Serakh let the matter drop. “Moshe knows of my travels and has respect for me,” she explained. “I told him that no harm must come to you and that you wear the blue thread.”
“So we’re safe now? Is that why that man is guarding us?”
“Who?”
I cocked my head toward a fierce-looking man some yards away—a large man with bushy hair, a scraggly beard, and a scar that started at his calf and disappeared mid-thigh under a torn and filthy tunic. He carried a long, thick pole, which I imagined he used to herd goats. Only there were no goats nearby.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Serakh grabbed my hand. “We must go. That man is evil, Miriam. Do not look at him.”
“Suppose he follows us?”
“We are under the protection of Moshe, at least for now.” She linked arms with me, and we hurried away. I looked over my shoulder once—the man was gone. I felt my jaw relax.
“When we go to the tent of the sisters, they will offer you food,” Serakh instructed. “Take only two bites, and then place your hand above the serving plate and smile. They will offer you water. Drink the whole cup, even if it tastes bitter. Do not spill any on the ground.”
“Will I be able to understand them in the tent?”
“No.”
“What about Tirtzah?”
“Speak with Tirtzah at her peril. If she appears to understand you while others do not, they might think she is a witch.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“But it is so. You have inspired Tirtzah, and now, for the safety of all, you must go back to your Port Land as soon as Moshe brings us his decision. Do not argue with me, Miriam. This is the way it must be.” Serakh got that fierce look again, and I didn’t say a word.
Gabi stood outside the tent and bowed as we entered. I nearly gagged at the smell. In the sudden dimness, I could barely see Makhlah curled up asleep next to two small goats tethered in the corner. A woman sat cross-legged in the opposite corner, twirling fibers attached to a spindle. She rose to greet us, holding her palms out toward us and bending slightly at her waist. Serakh did the same and removed her headscarf. I copied her exactly.
“Peace unto you,” Serakh said. “My companion has taken a vow of silence. Still she greets you with respect and thanks you for your hospitality.”
The woman went back to her spinning. Her look reminded me of Mama when she has to entertain an unwanted guest.
Serakh motioned me to sit near the center of the tent. “Your wool is worthy of priestly garments,” she told the woman. “Did your husband’s kin give you this fleece?”
The woman nodded, adding what seemed to be a paragraph of explanation. As the two women conversed, I thought about home. What would I do in Portland to support suffrage for women? Give a tonneau speech—standing by the back door of an automobile and addressing the crowd? How many men would hear me, change their minds, and vote for women’s suffrage? Couldn’t I do more?
Milcah entered with a large earthen jug and a small bowl. Serakh explained my “vow of silence.” Milcah frowned, but passed the water to Serakh, then to me. I drank the bowl dry, and thanked her with a nod. Noa arrived with a platter of small round cakes, fritters of some sort. Milcah said something to her, and Noa rolled her eyes. I took two cakes, as Serakh instructed, and nearly choked on the spices.
Makhlah woke up as Tirtzah and Hoglah entered, looking like they could use a nap, too. Milcah spoke to them, and Hoglah pursed her lips. Touching my sleeve, Tirtzah leaned toward Hoglah and muttered, “If you dare to say anything against our messenger I shall stick brambles in your hair.” I stifled a laugh.
Hoglah glared at Tirtzah and spat out a reply that sounded not the least bit friendly. With so many of us in the tent, the air turned stuffy and rank. The goats bleated their discomfort. I longed to go outside, even though it meant another dose of hot sun.
When I thought I could stand it no longer, Gabi shouted something from outside the tent. Serakh thanked Tirtzah’s mother for the hospitality and told her we had to gather at the Tent of Meeting. All of us except Tirtzah’s mother and Makhlah had on headscarves. Tirtzah’s mother continued her spinning, as if Tirtzah’s hopes and plans had nothing to do with her. Just like Mama.
I wanted to tell Tirtzah that everything would turn out all right, although I dared not speak to her directly. I remembered that Sister Margaret said Roman emperors made the thumbs-up sign to spare the lives of Christian gladiators. Those gladiators were nearly two thousand years ago for me, but probably hundreds of years in the future for Tirtzah. I decided to keep my thumbs to myself and settled for what I hoped was an encouraging smile.
The sun shone ferociously on our way back. Again Tirtzah and her sisters stood alone before Moses and the others gathered in front of the Tent of Meeting. Serakh, Gabi, and I stayed near the front of the crowd. Eleazar raised his hand for silence. Moses spoke.
Queasy and anxious, I wanted to believe everything I had learned in Religious School about Moses. He gestured toward the cloudless sky and to Tirtzah, to the tent behind him and to the people. I remembered his touch on my shoulders, his blessing. I willed myself to stay in one spot and to keep quiet. Tirtzah and her sisters—even little Makhlah—stood impassively, seemingly focused on the ground a few feet ahead of them. Serakh’s face told me nothing. I dared not look at Gabi.
