Portraits

by Cynthia Freeman

  His anger was no greater than Doris’ fears. The flowers, the organ and the flickering candles made her feel faint. She prayed she wouldn’t throw up as she almost had at Isabelle’s funeral. Please, let it be over. She didn’t want to be here, it wasn’t at all like Sunday school.

  Rachel sat watching her mother and smiling to herself. If the lights went out, mama would fall asleep. The only thing that was important to mama about this occasion was the new clothes. My, how regally she had descended the stairs, as if she were a queen.

  Lillian squirmed in her seat. She opened and closed her purse, tugged at her white cotton gloves and looked around the sanctuary at the solemn faces. Her lovely brown eyes looked up to the vaulted ceiling, then across to the balcony. She counted the ladies dressed in red, then in green, orchid and blue. The red were more predominant. Suddenly she felt mama’s arm on hers. “Stand up when everyone else does.”

  Lillian bolted up and then watched mama carefully for her next cue. Suddenly the congregation was seated once again.

  The president of the temple rose to make a few announcements about upcoming events. Then the rabbi wished him a happy Rosh Hashanah and shook his hand and the president took his place next to the cantor. After the rabbi intoned the benediction, the cantor came forward and the entire congregation—except the Sanderses—sang the closing hymn.

  The Lord of all, who reigned supreme,

  Ere first creation’s form was framed;

  When all was finished by His will,

  His name Almighty was proclaimed…

  It went on for four more stanzas. And for this Jacob had paid one hundred and twenty-five dollars for seats? What kind of a temple asked money for tickets? It was like going to the Orpheum.

  Toward the end of the service the mourners’ Kaddish was said.

  As Lillian started to stand, she was held down by Sara. It was certainly very confusing. First she was told to get up when everyone else did, and here mama and papa were standing and a lot of other people were saying something in a foreign language: “Yis-ga-dal, v’yis-ka-dash.”

  She whispered to Rachel, “First mama wants me to stand, then she doesn’t. How come we’re not and mama and papa are?”

  “Because you’re not supposed to if your parents are alive. It’s a prayer for the dead.”

  Doris overheard and started to tremble inside. She felt ill throughout the Kaddish and the concluding hymn. She was never more relieved than when the rabbi pronounced the benediction and she saw the congregation leaving their pews and walking up the aisle. Once outside, she took a breath and exhaled deeply. People stood on the broad stone steps between the beautiful marble columns, exchanging holiday greetings with family and friends. For once she didn’t envy the conversations in which she had no part.

  Making their way through the crowd, the Sanderses walked up the street to the parking lot and got into their Dodge sedan.

  Jacob started the engine and drove out. Silence prevailed. No wishes for a happy Rosh Hashanah, no embraces or kisses, nothing…

  Rachel pursed her lips in the dark. What could she have expected? Her parents just didn’t have any feeling for their religion. Money was papa’s god and martyrdom was mama’s. Or so it seemed to her seventeen-year-old mind.

  Halfway home the silence was broken when Jacob announced: “I’m not going back to Temple Sinai.” He almost spat out the words. “If that’s reform, it’s no better than being with a bunch of goyim. What kind of a religion is that?”

  “I thought it was very impressive,” Sara said.

  Rachel laughed to herself. The beautiful temple and the ladies’ elegant dresses were what impressed mama. She didn’t understand the significance of tonight’s service. She heard papa saying, “It was as religious as the Baptist church and just as Jewish.”

  “That’s because you have a closed mind. If it’s not like the little shul on Hester Street with all the Yiddles in their tallises and yarmulkahs, wailing and pounding their breasts, it’s not Jewish. There’s so much noise and confusion going on you can’t even hear. How stupid, women sitting upstairs separated from their husbands. I think it’s archaic. If a husband and wife can sleep in the same bed, then I think they can sit together in temple too.”

  “Church, you mean. Listen, Sara, I want to join a shul…”

  “Absolutely not. I’m not going to bring my children up with all those meshuggeneh rituals. This is America.”

