On the way home from the kibbutz Katja was silent, starring out the window as the countryside rolled by.
“Do you know why I brought you here?” Elan said.
She shook her head. “No, but it was horrible. It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever been through. Those poor souls, and there must have been so many more.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “There were, and those were the ones who survived the Nazis. When the camps were liberated, there were millions of dead bodies in piles. They killed a lot of Jews.”
“Please Elan . . . enough . . . I don’t want to hear anymore.”
He touched the top of her head. He saw that she was crying.
“I am sorry you had to hear all of this. But, I brought you to this kibbutz so that you would understand why I must stay in the army. When my tour is over, I must re-enlist. I must defend this country with my life. If I ever marry, my wife will have to understand that this country will come before anything, even my family.” His eyes glazed over with pain. Could he have lost Katja for bringing her to this kibbutz, and for what he had told her? He shivered. He'd taken a big chance, but he had to, she had to know.
“You have come to mean a great deal to me, Katja, and I knew that someday, if Israel called me to war and you and I were serious, even maybe married, you might ask me to quit the army. After all, it is a dangerous life, especially for a family man. I may leave the army and live a civilian life, but if Israel is ever attacked, no matter how old I am, I will go to serve. I wanted you to see what was done to our people. It was the only way that I could make you understand the importance of our Jewish homeland. You see, no matter where I am or what I am doing, if Israel needs me, I must go. So, I must be sure that I have made myself clear. Any woman who becomes my wife must know this in advance.”
Elan had not turned on the radio when they got into the car, so the only sound was the sound of the wind coming through the open windows. They drove in silence for a few minutes. Katja could see that Elan was anxious; he was tapping the steering wheel with his fingers, but he said nothing.
“Pull the car to the side of the road,” she said.
He glanced over at her quickly, then pulled the automobile out of traffic and parked. Looking down at the steering wheel, he waited.
Katja did not say a word as she moved over closer to Elan. Then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him softly. She gazed deeply up into his eyes and said, “I would not want you to be any other way, Elan. It is your courage, your sense of right and wrong, and your incredible devotion to your purpose that makes me feel the way I do about you.”
“And how is that? How do you feel about me, Katja?” His voice was small, cracking, and vulnerable.
“I care a lot about you,” she said, reaching up and pushing the hair out of his eyes.
“Katja,” he said, “I love you.”
Chapter 68
From that day forward, Elan and Katja spent every free moment together. When time permitted, they met for an hour for lunch. In the evenings, they either went to dinner or brought food in from a local restaurant to Elan’s apartment. Elan was not religious, but he enjoyed the Shabbat dinners that Katja and he shared. On Saturday, they rested together; sometimes they even went to services at the synagogue, Temple Beth Ami, down the street from the army base where Katja worked. Sundays were special days; they had picnics, or rode horses bareback along the beach. They watched the sunset in each other’s arms.
One such Sunday, after they’d taken a long drive out of town and hiked through the mountains, they stopped by a crisp, clear brook with a waterfall. Night had begun to descend and the stars came out, sparkling like diamonds in a bed of black velvet. The couple sat on the rocks, Katja with her head on Elan’s shoulder.
“You have become my life,” he whispered into her golden hair. “I love you so much.”
She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she was afraid. Love.
He touched her hair so gently that she barely felt his hand. Carefully he held her chin and turned her face towards him. Then he kissed her. She felt her body respond in ways she’d never felt before. He continued to kiss her, slowly; her eyes, her neck, her bosom. She did not want him to stop, but she must tell him. “Elan.”
“Yes, love . . .”
“I’m a virgin.”
“Do you want me to stop?” He looked into her eyes, steady, kind, loving. He waited for her answer.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am sure.”
He looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time, the admiration in his eyes stirring her blood to passion. “You are a goddess,” he said. Then tenderly, slowly, softly, Elan, this man of power, of strength, this giant of a warrior, made love to Katja with a gentleness she never knew was inside him.
Chapter 69
Mendel telephoned every day, but it always seemed that Katja was too busy to talk. She put him off gently, not meaning to hurt his feelings. Finally, after several weeks, he came to see her at her office.
“What’s wrong, Kat? Did I do something to upset you?” Mendel asked, sitting in the chair opposite her desk.
“No Mendel. I am so sorry. I’ve been incredibly overwhelmed with work.”
“It’s all right. How about this weekend? Let's go to a film on Sunday.”
“I can’t, I have plans with Elan.”
So that was it, it was Elan. He should have known. Looking at Katja he realized that she was glowing, she was in love. He’d lost her forever. He should have known. But, he’d hoped he had been wrong. Now he knew for sure.
“Maybe some other time . . .” Mendel said, knowing that the time would never come.
“Yes, soon . . .” she said. He nodded, not turning to look back at her as he walked out the door. He didn’t want her to see the tears in his eyes. She never even knew how he felt about her.
Chapter 70
“I would like for you to meet my family,” Elan said on a Sunday afternoon, as they lay in bed alternating between reading, eating, making love, and napping.
