The Smallest Crack

by Roberta Kagan

  “Oh, thank you. Yes, I speak German when I leave my neighborhood for any reason at all, but when I am at home, or in our little Jewish sector of town, it’s always Yiddish. We believe that Yiddish is the language of God. So, when I want to speak to God, I speak in Yiddish.”

  “If you say so.” She shook her head.

  “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “When it comes to God and religion, I don’t know what I believe. All I know is that religion causes problems between people.”

  “Hmmm. So you think it’s a bad thing, then?”

  “Yes, I do.” She nodded. “I don’t believe in all that stuff. I guess I don’t even really believe in God. I can’t believe in anything I can’t see.”

  “That’s where faith comes in.”

  “Well, I don’t have faith in any kind of a supreme being.”

  “Oh?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve seen far too much evil in the world to believe there is a God. And anyway, if there happens to be one, he just might be the cruelest entity of all.”

  “You’re so angry and bitter. How old are you? You look so young.”

  “I’m old enough.”

  “And what age is that exactly?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Well, you are still very young.”

  “Don’t act like such a sage. You can’t be much older.”

  “I’m not.” He smiled looking down at her. “It’s just hard to understand why someone so young could be so cynical.”

  “My mother died when I was born. I never knew her. What kind of God does that? What kind of God leaves a child without a mother? You tell me.”

  “I am sorry about your mother.”

  She shrugged, trying not to cry. “Well, like I said, I never really knew her, so I never felt the loss. Not directly, anyway. I had a good enough childhood, even though my father raised me alone. He’s a very special man.”

  “But a girl needs a mother. There is so much a father would not know how to teach a daughter.”

  “My father did all right. He tried his best.” Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes. “However, since you’re a religious man, I have a question for you.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

  “I am not sure I have an answer, but I’ll do my best.”

  “Well . . . if there really is a God, and you believe there is, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then tell me, wise-and-brilliant Eli Kaetzel, if there is a God, and he is powerful, then how could he let a mother die when she still had a young child to raise? A helpless, little girl who will someday need advice from her mother? A little girl who’s body will someday change into that of a woman. And when it does she will not understand what is happening to her but be too embarrassed to talk to her father about it? So, for three months, she is quite sure she is dying until finally her aunt comes to visit, and she has a chance to tell her aunt that she is bleeding from her most private parts. And finally, her aunt explains? What kind of a God leaves a child with such uncertainty?”

  Eli hesitated. He could hear the pain in her voice. He wished he had a magic wand that could bring her mother back. But he didn’t. All he had was the wisdom that was in his heart. “She loves you. Your mother does. She watches over you, Gretchen. And I believe she is always with you. She may not be alive, but she watches over you.” He saw that she was crying. It was forbidden for him to touch her. But he wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “Do you?” I’ve often tried to talk to her when I lay in bed before going to sleep. But I never feel that she is with me.”

  “But she is. And some day you will know it.”

  “You’re so sure of this.”

  “I am,” he said.

  She looked up at him, her eyes illuminated with tears, and then she continued. “I still think of my mother often. Not as much as I did as a child, but often. I have a picture of her. That’s all I have. And I have never told anyone this, but sometimes, when I am alone, I stare at that picture, and I wonder what she would have been like had I known her. Was she kind? Was she smart? I often wonder. Anyway, my father says I look like her, but I don’t think so.”

  “If you look like her then she must have been very beautiful,” Eli said surprised at his own moxie. What nerve I have, he thought.

  Gretchen let out a short laugh—an embarrassed and self-conscious laugh. “Beautiful, me? That’s funny,” she said.

  “I mean it.” His voice cracked.

  “I like your necklace,” she said trying to change the subject quickly.

  His hand went up to touch the Star of David that hung loosely around his neck. “Oh, this is a Star of David,” he said. “Would you like to know an interesting fact about the Star of David?”

  “Yes, sure. Why not?”

  “Well, every single letter that is in the Hebrew alphabet is contained within this Star of David.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Do you have a pencil and paper? If you do, I will show you.”

  “I have a pencil.” She reached in her purse and took it out.

  He remembered that he had a note that Yousef had left for him in class the day before. It was nothing important, just a reminder to tell his mother to pack the knishes. He pulled the paper out of his pants pocket. He took the pencil.

  Leaning against the side of a building, he began to draw all the letters, explaining how each one fit into the Star of David. By the time he had finished, she was smiling.

  “That’s rather clever,” she said.

  “Oh, I don’t know about clever. It’s important.”

  She nodded, and they began to walk again. They were silent for a while then she asked, “You said that book that I found is a book about the Talmud. I was just wondering, is the Talmud the same as the Kabbalah?”

  He stopped walking and turned to look at her. “How do you know of Kabbalah? Are you Jewish?” A glimmer of hope flashed through him. Could he have been wrong?

  “No, I’m not. But my father’s a professor, and since I am his only child, he’s always teaching me things.”

