The Smallest Crack

by Roberta Kagan

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Rebecca did her best to comfort her husband during the shiva, but he spent most of his time with Yousef. Yousef’s wife, Ruth, was a bright girl with a huge smile, and Rebecca felt the warmth emanating from her. Ruth offered her help in every aspect of the shiva. But even though she liked Ruth, she couldn’t help but feel a sting of envy when she saw the way Yousef and his wife looked at each other. They acted properly, but when they thought no one was looking, they would smile a knowing smile at each other. Rebecca read a million things into that smile. To her, it represented everything that was lacking in her marriage.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Eli and I had a relationship like that? But for some reason, we just can’t seem to get close to each other. We more or less go through the motions of being husband and wife. I don’t feel comfortable enough to share my innermost feelings with him, and he never shares his with me. He treats me with respect but not affection. These two seem so at ease with each other. I can tell that when they are alone, they talk freely, not like Eli and me. I can’t speak freely to my husband. I feel as if I must always keep my head bowed and do as he says. That’s the way my parents told me I must behave once I was married. And now, Eli and I live together; he shares my bed and my body. I prepare his meals and we eat together. I go to the mikvah after my menses every month. I keep the Sabbath and a good kosher home, and I am obedient. Anyone on the outside looking in would say we have a perfect marriage. But we have nothing beyond the surface.

  Rebecca walked past a mirror and was reminded of the sadness in the house when she saw the mirror covered with a sheet. This was a tradition that always bothered her. It was meant for the mourners so they would not look into the mirror and see their grief, but she always found it unnerving.

  Eli was sitting on a hard wooden box in his stocking feet as was expected of a family member of the deceased. Once again, as it was for his father’s shiva, the lapel of his jacket was torn to show the world he was in mourning.

  “Can I make you up a plate of food?” Rebecca asked.

  “No, thank you, Rebecca,” Eli said.

  She nodded and walked away, feeling he didn’t need her for anything. Rebecca didn’t want to sit in the living room beside her husband. Being with him made her feel lonelier than being alone, so she went into the kitchen to straighten up. Even though there were many women at the house who were willing to take care of everything, Rebecca wanted to keep busy. She began wiping the counters and neatly rearranging the food that the visitors brought. As she set up the table, there was a knock on the back door. Rebecca was only a few feet away so she opened it. It was Shmul, carrying a big block of cheese wrapped in white paper.

  “I brought this for you,” he said. “I think it’s your favorite. I mean, it’s the one you always buy.”

  “Thank you. That was very kind of you,” Rebecca said, putting the cheese on a plate. She placed it on the table then took a knife from the drawer and put it next to the cheese. The cheese wasn’t her favorite. It was actually her mother-in-law’s favorite, and Rebecca had always purchased it for her. But there was no point in telling Shmul that.

  “Please, won’t you have something to eat?” she asked.

  “Yes, I will. Thank you.” Shmul took a plate and began to fill it. Rebecca tried to leave the room, not wanting to be alone with him any longer than necessary. It wasn’t proper.

  “Rebecca?” he said. His voice was soft and gentle, and it made her long to be held and touched. Not in a sexual way, but in an affectionate way. Eli never touched her or held her. If Shmul even tried, she knew she would run out of the room because it was strictly forbidden. But something inside of her yearned for human touch.

  “I have something to say to you,” Shmul said. “I have been watching you every time you come into my father’s store. I can’t stop thinking about you. I think I am falling in love with you.”

  Rebecca felt her face burn with embarrassment. “You must not say such things. You must not think them either. I am the wife of the future rebbe. I am proud to be Eli’s wife. I can never think of any other man in that way. Do you understand me?” Rebecca said firmly.

  He nodded, but he looked as if he might cry. “I understand. You are a good girl: a frum girl. A girl any man would be lucky to have as his wife.”

  “I’m sorry, Shmul. I hope you find someone who makes you happy. You’re a good man. You deserve to be happy,” Rebecca said. She walked out of the room leaving Shmul alone. She quickly went into the bathroom and locked the door. Once she was alone, she began to cry. She wept for all that Eli wasn’t. She wept for all that he didn’t give her, and for all her broken dreams: all the dreams she had to give up because it was the right thing to do.

