by Bina Bernard
“Your mother must be turning over in her grave knowing you wouldn’t let Dr. Stein’s daughter in to see where she once lived,” Ela shouted.
“I didn’t know who she was. She could have been from the secret police,” the woman whispered to Ela. “Come in,” she said to Lena, and lowered her eyes.
As she looked around, Lena tried to picture herself as a small child running through the rooms. But there were no familiar smells or feelings to awaken her dormant memories. Only the wallpaper in one of the bedrooms seemed vaguely familiar.
“Do you want to see the courtyard? Ela asked. “It’s where you and Hannah used to play.”
Lena nodded. She held her breath as Ela opened the back door. What she saw was a cobblestone courtyard that meant nothing to her.
“It was a long time ago. In another life,” Lena said to no one in particular. She reached for her son’s hand.
Lena had reserved a first-class compartment in a non-smoking section for the train ride back to Warsaw. That entitled them to a meal, but Ela had insisted on packing them a snack.
“What you get on a train is nothing like home cooked food,” she said, as she forced the picnic basket into Lena’s hand.
As soon as they entered their empty compartment, Stefan stretched out and promptly fell asleep. Too excited to sleep, or even eat, Lena used the two-and-a-half-hour train trip to recover from her emotional visit by savoring the memories that Ela had provided. Lena consciously forced her neck muscles to relax as she replayed Ela’s stories in her head. The hardest part is over. With what Ela has told me, I can now start my search for Hershel and Malka Stein. Unfortunately, what Ela couldn’t tell Lena was that Hershel and Malka Stein were now Harry and Molly Stone.
CHAPTER
14
New York
ON THE WAY TO THE HOSPITAL one Friday evening, as Hannah approached the Metropolitan Synagogue on East 35th Street, she stopped and watched people arriving for the Shabbat service. She had thought about going in to pray for her father many times before. This time she actually considered buying tickets for the upcoming High Holy Days. It would be a formal way for her to ask God to inscribe Harry in the Book of Life. Hannah was sure her father would be shocked if he knew she was considering a visit to a synagogue.
The run-up to Harry’s departure from the hospital went very well. Molly was back in her own apartment, getting everything ready. Adella, his private duty nurse, was ready to come with them. When Hannah told her mother that Harry was scheduled to leave on Saturday, September 25th, Molly was delighted.
“That’s wonderful,” she said. “It’s the first day of Rosh Hashanah. Your father will be starting a new life for the New Year.”
That Thursday evening before Harry was scheduled to go home, Hannah almost confessed to her mother that she planned to attend Rosh Hashanah services on Friday evening. Knowing Molly would assume Harry’s life was in peril, that Hannah knew something she was not telling her, she stopped herself. Instead, Hannah casually mentioned that she’d be arriving late for visiting hours on Friday night.
In the office, every time Hannah looked at the envelope that held her tickets to the High Holy Day services, her anxiety level soared. She last remembered being in a synagogue when she was twelve years old. Her parents had insisted she go with them to a Bar Mitzvah in Vineland, New Jersey. It was an Orthodox congregation and the service was in Hebrew. She remembered how impressed she was when Harry was called to the Bimah and read from the Torah. She was ashamed she couldn’t read the Hebrew prayer book. Hannah had forgotten all the Hebrew she’d learned in the DP camp in Germany.
Given her history, The Metropolitan Synagogue seemed like the ideal place for her to beg God to extend Harry’s life. The congregation shared the red brick building with a church. Being Reform, she would be able to follow the service in English, and Hannah was reasonably sure she’d be more likely to fit in there rather than at an Orthodox congregation.
The dress code required among ultra-conservative sects remained a puzzlement to her. Where in the Old Testament, she wondered, is it written that bearded men with long curly payot over their ears, must wear black suits, long black coats, with their black fedoras or homburgs covering black skull caps? Women wearing comfortable shoes, and long sleeves as a concession to modesty, made some sense to her. But the need for a wig to be worn over a full head of hair, she found baffling.