“I would love to meet them.”
“Good, then I will arrange it. When can you take a few days off from work?”
“I don’t know. Let me find out.”
“The High Holidays are coming up. How would you like to spend Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur in Jerusalem?”
“In the Old City?”
“My family lives right outside the Old City. It is a beautiful place. Have you ever been there?”
“Never, but I know it is holy to all religions. I have been wanting to go there for years, but I never had the time.”
“So, you’ll try to take a week and a half off from work, then?”
“Yes, I will try. We will be closed for the holidays so that would be the best time to go.”
“As soon as you’re sure that you can go, I will talk to my mother and tell her we are coming. She’ll be very excited. She loves to have company, and when she sees how skinny you are she’ll take it on as her personal mission to fatten you up.”
“That’s all I need!” She said, laughing.
He started laughing, too. “More of you to love,” he said. Then he buried his face in her neck and began kissing her and tickling her at the same time.
“Stop . . .” she said, still laughing.
“I love to see you laugh. You are so beautiful when you laugh.”
She shook her head in mock anger.
He stopped and took her in his arms, looking deeply into her eyes. She felt herself melt like a chocolate bar in the hot sun. Elan pressed his lips to hers slowly, gently. She sighed. “I love you, Katja,” he whispered. “I love you. And I cherish our Sundays….”
“I love you too, Elan . . .”
“Katja?”
“Yes? . . .”
“Will you be my wife?”
She sat up on her elbow and looked at him lying across the bed. His chest and arms were hard with muscles built through years o
f army training, his eyes were deep pools of dark mystery. Elan. She loved him.
“Yes…yes, I will marry you.”
Chapter 71
There was only one telephone at the kibbutz, and it was rare that anyone called. It was a big black desk phone with a heavy, curved receiver sitting on a table in the main living area of the big house. One of the women had been passing by, carrying a basket of laundry, when she heard it ring.
“Who is this?” She said, picking up the receiver incorrectly and talking into the mouthpiece.
“Turn the phone around and put this side up to your ear,” the caller said.
The woman did as she was told.
“Yeah….who is this?”
“It’s Katja Zuckerman. Can you please get one of my parents for me?”
“Katja, Katja.” The old woman laughed. “Katja, you called on the telephone.”
“Yes, I did. I need to speak to one of my parents. Please, can you get either one for me?”
“This is Thelma Rosenfield. You remember me? Yes? I used to give you hamantaschen when you were little. Yeah? You remember how you loved my cookies?”
“Yes, Mrs. Rosenfield, of course I remember. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m very good. You are in the army, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. I am so sorry to cut you short, but I don’t have much time. Can you please find one of my parents?”
“You know what we got here? We got a television set,” Thelma Rosenfield said. “How have you been? I hope you’re not sick? You should be getting out of the army pretty soon?”
“Yes, I’ll be out in a few months. I am fine, thank you for asking. But, Mrs. Rosenfield, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t have much time. Can you please get one of my parents?”
“Oy, yes, I’m sorry . . . of course. I start talking and I lose track of time. Wait, don’t hang up the telephone. I’ll go and get one of them right away.”
It was 1960. Everyone, except the people on the Kibbuz had a phone. Katja smiled to herself. Poor Thelma; this was probably the first time she’d ever talked on a telephone.
There was silence for several minutes and Katja became concerned that she’d been disconnected. Then . . .
“Katja? . . .” It was Zofia. “Sunshine, how are you? Is everything all right?”
“Yes, Mama, everything is fine. I am fine. How are you and papa?”
“We are doing well. We miss you, of course.”
“I know. I miss you both very much.” Katja felt the tears well up in her eyes.
“Mama, I won’t be home for the holidays this year.”
“Why, you have to work? Don’t tell me that there is trouble in the country. Dear God, not that,” Zofia said. Everyone knew that in Israel war could break out at any time.
“No, Mama. Everything is all right. I have something I want to tell you, but I want to tell you in person.”
“Katja, tell me . . . please. I will worry.”
“Don’t worry. It’s something good.”
“I can’t let you off the phone until you tell me.” Zofia was becoming more nervous and worried as she grew older. The memories of what she had been through during the war and before having settled in Israel haunted her; the happier she was, the more the threat hung over her head of losing everything in an instant.
“All right, Mama. I will tell you, but try and keep the secret from Papa. I want to tell him myself when I come there.”
“I’ll try. Nu? So what is it already?”
“I’m getting married.”
“OY, Married? Katja, who is the boy? You never mentioned anyone. Who is it?”
“His name is Elan and he is wonderful. We are going to see his family for the holidays and then we will come to see you for Hanukah.”
“Elan . . . he is a Sephardic? That’s an Israeli name.”
“Yes, he was born just outside of Jerusalem.”
“My baby is getting married.” Zofia sighed.
“I know you will love him.”
“So, if he makes you happy I’m sure we will love him. You will live here on the kibbutz?”