  “You went when we lived in New York.”

  “Of course. What should I have done—stayed home with all the family going? But I didn’t like it. I wasn’t raised that way.”

  “I know, you were raised like a princess.”

  “Yes, I was, and I think my spiritual values are as great as yours. You didn’t have a bar mitzvah, you never went to cheder, you don’t even understand Hebrew. So what are you making such a fuss over? You’re still living in the old country, except you aren’t—”

  “And you’re living like a queen. When did you ever have so much? From your mother?”

  “Don’t talk about my mother. At least I developed an open mind from her.”

  “I’m not going back again, you hear? I don’t have to spend my hard-earned money to sit with a bunch of goyim who don’t even cover their heads. And I don’t want any of the children to go again. Some religion…”

  Rachel bit her lip. She would go whether papa liked it or not.

  The argument went on until they reached home. Happy Rosh Hashanah…

  It was three in the morning when Sara got out of bed, walked down the darkened hall to the bathroom and saw a beam of light coming from under Doris’ door.

  Doris slept so lightly that she bolted up in bed as she heard the knob being turned. Maybe the angel of death had come to claim her—

  “Doris, what are you doing with the light on?”

  “I don’t like to sleep in the dark.”

  “You don’t like to sleep in the dark? What are you, a baby? Turn the light out, the electric bills are high enough,” and Sara switched the light off as she closed the door behind her.

  Doris cowered under the sheets. Covering her head, she pleaded, “If you’re there, God, please listen. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die…” She cried until she fell into exhausted sleep…

  On Yom Kippur Rachel came to the table dressed in her blue jumper.

  “What have you got that on for?” Sara asked as she served the chicken and the noddle kugel.

  “Because I’m going to hear Kol Nidre.”

  Sara waited for Jacob to answer, but he said nothing. Having warned them on Rosh Hashanah that none of them were permitted to go to the reformed synagogue again, she thought he would forbid Rachel to go this evening. To her amazement, he said nothing and simply continued to eat.

  When the meal was finished he announced, “Everyone get dressed, we’re going.”

  Doris ran to the sink and this time threw up.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with her lately,” Sara said, as she took a damp cloth and wiped Doris’ flaming face. “You feel better?” Sara asked with genuine concern.

  “No, I don’t, mama.”

  Sara looked at her. She’d lost weight, her eyes were hollow and almost glazed. “Next week we’ll go to the doctor.”

  Doris had never been to a doctor before. Mama must have guessed she was going to die. “No, I don’t want to go to a doctor, I’m not that sick—”

  “We’ll see…”

  “I can’t go tonight, mama. My stomach hurts.”

  “What do you mean…where?” Jacob asked.

  “Just all over. May I please be excused? I want to go to bed.”

  Jacob recalled how ill Doris had been when Sara had given birth to Lillian. Then he could hover over her, kiss her and hold her. Now he couldn’t do it, much as he wanted to. All he could say was, “Go to bed, Doris. You’ll feel better.”

  “Thank you. Have a happy Yom Kippur, papa, mama. You too, Rachel and Lillian.” …


  Doris heard the front door close and listened to the silence. She had never been alone in the big house before and suddenly it became more forebidding than even Temple Sinai. She was going to keep the light on till mama came home…

  This evening, when Jacob heard the sound of the shofar blown, somehow all his disenchantment vanished and was replaced with a deep sadness. Good God, didn’t the loneliness ever leave the heart? This evening he missed his mother terribly, and thoughts of Shlomo and Gittel only deepened his feeling of need. Sara…more and more there seemed so little understanding, compassion…he couldn’t even confide in her…but tonight was the Eve of Atonement and such thoughts should be far from his mind.

  He forced himself into forgetfulness by immersing himself in the service, and suddenly he found that he was touched by the violin playing the hauntingly beautiful strains of the Kol Nidre. It had never sounded so poignant to him, and in his heart he blessed Rachel for awakening this feeling in him. Tonight the resentments were gone, the old days of shul blown into the past. He joined in the responsive reading.