Suddenly Makhlah’s face crinkled into a grin. She let out a joyous whoop, then covered her mouth with both hands as Noa shushed her.
No translation needed. Tirtzah and her sisters would get their father’s land. One word welled up silently inside me, a memory from Yom Kippur services: Hallelujah!
“Do not show your excitement,” Serakh warned. I struggled to hide my joy.
One by one, the sisters bowed to Moses. They walked backward toward us, their heads down. Hoglah pushed her way into the crowd. Tirtzah started to follow her sister, but Serakh grabbed her sleeve.
“Let her be,” Serakh said. Noa and Milcah seemed more confused than excited. Makhlah tugged on my robes. I kissed the top of her head. I yearned to talk to Tirtzah, but I dared not in this crowd.
As we left the assembly area, dozens of men shook their heads, grumbled, or spat on the ground. Four of them spoke to Gabi in a tone of disappointment that reminded me of Papa. One was the man with the scar and the filthy tunic, the goatherd with no goats.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Serakh.
She drew me close and whispered, “Moshe has said that the case of the daughters is just. The portion of the land that would have gone to their father belongs to them. He also made a law for all the Israelites. If a man dies without leaving a son, his property goes to the man’s daughters.”
“But isn’t that fabulous? That’s more than I hoped for. It’s not just an exception for Tirtzah and her sisters. No wonder the suffragists had a banner about them.”
Serakh paused. She motioned for Gabi and the sisters to go ahead without us. “There is more, Miriam,” she whispered. “Tirtzah’s kinsmen tell Gabi and the others that Tirtzah and her sisters will cause a grave injustice if they marry men who are not of the line of their father.”
“Why?”
“It is our tradition that land belongs to the tribe and whatever belongs to a wife belongs to her husband. Tirtzah and her sisters would take their portion of land with them to the tribe of the men they marry.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “It’s their father’s land, not their husband’s. The sisters should be able to do with it what they want. Otherwise it’s not fair.”
Serakh held out her hands, palms up. “We pursue justice, Miriam, but will we ever overtake it?”
I thought about that banner again. It said that the daughters of Zelophehad asked for their inheritance. But the banner didn’t say whether or not they got it.
“But he’s Moses!”
“In every place and time, who decides how much of fairness is enough?”
“Ach!” I said, sounding far too much like Papa. I wasn
’t ready to settle for half-measures, not here or in Portland, not if I could help it.
I strode ahead to catch up with the sisters. Tirtzah and Gabi stood close together, murmuring in a way that made me blush. Tirtzah caught my eye. She pointed to a brambly bush several yards away. We met there, the tips of her headscarf dancing in the desert wind. She enveloped me in her robes, shielding us from the others.
“I do not know how to repay you for all you have done today,” she said, holding my hand.
“Me? You were the one who’s been so brave. And now these men are demanding that you marry a Manassite if you want to keep your land. And Gabi is a Reubenite. Tirtzah, this is wrong. We can’t let this happen.”
“Moshe will not take back his words,” she assured me. Then her voice grew shaky. “But the tribal leaders will get satisfaction, of this I am sure.”
“Tell Serakh you won’t settle for that,” I said. “She’ll know what to do. She’ll bring me back.”
Tirtzah glanced over her shoulder. “Serakh approaches now.” She kissed my cheek. “I don’t know who you are, but we are linked, yes?”
My eyes filled with tears. “Yes,” I whispered. “We are linked.”
Serakh assembled us under a date palm, all except Hoglah, who was nowhere to be seen. “It is time for our messenger to depart,” she said with a certainty that stifled contradiction.
I rounded on her, suddenly angry about having to leave so soon. “We’ve got to go back to the cave, so I can tell them to fight for their land. Or at least I can say good-bye properly. What kind of messenger is deaf and dumb?”
“This is how it must be, Miriam. I cannot do otherwise.”
I clenched my jaw. “Then you’d better tell them to fight. Tell them that thousands of years from now their names will be remembered. Tell them about the suffrage banner. Tell them they did the right thing. Tell them I miss them already.”
Serakh smiled and nodded. I clutched my headscarf against a sudden wind. While Serakh spoke, Tirtzah dabbed at her eyes and Makhlah hugged my legs. Noa and Milcah held hands and stared at their sandals. Gabi kept turning his head, as if watching for someone. When Serakh was done, they all bowed and began to walk away.
“Tirtzah, wait!” I shouted. I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her. “I will never forget you.”
I felt her hands on my back, her head on my shoulder. “Nor I you, sister of the heart,” she murmured. “Thanks to The One who has sustained us and enabled us to reach this day.”
I held on for one more moment. Then I let her go.
Serakh led me away. “Now we find a quiet spot on that hill, where you can see the River Jordan. Then we shall cross the olam to your place and time.”
“Will I see ever you again? Serakh, I promise I’ll listen to everything you say. I’ll obey your every word.”
She laughed. “Then you would not be the Miriam who stands before me, a Miriam worthy to travel the olam.” She took my elbow. “Come. We can delay no longer.”
