To Be An Israeli: The Fourth Book in the All My Love, Detrick series

by Roberta Kagan

  Then on the final day, the eighth day of Hanukkah, Mendel gave Katja an envelope. She cocked her head to the side and looked at him.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s an… I owe you.”

  “What?”

  “Open it.”

  She did. Inside there was a note.

  “Let’s spend next week shopping for a new home. I am going to buy us a house, a real house, a home of our own,” was all the note said.

  Katja gasped in surprise. Then she threw her arms around Mendel’s neck and kissed him.

  Zofia watched. She had no idea why—there was no logical reason, but she was worried.

  CHAPTER 18

  Greenspan was right. In just a few months, the weight loss drug was an enormous success. Once it was approved for sale in Israel, Greenspan sent it for approval in Europe and, following that, in the United States.

  Mendel was well rewarded. He and Katja bought a home with four bedrooms and three-and-a-half baths. Zofia had her own wing with her bedroom and bath attached. The kitchen was filled with modern appliances. Katja even had her own oven. It was like a dream. They bought brand new, matching linens and towels in the avocado green that was popular. Katja took Zofia and Ima, and they shopped for days at a time in search of the perfect furnishings.

  When Mendel looked into Katja’s eyes, he saw admiration and respect, and finally after longing for it for so long, he believed he even saw love. All of these things made his efforts worthwhile most of the time. However, late one night when everyone was asleep, and the house was as silent as a graveyard, Mendel sat alone in the thick plush chair he’d purchased from an expensive furniture store and began to study his hands. He looked carefully at the lines in his palm and the nails on his fingers. These hands, he thought as he held them up to the moonlight, were meant to do good things. He’d always believed that.

  But he knew deep in his heart that he could not forget the work he was doing would eventually cause more harm than good. Mendel knew that it was only a matter of time before someone died as a result of taking the medication he’d gotten approved by slipping through loopholes and lying. Who would die? A mother? A father? An overweight teenager hoping to lose weight and change his life? Perhaps someone’s daughter—he, too, had a daughter.

  He ran his trembling hands through his thinning hair. Then silently, like a ghost, he padded slowly, his bare feet cooled by the marble floor, to peek into Ima’s room and watch her sleep. Her tiny body rose and fell with each breath. She was such a perfect mixture of her mother and him. When she was born, her hair was as light as a golden delicious apple. But as she grew, her hair became darker and was now not as blonde as her mother’s but not as dark as his. It was sort of a brushed gold, the color of a mixture of honey and ale.

  When Mendel came home, and little Ima ran into his arms, his heart swelled with a love he never knew he could feel. Somewhere there was a father who loved his child the way he loved Ima, and this father had trusted the integrity of the pharmaceutical laboratories not to produce a drug that they knew would be harmful. Mendel bit his lower lip.

  Mendel left Ima’s room and went to bed. He sat on the bed beside Katja and gazed at her golden curls, lit by the moonlight that shown through the window. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Although she didn’t know it and would not have approved if she did, she was the only person for whom he would willingly sell his soul. Tenderly he touched her shoulder. He didn’t want to awaken her, but he wished that he had the courage to tell her everything. Mendel knew, even as his fingers caressed her cool porcelain skin, that he would never burden her with the knowledge of what he’d done, to relieve his own guilt. It was his decision and his alone, and he would bear that load alone.

  CHAPTER 19

  Ima was growing so fast that Zofia could hardly keep up with her. She was a little over a year and a half old and into everything. To Ima, the world was a giant playground, and she was never willing to sit still and be quiet while Zofia told her stories. Between Katja and Zofia, keeping Ima out of trouble was a full-day’s work. They often took turns when the child was awake, and when she fell asleep, they would brew a pot of tea and try to catch their breath.

  One afternoon after taking Ima to the park and chasing after her for an hour, they were able to put the child down for an afternoon nap. With a sigh of relief for the few minutes of peace, the two women sat together sipping tea and eating wonderful Israeli chocolate.