  As though the congregation and the rabbi were of one voice, they intoned: “Thou are my hope, my immovable rock, my stronghold. O God, strengthen and sustain me, for without Thee I am all too weak. Hear me on this solemn day, on which Thou hast promised to purify the sinner and efface his guilt.”

  The congregation was then seated and listened to the organ play softly as the choir sang.

  Followed by the meditation:

  O God and Father, I come into Thy benign presence to lift my voice in penitent prayer. This Day of Atonement is a messenger from on high, calling me in love to return to Thee. May it be Thy will, O Master of the universe, that I may hear and heed Thy voice. Thou hast given me the understanding to distinguish between good and evil and hast bestowed upon me freedom of will to choose between them. Often have I disregarded Thy words and strayed from Thy paths. But in Thy mercy dost Thou give me the means of turning from my evil ways and of coming back unto the path on which Thou desirest me to go…

  This evening Jacob listened to the rabbi and felt almost as if he were speaking directly to him.

  “We have turned aside from Thy commandments and from Thy beneficent ordinances, and it hath not availed us. Thou art righteous in all that has befallen us, for Thou doest justice, but we have wrought evil.

  “What shall we say before Thee, who art on high, and what shall we recount unto Thee, who dwellest in the heavens? Dost Thou not know all things, both the hidden and the revealed? Thou knowest the secrets of eternity and the hidden thoughts of every living being.” …

  At ten the next morning Jacob sat with Rachel in the synagogue. He would have liked to have shared this moment with Sara, but she said she would stay home with Doris and meet him for the memorial service.

  He stayed all day. Not a drop of water had touched his lips…his mouth was dry. Somewhere deep within him he felt the need to remember his past hunger and how good life had since been to him. Today he did not feel omnipotent. Today he felt cleansed…

  At three o’clock, Rachel left the sanctuary and Sara now sat beside her husband. The doors were closed and the mourners remained. The solemn service of the Yizkor began.

  After the choir’s song, the rabbi came forward, stood before the congregation for a moment, then began, “O, what is man, the child of dust? What is man, O Lord? The eye is never satisfied with seeing; endless are the desires of the heart. No mortal has ever had enough of riches, honor and wisdom when death ended his career. Man devises new schemes on the grave of a thousand disappointed hopes. Discontent abides in the palace and in the hut, rankling alike in the breast of prince and pauper. Death finally terminates the combat, and grief and joy, success and failure, all are ended. Like a child falling asleep over his toys, man loosens his grasp on earthly possessions only when death overtakes him. The master and the servant, the rich and the poor, the strong and the feeble, the wise and the simple, all are equal in death; the grave levels all distinctions and makes the whole world kin.”

  The service continued with the silent devotion as each mourner recalled the memory of his departed loved ones.

  Jacob wept at the memory of his father as he recited from the Union Prayerbook…“Thy memory, my dear father, fills my soul at this solemn hour. It revives in me thoughts of love and friendliness which thou didst bestow upon me. The thought of thee inspires me to a life of virtue and when my pilgrimage on earth is ended and I shall arrive at the throne of mercy, may I be worthy of thee in the sight of God and man…May our merciful Father reward thee for the kindness thou hast ever shown me; may He grant thee eternal peace. Amen.”

  And Sara whispered in longing, “I remember thee in this solemn hour, my dear mother. I remember the days when thou didst dwell on earth and thy tender love watched over me like a guardian angel…”

  Soft weeping seemed to echo through the quiet synagogue.

  Once again, the congregation joined the cantor and the choir as they all raised their voices…“Open unto us, O God, the gates of mercy, before the closing of the gates, ere the day is done. The day vanishes, the sun is setting; let us enter Thy gates.”