  “And your father studies Kabbalah?” he said, disappointed that she wasn’t Jewish, even though he knew when he asked the chances were slim.

  “I’m not sure that he studies it. Or how much he knows about it. But he told me that it’s a mystical text that is studied by religious Jews. Men only. Is that true?”

  “Yes, actually. He is right.”

  “Why only men?”

  “It’s the way we have always done it. Women raise the children, men study.”

  “I suppose it’s the same for us in many ways. Women are expected to take care of the home and children. It’s not as important for a woman to learn as it is for a man. However, I think that’s rather sad. I mean, women are as smart as men . . . some may be even smarter. And yet because we are women our intelligence is overlooked,” she said.

  “Oh, I believe that wholeheartedly. I know that women are definitely smarter. They are born knowing all the secrets of the universe, so they actually have no need for study. You see, God gives that gift to them so that they are able to naturally become mothers and instinctively know what to do to care for a child. Their purpose in life, which is to bring forth life, is the highest purpose of all. They must know a great deal in order to raise a child properly. And the bringing up of children is the most important thing in the world. So perhaps you could say that, in many ways, women are superior. They create life, with God’s help, of course. But perhaps that makes them closer to God. What do you think?”

  “Truthfully, I think that you have a rather strange way of looking at things. But I do have to admit you’re interesting. I’ve never talked to anyone who thought the way that you do.”

  “You have never met a religious Jew before?”

  “I’ve seen people on the streets who wear those same long si
deburns and big hats like you do. But I’ve never talked to any of them. They keep to themselves.”

  “Yes, you’re right. They do. It’s part of the way we live and the way we believe.”

  “You believe that you should keep to yourselves and not associate with non-Jews? Do you think that's perhaps why people dislike Jews?”

  “It’s possible. But we believe that it is best for our people to stick with their own kind. Do you know what I mean? We believe that Jews should marry other Jews. And we should stay in our own neighborhoods, around people who understand our customs. You see, we are afraid that if we assimilate into society we will lose the purity of our people.” He shrugged, not sure if he believed that this was right.

  “That sounds like the Nazi Party to me. It sounds like the propaganda I heard when I was in the Bund.”

  “The Bund?”

  “Yes, the Hitler Youth group for girls.”

  “You were in that group?”

  “I was. I didn’t know any better when I joined. And besides, it’s required. But I didn’t say I agreed with their teachings. All I said is that I heard them. And that all this nonsense of keeping races pure, in my opinion, is just that: nonsense. Thinking in this way gives people a reason to hate each other rather than bringing people together. Whether they are Nazi’s or Jews.” She sneered.

  He quickly glanced at her. Realizing that he hurt her feelings, he added boldly, “But . . . I am really glad that you found my book and were kind enough to bring it back to me. I’ve really enjoyed talking to you. I guess I am saying that I am very happy that we met. In fact, you are quite different from anyone I have ever talked with. However, I have to admit that I haven’t had a conversation with a girl before. And . . . I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to.”

  There were several moments of silence. Then Gretchen said, “It’s all right. I am glad we can talk about these things.” She hesitated, then she smiled and continued. “You’ve never talked to a girl? Really? That’s very odd.”

  “Not the way we are talking now. I am sure you would find it odd. But it’s our way. I have spoken with girls, but always with other people around. I have never been alone with a female and talked to her the way we have spoken today. And quite frankly, I probably won’t be alone again with a girl until I get married. Then I will be allowed to talk to my wife. But our conversations will be mostly about our children and our home. Women don’t have intellectual conversations with men.”

  “That’s so strange, Eli.”

  She said my name, he thought, and he felt a tingle run from his head to his toes. “Well, let’s just say that this walk has been most interesting. Most interesting indeed,” he said. Then he added, shaking his head, “And perhaps a little dangerous.”

  “You sound like our short walk together was something bad for you. Dangerous? Why? Do you really feel that I am dangerous?” She let out a laugh.

  “Time will tell,” he said. “I don’t know . . .”

  “You don’t know if you’re glad you met me?” She was shocked. “I’ve never had a boy say he wasn’t sure if he was glad he met me. I guess I am insulted. Well, you are certainly a strange fellow, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose to you, I am.” You are so forbidden, and I am so attracted to you. I’ve never been attracted to any of the girls my father has introduced me to. He stopped walking and looked down at her. Then he smiled and said, “Actually, I cannot deny it. I am very happy to have met you, Gretchen.”

  “I’m glad to have met you too, Eli Kaetzel. You intrigue me.”

  Gretchen was bold and outspoken. She was exciting, intelligent, and beautiful. He had to admit he was captivated.

  They arrived at the door to a tall apartment building in a middle-income area. The homes were modest but well kept. The streets were clean, and unlike the poorer neighborhoods, there was no garbage on the walkways.

  “I live here. In this building,” Gretchen said. “Thank you for walking me home.”

