money and knowledge to teach the new settlers how to farm and not to fail. The dream of that valley had lived with Dovid. He’d gone to work with Myer Benei, a French-Jewish architect who’d designed many of the moshavim and kibbutzim in the Jezreel Valley. With the restrictions lifted by the British, Dovid was free to go to the Zion Settlement Society with a whole plan. “If you will it, then it need not remain a dream,” Herzl had said. The Society voted favorably on Dovid’s idea, and he was sent to Beirut to make the purchase. The parcel included an area between Haifa and Nazareth. The Jezreel purchase fired Jewish pride and funds poured in from world Jewry. That one step opened the way to the establishment of hundreds of new kibbutzim, and with them the cities grew, houses were built in the hills of Haifa and apartments began to spring up in Tel Aviv. A building boom started in Jerusalem outside the Old City as the need grew for the Jews to expand the restricted old community. It seemed that the Yishuv could begin to believe that after two thousand years of persecution they had found some justice. The Yishuv Central became a kind of government to speak for the Jews and be a link to the Zion Settlement Society and the world’s Zionists. Although Dovid had no political ambitions, he became deeply involved and was personally responsible for much of the planning. He was well-known for his Jezreel Valley feat He’d given his heart and soul to it. So although he hadn’t sought it, he was elected to the Yishuv Central. It became his life’s work…

  Well, that work now had a new frontier. “Next week,” Dovid was saying to Dvora, “the Agency is sending me to Paris to try and negotiate a tract of land Baron Rothschild owns. He’s been adamant about selling, but I’ll wait till hell freezes if necessary. We need it for resettlement and we need it now.”

  “Where is the land?”

  “Near Transjordan.”

  “Why there?”

  “When we become a nation—as I know we will—eventually we’re going to have to secure our borders, and the more settlements we have in that area the stronger our position will be.”

  “Dovid, you really think that we have a chance of becoming a nation?”

  “If I didn’t, then I’d go to America and get into the jewelry business with Chavala.” He tried to keep the trace of bitterness out of his voice, and didn’t entirely succeed.

  Dvora shook her head. She remembered well how much Chavala had sacrificed. Without Chavala the farm wouldn’t be so green and lush. Without Chavala, Pnina might have gone blind. She only prayed that Dovid could permit himself to remember also, but it would not do to remind him now. “Well, I pray you’re right, Dovid … I mean about us having our own country … And now I had better get on with lunch.”

  Dovid got down from the fence, picked up the heavy basket of food and walked with Dvora across the field.

  Reuven, not surprisingly, had refused, been unable to face Dovid’s leaving. He’d closed his mind to it, but the wonderful days with him had come to an end, and now he stood looking at his father in their parting moments. “When will you be back, abba?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

  “As soon as I return from Paris.”

  “Well… have a good trip.” He looked away.

  “Better than good, please. Hope I succeed. Wish me luck.”

  Reuven nodded. “I do … you’ll write?”

  “Every day.” They looked at one another, then slowly, Dovid placed his hands on Reuven’s shoulders, drew him close. Then he quickly separated himself from his son, “Take care, Reuven … and remember what I told you about the gun … only in self-defense … only when there is no other alternative.”

  “I will.”

  “Good …I love you, son.”

  Quickly Dovid got in the car and started the engine. Reuven stood watching as the car disappeared in the distance, then walked slowly to the fields, where he lay down among the clump of eucalyptus trees and cried until he fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THIS PARTING HAD BEEN even more difficult than the first for Chavala, but as the days became weeks and the weeks turned to months, she worked harder than ever before. Her goal … to make enough money to bring all her family together … was reinforced by her need to blunt the pain of separation.

  On this particular day Chavala sat in the shop going over the books, as she did so often, but today she just could not concentrate.

  After closing the store, Chavala pulled down the shades and said to Moishe, “I went to see Mr. Leibowitz.”

  “What about?”

  “Well, I told him that I was very grateful for the kind of living we’re making, but that it’s not really enough for our needs. He sent me to Hammerstein’s, and I’ve been offered a line on commission.”