  Avigale, Eli’s younger sister, sat quietly next to him on a wooden box in her stocking feet. She had been jealous of Rebecca’s relationship with her mother, so she was never close to Rebecca. Now she would have to live with her brother and sister-in-law, acting as parents to her, unless one of her other relatives offered her a place to stay. She always wanted to visit Holland, and she did have an aunt and uncle living there. She thought perhaps she could convince Eli to send her there. He was the head of the house with Papa gone, and now all decisions would have to be approved by him. Avigale decided to ask him after all the people who came to pay their respects left, and the family was alone.

  Rebecca’s parents arrived at the shiva. Her mother handed a cake to Rebecca.

  “Thank you, Mother,” Rebecca said, not meeting her mother’s eyes. She knew if she saw the reflection of her own sadness in her mother’s eyes she would break down, and she was trying so hard to stay strong for Eli’s sake.

  “How is my shana madel, my pretty girl?” her father asked. “You are so busy you hardly come to see us anymore.”

  It was true. Rebecca didn’t go to see her parents because she was afraid they would ask how she and Eli were doing as a couple, or even worse, they might ask why she had not yet conceived.

  “Oh, but I do come to see you, Papa. However, my poor mother-in-law was sick for a long time before she passed, and it was difficult for me to get away and leave her. Eli was in the shul every day, and his mother couldn’t be left alone. She needed my help.”

  “Of course. Your mama and I understand, and you have always been such a good girl. My sweet child. But now you’ll have time on your hands; you’ll come and see us, yes?”

  Rebecca turned away because she felt the tears forming behind her eyes.

  “Of course, Father,” Rebecca said, choking back the tears.

  At sundown, Eli gathered ten men, a minyan, in order to say the Kaddish, a special prayer for the dead, for his mother. Rebecca’s father participated. The men stood alongside Eli and recited the familiar prayers.

  Yisgadal v'yiskadash sh'mei rabbaw (Amen)

  B'allmaw dee v'raw chir'usei,

  v'yamlich malchusei,b'chayeichon, uv'yomeichon,

  uv'chayei d'chol beis yisroel,

  ba'agawlaw u'vizman kawriv, v'imru: Amen.

  (Cong: Amen. Y'hei sh'mei rabbaw m'vawrach l'allam u'l'allmei allmayaw)

  Y'hei sh'mei rabbaw m'vawrach l'allam u'l'allmei allmayaw.

  Yis'bawrach, v'yishtabach, v'yispaw'ar, v'yisromam, v'yis'nasei,

  v'yis'hadar, v'yis'aleh, v'yis'halawl sh'mei d'kudshaw b'rich hu

  (Cong. b'rich hu). L'aylaw min kol birchawsaw v'shirawsaw,

  tush'b'chawsaw v'nechemawsaw, da'ami'rawn b'all'maw, v'imru: Amein

  Meanwhile, Ruth and Rebecca cleaned the kitchen.

  “Can I help you two?” Rebecca’s mother offered.

  “No, Mama. We are doing just fine,” Rebecca said. “You should sit. You’ve been helping out all day. Sit and make yourself comfortable while you wait for Papa.”

  “Your papa and I are going to head back home once the men have finished the Kaddish.”

  Rebecca heard the last lines of the prayers, and she hugged her mother tightly. “Thank you for coming,” she said, longing
to say so much more, but holding back.

  Y'hei shlawmaw rabbaw min sh'mayaw,v'chayim

  awleinu v'al kol yisroel, v'imru: Amein

  Oseh shawlom bim'ro'mawv, hu ya'aseh shawlom,

  awleinu v'al kol yisroel v'imru: Amein

  “Of course, we would come. There is no need for you to thank us, Rebecca. You are our daughter. Your husband’s family is our mishpokha, our family too.” Rebecca’s mother touched Rebecca’s cheek gently. “And please, try to come and see us. Your papa and I miss you.”