As she approached the entrance to the synagogue Hannah checked her watch. Services were not due to start for another thirty minutes. “Good. I’m early. I’ll go in, sit down and melt into the background,” she reassured herself. Hannah planned to be safely in her seat, before people who knew each other arrived.
Hannah showed her ticket to the elderly woman sitting at a folding table near the door.
“Gut yontiv,” she said, “go right in.”
“Gut yontiv,” Hannah repeated. She walked past the young boy and girl giving out prayer books, into the empty sanctuary.
Hannah looked around. A man was seated at the organ, and off to the side a group of people in white robes, obviously part of the choir, were studying sheet music. The austere decor lacked any of the trappings she associated with a traditional Jewish house of worship. The pews reminded her of her church-going days with Aunt Emma during the war, but without the smell of incense.
She sat down, tenth row from the back, third seat in. People streamed in, took their seats. As the room began to fill up, Hannah tensed a little, hoping she hadn’t chosen a seat belonging to someone else. Once the rabbi greeted the congregation, and the service was about to start, she decided she was safe.
Being surrounded by strangers, Hannah expected to feel like an outsider. It surprised her how quickly she seemed to bond with the congregation. Especially when she suddenly found herself singing along with the choir in Hebrew. While she enjoyed feeling part of the community of worshipers, Hannah never lost sight of her real mission. At the end of every prescribed prayer she spoke directly to God. “Please let Harry live! Inscribe him in the Book of Life,” she begged.
As soon as the service ended, Hannah rushed out and headed for the hospital. On Park Avenue she almost collided with a panhandler asking for change. She put her hand in her jacket pocket and gave him the two crumpled dollar bills she took out.
“God will reward, young lady,” the man yelled in her direction as Hannah ran off.
“God, I hope you’re listening,” Hannah said.
She walked into Harry’s room sweaty and out of breath. Molly didn’t notice. Harry appeared to be asleep. He stirred when Hannah walked over and touched his hand.
“Let him sleep, he’s tired,” Molly said. “It’s too bad you weren’t here. I took your father to Rosh Hashanah services on the main floor of the hospital.”
“He was willing to go?” Hannah was surprised.
“Not only was he willing. He was a star. The service was mostly in English. Harry and the rabbi were the only ones who could say the prayers in Hebrew. It’s a shame you missed it,” Molly said. She took out the mimeographed prayer book she’d kept as a memento to show her daughter.
Hannah grinned.
“How does it feel to be home, Dr. Stone, after all these months?” Adella asked as she walked her charge into his living room.
“I was beginning to think this day would never come,” he said as he looked around the familiar apartment with pleasure. Even the lingering smell of paint did not put a damper on Harry’s spirit. The sunny peach walls, once a drab beige, were the perfect backdrop for his new attitude.
Mentally, Harry had drawn up a to-do list that would reorient his life: (1) Make up for lost years with Hannah, (2) Appreciate what I have instead of mourning what I’ve lost, (3) Be patient. Give Hannah time to find Lena.
“Get ready for a special meal,” Molly announced from the kitchen. “With plenty of sweets to make sure we have a sweet year. No more hospital food for you, Harry. You’ll see, with my cooking in a month, maybe two, we’ll be ready
to go to Florida.” Molly was prepared to finish what the doctors had started.
Harry did not argue with his wife. But he was content to stay in New York. He intended to stay near Hannah.
That Saturday morning while Harry and Molly were settling in, Hannah was at the Rosh Hashanah service, sitting in the same seat she had occupied the evening before, praying.
On Rosh Hashanah it is written,
On Yom Kippur it is sealed . . .
How many shall pass on,
How many shall come to be,
Who shall live and who shall die . . .
Just as the night before, Hannah enjoyed being part of the community of worshipers. But some Torah readings did give her pause. The section about Abraham and Sarah had left her wondering. Would Palestinians and Jews be fighting and killing each other if Abraham had not listened to Sarah and sent Hagar and Ishmael into the desert? Would the hijacking of the Air France plane flying from Tel Aviv to Paris have been avoided and the rescue in Uganda at the Entebbe airport deemed unnecessary, if God had not promised the land of Canaan to Isaac and The Chosen People, in the Torah, and to Ishmael and his descendants, according to the Koran?
