Following dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant, Jacob invited me to his apartment for dessert, where we finally consummated that part of our relationship. As for the sex, there was more humping than kissing. But my mind was on the chocolate cake he had bought for dessert that was waiting on the kitchen table and which became the highlight of my evening.
Jacob’s parents lived in Long Beach on the southern tip of Long Island. As parking on the streets of Queens was so limited, my dad did not own a car. Rather than us renting one for the day, Jacob offered to drive. I told my father to sit in the front so that he would have more leg room.
As we drove, my father and Jacob talked about the stock market and the Yankees, only occasionally turning over their shoulders to ask why I was so quiet. I would return their questions with a smile and simply say, “I’m fine,” which more than satisfied their inquiry.
When we were a few minutes from his parents’ home, Jacob called his mother, and she was waiting at the front door waving when we arrived.
“Hello, come in,” his mother said, hugging me.
“This is my dad.”
“So nice to meet you. Thank you for coming,” Jacob’s dad said, extending his hand.
“Your daughter is lovely,” praised Jacob’s mother.
“Like her mother. Thank you,” Dad grinned.
There was a momentary pause.
“I brought you something, I hope you like them.” I handed the basket of muffins to Jacob’s mother.
“You didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to.”
“Thank you. Let’s put them in the kitchen.”
As we followed her into the home, the smells of all of the foods cooking wafted together in a wonderful, home cooked aroma. And in the kitchen, set out on the counter was a parade of desserts including pecan, pumpkin and chocolate pies.
“Any traffic?” Jacob’s dad asked as he took our coats which only a week ago were still hanging in our closets.
“No, not bad,” Jacob responded as he headed to the kitchen. “Anyone thirsty?”
“Well let’s go sit down. My oldest daughter and my sister should be here shortly,” Jacob’s father said as he guided us out of the hall.
We followed Jacob’s parents into the den where his mother had set a beautiful tray on the bar countertop of cheeses, grapes, and crackers neatly arranged and sitting on paper leaves that represented all of the fall colors. There were also small dipping dishes of humus and eggplant dip.
“I have a feeling you are a scotch man,” Jacob’s dad said to my father as he picked up a glass from the bar.
“Well, since I am not driving, why not.”
A few minutes later, Jacob’s sister and aunt arrived and Jacob’s father ushered everyone into the dining room. Jacob’s mother loved to decorate for the holidays and her festive table looked like a picture out of Gourmet magazine. Along with a holiday tablecloth with matching napkins, holiday china plates, and amber colored glasses, the serving plates carried the Thanksgiving theme. Even the cranberry tray had small turkeys adorning the border. And each chair was perfectly positioned so as to allow everyone just enough room to get in and out with ease.
“These are so cute,” I said, admiring the chocolate covered turkey wrapped in amber colored cellophane that was placed on top of each plate as a hostess favor.
With everyone comfortably seated, Jacob’s father raised his glass for what I thought would be a toast.
“As is our family tradition on Thanksgiving, we begin our meal with a festive joke:
“Three men, an Italian, a Frenchman, and a Jew, were condemned to be executed. Their captors told them that they had the right to have a final meal before the execution.
“They asked the Frenchman what he wanted.
‘Give me some good French wine and French bread,’ he requested. So they gave it to him, he ate it, and then they executed him. Next it was the Italian’s turn.
‘Give me a big plate of pasta,’ said the Italian.
So they brought it to him, he ate it, and then they executed him.
Now it was the Jew’s turn. ‘I want a big bowl of strawberries, said the Jew. ‘Strawberries?! They aren’t even in season!’ his captors exclaimed.
‘So, I’ll wait…’”
Amidst the laughter and applause, Jacob’s father asked everyone to start eating, and we gladly obeyed. The food tasted as good as it looked and everyone overate, prompting Jacob’s mother to suggest that we take a break before we have dessert.
“Great idea,” replied Jacob’s aunt.
His mother then said, “So Danielle, that is such wonderful news about passing the bar. You must be so excited.”
“Thank you. I am.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Well, I just learned that there is an opening in the DA’s office where I have been working. But I am also going to put together my résumé and see what happens. At least that’s the plan.”
“She’ll get a job. Who wouldn’t want my beautiful Daniella?”
“Thanks Dad. My biggest supporter.”
“Why not? I should be. She makes me very proud.”
Jacob’s father nodded his head. “Spoken like a true father.”
As if he was following a script and that was his cue, Jacob rose to his feet and tapped the wine glass with a spoon.
“I have an announcement.”
I turned to Jacob with a puzzled look and shrugged my shoulders as his mother looked to me to see if I knew what Jacob was about to say. As he spoke, I was absolutely clueless where he was going.
“As you know, Danielle and I have been seeing each other for a few months. And the times we have shared together have been wonderful.”
I was now feeling embarrassed and felt my face turn red.
“So, it being Thanksgiving, and having everyone who means so much to me being here together, I thought this would be a great time to ask a question.”
