by Naomi Ragen
He moved closer, holding her to him. “I understand, my Leah-le,” he murmured. “I really do.”
She held his face in her hands and kissed him. “I know this is hard for you, but you have to promise me you won’t send her back to him … not until you look into it.”
“Bli neder, you have my word.”
He felt her face next to his, the warm flesh of her arms in his hands. Her skin was like silk, he thought wonderingly, and her hair smelled of roses. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, he thought with passion. With her help, he slowly lifted her nightgown delicately over her head.
But even carried away, he needed to be careful, he told himself, to remember how different she was from him, where she had come from, her fragility. And before he was completely caught up in the joyous rhythm of their coming together, ending the isolation and maddening loneliness, while his mind was still capable of reason, he was overcome by a terrible thought. If what Shaindele says happened to her is true, I will have to ask myself the same question: What am I doing here?
27
WILL THEY BELIEVE HER?
“I don’t understand, maideleh. What is going on with you?” Fruma Esther asked her granddaughter Shaindele the next morning. “Explain to me again why Leah wanted you to spend the night with me?”
“I told you last night, Bubbee. I need a little time for myself. Away from the tummel.”
“What tummel? You mean the kinderlach? Your brother and sister? That you call a tummel? Like you’re not used to it?” She shook her head shrewdly. “Last night, I saw you were suffering, so I left you alone. But now I want to hear the truth.”
“Please, Bubbee. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Ich farshtey. But want, don’t want, you’ll talk.”
How was she going to get out of this? She wouldn’t have minded telling Bubbee all about Yoel Grub, but if she did, she’d have to explain what she was doing there in the first place; she’d have to explain about Duvie Halpern, and the trips to the city and out to Far Rockaway …
“You’re cold?”
Shaindele shook her head, crossing her arms defensively over her shivering shoulders.
“You had a fight with Leah?”
Shaindele looked up, startled. So that’s what she thought! She hesitated, wondering if she should simply latch onto that for the sake of convenience. But the unfairness of it was too much for her. She shook her head. “Leah has been wonderful to me, Bubbee.”
The old woman raised her eyebrows. This was a new story. Now Fruma Esther was really worried, whereas before she had just been mildly concerned, convinced that some minor rift between Shaindele and her stepmother was at the bottom of this unexpected visit. That would have been understandable, even expected. The girl had been so against the match, and no one could say she was completely in the wrong. After all, her father was a respected talmid chocham, and Leah had been a girl from the street, a baalas teshuva from a single mother who dressed like a … Oy. Better not to even think such thoughts. As much as Fruma Esther had come to respect, even like, Leah, certain things still rankled.
“So what, then, shefelah?”
“I’m going to a psychologist. The school sent me.”
“A psychologist,” she repeated. After everything that had happened to Zissele, just the word made all her nerves tingle and her stomach ache. “For vus?”
“I’m having … had … some … problems,” Shaindele said slowly, selecting every word as if it were a live grenade.
“What kind of problems?”
“Bubbee, you know!”
“Still from your mameh? From all that business? But didn’t we talk about it?”
“We talked. But it doesn’t go away so fast.”
“So this psychologist, what do you do with him? Also talk, no? And he’s helping you?”
“Yes, but…” What was she going to say now?
“Nu?”
“He was helping me a little, but I don’t like him. I’m not going back.”
“So it’s decided? From what, then, are you shaking so much from what’s decided already?”
“I decided. But the school…”
“What does it have to do with the school?”
“They made me go. Otherwise, Rabbi Halpern will expel me.”
“And you told the school you’re not going back? They know? They agree?”
“Not yet. But I told everything to Leah. And she agrees with me!”
That, sniffed Fruma Esther Sonnenbaum, was neither here nor there. “So tell me also what you told Leah.”
“Please, Bubbee, it’s hard for me!”
“Truth surfaces like oil on water. Out with it!”
“I don’t like the psychologist. He isn’t … tzniusdik.”
“Vus?”
“He locks all the doors. There’s yichud. And he has dirty pictures on his wall. And he touches me and says things to me, talks to me in a not tzniusdik way.”
“He’s a goy?”
“No, Bubbee. He’s a frum Yid. A Bobelger Hasid. Rabbi Halpern sent me to him.”
“He has a name, this frum Yid, this Hasid?”
She hesitated. “Yoel Grub.”
“Grub?” she exclaimed. “That’s a name?”
Shaindele shrugged.
“When is your next appointment with this grubber yung?”
“Today. Six o’clock.”
“You’re going?”
“I’m never going back to him,” she stated vehemently.
Fruma Esther nodded. “Far zikher.”
“So you’re not mad?”
“Mad? On who should I be mad? If this is the way he behaves, it’s a shandah. Of course you don’t go to a person like that. You’re telling me the truth, maideleh, for sure?”
“For absolutely sure, Bubbee.”
“So where is the problem? Why did you have to leave the house, come here?”
“Leah had to tell Tateh. She was afraid he would be mad on me.”
Now a little red light lit up in the old woman’s shrewd head. “And why would that be?”