  “Mendel has done very well for himself. Your father would have been so proud,” Zofia said.

  “I can’t believe how successful he has become. I would never have believed this could be our lives. You know, Mama, I never thought about being rich when I was growing up. I always felt that we had so much because we had each other and the kibbutz and Israel. In those days, I could never have imagined anyone living the way that we live now. It’s remarkable. Sometimes I have to sit back and take a deep breath to remind myself that I’m awake and not dreaming.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy. I’m glad that you have everything you need and that you never want for anything. That was all I ever wanted for you.”

  “I know that. You have always been a good mother to me, Mama.”

  “Do you ever think about her?” Zofia asked.

  Katja instinctively knew who her mother was talking about. “Helga?”

  “Yes,” Zofia whispered.

  “Sometimes I do. I feel sorry for her, but you are my real mother.”

  “Did you ever write to her and tell her about Ima?”

  “I did, but I never sent the letter,” Katja said, looking away. “I don’t want her to come here. It might be best that she never knows she has a grandchild.”

  Zofia nodded. “It’s your choice. It’s not a choice anyone else can make for you.”

  “I know, and I chose you.”

  CHAPTER 20

  That night Mendel arrived home from work exhausted. He discarded the tailor made suit he’d once cherished onto a chair like an old pair of jeans. Now he had so many handmade suits that they were no longer special to him. He stretched his back and then sat down on the bed in his boxer shorts. Even though he had not kept up his daily exercise, he was still slender, but his muscles seemed to be going soft. Mendel rubbed his abs and sighed in lament. This job was aging him quickly.

  Katja carried a basket of folded laundry into the bedroom to put it away. She smiled at Mendel and rubbed his shoulders for a moment after she put the laundry down on the bed.

  “Don’t you like listening to that comedian Zilberman on the radio? You used to like him. I remember that you used to listen to him all the time,” Mendel commented.

  “When I have time, I still listen to him. Why?”

  “Guess what I’ve got? I’ve got a surprise for you…”

  “What?” She giggled and sat down beside him.

  “Zilberman is doing a show here in Tel Aviv, and I have tickets for us to go. But these are not just any tickets, my darling.” He picked up the tickets that he’d laid on the dresser and shuffled them in front of her like cards. He had a big smile. “We have box seats, the best seats in the house.”

  Katja giggled. “Really? They must have cost a fortune.” She reached for the tickets, to look at them.

  “Now… I have a feeling that your mother would be happy to watch the baby so that we could have a quiet evening to ourselves. We’ll go to a nice restaurant and have dinner and then go to the show.”

  Her blue eyes lit up like a morning sky, and his heart thumped. When she was happy, all of his worries faded if only for a few moments. He wanted to make this night very special. “I insist that you go and buy a new dress and shoes and whatever else you want or need. Have a facial, a professional makeup job, whatever you want…”

  “Mendel, this is wonderful. I am sure that Mom would love to babysit.” She smiled at him. And again there it was, that look of love in her eyes, that look that he lived for, that look that made even th
e worst of things all right.

  “So let’s ask your mother to babysit, and I suggest you start shopping. Don’t worry about the price, just buy anything you want.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Zofia dressed Ima in a white dress embroidered with lemon-yellow daisies and thick, white tights to keep her legs warm. Although it was the middle of May, it was still cool outside, and she didn’t want to risk Ima catching a cold. Zofia, Katja, and the baby were heading into town to shop for a dress that Katja would wear the night that she and Mendel would go to see the famous comedian.

  Zofia would have loved to make a garment. She had offered if Katja wanted to purchase the fabric. But Katja said that it was far too much work, and she’d just buy something ready-made. Zofia had to admit that her vision was not as good as it was in her youth, but even so, she felt a little slighted. She knew that Katja had her best interest at heart, but somehow the whole situation made her feel a little useless. There was a time when she’d made all of Katja’s clothes. Well, at least she could babysit for Ima, her precious Ima.