  Rebecca nodded. Tears fell down her cheeks. She couldn’t hold them back.

  Her mother wiped the tears from Rebecca’s face the same way she did when she was a child. “Don’t cry, meyn kind, my child. I know you are sad, but it hurts me to see you cry.”

  “I miss you and Papa,” Rebecca said.

  “Of course you do, but kaynahorah, you have a good life. And the evil eye should not fall on you.” Rebecca’s mother spit on the floor three times superstitiously. “You have a wonderful husband, such a smart boy, such an educated boy, and a lovely home.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Rebecca choked out the words obediently. “You’re right.”

  “So you’ll come to see your papa and me next week. I’ll make you a pot of my good chicken soup with matzo balls—not too soft—the way you like it. Yes? I remember. Of course, I remember. And you’ll take some soup home for your handsome husband, yes?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Eli decided if Avigale wanted to stay with their aunt and uncle in Holland, it was all right with him. Their uncle was a prominent rabbi and would probably be able to find a good match for her. Eli promised Avigale he would make all the arrangements.

  After Rebecca and Avigale went to bed, Eli sat outside alone looking at the moon. It was bitter cold, and it was only when he felt his eyelashes freezing that he knew he was crying. Papa, he said quietly to the moon and stars. Papa, how am I going to follow in your footsteps? I can’t advise anyone. I am so unsure of myself. I dare not tell any of the others at the shul or yeshiva lest they think me unworthy. But I need someone I can talk to, someone I can rely on to give me advice. But there is no one in the world who can guide me the way that you did. Rebecca is a good girl, but she is not a strong person. I know I should not expect this of a woman. Women are not to be consulted in this way, but I have no idea whom I can turn to. The only person I ever felt would be able to speak to me as an equal was the girl, Gretchen, whom I met long ago. I know that wherever you are, just hearing me say this girl’s name has probably sent you into a fit of spitting on the floor. Of course, I know that you would never approve of me talking to her. First off, I am a married man, and to even think of spending time with a woman who is not my wife is a sin. And number two, to make matters worse, she is a shiksa. The fact that I am even thinking about her is wrong. And yet, I think about her all the time. I don’t know why, Papa. Years have passed. I should have forgotten her long ago. I don’t see her or talk to her. And it isn’t as if I haven’t tried to put her out of my mind. She’s not nearly as beautiful as my wife. And yet . . .

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Gretchen felt bad that every time Hilde wanted to visit her, she was busy. Either she was caught up in making wedding arrangements, or Karl was at her house. She saw the sadness in Hilde’s eyes when she said she didn’t have time to visit, and she knew that Hilde was feeling left behind. She thought it would be a nice gesture if she made an effort to see Hilde once in a while, but she was so busy that it never seemed like the right time.

  Several months passed since Karl had spoken with the Jewish professor who had been fired from the university. Over that time the university had let go of all the Jewish faculty. And in consequence the other professors were overloaded with work. In the teachers lounge there were constant complaints about the workload. But no one mentioned the Jews or the law.

  One afternoon Karl was in the teachers lounge. He was exhausted and becoming very unhappy with the increased workload he had been given. Several of the professors were talking. They were complaining about working ten-hour days. When one female colleague, Frances Hillman, said she could not understand why there was such a heavy increase in their work, Karl accidently let his innermost thoughts be vocalized. This was not like him. Not at all. Perhaps it was because he was tired. Perhaps it was because these were his truest inner thoughts. Or perhaps it was his destiny to speak out. But Karl turned to glare at Professor Hillman. Then Karl said, “Don’t you know why we are working like dogs? If you don’t know, I’ll tell you, Professor Hillman. It’s because the university fired all the Jews. Now we’re stuck doing all their work.”

  “We can’t have Jews teaching Aryans. It’s not right. They are inferior.” Professor Hillman said. It was well known at the university that Hillman was a strong party member and a huge supporter of the Nazi doctrine. “Besides, it’s the law.”