“I don’t know. She just did.”
There was something more going on here, something she didn’t quite understand, and anything shrouded in darkness and mystery she didn’t like. In her long experience with life, she’d found sunlight was the best disinfectant for hidden evil. Bring it out in the open, and the “mystery” disappeared, replaced by perfectly clear, foul truth.
She weighed her options. Of course, she could pressure her granddaughter now, and she would talk. But there was something fragile about the girl this morning, she thought. Maybe it would be better to get the information from her parents.
“So go get ready for school, maideleh. You ate something?”
She nodded. “Rugelach.”
“That’s a breakfast? Come, I’ll make you eggs, toast…”
Shaindele shook her head, her face pale. “No, Bubbee. I’m not hungry.”
“So I’ll make you a sandwich for later, maideleh,” Fruma Esther said, concerned but not yet alarmed. That would come later that morning as sure as the sun rose, she told herself, all her warning bells going off like firecrackers on Lag B’omer.
* * *
He was going to have to take a few hours off work, he told his boss. It was a personal matter.
“Nothing serious, I hope?” the older man inquired politely.
“Nothing I can’t handle in a few hours,” Yaakov assured him with a certainty he did not feel.
“And you’re caught up with your work? We have the tax deadlines in a few weeks, remember.”
“I’m caught up. It’s not a problem.”
In gratitude, he applied himself with renewed diligence to his work, barely lifting his eyes from the screen and the columns of numbers he was calculating. At lunchtime, he opened his brown lunch bag, eating at his desk.
His phone rang several times before he begrudgingly took time to answer it.
It was Fruma Esther. “
I know you are at work, so let’s not waste time.”
“And hello to you, too, Rebbitzen,” he told her, barely breathing as he considered what can of worms was now about to open.
“I spoke to Shaindele. She told me about this psychologist, this grubber yung.”
He smiled to himself. Leave it to Fruma Esther to cut to the chase. “I’m looking into it.”
“She has an appointment today. I told her not to go.”
“I also told her. Actually, Leah told her.”
“And you agreed?”
“I honestly don’t know yet. I’m still looking into it.”
“What’s to look into? You heard what the child said?”
“I heard. But Shaindele doesn’t always tell the whole truth.”
She caught her breath. “Since when?”
“Bubbee, you don’t remember?”
“That was last year, with all the tummel with getting a new stepmother. But since then?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“Only about Grub she talked. That he wasn’t tzniusdik.”
“Did she tell you why the school sent her to him?”
She shrugged. “Problems. Zissele … what happened…”
“Not exactly.” He hesitated. But he had promised himself long ago that he would not hold back information because of shame. If it could be done, it could be talked about. The truth needed to be dealt with. “Shaindele has been seeing a boy behind our backs. Duvie Halpern.”
“Her principal’s son?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“What?”
“So he’s Rabbi Halpern’s boy. He’s not a shaigetz, not even a baal teshuva,” she said pointedly. “What’s the harm?”
“It wasn’t a shidduch. She was sneaking around with him at night, going to the city with him and who knows what else. We only found out by accident.”
“She admitted to this?”
“To everything. And then Rav Halpern called us into his office. He was thinking of expelling her.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“But it was his son!”
“So because of that, he agreed to keep it quiet if she’d go see a psychologist.”
“And he is the one who picked this Grub?”
“Yes. But I also checked him out with Rav Alter, who spoke to the Bobelger Rebbe himself. Grub is very respected among his Hasidim. All the girls with problems are sent to him for counseling.”
“So you think Shaindele is lying about him?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m looking into it. But in the meantime, she is not to go back.”
Now she had it, the whole panorama. But like a jigsaw of a thousand pieces, some significant parts were still missing, making it impossible to fully comprehend the entire picture. That being the case, she honestly didn’t know what to say.
“She’ll get in trouble with the school if she doesn’t go back to him?”
“Probably. That’s why I need to look into it more closely, right away.”
There was a beat as Fruma Esther considered the entirety of the situation. “Whatever you find,” she said slowly, “don’t send her back. A young, innocent girl doesn’t make up such things out of her head.”
The exact same idea had occurred to him. But what he kept to himself was the agonizing question of whether or not his daughter was still such an innocent.
* * *
He left work early, arriving in Boro Park at five thirty. It was a short walk to Yoel Grub’s office. It being early, he decided to check out the office itself. There were two entrances, he realized. First, he used the service elevator, carefully turning the doorknob to Grub’s office. It was definitely locked. Then he went down and took the main elevator up, walking casually through the waiting room to test the door from Grub’s office on the other side. It, too, was locked. From where the office was placed inside the building, he could tell there were no windows, no way to observe what was happening inside.
Of course, you would expect privacy, the front door to a counselor’s office would be locked against unwanted intrusions. But for exactly that reason, the back door to the office of a religious counselor should have been wide open. There was no getting around it; Grub was in clear violation of religious law. Yoel Grub might be a rabbi, but he was no tzaddik.