I bowed my head and wished that I could hide under the table, fearing the words that were about to come out of Jacob’s mouth. But as he cleared his throat, I panned the room from left to right and saw a sea of smiles.
“Danielle, you are the most amazing person I have ever met. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
At that moment I wished I was a turtle and could bury my head inside my shell. Instead, I pasted a blithe smile on my face.
“Will you be my wife?”
Wife? I thought of another four letter word as my mind was flushed with emotions and my heart was racing.
“I don’t know what to say.” I said, gazing at the ring that he was holding in my face.
“For once my daughter is speechless. Of course she says yes,” my father yelled as he jolted from his seat and raised his glass of wine. “And let me be the first to toast the future bride and groom. La Chaim!”
A nanosecond after Jacob placed the ring on my finger, I was buried under my father and Jacob’s family hugging and kissing me.
“Look at you,” my father said. “It reminds me when Mariano Rivera got the last out in the World Series and all the players charged the mound.”
As I came up for air, I looked at the ring which hung loosely on my finger.
“Let me see,” Jacob’s mom requested as she reached for my ring finger. “Oh, Grandma was a much larger woman and she had big fingers. We’ll get it resized. I know someone in the city I can trust.”
As everyone took turns holding my hand in theirs, Jacob was waiting for approval like a puppy wagging his tail after he had peed on the paper rather than on the carpet. But all I could muster up was a smile that looked like the kind your teacher gave as she handed you your report card.
“It’s a little warm in here. Is it just me?” I asked.
Jacob’s father opened the sliding door. I thought about running away. But I was too embarrassed to say no, or for that matter to say anything at all, so I just walked to the door to breathe in some fresh air. But the conver
sation quickly turned to wedding dates, where to register, and color schemes. Everyone was talking around me, yet I could not process what anyone was saying except for Jacob’s oldest sister, Sherri, who was noticeably reserved. Politely I said, “I think now the bride and groom need some time to go over everything.”
“That is a good idea,” remarked Sherri and she nudged me into the kitchen.
“I am very happy for you, but I am sure you would have preferred a more private proposal.”
“I am a little shaken.”
“But are you surprised?”
“I don’t know. I guess not. From our first date, your brother has always talked about marriage.”
“Well, I am very happy for you. And I welcome you in our family. I always wanted a little sister.”
I pointed to my hips. “I don’t know about little.”
“Oh, come on. You are beautiful. But I want you to know. Maybe I shouldn’t say this since you just got engaged, but my brother can be a real jerk.”
I nodded my head.
“No seriously, he is very headstrong.”
“Yeah.”
“You know Jacob had a serious girlfriend before you.”
“I know. Kristin.”
“Close. Tristan. They were together for almost a year. She was wonderful. We all loved her. She was in med school. And we thought they were going to get married. “
“But she wasn’t Jewish.”
“Right. But that is not why they broke up.”
“No?”
“I don’t know. After they stopped seeing each other, I wanted to talk to her. We were very close. But I left her many messages and she never took my call or called back. I finally gave up but I always thought there was more to it. Anyway, my brother can be very demanding.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Just be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, I probably already said too much.”
“Who wants dessert?” Jacob’s mother asked as she walked into the kitchen and picked up the pies that were on the counter.
On the car ride home, Jacob and my dad resumed their earlier conversation while I nodded off on the back seat. And though whenever we were together I wanted to ask him about Tristan, I never did. Instead, we spent the next several months planning a wedding rather than discussing a marriage.
Rose’s Fifth Diary Entry
It was December 10, 1944. The only reason why I remember that date is because there was a little girl in the same rail car that said it was her birthday today. However, for most Eastern European Jews, the time for celebrating had stopped long before.
As the train came to a screeching stop, we heard the voices of German soldiers shouting from outside and I kept my arm tightly around my mother’s waist. Within seconds, the cattle cars’ doors opened revealing barking dogs and uniformed men touting rifles. “Raus! Raus! Schnell! Schnell!Raus!Raus!” the men shouted. “Get Out! Get Out! Quickly! Hurry Up! Hurry up leave your luggage behind!”
We were in the back of the car. But I immediately felt the freezing cold air that consumed the train car. As we stumbled forward, I cautiously stepped over the stiffened body of an older lady who had died during the trip. A few more steps and I squinted from the bright sunlight and almost lost my balance, having been in total darkness and without food or water for days squeezed into the rail car with no place to sit or stand.
We approached the opened rail car door and confronted the frightening face of a German shepherd that lunged towards me with his mouth wide open exposing these huge teeth. Surprisingly, the guard pulled back on his collar and then smirked and laughed in my face, saying something in German that I did not understand.
More guards and dogs then boarded the car, and with the barrels of their guns, the guards pushed us onto the platform. Those who did not walk fast enough off the train were thrown to the ground. At this point, many of the women were crying as they lay in the snow too weak to get up on their feet. Those poor souls who did not get up fast enough were shot in the head. But maybe they were the lucky ones.