She thought about the bombing on Ben Yehuda Street in Jerusalem in early May. A Palestinian terrorist killed thirty-three civilians. But Hannah was not there to question. She was there to plead for Harry’s life. “Please spare my father’s life, inscribe him in the Book of Life,” she tagged on her private prayer to every part of the service.
After the Torah reading in which biblical Hannah pleaded with God for a son, the modern-day Hannah added, “Would it be too much to ask for Robert and me to have a child of our own?”
Hannah and Robert arrived at the Stone apartment on Saturday evening just as Adella was about to leave. She had given Harry his bath, his medication, helped him pick out a dress shirt and festive tie, and explained to Molly what was to be done until she returned.
“I’ll be back tomorrow after church,” Adella said, as Molly walked her to the door.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your patient,” Molly said with great assurance.
Adella put her arm around Molly in a sideways hug with one hand, and turned the doorknob with the other.
“Happy New Year,” Robert and Hannah said in unison as the door to the apartment sprang open, before they even rang the bell.
“Happy New Year to you, too,” Adella said, grinning, and walked out the door.
Molly embraced her daughter. “This will be a wonderful year for all of us,” she announced.
Hearing all the commotion, Harry came to greet the guests.
“Happy New Year,” he said and pumped Robert’s hand. His stance was tentative, but his handshake was strong. Hannah and Robert were delighted to see Harry dressed in slacks and a sports jacket, instead of the striped gown that had been his uniform for so long.
“You look very dapper, Harry,” Robert said.
“Glad to shed my hospital clothes.” He grinned, and turned his attention to his daughter.
“Happy New Year,” he said and slowly walked with Hannah arm-in-arm into the living room.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Mother,” Hannah said when she saw the perfectly set dining table.
“It’s not just the start of a New Year but a new life for us. It had to be extra special. Wait till you taste what I’ve prepared.”
Hannah knew her mother enjoyed entertaining and that her friends considered her a great hostess. But she could not remember the last time she used her fine china for a family meal. To complete the festive occasion, Molly also hauled out her fragile crystal wine glasses, and the antique sterling silverware that she usually kept in a hermetically sealed box to prevent tarnishing. Hannah glanced over at the piano, and noticed her grandmother’s ornate candlesticks holding ceremonial candles. As they were about to sit down, Molly walked over to the piano and lit the two candles. For a few moments she stood transfixed by the flame, then she covered her eyes with her hands and prayed silently. Hannah was reminded of Aunt Beverly performing her Friday night ritual.
When Molly finished, she motioned everyone to the dining table.
“Please say the prayer, Harry, so we can sit down to eat,” she said.
Harry quickly rattled off, “Blessed are Thou, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth.”
“That’s not good enough,” Hannah insisted. “Let’s have some Hebrew, Rabbi Stone! Mom told me you practically led the Rosh Hashanah service in the hospital.”
“Tonight, the English is out of respect for Robert’s feelings,” Harry said, as he prepared to pour the Manischewitz wine into each glass.
“Sorry Harry, you can’t use me as an excuse. Remember, I’m used to hearing a Latin Mass. Actually, I prefer listening to prayers said in a language that I don’t understand. They make more sense that way.”
“English is good enough,” Molly said. “Let’s eat!”
First, she doled out pieces of the round ceremonial challah, dripping with honey. After Harry said the appropriate prayer came apple slices dipped in honey. Then they raised the crystal goblets as Harry blessed the wine.
Molly had worked hard to prepare a special meal, now the guests had to show their appreciation by enjoying it. Robert did not appreciate the first course, Molly’s specialty, sweet gefilte fish, which he only moved around on his plate. To make up for that, he requested a second helping of chicken soup with several matzo balls, each the size of a silver dollar. Molly was pleased.