  Moishe could hardly speak.

  “Why are you so shocked, Moishe?”

  Which was the same question she had asked Mr. Leibowitz. He hadn’t exactly sent her to Hammerstein’s the way she said. She’d asked, “How can you make money in jewelry without owning a retail store?”

  “Well, for you it’s not, I want to tell you that right away, but a man can take on a line, go on the road and make a good living. They pay five percent on gross sales.”

  “So, if I sold twenty thousand dollars’ worth, I’d get one thousand dollars?”

  “Well, not you, Chavala, but a salesman—”

  “Why not me, Mr. Leibowitz?”

  Her even considering it was so out of the question that Mr. Leibowitz could only shrug.

  “Why are you so shocked? Just because I’m not a man?”

  He nodded, mumbled, “Yes … I suppose that’s what I mean … Chavala, a woman does not go on the road with a line. It’s not for a woman, believe me.”

  Chavala smiled. “You know, Mr. Leibowitz, we Jews had a general once, her name was Deborah, and I bet she didn’t even go to college, let alone on the road.”

  Mr. Leibowitz had to smile back.

  “Listen, I read the newspapers, not just Yiddish, but the New York Times. I read about a lady who’s helping women plan their families, not get worn out by so many kids they all starve. And also about one woman being responsible for having no more whiskey in this country … You know, Prohibition, it’s called. Well, if those women could do that, then certainly I can take a line.”

  The smile froze. “This is a different story, they didn’t have to shlep a case of merchandise from one city to
another—”

  “True. One, however, did shlep an ax.” She laughed. “Besides, I figure there are enough stores right here in New York so I won’t have to travel. Now, Mr. Leibowitz, as my dear friend, please tell me who would give me a line.”

  He shook his head. If Chavala said she wanted a line, nothing would stop her. “All right, already, you’ll go see Hammerstein. Maybe … maybe he would listen to you.” But he devoutly hoped not. For her own good.

  “Mr. Leibowitz, how can I thank you? And please come to dinner tonight…”

  Now it was Moishe saying, “A woman salesman? I don’t understand, Chavala—”

  “Listen, Moishe, I can sell as good as any man. I know it…”

  “That’s not the point. A woman shouldn’t travel alone, and besides, what will you do with the baby?”

  “I’ll answer the first. I wouldn’t travel, only at most to upstate New York, and mostly right around Manhattan here. As for the baby, thank God he’s getting along fine, staying the days with Mrs. Zuckerman. I’ll still pick him up in the evening, like I do now.”

  Moishe, who understood what it was to be outgunned, shrugged and said, “I can’t stop you. God help you and good luck.”

  “Thank you, Moishe, you’ll see. And soon well be able to open a store.”

  Chavala had her hair bobbed, which had become the style, and she carefully watched how the ladies in Manhattan were dressed when they walked on Fifth Avenue. She shopped for a nice matching skirt and jacket at Gimbels, navy blue, and a white silk blouse. She bought navy shoes and a bag, then went to the cosmetic department and for the first time bought lipstick.

  Not only was Moishe shocked by the transformation in Chavala, but Mr. Hammerstein was speechless. She was beautiful. If he had had any misgivings about Chavala as a salesman he surely didn’t now. Besides, he’d been won over by her charm, her smarts, her ability to make him feel her confidence that she could sell anything she put her mind to. But this he hadn’t bargained for.

  And Chavala proved she could do just what she said. She didn’t worry about failure. She wouldn’t let herself even consider it. And fear … ? She’d killed two men so her family could survive. She should worry about being turned down by a buyer, about looks or questions? It made no difference how long she had to wait to see the buyer, she waited. She was never coy, she didn’t use womanly devices to sell, except to try to look good. Sure, at first there was some resistance because she was a woman, but it could be handled. She obviously was a curiosity. Well, the little white lies she told didn’t damage the quality of her merchandise. How long had she been in the business? … All her life. She had been born a jeweler. Came from a long line of European jewelers. Cut her eyeteeth on her mother’s diamond bracelet, and so forth.