  “The law? The Nazi Party law? The Nazi lawmakers aren’t here working like you and I, until they are completely exhausted, are they?” Karl said. Then he continued not giving the woman a chance to answer. “I have to go. I have another class in ten minutes.” Karl walked out of the faculty lounge. An Aryan science professor who was Karl’s best friend ran after him. When he caught up with Karl he whispered in his ear, “Be careful, Schmidt. You are looking for trouble. We are living in dangerous times. Take care of yourself and your daughter. I have nothing against the Jews, but I don’t care enough about them to put my job or maybe even my life at risk. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?” He patted Karl’s back.

  Karl nodded

  A week later, Karl was called into the office of the University president.

  “This is treason, Karl. Why would you say those things about the Nazi Party? And now, as much as I have liked you all these years that you have worked here, I have to let you go. Someone reported you to the party, and I have received strict orders that I must fire you. I am sorry.”

  “Who reported me? Was it Frances Hillman?” Karl asked. Hillman was the female professor he argued with about the Jews, and he knew she was angry with him.

  “I don’t know who it was. The Gestapo didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask. Karl, I am not looking for trouble. I don’t want to know who is on what side and why. It’s my job to keep the university going as an institution of higher learning under the laws of our fatherland. So I wouldn’t tell you if I did know who turned you in. You have been flirting with danger for a long time. I begged you to stop when you came to see me last fall, but you persisted. And now you are out of a job. I am sorry. But I can’t help you. I wash my hands of the whole damn thing.”

  There was nothing more to say. Karl knew he should have expected this. But even so, it came as a surprise. He always believed that somehow the educated people he worked with would see the truth and begin to fight with him against the Nazi hate propaganda they were being force-fed. Many good people work at this university. It’s just that they are afraid, and if I had any sense, I would be afraid too. Maybe I am. But I can’t live with injustice. I never could.

  Karl walked slowly to his classroom, his head down, and cleaned out his desk. He turned off the lights in his classroom for the last time, and prepared to leave the hallowed halls he was once so proud to be a part of. He had no idea what he would do next. Although he had a little money saved, he would need to find a job as soon as possible. He had promised to help pay for Gretchen’s wedding. Those extra expenses would deplete his savings in no time.

  Karl walked to the bus slowly like a fractured marionette and no longer knew his purpose for being on earth. His limbs hung limply at his sides, his head bowed. He was on his way home from work two hours early, feeling his world had collapsed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Both Gretchen and Norbert were off work that day. They weren’t expecting Gretchen’s father for at least two and a half hours. Quickly, Gretchen put the kettle on the stove and started the soup for d
inner. Then she and Norbert went into her bedroom. They quickly got undressed and climbed into her bed. This was a regular occurrence every Wednesday afternoon since their engagement. Gretchen insisted that Norbert not ejaculate inside her. Out of respect for her father, she told Norbert that she wanted to make sure she didn’t get pregnant until after they were married. He agreed and was very careful.

  At first, their sexual encounters were exciting, and Gretchen looked forward to them. But lately, they began to argue. The wedding was less than two months away, and there was still so much to do. Gretchen wanted Norbert to move in with her father because he was alone. But Norbert insisted they live with his parents because his family had a nicer home with more living space. The longer Gretchen and Norbert were together, the more demanding he became. Consumed with the excitement of the wedding and the idea of being married, she overlooked a lot of his faults. However, as Norbert grew comfortable with his fiancée, he became outspoken. It was growing more difficult to ignore the things she didn’t like about him.

  They finished making love, and Norbert reached for his cigarettes.

  “I wish you would quit. I hate the smell of smoke. It stinks up the whole room,” Gretchen said irritated.

  “A good cigarette or cigar gives a man a feeling of well-being,” Norbert said, lighting the cigarette.

  “Well-being my foot,” she said, shaking her head. “The smell is atrocious. And you cough constantly, so it can’t be good for you.”

  “You’re just not used to it. Your father is the only fellow I know who doesn’t enjoy a good smoke.”

  “I am glad he doesn’t.”

  “Come here and give me a kiss. You’re adorable when you get angry,” Norbert said.

  “I can’t. I have to check the soup.”