  “Thank you for bringing my book back to me,” he said. She began to walk up the stairs. His heart raced. He knew if he didn’t say something she would disappear behind the door of her building and back into her world. Chances were that he would never see her again. He knew he should let her go. But he couldn’t. He wanted to see her again, and his longing was stronger than his desire to follow the rules. He was terrified of his willingness to break the rules, to commit what his father would surely see as a sin. It took all the courage he could muster, for even as he said the words, he could hear his father grunting in disapproval in the background.

  “Maybe we could see each other again? Maybe we could talk like this again? Perhaps, sometime?” He cringed as he heard his own voice. How foolish he sounded, and how wrong it all was. Yet, his heart thundered in his chest as he waited for her answer. Hoping she wouldn’t say no, yet knowing it would be best if she did.

  She turned to look up at him. Then she smiled. “I would like that. How about after school on Friday? I get out at four.”

  “Friday is the Sabbath. I can’t. I’m sorry.” He suddenly felt a wave of guilt. What was he doing? What was he thinking? He should turn and go. Run away as if he had to, but get away from these forbidden feelings he was having.

  “I should go,” he said, but she gave him a big smile, and his heart melted.

  “How about Monday, then?” she asked.

  “Yes, Monday,” he heard himself answer. It was as if he had stepped outside of his body and was observing himself. “Yes, Monday,” he repeated. “But where shall we meet? I am afraid that the park is too dangerous for us.”

  “I know of an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. Do you know where I mean?”

  “Yes, actually I do. You mean the old textile warehouse? It’s been empty for years”

  “Yes.” She nodded “We used to play there as children. Four o’clock at the warehouse? I’ll meet you?”

  “Yes.” He nodded, swallowing hard, knowing it was wrong yet unable to stop himself.

  “Good. Well, I’ll see you then,” she said and walked into the building. The door closed quietly behind her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Eli couldn’t believe what he’d done. As he walked home, he imagined his father’s face wearing a mask of disapproval. It was bad enough he’d rejected every one of the prospective brides his father had introduced him to, including Sarah Kaufman. She was the daughter of a Kohane, a high priest in the Jewish religion. Eli also came from a long line of Kohanes. He knew that his father would have been so proud if Eli had chosen Sarah as his wife. But like all the others, she was tongue-tied in Eli’s presence, afraid to speak directly to him. She was a sweet girl, and pretty too, and he knew she was doing what she had been taught to do. She was trying very hard to please him.

  But Eli felt strange in her presence, as he did with all those girls. It was as if he were hiring a servant rather than searching for a life partner. How wonderful it would be to have a wife with whom he might talk about anything. Perhaps even the Torah, although that would be very radical.

  There was something about Gretchen that made him believe that if he knew her better, they could discuss all matters easily. She was not afraid of him. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with intelligence, and he somehow felt that she could hold her own if she were given an opportunity to read holy books. The very idea filled him with a pang of fear. If his father had the slightest inkling of what Eli was thinking, then Eli would never outlive the old man’s anger.

  It was growing darker by the minute. Eli turned the corner on his way back to his neighborhood only to run into a group of boys wearing leather jackets, huddled in an alleyway. A spasm of fear struck Eli like a bolt of lightning. He wasn’t a small man, and unlike most of the other yeshiva boys, he always engaged in plenty of physical activities. But he had never been involved in a fistfight. To make matters worse, there were five of them and one of him.

  As he walked along, he noticed his thin wrists. Food was
so expensive these days that there never seemed to be enough. His mother didn’t let on that she was eating less to ensure that Eli and his father always had a larger portion. But Eli knew that she would rather feed her family than take care of herself, and he wouldn’t take her share. So, he always left the table hungry, claiming he couldn’t eat another bite. His sister too, tried to give him some of hers, declaring that she didn’t need as much. He knew she was only trying to help him, but he always refused. Eli continued to walk, trying not to hurry, in the hope that the boys would ignore him.

  But he knew better.

  Since January, when that strange little man, Adolf Hitler, with his angry voice and peculiar-looking mustache, began trying to become chancellor of Germany, anti-Semitism had grown like a giant octopus, its tentacles reaching out and squeezing every inch of Germany. Not that the hatred of Jews was ever nonexistent, but now it was growing more and more acceptable to hate Jews openly. Every time Eli tried to discuss leaving Germany with his father, his father silenced him.

  “I’m not going to run away,” his father said. “I am as German as they are. I was born here. My father was born here. And his father before him.”

  His father refused to discuss this Adolf Hitler. The old rebbe ignored Hitler’s frightening speeches about the Jews. When Eli insisted that his father open his eyes before it was too late and that he consider moving the family out of Germany, the rebbe's face turned scarlet. He slammed his fist on the table, turned to his son, and banned Eli from saying the name “Adolf Hitler” in their home ever again.

  “As long as I am alive you will not utter that man’s name in our home. You will never suggest that we leave Germany again. Do you understand me?”