“I’ll try…but I don’t know very much about God,” she said quietly, closing the door behind her.
Mother Teresa could not dismiss Rachel from her mind. The inner beauty she had was being crushed, it was understandable how such a girl could be drawn to the Church…Catholicism was a compelling religion and it had all the ingredients that would draw a young girl who felt unloved and had virtually no faith to sustain her. It was difficult to resist the compassionate eyes of Jesus as He looked down from the cross, difficult not to be touched by the sight of the son who lay in his mother’s arms both as man and child…from the manger to the cross. Of course Rachel had been affected by it and had interpreted it as her way out, but that was not the reason to become a nun. Mother Teresa felt she had done the right thing, but she prayed that God would ease the path for Rachel…
Rachel willed herself to forget the moment of what she considered her deliverance when she felt that she had been called, and turned to try and find solace among her own. She did not find companionship but she did find a great beauty in the history of the Jews and their struggle for survival through five thousand years. She also found a great many new confusions about her family. Her father often said how difficult it was for American Jews to hold on to their beliefs and perpetuate their faith while living in a gentile world. How wrong he was. He seemed totally oblivious to the fact that every Friday night Jews worshipped with their families at temple services—in Oakland, California, of all places. To her knowledge, he had never made the effort to cling to the faith he so often said he had been deprived of. Through the months of study she began to realize that it wasn’t that papa couldn’t have held on to his religion. She knew in her heart it wasn’t just America that had changed him, but that he had fallen away from the tradition because of other needs that she didn’t fully understand.
She began to feel that one must have faith and an understanding of one’s religion if one was to understand who and what one was. She knew she would always remain a Jew, in spite of the fact there was nothing at home to sustain her faith, and no matter where she might go, or who she might be with…
CHAPTER THIRTY
IN DECEMBER THE HOUSES on the Sanders’ street were transformed with holly draped around window frames and fragrant wreaths with red satin ribbons that hung on the doors. Through the windows could be seen the trees that glittered with lights and strands of silver tinsel. It was a time for presents and Santa Claus, a time of brotherhood and good will, midnight Mass and Christmas pudding.
Doris and Lillian went up and down the block, captivated by a world of make-believe and enchantment. Doris loved beauty so, and she longed to reach out and embrace what in her heart she felt she was being deprived of…
When she took Lillian downtown and saw the rush of holiday shoppers, a loneliness came down on her.
The stores were all shimmering with silver icicles.
On the corner a man dressed in red flannel with a long white beard tinkled a silver bell and called out “Merry Christmas” to the passers-by.
Parents and children pressed down the store aisles, their arms laden with packages in green-and-red ribbons and holiday wrappings.
The two girls took the elevator to the toy department, where Lillian played with the beautiful dolls, then wound up a toy and watched it in wonder as it walked away, turned around, then fell on its side. The most fun of all was the red-and-yellow automobile, just large enough for one. Lillian pedaled up and down until she was pulled up by the shoulders and told in no uncertain terms that she was to leave the department.
“You take your hands off my sister,” Doris said, looking up what seemed like ten feet into the eyes of the lady manager. The woman’s lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed. “Then you tell your sister to join you, young lady, and leave immediately.”
Doris stood her ground. “We will if we want. This is a free country—”
“But the things in this department aren’t.”
Doris gave her a dirty look. “All right, Lillian, we’re not going to buy the skates and the car in this lousy store.” She took Lillian’s hand, and with all the dignity she possessed she kicked the manager in the shins.
They ran through the crowds, ducking and weaving, until they found themselves on the street in front of Capwell’s Department Store.
Catching her breath, Lillian looked up at Doris and asked, “Were you really going to buy the skates and car for me?”
“Well…not really. I just wanted to show that terrible person she couldn’t treat you that way.”
Disappointment written on her face, Lillian said, “I wish you were…but anyway you were nice to say so.”
“Maybe next year…” Her face brightening, she said, “You know what, Lillian?”
“What?”
“I’ve got money. Let’s go to the Pig and Whistle for ice cream.” …
They sat in a booth, looking at a menu. The prices were a little higher than Doris had expected: hot fudge sundaes were twenty-five cents, marshmallow and chocolate was twenty-five cents, maple and—
“What are you girls going to have?” the waitress asked.
Without hesitation Lillian replied, “I’m going to have a banana split.”
Thirty-five cents…Doris almost fainted; they wouldn’t have enough for carfare. “Lillian, I don’t think you should have that. You won’t be able to eat dinner…”
“Oh, it won’t spoil my appetite.”
“What are you going to have?” the lady asked as she took in Doris’ pudgy form.
“A glass of water, please…”
Doris watched as Lillian devoured the sundae. First the maraschino cherry found its way to Lillian’s mouth, then a spoonful of vanilla ice cream, next chocolate, then strawberry and a dab of whipped cream.
“Is it good?” Doris asked, her mouth watering.
“It’s okay. You want a bite?”
“Well, maybe a little one.” She reached across with a teaspoon and helped herself to the three flavors.
