He went through the polite greetings, picturing Rabbi Silver’s youthful lean face, the neatly trimmed black beard adding gravitas to his person, his distracted manner from the bima when he delivered his sermon, addressing the space over the heads of his congregants. Mitch succinctly stated the case for his daughter, noting that she was unopposed, the By-laws provided for a Youth Delegate and the Rabbi knew, from his work with Amy in preparing for her Bat Mitzvah, she was intelligent, poised and dependable. He ended by admitting he himself was not a major participant in the Congregation but he would appreciate the Rabbi convincing Abe Weinstein to accept Amy. He added he would call Abe himself, if the Rabbi thought it would do any good, and instantly regretted not holding that suggestion in reserve.
He saw Amy abandon all pretense of studied nonchalance, close her book and lean as far forward as her seat belt would allow. Eleanor looked at him questioningly and Mitch could only shrug in silence while he listened to Rabbi Silver.
“Yeah. I understand Rabbi. I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her you will too. And thank you Rabbi.” He folded his cell phone closed as they exited off 395 to Pentagon City.
“Well,” both Eleanor and Amy said, almost simultaneously.
Mitch grinned. “He’ll recommend you, and while he can’t guarantee it, he’s pretty confident that Mr. Weinstein will go along.”
“Oh, my God,” Amy screamed. “Daddy you did it. Thank you. Thank you.”
Eleanor smiled at him and silently mouthed the words, “I love you.”
“Amy. Rabbi Silver asked that you talk to him before the first Board meeting so he can tell you how the meetings are run and what is expected of Board members. Also, once Mr. Weinstein approves, the Rabbi will give you the Minutes of the Board meetings for the previous year. He expects you to read them. And he expects you to attend all the meetings during your one year term.”
“I will daddy. I will. Oh, this is so great. I need to text Rachel and Leslie.”
“Wait a minute, Amy. If you’ve already told your friends you were on the Board what are you telling them now? That you really, really are on it?” he said, imitating his daughter’s speech pattern of repeating a word for emphasis.
Amy didn’t miss a beat. “I’m going to tell them that I have to meet with the Rabbi about the Board and ask them if they have any youth issues they want me to discuss.”
“Amy,” Eleanor said firmly. “I hope you learned your lesson from your premature announcement on Facebook. I think it would be a good idea for you to wait until after you meet with Rabbi Silver and see how the Board meetings are run, before you solicit ideas from your friends.”
“Ok, mom. I’ll just tell them I’m going to meet with the Rabbi and how excited I am to be representing the young people from the Congregation.” She flipped open her cell and Mitch knew that he and Ell had been tuned out.
Eleanor found a parking place in the Price Club lot reasonably close to the entrance. Mitch commandeered an abandoned large shopping cart left in between two cars. The metal handle was bitterly cold against his bare hands. As they approached the doorless entry, a blast of warm air from the blowers greeted them along with the woman checking their membership card.
Mitch generally didn’t like food shopping, or any shopping for that matter, except at hardware stores. But he genuinely enjoyed going to Price Club. He liked the crowds of Hispanics, East Africans, and Asians, buying in bulk for their mom and pop stores, street carts and small restaurants. Their presence in this big box warehouse of a super market was proof of the continued attraction of the United States to the waves of immigrants who had settled in northern Virginia. He felt the vibrant nature of these people, their eagerness to take advantage of opportunities they never had before. He marveled at the quick Americanization of their children, bright-eyed kids wearing sweatshirts, jerseys, wool hats and baseball caps of the Washington teams- the Nationals, the Redskins, DC United, the Caps, the Wizards. He surmised the occasional Dallas Cowboy logo was an independent celebration of freedom of choice, or an adolescent’s act of rebellion, rather than allegiance to the widely despised enemy of the city’s beloved Redskins.
What a difference he thought, between these new waves of immigrants and the time his grandparents had arrived at Ellis Island. He wished he had talked to them about their early memories of life in New York and what they remembered about Poland. Now, there was only Aunt Helen left and the snippets of what she had told Amy and Eleanor. And who knew how accurate her recollections were. It was obvious to him that she had mentally deteriorated in the time since he had brought her down from New London.
