No Time for Tears

by Cynthia Freeman

  The next day the shopping for Dvora, Pnina and Sheine began. For Raizel, there was no choice … she would wear black silk with a white lace collar, as well as a black sheitel.

  Standing in front of the triple mirror at Bergdorfs, Dvora looked at herself in the pink flowered chiffon and hardly recognized herself. A far cry from overalls. Viewing her reflection in the mirror, Chavala said, “It’s perfect, Dvora, that’s the one, it’s lovely …”

  Looking at the price tag, Dvora said, “I really don’t know what to say.”

  Chavala understood. “What is there to say? It’s gorgeous. Of everything you tried on, that’s the one. End of discussion.”

  Dvora was still reluctant.

  Chavala decided she needed an ally. She went to the adjacent fitting room and brought Sheine back with her. The two sisters then surveyed Dvora solemnly and with great care.

  “Why in the world are you hesitating?” Sheine finally asked.

  “Well,” Dvora said, “it’s so expensive, and when will I wear it again—?”

  “To Zvi’s bar mitzvah. You’re taking it. Am I right, Sheine?” Chavala said.

  “You’re absolutely right. Now, what do you think of mine?”

  “What could be better with your coloring? You were always at your best in blue.”

  Sheine laughed. “I wasn’t thinking so much of the color. How does it look with my bulging belly?”

  “Like tailor-made. With all those flounces, no one will even see. Now, let’s see how Julie’s getting on with her bulging belly.”

  The three sisters walked into Julie’s dressing room, just as she was slipping into a hyacinth silk maternity dress. Julie looked first at herself in the mirror, then at her sisters-in-law. Laughing, she asked, “Do you think anyone would know I was pregnant?”

  “Never in a million years,” Chavala said. “And now we have the most important dress of all to buy … Pnina’s.”

  Dvora asked, “What about you?”

  “Mine I already have. I am, after all, big sister of the bride-to-be.”

  The day of days for Chia had arrived. Chavala, up early, brought her sister the nuptial breakfast on a bed tray. Placing it before Chia, she said, eyes gleaming, “It’s very important for a bride to eat. You’ll need your strength this day. Now don’t take too long, we have a million things to do …”

  Chia looked up at Chavala, reached out her arms and hugged her. “Chavala. I don’t know what to say. You’ve made us … me in particular … so happy. We owe so much to you … you’re what’s held us all together …”

  Chavala could say nothing, but allowed herself the thought that maybe the decision she made that day so long ago, standing on the dock in Jaffa, had been the right one after all …

  By two o’clock the pews at Rodeph Shalom were filled with family and close friends. As the organ played softly, Chavala, Dovid, Chia, and the wedding party waited in the foyer. Chavala looked at Chia, dressed in her white jewel-encrusted satin gown and fifteen-foot train edged with heirloom lace and could not quite believe her eyes. She quickly kissed Chia on the cheek and placed the short veil over her face.

  Dovid looked at Chavala … at his wife … beautiful, a queen … the mauve of her tissue taffeta gown, trimmed with Alençon lace, embellished the delicacy of her porcelainlike skin. Her deep blue eyes sparkled and there was an inner peace that seemed to shine in her face. But she was just as beautiful that late Saturday after Shabbes when they’d stood shivering in the dirty, cold little shul, pledging their troth. He saw her clearly, dressed in a peasant skirt and blouse, a shawl over her head. Yes, indeed, Chavala was beautiful, perhaps even more so then than today … the world had been so new, just like their love. What they had done that day had been an act of faith in themselves, in life. He only hoped it would not be lost…

  His thoughts were interrupted as the sounds of Lohengrin filled the sanctuary and spilled out into the foyer. The moment had arrived. As the doors opened, Pnina, dressed in white embroidered organdy with a pink satin sash around her waist, was the first in the procession, scattering rose petals from a basket she carried. Dovid, in a gray cutaway, stood at Chia’s right—he would give her away. Chavala was at her left. The three walked slowly into the sanctuary with the bridesmaids, dressed in delicate pink tulle and carrying nosegays of baby roses and orchids, following.