  “Come on, Bubbe, we go now,” Ima said, pulling on Zofia’s hand. “Mama said we go out to ressraunt for eats.”

  Zofia touched Ima’s cheek. She glanced down at Ima’s tiny white saddle shoes, and an overwhelming feeling of tenderness came over her. For a moment, Zofia thought she might cry. She was such a beautiful child, such a joy, and a blessing. Although she was active and exhausting, Ima distracted Zofia from dwelling on how much she missed Isaac.

  Katja came out of her bedroom and began putting the diaper bag together. They’d gotten used to bringing what looked like a small suitcase whenever they took Ima anywhere. It contained everything that they could possibly need. Katja had recently learned to drive, and Mendel had rewarded her with the safest automobile available.

  Katja loaded the car while Zofia took Ima’s hand and locked the door to the house. Zofia could find no explanation as to why she felt so uneasy about Mendel’s success. She was always afraid that something would go wrong. She should be happy. After all, her daughter had a life that was only a dream for most people. And yet…something…something wasn’t right.

  She couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Mendel was not the same. He looked strained. He’d aged, his hair was thinning, and he looked so tired. Sometimes she would notice that he would sit staring into space with a strange look on his face, always distracted. Zofia was positive that he was not interested in another woman. Even with all of the changes Mendel seemed to be going through, his love for Katja was still evident.

  It had to be his work. No doubt that overly demanding boss and his long hours were sucking the life out of him. Every day it was eating a little more of him like a cancer. Zofia realized that it was not possible to earn the kind of money Mendel was bringing home without working very hard.

  But somehow, she wished that they were all still back on the kibbutz, living without money, without pressure, just living for the joy of living. They had plenty of material things now. In fact, there was nothing that could be bought in a store that they did not have, and that was nice, but the price…

  Once they were in town, Katja parked in front of a well-known, posh dress shop. The three of them entered. Discreetly Zofia examined the workmanship of the seamstresses who’d made the dresses. She turned several of the gowns inside out and looked at the seams. Not as good as hers, she thought. These dresses were made in a factory. The pearls were not sewn on by hand the way she’d always done them. “Shoddy workmanship,” she whispered under her breath.

  “Mom,” Katja called from across the dressing room on the other side of the shop, “bring Ima and come and look at this dress. I want your opinion.”

  Zofia quietly huffed. Then she whispered to Ima, who would not understand what she said, “Your bubbe could make much finer garments than these.”

  Ima smiled and squeezed Zofia’s hand as they walked over to Katja.

  “So what do you think?” Katja said, holding up a black dress with a low-cut back that was draped with French lace.

  “It’s nice,” Zofia said.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I didn’t say that. Try it on. Ima and I will give you our honest opinion. Won’t we, Ima?”

  “Mama…” Ima said, reaching up for Katja to pick her up. Katja lifted her and kissed her.

  “Stay here with Bubbe. I’ll be right back. I’m going to try this dress on.”

  Zofia and Ima stood waiting outside the dressing room.

  Ima began playing with the dresses on the rack. A sales woman with a pinched smile walked over. “I’m sorry. But she can’t touch the merchandise. These are very delicate fabrics…,” the saleswoman said to Zofia.

  Zofia nodded and began playing patty cake with Ima to distract her. The child giggled.

  Then Katja came out of the dressing room. Zofia had seen many women try on many dresses in her days as a seamstress, but she’d never seen one as striking, or as stunning as Katja was as she stood before them.

  “Do you like it?”

  Zofia nodded. “You are so beautiful, Katja.” And she meant it. “When is this comedy show you and Mendel are going to see?”

  “June 4th. I have a couple of weeks to find shoes and a matching bag. Do you think I should have my hair done in an updo?”

  “No, wear it down. It’s like a golden crown,” Zofia said, touching the long, blonde curls that she had brushed when Katja was just a child.