It was a quarter to six. Yaakov sat down in the waiting room, but a certain strange impulse made him rise to his feet and once again go down and take the service elevator up to the back entrance of the office. He stood there, waiting. At five to six, the door to Grub’s office flung open. A young girl rushed out, frantic. She was younger than Shaindele. She had long blond hair and a sweet, young face that was crumpled in distress and fear. Grub walked out and reached out, gripping her shoulders roughly when he suddenly looked up and noticed Yaakov standing there. Without a word, he returned to his office, slamming the door.
Yaakov, shocked, approached the girl, who was now sobbing.
“Are you all right?” he asked gently.
She wiped her eyes, nodding, refusing to look at him.
He walked her to the elevator. “My daughter was also sent to him,” he told her quietly. “She also complained.”
She turned to him, blinking and astonished, a small glimmer of hope in her face.
“She’s seventeen. How old are you?”
“Almost thirteen,” she told him. “What did your daughter … How did she…?”
“She told us he is not tzniusdik. She says she won’t go back.”
“And you believe her?” she asked, her voice so pitiful and fearful, it broke his heart.
“Why wouldn’t I? And you must tell your parents, too. And your teachers and your rebbe.”
“The Rebbe was the one who sent me to him. They won’t believe me. No one will help me.”
“I believe you, and I will help you. Here,” he said, handing her a piece of paper and a pen, “write down your name and address and phone number.”
She hesitated, searching his face as if for answers that would help her make a decision. “They would be angry if they knew I spoke to a strange man. They’ll say it’s my fault. That’s what he tells them all the time. That I’m not cooperating.”
“What does he want you to do?”
She stared at him in terror, clamming up. Then she suddenly filled out the paper, handing it back to him wordlessly, then running quickly down the staircase.
He folded it carefully, placing it into his wallet. Then he took the elevator down and rode up once again to the main entrance to Grub’s office.
He sat on a chair in the waiting room until the door opened and Grub came out, scanning the room. When their eyes met, Yaakov got up and walked toward him.
Grub looked at him, puzzled.
“You are expecting my daughter, my Shaindel. I’m her father. Can I come in and speak to you?”
Grub backed away, blocking the entrance to his office, but Yaakov pushed past him.
There it was, the picture with the women in bikinis at the beach.
Grub followed him in, carefully closing the door behind them.
Yaakov took in the couch-bed. He sat down, trying it out. It was not a lounge chair but a bed that took up almost the entire office.
“So where is she?”
“Shaindele?”
Grub nodded arrogantly. “You’ll have to pay for this session. She never canceled.”
“We need to talk, Rav Grub.”
“About what?”
“About what goes on in an office between a religious married man, a grandfather, and teenage girls when the door is locked from both sides and there is a big bed between you.”
“I’m a professional, licensed…,” he blustered.
Yaakov scanned the diplomas on the wall. There was no license and nothing from a recognized institution. It was mostly letters of gratitude from various Hasidic charities and a certificate that he had passed a yeshiva program in religious counselin
g.
“Your license?” He pointed to the wall.
“Licenses are for goyim. I have twenty-five years’ experience.”
“I’m sure you do. But what kind of experiences—that’s the question, isn’t it? My daughter says you’ve been touching her, saying things to her that I won’t repeat. Threatening her. Just like that poor little girl I just saw with my own eyes!”
Grub shot up. “I don’t have to talk to you. What right do you have to stand outside my door and spy on me and my patients? That girl you saw is very troubled. She has a right to privacy! From this minute, you can tell Rabbi Halpern I refuse to accept your daughter. She’s too far gone even for my help. A wayward, stubborn girl who has no business being in the company of other religious girls. She’ll infect them with her disgraceful behavior. You wouldn’t believe the kind of things your daughter told me she’s done with this boy! Even I, who thought I’d heard everything, was shocked. I’ll be writing all this to her principal. So it’s good you came by, saves me a phone call.”
Yaakov leaned back, fighting down the almost irresistible urge to smash his arrogant, sneering face to a pulp.
“Is that so, Mr. Grub? I want you to know, I had a chance to talk to your last patient. She’s younger than Shaindele. Barely thirteen. That’s a criminal offense. Child molestation. Remember Nechemya Weberman? How many years behind bars did he get for what he did to that poor girl? One hundred and three? But I’m sure he’ll appeal. And with mazal and time off for good behavior, he’ll be out in no time, only fifty or sixty years!”
Grub sat down at his desk, playing with a pencil.
“You see, Yoel, can I call you that, since you are on such intimate terms with my daughter? You see, it’s not like it used to be, when the whole community elected the Brooklyn DA and then all the judges and all the machers here had to do was complain to get charges dropped and sentences thrown out. Today, it’s not like that. Ask Nechemya Weberman during visiting hours in the penitentiary.”
“I suggest you don’t start fires you won’t know how to put out, because your own house could burn down, Yaakov Lehman. After all, it’s her word against mine. And who do you think they’ll believe? The respected friend of the Bobelger Rebbe himself, or some wayward Bais Yaakov girl, with a mother who committed suicide and a father who married a baalas teshuva who dances around in her underwear in front of open windows? You see, I do my homework.”