The food just kept coming. Roasted chicken, Hungarian goulash, candied sweet potatoes, and creamed spinach. And for dessert, honey cake, lemon cookies and stewed fruit. There were enough sweets to induce a diabetic coma. Molly was doing her part to make sure they all had a sweet year.
“My mother always said, a feast at Rosh Hashanah meant there would be plenty for the year,” Molly said. “I remember all those wonderful holidays with the whole family together.”
“I remember that, too,” Hannah said. “The big long table, covered with a white tablecloth. Everybody was sort of leaning back. Grandpa Jakob was sitting on a big cushion. And he drank wine from that cup we smuggled out of Poland!” Hannah pointed to the silver cup in front of Harry.
“That was Passover, not Rosh Hashanah,” Harry said. “You remember that? You were just a baby.” He shook his head in amazement, then almost in a whisper added, “How is it that you remember that Seder, but you have no memory of your sister?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah said.
The mood around the table suddenly changed. No one spoke, until Molly jumped in. “I think I did it right this year. I’ve sent out New Year’s cards. And I donated to charity. I did what the rabbi told us,” she said.
“You think God has time to actually scrutinize your every deed?” Harry asked.
“Yes, I do,” she answered, seriously. Even without belonging to a synagogue, Molly always felt she had direct access to God.
“I know Mom enjoyed the service at the hospital. But what about you, Dad?”
“It was my chance to ask God to inscribe me in the Book of Life. We’ll see if he’ll listen to me.” Harry laughed.
“I’m sure He will,” Molly said.
Since she had not mentioned praying for Harry herself, nor that she had planned to do it again on Yom Kippur, Robert decided to rectify Hannah’s omission. He turned to her and asked, “What about your Rosh Hashanah . . .” but stopped mid-sentence when he felt her kick under the table. Robert lamely added, “. . . wish! Tell us your Rosh Hashanah wish!” He couldn’t imagine why Hannah would not want to tell her parents that she went to services, but he knew enough not to betray her secret.
“My wish is the same as my father’s,” Hannah said. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to tell her parents about her prayer-fest. For the time being, she wanted it to be between herself and God. Hannah quickly changed the subject.
“I hope you’re enjoying your new surround
ings, Dad. Mom really worked hard to get everything done on time.”
Molly took a bow.
“It’s great being home!” he said forcefully.
Harry’s first week out of the hospital went better than Hannah could have hoped. There were no frantic calls from Molly and no need for unscheduled trips to her parents’ apartment to handle medical crises. Each night Molly filled her daughter in on the day’s activities. Hannah was able to focus on her work, on Robert, and even on herself.
The Thursday evening when Hannah walked into Dr. Kahn’s office, she wasn’t sure why she had made the appointment. Looking around the room she noted that the faded Kilim rug in front of the well-worn couch was now threadbare, but little else had changed in the three years since she last sank into the overstuffed brown leather chair.
“It’s been so long, so much has happened. I don’t know where to begin!” she said.
“You know it doesn’t matter,” Dr. Kahn said. “Just begin.”
The familiar scent of lavender candles that permeated the room was comforting. Hannah took a deep breath. “Remember my scary dream with the two little girls? And all your interpretations?”
He nodded.
“Well, it turns out the blonde girl in my dream was my sister! Her name was Lena.” Hannah waited for a response to her shocking revelation. But the only sound she heard was a creaking noise as Dr. Kahn rocked back and forth in his chair.
He looked puzzled, but said nothing. He kept shaking his head, as Hannah continued explaining what had happened.
When she finished, Dr. Kahn sat back in his chair. He exhaled a deep breath and finally said, “Talk about keeping secrets! Your story takes dysfunctional to a new level. How are you dealing with this now?”
“I have it pretty much under control, I think,” Hannah said.
“Then why are you here?”
“I don’t understand why I don’t remember Lena! Why can’t I remember my sister?” This time she had come for an explanation, not an interpretation of her dream.