“I’m not sure. We haven’t decided,” Katja said.
Zofia wanted to cry. She’d been counting the days until Katja would finish her time in the army and return to her family. Now, Katja may never return to live on the kibbutz, only to visit. “Well, you’ll decide later. The most important thing is that you should be happy,” Zofia said. She was trying her best to sound cheerful, but the words caught in her throat.
“You sound upset Mama . . .”
“No, I’m shocked is all. I wasn’t expecting this; it came a little bit unexpectedly, you know? How could I be upset if my Sunshine, my precious little girl, is so happy? How silly you are. Of course I am happy . . . I can’t wait to meet your future husband.”
“You will meet him very soon. He will be the son you never had. I love you, Mama. Tell Papa I love him, and I miss you both,” Katja said.
“We both love you. And we miss you, too. Be safe, and be well. And I will count the days until Hanukah,” Zofia said.
“Bye, Mama.”
“Bye, Sunshine.” Zofia hung up the phone. Then she sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. Then she whispered softly, “Dear God, please watch over my child and protect her.”
Chapter 72
Katja took the day off before the first day of Rosh Hashana, and she and Elan drove toward the Old City. They wanted to be there before sundown on the day of the holiday. It was a lazy, golden September afternoon. The sky was deep blue and the trees were beginning to shed their leaves.
“You never told me much about your family. Do you have brothers and sisters?” she asked. “I’m an only child.”
He laughed. “You know, it never came up. With other girls there was always this lag in conversation, you know. I mean we were always searching for something to say, so we would talk about family and things like that to fill the silence. But with you, love, it wasn’t like that. We never need to fill the empty space. It was always filled with our feelings for each other.”
She giggled. “You are certainly philosophical today.”
“I feel philosophical. I am getting married,” he joked.
“Okay, and about your family? Do you have siblings?”
“Yes, I do, actually. I have a brother and a sister. My brother, Aryeh is the oldest, then me, then my baby sister, Aleana.”
“And your parents, will they like me?”
“You’re nervous?” he said, taking her hand, suddenly serious.
“Yes,” she nodded. “I guess I am.”
“Well don’t be. They are going to adore you. How could they not? Huh? I do.”
She shrugged. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Don’t feel bad, neither have I,” he said smiling, his dark eyes a-light and dancing. Then he squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be just fine. You’ll see.”
They arrived at the entrance of the Old City just as the sun was about to set. The stone buildings seemed to rise out of the earth against the orange and purple background of the sunset, like an ancient testimony to the wonder of Israel. In the center of town, Katja could see a large golden ball.
“What is that?” Katja asked.
“It is the dome of the rock, an ancient Muslim temple.”
“It looks beautiful.”
“Yes. The Old City is magnificent. Maybe tomorrow we will take a little tour.”
The Amsel family home was in Jerusalem, on the outskirts of the Old City. It was a single story stone building bleached white by the sun.
Elan took Katja’s hand and smiled at her. Then he winked and opened the door to the house where he’d grown up.
“Hello,” Elan called out.
His mother rushed out of the kitchen.
“Elan . . .” She grabbed him and kissed both of his cheeks. The she called out “ Come Aryeh, Aleana; Elan is here.” Elan’s mother was a short, stocky wom
an. Elan resembled his father; a tall well-built man who got up from the sofa and walked over and hugged him.
“It’s good to see you, son,” his father said.
Then others came rushing in to greet Elan. Behind his brother and sister was a short girl with bleached blond hair, false eyelashes, and a very short haircut. Her young face was filled with freckles.
“Elan.” His brother hugged him, then his sister hugged him, too.
“I want you to meet Katja,” Elan said.
“Welcome, Katja,” said Aryeh, Elan’s brother.
“Welcome,” Aleana, his sister said, less sure.
Aryeh introduced the girl with the short blond hair. “This is Brenda. She is from America. She came to stay at one of the kibbutzim where I work and we met there.”
“Hello, Brenda,” Elan said. Then he turned to Katja, “My brother is a mechanic. He goes to the different kibbutzim and fixes things.”
“Well, this should be an interesting holiday,” his mother said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Both of my sons have brought girls home. And neither of the girls are Sephardic. So, to me that means that you don’t want a girlfriend who looks like your mother?” She laughed, but her face said that she was not joking.
“Mom, please be nice,” Elan said, giving her a look of warning.
“Elan, please, don’t misjudge. I am only making a joke. Katja understands. Don’t you, Katja?”
Katja nodded, uncomfortable, not knowing what to say.
“It’s just . . . well . . . two blonds? Oh well, at least you’re both Jewish.”
“Of course, she is Jewish, mother. I wouldn’t bring a girl to meet you who was not Jewish. Especially one I plan to marry,” Elan said.
“MARRY?!” His mother’s face went pale. “You’re going to get married?”
The Promised Land (All My Love, Detrick Series) (All My Love Detrick Book 3) Page 27