They passed the tv and computer sections and were heading down a broad wide aisle toward the back where the paper goods were located, when Ell touched his elbow.
“Look. There’s Amina.” Mitch turned around. “Over there by the cellphones,” Ell said, gesturing with her chin to avoid pointing. Mitch saw Amina standing with her arm around the shoulder of a young girl, he guessed was her daughter. The other woman, who was obviously with them, had her head, forehead and neck covered with a deep brown hidjab. Like Amina she wore an ankle length dress under her long coat. “Let’s go say hello,” Eleanor said. He shrugged and reversed direction.
Amina looked surprised and then pleased to see them. She first introduced her daughter Mariam and then her aunt. Mitch thought her name was Medina as in the city, but he wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.
Amy and Mariam warily but quickly sized each other up. Mariam’s gaze subtly went from Amy’s Ugg boots, a combined Hanukah-Christmas gift she had begged them for, the jeans and hooded sweatshirt with dollar signs in raised gold, to the deep green sqoosh holding her topknot and her shoulder length, dark straight hair, the pierced earrings and light eyeliner. Amy, equally discreetly, but just as intently, looked from Mariam’s clogs, her red and orange striped socks beneath the black nylon running pants with ‘Pink Lady’ in white letters horizontally ironed on, just above the long vertical ankle zippers, to her slate blue Polartec knit ski hat perched on her head, her long curly braid, sticking out the side, and the small, intricate, gold pierced earrings. As if they belonged to some secret society searching for an identifying sign or codeword, Amy and Mariam each absorbed the other’s overall look. Without any overt indication, they simultaneously made a judgment that the other’s clothing, jewelry and makeup satisfied some teenage girl style criteria and concluded that it was ok to acknowledge the other, at least as a fellow human being.
“Look what my aunt did for me,” Mariam said proudly showing a henna design on her palms to Amy.
“That’s neat,” Amy said. “Does it mean anything?
“No. It’s just a design.”
“We are looking for a cell phone for Mariam,” Amina explained to Eleanor.
“Check mine out,” Amy said, handing Mariam her chartreuse colored cell phone. “It’s a Motorola.”
Mariam was slightly taller and a bit more slender than Amy. She had her mother’s aquiline features but was darker skinned and without Amina’s long, graceful neck. Amy showed Mariam the keypad and how the camera worked, while the two mothers made small talk. The girls started taking pictures of each other and then of people passing by, giggling together.
Mitch felt awkward standing there but for the life of him all he could think of to say to Medina was, “Do you come here often?” He knew how silly that would sound so he said nothing. Amina unwittingly came to his rescue, telling Medina that Mitch had recommended Mr. Rosen. Medina’s face immediately broke into a broad smile.
“Thank you very much on behalf of my son. My husband has told me how very professional Mr. Rosen is. We can only trust in Allah that justice will be done.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Mitch said, taken aback by the thought that God’s will rather than Artie’s skill would determine the outcome.
They were interrupted by the cell phone salesman. He produced, from under the glass counter, a purple and black Samsung with a scrolled flower design and
offered to show how the newer model, with more features, was an improvement on Amy’s.
“Mariam,” Amina said. “We want a simple cell phone. It must be inexpensive and be part of our family plan.”
“Mom. Any phone can be under our plan,” she said, her tone implying that her mother was ignorant when it came to matters of technology.
“Well, Amina. We have a lot of shopping to do,” Eleanor said sensing it was the time to leave. “Maybe we’ll see you at the Home during the week and if not this coming Saturday.”
“Yes” Amina said. “Mr. Farber. I was going to inform you, I will be gone in early March. We are going to a relative’s wedding in Minneapolis the second weekend in March. I will not be at the Home from the Thursday before until the following Monday.”