“Why don’t you take some more?”
Doris was about to accept but just then she looked up and saw the waitress passing by. “No, it’ll spoil my appetite.” She drank the water.
After Lillian had scraped the bottom of the dish she wiped her mouth and asked, “What are we going to do now?”
“Walk home.”
“Walk!”
“Sure, it’s not far.”
“Doris, we can’t walk home. We’ll never make it…”
“Of course we will.”
Lillian sighed. After all, Doris was older and if she said so…
After they had walked seventeen blocks, though, Lillian sat on the curb and panted. “I can’t go any further.”
Doris sat down next to her. She had raised a blister on her heel. “Just rest. Tell you what, let’s pretend we’re explorers or Indian scouts.”
“I don’t want to be an Indian scout…let’s take the streetcar.”
“It’s so close to home. You can make it, Lillian.”
Lillian grimaced. “Okay, I’ll try, but if I can’t make it can we take the streetcar?”
“Absolutely.”
The last twelve blocks proved almost beyond their endurance and Lillian began to cry. “I think you’re mean, Doris.”
Doris took out her handkerchief and wiped Lillian’s nose. “I’m sorry, let’s sit on the curb.”
“Why didn’t we take the streetcar?”
“Because I lost the carfare.”
“You did? Where?”
“When we left the Pig and Whistle.”
“Oh, gosh, I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be, but don’t say anything or they’ll think I’m not a responsible person.”
“I won’t, Doris.”
“Well, sometimes you forget.”
“But I won’t this time, promise.”
“Okay, let’s start for home. Pretend you’re an Indian going through the woods.”
“I’d rather
be Becky Thatcher.”
“Okay, be Becky Thatcher.” …
Doris walked the last few blocks home without shoes. The throbbing blister was running and red…It was killing her.
When they got home they were hardly able to make it up the stairs. They flopped onto the bed in Doris’ room. Bed had never felt so good, Doris thought, and she was never more grateful than at this moment that mama was out grocery shopping.
“See,” she said to Lillian, “it helped being Becky Thatcher.”
But Lillian was already fast asleep.
On Sunday night the family was sitting down to dinner when Doris asked, “Mama, could we have a Christmas tree?”
Jacob put down his fork and looked at Doris. “No, and don’t ever mention it again.” Unaccountably, the memory of Patrick O’Leary sprang to his mind. “Not ever.”
“Why not, Jacob? They see it all around them. Where are we living, in Palestine?”
“Damn it, Sara, when I say no, I mean no!”
“That frightens me a lot. We live among goyim, so they—”
“I said I don’t want them to have it. It’s up to you to see that they get a little religious training.”
“Really? With Father Gallagher and Pat Heanny and the rest of our goy neighbors?”
“Why don’t you join a synagogue and become active, meet some other Jews?”
“Wearing what? The beautiful clothes you buy me? Besides, when do I have time with this big house? My religion is cook-and-clean. We don’t even go to a movie or take a vacation—”
Rachel had had enough. “You should hear yourselves. Doris asked for a Christmas tree and instead of answering her you’re having your own personal fight. Why didn’t either one of you explain to her why? I think you’re both awful—”
Sara got up and slapped her. “Don’t you ever dare talk like that again—”
It stung but Rachel didn’t flinch. Instead she ran out of the room, up the stairs, slammed and locked the door, then lay down on the bed and cried as though she could never stop.
Jacob was stunned by Rachel’s behavior but also deeply upset that Sara had slapped her.
Doris wished she could die. It was all her fault. If only God would strike her deaf and dumb…Why couldn’t she learn to keep her mouth shut? “I don’t want a Christmas tree.”
“If you want it, you can have it,” Sara said adamantly. “It’s only a tree. Christmas has nothing to do with it.”
Jacob got up and ran up the stairs, with Doris going after him. When she walked into her parents’ bedroom she saw that he was flinging clothes into a suitcase.
“What are you doing, papa?”
“Leaving—”
“I don’t want a tree. Please, papa, I don’t…”
But Jacob didn’t hear her.
Doris heard the back door slam, then the sound of screeching tires and a sharp turn out of the driveway. Then…nothing. Nothing but the sound of her own fear…She knocked on Rachel’s door. Crying, she called out, “It’s me, Rachel. Can I come in?”
She heard the sound of the key.
When the door opened she saw her sister’s tear-stained face.
“Rachel, papa left and it’s all my fault—”
“No, it’s not, Doris. If they had any understanding none of this would have happened—”
“But, I shouldn’t have mentioned the tree.”
“The tree had nothing to do with it…don’t cry. They’ll make up. They need each other. Believe me…”
“They won’t, Rachel. Papa was awfully mad and if they get a divorce it will be my—”
“Listen, Doris. If they do it will be their fault. They’re taking their troubles out on us.”
“I don’t understand any of it, Rachel.”
“How could you? They don’t even understand themselves.”
“But I’m eleven years old.”
“And I’m sixteen…so what. Come and sit down…”
Doris settled herself on the edge of the bed.