  To one side of the altar stood Lenny with Reuven as his best man. Joshua, as ring bearer, held the satin pillow. On the other side stood the four ushers. When they reached the altar, Dovid kissed Chia’s cheek, then took his place and stood next to Chia, as Lenny’s parents approached the altar, standing for their son.

  The ceremony began, the rabbi explaining the responsibilities of marriage and the sanctity of union…

  Chavala and Dovid listened, each with their private thoughts, each remembering their wedding day, feeling a renewal and also a fear over the effect of their separation. Well, each in his fashion was a survivor, Dovid thought. Especially Chavala…

  For all Chavala’s planning, though, Raizel had declined to attend the ceremony; her sons would not worship in a place where women and men were not separated and yarmulkes were not worn. Chavala had respected their feelings, but their absence hurt.

  Well, the loss was theirs, Chavala thought, as she heard the rabbi say the magical words, “Do you, Leonard, take Chia to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to honor, to cherish until death do you part?”

  Solemnly he answered, “I do.”

  “And do you, Chia, take Leonard to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and obey through sickness and health until death do you part?”

  “I do.”

  The rabbi asked for the ring, which Joshua proudly came forward to offer.

  Taking up the ring, Leonard held it as the rabbi said, “Repeat after me … With this ring, I thee do wed.”

  The ring was then placed on Chia’s finger as the rabbi said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife, and may you live according to God’s laws. You may now kiss the bride.”

  Picking up Chia’s face veil, Lenny looked at her for a moment, then kissed her, deeply and fully. He then proceeded to stomp on the wine glass inside the napkin, and the new Mr. and Mrs. Leonard Moscowitz turned and walked five feet off the ground until they reached the foyer, where once again, Lenny kissed her and said, “And I meant every word of it, Mrs. Moscowitz.”

  “And me too, Mr. Moscowitz.”

  Quickly now he took her by the hand and they hurried down the steps to where a hired limousine waited. Shortly after the newlyweds arrived at the side entrance of the Plaza two additional limousines stopped in front of the main entrance and the family was helped out by the doorman.

  When Dovid stepped into the lobby and saw Raizel and her sons sitting on the red damask sofa in their long black coats and wide-brimmed hats, he bristled. They had been waiting here during the ceremony. Instead of following the family to the main ballroom he walked over to them and said, “Take off those hats and check them. You are not in Mea Shearim. You will show manners and respect. And as for you, Raizel, God would have forgiven you had you seen your youngest sister married … temples are also houses of worship. And as for you,” he said to his pious nephews, “when you lay tefillin tonight, ask the One Above to forgive you for offending your aunt Chavala.” With that, he walked away and joined the others in the reception line.

  Finally, after the good wishes and congratulations, the guests moved into the ballroom, where corks began popping.

  Champagne glass in hand, Chavala wove through the crowd to where her very dear friends stood back, observing the festivities. Putting her arm around the landsman, she said, “You look so handsome dressed in your navy blue suit. I think you’re the best-looking man here.”

  He laughed. “If you think so, I wouldn’t contradict you, Chavala,” and then, almost shyly, he said, “I can’t get over you asking me to your beautiful simcha.”

  “Would I have anything as important as a wedding and no
t have you, and Benny?”

  All he could say was, “God has blessed me by knowing you.”

  She looked directly into the eyes of her friend. Without him this simcha could never have happened. “And God blessed me with your generosity.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek, then went to her friend Mr. Leibowitz, who stood with Yetta Korn. The memories they evoked … how lucky for her the day she walked into his shop … Kissing him too, she said, “You shared so much with me … helped me so much. For that there are no thanks. I’m proud to have you share this day with me, and you, too, Yetta. Today would not be so rich for me if you hadn’t been here.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” she said laughing. “It’s always a pleasure to see a pearl-stringer get up in life …”

  Now the guests were seated at round tables, and dinner began.

  Chavala looked down the length of the bridal table at her family. Imagine the miracle of it all … from the ghettos of Russia they had come, from the pogroms they had fled, and today they sat at the Plaza Hotel in New York City … indeed her cup did runneth over, until she noticed Raizel and her sons not eating.