“It is after the trial,” Medina said softly, her whole calendar focused around that event. Mitch had the impression that if she had been Christian, she would have crossed herself to ward off a guilty verdict. That’s not fair he thought. Just because she covers her head and wears ankle length skirts, doesn’t turn her into a little old Italian lady, clothed entirely in black, praying in St. Peter’s Square.
“We’re flying out on Thursday,” Mariam added. “My mom is making me get my assignments and I have to do my homework while I’m out there. I’m also missing my first school soccer game on Saturday,” Mariam said with obvious disappointment.
“I play sweeper on my team. What position do you play?” Amy asked, having discovered a common interest.
“I’m a forward,” Mariam replied.
“You must be fast.”
“I am,” Marian replied with no pretense of false modesty. “I’ve been playing since I was five. My cousins taught me. And now I have to be in Minnesota. My coach is really going to be pissed.”
“Mariam,” Amina said sternly. “You must not talk like that. It demeans you.”
“Let me give you my cell number,” Amy said. “We can call or text each other when you get your phone and I’ll include you on my Facebook friends page.” Amy grabbed her anorak from the shopping cart, found a scrap of paper and pen in one of the many pockets, wrote down her number and handed it to Mariam.
Eleanor smiled at Amina. “When it’s closer to the date, we’ll tell Helen that you are going away. If we do it now, she won’t remember. You’ll also let her know you’ll be gone for a few days?”
“Yes, of course. I do not want her to fret.”
As they walked away, Mitch was surprised that Amy turned and waved goodbye to Mariam. His daughter tended to be slow to make new friends and generally wary of girls she didn’t know well.
Eleanor followed her usual efficient route, paper goods first, a 36 roll package of toilet paper and 12 roll package of towels. Mitch knew from experience to place them on the bottom rack of the cart. They picked up several loaves of bread, a large sized package of red peppers and two clear plastic boxes of spring salad medley from the ultra cold produce room, salmon and flounder (wild caught, not farm raised) from the fish counter, Australian lamb from the meat section, up the main aisle for two sealed bags of ground decaffeinated Costa Rican coffee, a 10 pound bag of rice and giant sized box of large breed Milk Bone dog biscuits, as well as a few extra gourmet items, a double container of Kalamata olives and five bean salad, and ended, at the front of the store, with vitamins, electric tooth brush replacements and a large bag of gummy bears for the family.
The check out lines were not too long. Mitch quickly grabbed three cartons from the discarded boxes cage and began packing as the cashier pushed their purchases toward him.
“What’s the damage,” he asked Ell. It was a game they played when they went to Price Club every few months. Guessing the total amount of their bill.
“I won.” She said. “It’s $291 and change.” Mitch had guessed over $320. “Better luck next time.” He grinned at his wife. The prize was always a kiss so he won even though he consistently lost. “Pay up now or later,” he said. “Later.” She winked at him. Amy was oblivious, reading her book as she trailed along behind them to the car. She was so engrossed in it, Mitch didn’t interrupt to ask her to help load the cartons into the car.
They crossed the Potomac on the 14th Street Bridge and stopped at a traffic light opposite the Holocaust Museum, the grey faux towers in the front, intentionally reminiscent of a concentration camp’s guard towers.
“Mom. This book I’m reading “Number the Stars.” It’s about a young Danish girl during the war who helps save her Jewish friend from the Nazis. It says that the Danes saved almost all the Jews in the country by hiding them and ferrying them to Sweden. Why did that happen in Denmark, but not in Austria? Why did Grandma and her family have to flee?”
Mitch was proud their daughter had asked such a thoughtful and difficult question. It went to the heart of anti-semitism in Europe. He waited to hear what Eleanor would say.
“There’s no easy answer to that. I can’t say that all Danes were good and all Austrians were bad, although you could conclude that from the end result. Of course Hitler was Austrian and the Austrians were caught up in the myth of Germanic superiority. But that wouldn’t explain why the French or the Poles turned the Jews over to the Germans and why the Dutch and Danes didn’t. You should ask someone at the Holocaust Museum when you go on your trip.”
“Can I ask Grandma what she thinks?”