  CHAPTER 22

  The night of the Zilberman comedy show, Ima was fussy. She’d been crying all day, her nose was running, and her skin felt hot to the touch.

  “Either she has a little cold, or she’s cutting a tooth,” Zofia said.

  “I’m worried. Maybe we shouldn’t go,” Katja said.

  “Of course, you and Mendel will go. I’ll take care of the baby.”

  Katja looked at Ima and saw that her skin was the color of fresh radishes. She picked her up in spite of the fancy dress Katja was wearing and held Ima to her breast. The child felt clammy.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Katja asked.

  Ima just clutched onto Katja’s dress with her tiny fist, her face crunched and stained with tears.

  “I don’t know what to do. I am afraid to leave her. I think we should call Dr. Katz.”

  “No need. If she gets worse, I’ll call—I promise. You two go and have a good time. You’ve been looking forward to this show for weeks.”

  Katja nodded and whispered, “Okay,” but her eyes reflected worry. Mendel came into the room wearing a black suit with a crisp, white, cotton shirt and a black tie. He looked charming, elegant.

  “What’s going on here?” Mendel asked.

  “Ima’s sick,” Katja said.

  “Let’s stay home.” Mendel reached for the baby and took her into his arms.

  “I insist that you both go. Now if Ima needs anything, I promise to call Dr. Katz right away.”

  Mendel looked at Katja. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I suppose Mama is right. Your boss and his wife are going to be expecting us. We can’t miss it. I suppose we should be there.”

  “I don’t care about them at all,” Mendel said.

  “I know, but it makes a good impression.”

  “All right, if you think we should go then get your purse, and we’ll get going,” Mendel said to Katja. “Mom,” he addressed Zofia, “I’ll call you periodically to see how the baby is doing. If you need anything, call the theater. Here is the box number where we will be seated. Just ask them to go and get me, all right?” Mendel wrote the number down.

  Zofia took the paper with the box number and put it next to the phone.

  “Either way, we’ll be home early, Mama,” Katja said. She leaned down and kissed Ima’s cheek then gave Zofia a worried look.

  “Don’t worry. Ima will be fine.”

  Katja tried to smile as they walked out the door.

  CHAPTER 23

&
nbsp; Elan Amsel was exhausted. He had become accustomed to operating the produce stand on Ben Yehuda St. that his father, Giton, had left to him when he died. Elan had even made friends at the market, but he was unsatisfied, unfulfilled, and most often, miserable.

  The only good thing about the marketplace was Friday night when it closed to reopen on Sunday. And he also liked being his own boss. It gave him the opportunity to get out of his house and to go to work early and then stay late when there were problems between his wife and mother. Of course, everything in Jerusalem closed on Friday night for the Sabbath, not just the market. In this city, everyone observed the holy days.

  Elan often pondered the tragedy his life had become. He had never been the same since his breakup with Katja. He’d tried to start over, tried very hard. In fact, he’d even allowed himself to believe that if he married Janice, she would help him to forget the past. She was such as strong woman.

  When they first met, Elan had been so broken that it was easy to step back and let her lead the way…at least for a short while. Then as time passed, the very thing that had attracted him to his wife now repelled him.

  Janice, an American girl, had grown up spoiled by an overindulgent father, who always gave in to her tantrums. Elan’s mother, Jerusha, who lived with the two of them, was also a stubborn woman. She and Janice fought bitter battles daily, always putting Elan in the middle. He tried to avoid them whenever possible. But when he was at home in the evening trying to relax, the two women were constantly agitating him. He needed his rest but was unable to get enough sleep.

  As soon as he and his wife retired to their room for the night, Janice was complaining about something his mother had done earlier in the day. She would ramble on, even when he told her that he’d had enough and wanted to rest. Most of the time Janice’s constant nagging resulted in an argument. His cute, little, redheaded, American wife was a true firebrand. Elan had a strong will of his own, and although he was trying to keep a level head, Elan was afraid that one day he might strike her.