“Now listen to me, Doris. The reason we shouldn’t have a Christmas tree is because we’re Jewish and Jews should be faithful to their religion. Christmas is for Christians, and to have a tree would be like stealing something that doesn’t belong to us. Do you understand?”
“No exactly…Yes, I kinda do. But it’s all so beautiful, Rachel, and we don’t have anything…Nothing beautiful, I mean.”
“Yes, we do, Doris, only mama and papa don’t try to show us.”
“Show us what?”
“Chanukah. It’s not all tinsel and trees, Doris. But I’ve been going to Temple Sinai and I know there’s a lot to our religion that is beautiful.”
“What’s Chanukah?”
“It’s sort of like Christmas. We have a menorah—that’s a candelabrum—and one more candle is lit each night for eight nights.”
“Yeah, but that’s not really like Christmas, Rachel. Gee, downtown everyone is buying presents…”
“Well, at Chanukah we’re supposed to give presents. In fact, the girls that go to confirmation class have been bringing in their presents to show them off.”
“They get presents?”
“Yes, one every day for eight days.”
“Gee. How come we don’t?”
“Because we’re Jews in name only, and our parents don’t seem to realize what we’re missing.”
“Golly, it really is all mixed-up. How come you know so much?”
“Well, thanks to mama I learned it at St. Frances, through Mother Teresa. I have her to thank. You know, Doris, I even wanted to be a nun…”
“Oh, my God. Papa would have really been mad. If he didn’t even want a tree in the house—my gosh, Rachel!”
“Well, don’t worry. I’m all over that.”
“How come you never told me about going to confirmation class? And what’s that, anyway?”
“It’s sort of like when Gina Soracchi had her first communion, remember? You said she looked like a little bride.” Rachel smiled. “You love brides…Well, anyway, our confirmation isn’t quite like that, but it’s lovely and all the girls wear white dresses.”
“And veils?”
“No, but it’s beautiful.”
“You still didn’t say how come you never told mama and papa.”
“Because I didn’t think anyone would care…”
“Where did you get the money?”
“From my summer job. I saved most of it.”
“Gosh, you’re terrific. I’d sure like to be confirmed…”
“Well, you’re a little too young. The truth is, I’m a little older than I should be, but the rabbi is a wonderful man and he helped me a lot.”
“And you never said a word about it…”
“Who cares?”
“I do.”
“Well, then, why don’t you tell mama you want to go to Sunday school and that Lillian should go too?”
“You think I should?”
“Yes, it’s about time we all found out why people don’t like us. One of the reasons we don’t like being Jewish is because other people make us feel inferior, but the rabbi says we’re the ones the whole world copied and we should be proud of our heritage. We gave our Ten Commandments to everyone, and the Bible too.”
“Gosh…you’re so smart, Rachel. I love you—even though I haven’t always felt that way. Besides, you’re a swell person.”
“Thanks, Doris, so are you. It’s a shame we weren’t taught to love each other more—”
“I thought you just loved someone. No one taught me to love Lillian.”
“Well, you have to have some examples…most people don’t treat their children the way our parents do. Who talks against their children the way mama does? You’d think she had the rottenest kids in the world. If we grow up with an inferiority complex it won’t be just the Christians who did it to us.” Rachel looked at Doris for a moment. “I’m going to the high holy days…to temple.”
“Can I go?”
�
��If you want to.”
“I’d love to.”
“Then we’ll go together.”
“Do you think mama and papa would be upset?”
“If they are, that’s their problem.”
“Can we take Lillian?”
“Sure.”
“Where will we get the money?”
“We’ll just walk in. We’re really supposed to be members to get regular seats, but we’ll find a place.”
“You think I should talk to mama about Sunday school and all…I mean tonight?”
“I’d wait until tomorrow, Doris.”
“You know, Rachel, sometimes I feel sort of…sorry for her.”
“I do too—because she’s so mixed up—but I don’t love her, Doris. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
“Don’t you love papa either?”
“I used to…a lot. When I was a little girl, I thought he loved me too. That was before you were born, but he’s changed—or maybe mama changed him, I don’t know. Anyway, I’m going to be of age in another year…”
“What are you going to do then?”
“I’m going to college.”
“College?”
“Yes, I want to make something of myself. I don’t want to be like mama.”
“I’m going on the stage.”
“If that’s what you want, I hope you make it.”
“That’s what I want.” …
Doris lay awake for a long time that night, thinking about her parents and about the things Rachel had told her. She still found it all very confusing but when she finally fell asleep it was with the happy thought of going to Sunday school…
Down the hall Sara lay alone in the dark with many confused thoughts too. She missed Jacob terribly and berated herself for not being able to bend to his will, but she couldn’t give in the way Gittel gave in to Hershel. Sometimes she felt that she had to fight to prevent her family from consuming her identity, but at the same time she really loved them and wanted to protect them, make a good home for them. She was always there when they came home from school, but they seemed to appreciate so little of what she tried to do for them…especially Rachel. She didn’t want to hurt Rachel, but Rachel should be old enough to try to understand her for a change.
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