  Casually, she hoped, she got up and walked to the end of the table where Raizel and her sons were seated.

  “Are you feeling all right, Raizel? The boys?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “Then why aren’t any of you eating?”

  “Because my mother won’t eat off the plates, and she wouldn’t eat the chicken,” Boris, the oldest, answered promptly, ignoring his uncle Dovid’s earlier words. Well, neither he nor anyone else would make them go against their convictions.

  My God, thought Chavala as she looked down at the chicken sitting untouched on the plate, this was really too much. “I ordered a kosher dinner—”

  “My mother still won’t eat it.”

  Chavala, fighting her annoyance, called for the maitre d’ and asked for kosher cottage cheese to be substituted, adding that it should be served on paper plates. She then went back to the long table and sat down once again next to Dovid. Her face, in spite of her efforts to conceal her emotions, was tight. She did not touch her food.

  “What’s the matter?” Dovid asked her.

  She shrugged, “Nothing, dear, nothing. Everything’s fine—”

  “No it isn’t,” he said as he saw the food being placed in front of Raizel and her sons. “Raizel’s become a meshuggeneh, a fanatic. And as for her sons, I’d like to wring their necks. How do you put up with this nonsense? If the food’s not kosher enough for them, then let them starve.”

  “Don’t be upset, Dovid … please … the day is far too important for that.” She took up her champagne glass. “Here’s to you, Dovid … to the best man a woman was ever lucky enough to have as a husband. I mean that, darling, even if sometimes what I do doesn’t seem to live up to my words—”

  Before he could answer, the photographer began to gather the family together for picture-taking. First the bride alone … then the bride and groom … the flashbulbs went off as the five sisters, Chia in the center, stood beaming … the in-laws together … Sheine and Gunter with Chavala and Dovid … Ari, Dvora and their children … Julie and Moishe … then all the children, Joshua stage-center. The last photograph was of the whole family.

  The music began, the bride and groom danced alone to “Oh, how we danced on the night we were wed.” Then Dovid and Chavala, Ari and Dvora, Moishe and Julie, Sheine and Gunter joined them on the dance floor.

  When Joannie Joseph, Chia’s mentor at Hunter, danced with Reuven, she almost forgot he was a mere eighteen. Feeling herself in Reuven’s strong, muscled arms, she thought it would take very little to convert her into a dedicated Zionist… Damn, if only he were a little older…

  Dovid and Chavala laughed as they watched five-year-old Joshua dancing with seven-year-old Pnina …

  Dvora and Ari watched their ten-year-old Zvi dance with one of the bridesmaids, who barely came up to his shoulder. “You know, Ari,” said Dvora, “I think we’ve produced a generation of giants … Zvi’s taller than the girl.”

  “It’s the wide open spaces of Palestine … gives them plenty of room to grow in….”

  And now Chia was in Dovid’s arms. “This is the happiest day of my life, Dovid, and not only because of Lenny. You were here to give me away in marriage … I’ve always thought of you as my father … thank you, abba.”

  “Well, Chia, you were always my little girl …” In fact, my baby, he thought, remembering the night she was born … “I only hope for you to be half this happy the rest of the days of your life,” and then he relinquished her into the arms of her husband.

  The band struck up “Hava Nagilah” and the circle formed. An ancient tradition was perpetuated. The bride and groom were hoisted on chairs held aloft on the shoulders of her cousins, who circled the room with the newlyweds. The rest of the guests joined in the procession.

  As the landsman sat watching, he said to Benny, “You see, that’s what you call tradition. At another wedding in this fancy Plaza Hotel, this you wouldn’t see. I guarantee you.”

  And Mr. Leibowitz remembered that at his wedding in Minsk more than fifty years ago he too had been held aloft, high above the crowd with his wife … like a king and queen …

  And Lenny’s mother and father, third-generation Americans, well, they thought the scene a little strange.