Eleanor paused before answering. “It is a touchy subject for her. In her mind, she and her parents were Austrians. They didn’t really think of themselves as Jewish. I believe she was shocked when she found out that ordinary Austrians made that distinction. When they fled through Europe, everywhere they went, they were seen as Jews not Austrians. But go ahead and ask her. Just be tactful about it and if she doesn’t want to talk about it don’t press her.”
“Some of the so-called assimilated Jews, like those in Vienna,” Mitch said, “thought they had nothing in common with the poor Jews of the shtetls. Which is where my folks came from,” he said in an obvious dig, looking at Eleanor. “The Nazis,” he continued explaining to Amy, “saw all Jews as a race, not a religion. So they tried to exterminate them regardless of rank, education or accomplishment, whether they practiced or not, had beards and long black coats and hats, or dressed like everyone else, or even spoke German. It was a fatal mistake to think that because Jews were assimilated, the Nazis would leave them alone. Amy, think of the morality which would permit an assimilated Jew to think it’s ok if they survive but those poor Jews who lived in shtels could be obliterated because of their religion,” he said.
“That’s not the way it was and it’s not the way Grandma’s parents thought,” Eleanor shot back. “You’re being very unfair, Mitch. Grandma’s parents were no different than the two of us,” she said ignoring Amy in the back seat. “You and I are assimilated Jews here in the U.S. But you are especially derisive when you see the Hasids in Brooklyn in their long coats and fur hats. What is it you always say? ‘Look at them. Useless. Like they are still living in Poland in the 14th century.’ “Well, Mitch. They’re your equivalent of shetl Jews. Yet you don’t want them exterminated. Or discriminated against,” she said angrily.
“Ell. I just get tired of hearing your mother tell us how wonderful Viennese society was between the wars, when all along it was simmering with anti-semitism. Remember. The Austrians welcomed Hitler. They were overjoyed when the Nazis marched into Vienna. And the Austrians went after the Jews with a vengeance.”
Eleanor shook her head vehemently. “Mitch. That’s no excuse for what you just said. I don’t understand why you’re so bitter. If anyone should feel that way, it should be my mother. She lost everything. She had to start a new life in a strange country. Now at her age and with my father dead, when all she really wants to do is enjoy her grandchildren, you should feel some sympathy and a modicum of tolerance. If not for her sake, then as an example for Amy and Josh.”
Mitch was duly chastised. He couldn’t explain to Ell, certainly not in front
of Amy, that the more Helga found fault with Ell and made her feel badly, the less tolerance he had for his mother-in-law. And he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to tell Ell that her mother’s sense of cultural superiority just rubbed him the wrong way and made him act sarcastic and nasty toward her. So he said all he could under the circumstances. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off like that.” Ell accepted his apology with a nod of her head.
“I think,” Amy said loudly, not so subtly changing the subject, “that I would like Grandma to get me a Star of David for my Bat Mitzvah.”
Mitch snorted and attempted to convert it to a fake sneeze. It fooled Amy but not Ell, who gave him a withering glance. He was certain that his mother-in-law, with her strong views on assimilation, who limited her practice of Judaism to the High Holidays and lighting candles on the anniversary of the deaths of her mother and husband, would not want her only grand-daughter to prominently proclaim her faith by wearing a Jewish star.
“If that’s what you want, then tell Grandma,” Ell said. “We can go shopping together. Maybe combine it with another ladies lunch.”
They stopped for Josh on the way home, unloaded the food from the car, gave Oliver a quick walk and drove to the Nursing Home. In the parking lot, Ell took Mitch’s hand and lagged behind.
“You aren’t making things easier for me by being so critical of my mother. It makes things worse and I don’t want Amy and Josh picking up on it.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“For my sake, try a little harder. Be nice to my mother and control yourself in front of the kids.”
“I promise. I will,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. She only offered him her cheek and didn’t make the effort to kiss him back.
“I want to talk to Mr. Lowenstein for a minute. Do you mind taking Amy and Josh upstairs to see Aunt Helen? It won’t take long.”
The Orange Tree Page 23