  Now the rabbi intoned: “The day is fading, the sun is setting; silence and peace of night descend upon the earth. Vouchsafe rest, O God, unto our disquieted hearts; lift up the soul that is cast down. Turn, in Thine all-forgiving love, to Thy children who yearn for Thy mercy; turn, O Father, to all the fainting hearts, to all heavy-laden souls. Let this hour bring us the assurance that Thou hast forgiven, that we have found favor in Thy sight. Consecrate our hearts unto Thee, and make them Thy living altars, whereon shall return the holy flame of devotion to Thee.”

  Jacob and Sara then stood with the others and listened to the benediction. “Let the year on which we have entered be for us a year of blessing and of prosperity.” …

  Jacob looked at Sara. Both with the same wish—that they should be more understanding, more loving and forbearing. In that special moment, all hostilities were gone. Jacob took her to him, kissed her and said, “Have a good year, Sara.”

  “And you, Jacob. A good year…”

  Together they went home to their children and at least for this special evening they all sat together, in love and in peace.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  RACHEL THOUGHT SHE’D PERFORMED a miracle. Hardly able to contain herself, she went to Mother Teresa and told her what had happened.

  If anyone shared her joy, it was Mother Teresa. “You see, Rachel? Faith can move mountains.”

  Rachel truly believed that—for a while. But then, gradually, mama seemed to lose the peace she had found and once again became as irritable as before…the same old complaints were revived. And papa also lapsed into the same old pattern. He worked harder than ever and was away for even longer periods of time.

  How naïve she had been, Rachel thought. Going to temple for one service didn’t change a person. Only constant devotion and dedication would do that. The rabbi had said Judaism was a tree of life, a living thing that had to be embraced daily as a way of life, a guideline of morality. People’s natures didn’t change because of one glance at what heaven might be. Mama couldn’t help being what she was. Rachel had seen how touched papa had been on the Day of Atonement, but in spite of that and in spite of his complaints about living among goyim, he was a man who lacked faith—or who had traded it? That night had stirred their faith, but only their lives could sustain it…

  Now all Rachel could think about was getting away, going to college. Thank God, only three more months and she’d be graduating…

  But the old feeling for papa was still there. He’d been away on a trip for so long now and when she heard the sound of wheels in the driveway she hurried down the stairs and ran to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.

  He was embarrassed by her unusual display of affection, but managed to greet her with a small peck on the cheek.

  “I’m so happy you’re home, papa, I j
ust couldn’t wait.”

  “Me too, Rachel.”

  When they went into the house Sara turned from the sink to give him her standard greeting. “How was it you didn’t call? You were gone ten days.”

  “I was up in hell and gone, without a phone.”

  She shook her head. “Go wash up. Dinner’s ready…”

  As they ate, Rachel said, “You know I’m graduating this June.”

  Jacob couldn’t believe it. She was eighteen years old now. Imagine, that little girl who used to wait for him at the subway…

  His fond memory was cut short when Rachel continued, “I want to go to college.”

  “College? You don’t have to go to college—”

  “I don’t have to, but I want to.”

  “College isn’t necessary for a girl.”

  “Why, papa?”

  “Because—”

  “Because why, papa?” Rachel was not only nervous but angry.

  “Because a girl doesn’t need that kind of an education. You’re already educated enough.”

  “Nobody’s ever educated enough.”

  “I’m still not sending you to college.”

  “You haven’t answered me yet, papa.”

  “So, I’ll answer you. Why should I spend all that money? You’ll just get married and it’ll all be wasted.”

  “Oh, my God, I simply can’t believe this. How do you know I’m going to get married?”

  “Why, what are you going to do? Become an old maid?”

  Sara sat listening and watching as Rachel’s anger brimmed over.

  “But if I were your son, you’d send me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, if you were a boy, it would be different.”

  In spite of herself, Rachel began to cry, which, of course, was the last thing she wanted to do…show him what he’d consider her feminine weaknesses…“I think you’re the most unbelievably selfish man in the world. It’s only the money that bothers you, that’s what it is. You never had an education and of all people you should know how important it is. You’ve talked about it often enough. About your poor unfortunate childhood and how—”