  Gunter didn’t quite know what to make of it, the Jewish weddings he had attended in Berlin were little different than the non-Jewish…

  And Sheine thought that Chavala had managed to combine the unorthodox with the orthodox, the beauty of the old that did not seem out of place with the new…

  Introduced by a drum roll, the orchestra leader asked that everyone be seated for the cake-cutting. Chia, her hand in Lenny’s, made the first cut as the camera recorded the moment.

  And now, all the months of planning and preparations came to an end as the bride, dressed in her tea-rose yellow silk suit, and the bridegroom in his gray flannel, rushed down the steps of the Plaza Hotel to the Buick convertible that Chavala had given them as a wedding gift.

  The guests dispersed. The family went back to Chavala’s apartment to spend a quiet evening together.

  A light supper of cold cuts was laid out, along with a sterling-silver coffee service. Everyone helped himself, then took coffee into the living room, where the men talked about politics and the sisters about the past…

  As usual with such reminiscences, the good was remembered, and what at the time had seemed sad, tragic, now became almost humorous, its sting drowned by the palliative of time … Nobody made strudel like mama … once again they heard the sounds of Yankel’s rickety milk cart making its morning rounds … Itzik, the butter-and-egg vendor, falling in the mud, all his eggs broken. Looking back now as they sat in Chavala’s well-appointed living room, the hut in Odessa seemed a place where they’d spent their most treasured years … Passover was remembered with mama and papa, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and the simple joys at Chanukah … Chavala laughed as she told about the time she’d almost become intoxicated stealing and sampling the cherries from mama’s jug of brandy … the winter nights huddled around the warm tile oven. In their poverty it seemed there was a feeling of togetherness greater than any of them had ever known since … Or so it now seemed…

  The moment lightened as Chavala said, “And the thing I’ll never forget is when we were on our way to the Galilee. The donkey lay down and died. Dovid wasn’t a bit upset, he just picked up one pole, told Moishe to take the other, and lo and behold, we finally somehow made it…”

  Sheine remembered the day “we walked through the bazaars at Jaffa. I never said anything, but I wanted those harem bracelets and gold jeweled sandals so badly I thought my heart would break. I dreamed about them for weeks …”

  Julie, listening, tried to build images for herself. “What was Moishe like as a little boy?”

  The sisters looked at. each other, and Dvora finally answered. “You know
, I don’t remember him ever being a little boy … but I do remember the way he looked in the red Turkish fez … and the gold dagger in the sash around his waist. He asked if he could be taken for a Turk and Sheine told him no, not with his red hair—”

  “His hair was that red then?” Julie asked, surprised.

  “Like fire … I’m glad it calmed down some, and with the streaks of silver I have to admit he’s almost handsome … even if he is my brother.”

  “And I’d have to agree, even if he is my husband … Well, since we’re on that subject, I think I’ll have Mr. Handsome take his future son’s mother home. It’s been a long and wonderful day,” she said, getting up and taking Chavala’s hand. “The wedding was perfect … I’ll never forget it, Chavala.”

  As they all followed suit, Chavala suddenly had a sinking feeling … when would they do this again, be together like this?

  The sisters looked at each other, all sharing Chavala’s thought. It was Sheine who said, “Julie’s right, none of us will ever forget it. But the very best of all was the family being together.”

  After the door had closed on the last of them, Chavala returned to Dovid in the living room. “Well, Dovid, we’ve seen them all grown and married. Let’s pray that God lets us be present at our grandchildren’s weddings.”

  He took her in his arms. “From your lips to God’s ears.”

  Before going to Chavala’s bedroom, they stopped at Reuven’s door, looked in on their sleeping sons.

  The night now belonged only to them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHIA SAT AT THE DRESSING table in their suite at the St. Regis Hotel, only a few blocks from the Plaza, the scene of her wedding reception, and studied her reflection. Was that the face of the girl of yesterday? Hardly. A woman had happened last night. She’d heard stories about what a letdown the wedding night could be. Well, not in her case. Not by a long shot. Lenny had been tender, and then fierce, she had been able to respond, the new feeling in her body as much a surprise as it was a profound pleasure and relief. She was brought out of her delicious reverie by Lenny kissing the back of her neck. Draped in a towel around his middle he said, “The bathroom, madam, is yours.”