Once on the platform, everyone wanted to move about and search for their family members. But I had lost my shoes when I was hurdled into the train and my feet were turning blue from the icy pavement.
While standing for what seemed like eternity, I wondered what was on the other side of the barbed wired fence. I could see a church. There were roofs and chimneys. And in the houses there were beds and sheets and blankets. The people had clean clothes and nobody was screaming or being screamed at. Nobody was treated like cattle. They were there, on the other side of the fence, in a clean little village where children played and had food to eat. And I was here.
Finally, a gray car pulled up and the soldiers jumped to attention as a burly man in his forties exited. The uniformed men saluted him as he passed them and moved towards us. He announced that we were in Mauthausen, Austria and that we were lucky because this was a work camp. If we did our work, we would be treated fairly.
As he talked I looked down at my feet and noticed I could no longer feel my toes. So I stepped onto my mother’s shoes and somehow she managed to hold and balance herself with the weight of my body on her feet.
Suddenly, the commandant gave some order and the guards began separating us. On one side they pulled out the sick and elderly. On the other side were the younger and healthier looking men, women, and children. Then we were further separated; women from the men, boys with their fathers and girls with their mothers. All the while, uniformed men were barking orders like their dogs to move faster.
As families were divided, there were screams and cries. The sick and older men and women were then ordered to march away from the train station and within minutes they were out of view.
For the rest of us, the massive wood and steel gates behind where we were standing opened and we were ordered to march into the camp. Again we were pushed and shoved as the guards used the barrels of their guns to move us forward. As we did, a young mother in front of me tripped and fell to the group releasing her baby from her arms. A guard immediately shot them both. I stepped over their bodies and painfully walked past.
Once behind the gates, we heard repeated gun fire and I saw a cloud of smoke in the direction of where the sick and older men and women had been taken. The sound of gun fire was followed by a woman next to me reciting Kaddish, the prayer for the dead.
Chapter Seven
As my father and I approached the end of the lace runner, I looked again at Jacob. But instead of him looking back at me, his eyes continued to wander around the sanctuary. Annoyed, I focused on my brother David. He was sitting in the front row with my sister-in-law Denise, my nephew Michael and my niece Rebecca, who was making curly cues with Denise’s long hair. Sitting to the right of my brother was my Nana Rose, looking so aristocratic in her dark blue dress and her treasured pearl necklace that floated like a halo around her neck. My grandfather gave it to her for their 50th wedding anniversary.
She blew me a kiss as our eyes met. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Nana,” I whispered, as I had now taken my final step and awaited my fate.
My dad lifted my veil and he kissed my forehead. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. I only wish Mom could be here.”
“She is here sweetheart. Now go get married.”
“Ok,” I said with a laugh and tears in my eyes as he took my hand and placed it around Jacob’s extended elbow and the two of us walked up the three steps taking our position under the Chuppah.
In Jewish tradition, the bride walks around her husband seven times to symbolize the contract between a husband and wife. As I completed the first of the seven turns, I again looked at Jacob. Surprisingly, he had cleaned up pretty good; his beard was trimmed, his hair was styled, the shirt was crisp, the suit was pressed, and outwardly he broadcast a message of confidence and self-assurance. However, it was his inner being that I feared.
Completin
g my second turn, I turned to my Nana and remembered the day I first told her about Jacob.
I tried to visit Nana at least twice a week and always on Friday when I would first stop at Schwartz’s on Queens Boulevard to buy her a fresh Challah for Shabbat.
Each week, going to the bakery reminded me of the movie Groundhog Day as the same scene repeated itself. The air was heavy with bread baking. A worker in a stained white apron scurried from the back of the store to the shelves against the wall carrying loaves of Challah that were steamy, soft, and shiny with a light glaze.
For me, the real treat was what was behind the waist high glass counters. They were filled with vanilla crescents, lemon squares, linzer torts, hazelnut spirals, chocolate-dipped sables, and rugelach. I was in heaven and sweets were my passion as each week I wouldn’t leave without sitting down in one of the three small booths in front of the glass counter. And each week, the same older woman, no taller than five feet, with a bouffant hairdo, her skin a milky white except for the smear of rouge on her cheeks, shuffled toward me. As she did, I watched her apron almost snag her legs so that she might tumble forward. But she never did.
She asked me with a generous smile and a wink if I wanted a cup of coffee. I said yes and felt guilty for having sat down to be waited on by this elderly woman. But she did not seem to mind and brought back my extra light coffee with my choice of pastries. And sometimes, to my surprise, a piece of freshly baked rugelach and another friendly wink.
Nana’s building looked identical to ours. Aside from it being around the corner, the only difference was the color of the front door. Having our grandparents living so close made it very special for my brother and me. When my mother died, my father found himself with two small kids to raise and a business to run, so my Nana became my surrogate mother as she cooked our meals, cleaned our clothes, and stayed with us each night until my father would come home from work.
Against My Will Page 5