“What should I tell everyone when we get back?”
“Say nothing, if you choose. If we cross carefully, they will not know that you left.”
We climbed in silence for a few minutes. I followed her as slowly as I could, even pausing to show her a tiny flower. But it was no good.
“Do not tarry,” she warned, with a worried tone. Still I lagged behind, hoping she would change her mind and let me stay longer. We stopped at a pile of flat rocks near the top of the hill.
Serakh embraced me. “My Miriam sweet and strong, it is time now.”
I took off Miryam’s clothes and set my 1912 shoes on the ground. The hot wind soon covered my prayer shawl with grains of fine sand.
Serakh pointed to my shoes, black leather pumps with pointed toes and silver buckles. “Why do you bind your feet in this manner?”
“They do pinch,” I said, glad for a moment of easy conversation. I handed my shawl to Serakh. “Please tell me about this. My uncle said my father was afraid of it. There’s not a curse, is there?”
Serakh wrinkled her forehead. “A curse?”
“My father called my shawl a cursed rag. He exploded when he saw me with it. You know Danny died. Well, later, my baby brother was stillborn. It’s not…connected in any way, is it?”
Serakh stroked the shawl. “Nonsense. Your father is foolish to keep from you what is rightly yours. This blessed garment is for the women of your line—for you. It works only for good.”
Several small rocks skittered past our feet.
“My uncle says that his sister Raizl died wearing the shawl,” I reminded her.
Serakh rubbed the embroidered flowers. “Ah, Raizl, poor child. She believed in the travel stories her savta unwisely described to her.”
“Raizl’s savta was my great-grandmother, Miriam Seligman, right?”
Serakh nodded. “Raizl was already in her last moments. Her neck had swelled. She could hardly breathe.”
“Diphtheria?”
“Perhaps. I do not know the name of her ailment. That Miriam and I took Raizl through the olam to see King Solomon’s temple. In all my years I had never done such a thing, but for that Miriam and her beloved Raizl, I did. She paid dearly for fulfilling Raizl’s dying wish.”
Another rock rolled against the side of my foot. I looked up.
Standing at the crest of the hill was the man with the dirty tunic and the scar. Two other men crouched behind him.
Serakh stepped in front of me. “Leave us,” she commanded, sounding five times her size. “If you harm her in any way, I shall pray to The One to open the earth and swallow you whole!”
The man with the scar bent down, his eyes locked on mine, his hands searching for something on the ground. “Meh-khah-shay-FAH!”
Serakh crushed the shawl against me. “He calls you a conjurer. A witch. Quick, find your blue thread. Wrap it around your finger and hold tight to me.”
I clutched my shawl and stared at that horrible man. My body froze. He closed his hand around a rock.
“Miriam,” Serakh shouted, “Look away from him! You must find your thread.”
I stared at my shawl. All I saw was crimson embroidery on a sea of white.
“It’s gone!” I yelled. “My blue thread is gone!” I’ll never go home. I’m trapped here forever.
“This cannot be. Look again.”
Terrified, I thrust my useless shawl at Serakh. Run! But I couldn’t move. Then fight. Fight or die. I scrambled for my shoes. Aim for his eyes. I hurled the first shoe at him. It grazed his shoulder and fell at his feet. A ray of sunlight hit the buckle. He dropped the rock and picked up my shoe. He shouted something to the other men.
I grabbed my other shoe and took aim. As I started to throw it, Serakh yanked my arm, pushing the tassels of the shawl into my hand. “Take your thread, Miriam. Here. The blue one. Miriam, listen to me.”
The man reached into the air and caught my second shoe. He cocked his head, as if deciding his next move. The two other men stepped closer.
Serakh threw herself on top of me and we tumbled to the ground. “I must stay here to make sure you are safe. You must cross alone.”
“No! I can’t leave you. I don’t know how to get home!”
Something sharp and heavy hit my leg.
“Go,” she commanded. “Now!”
I grasped all four of the long fringes and stuck my fingers into the tangled threads. Blood trickled down my leg. I clutched Serakh against me. “I can’t travel without you. I’m afraid!”
She pushed me away.
“No!” My hand glowed. The pulling and crushing gripped my body.
Blue lightning. I slammed my eyes shut.
A voice—mine—screamed, “Se-rakh!”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The air turned cooler. The crushing stopped. My right arm hit something hard and I collapsed against a smooth, soft surface. When I dared to open my eyes, I found that I was lying on the Oriental rug by the desk in Papa’s office, the telep
hone cord coiled near my shoeless feet.
I rolled onto my side, stumbled to the commode, and retched. I collapsed on the floor. Some time later I managed to wash my face, clean the cut on my leg, and drag myself to my bed.
My lips quivered. I wrapped myself in my coverlet, but I couldn’t stop shaking. Was Serakh safe? Was she still struggling with that man who attacked us? Would I ever see her again? Had he…did she… Was I the last of her Miriams now? All I knew for certain was that I was back and she was gone. That man. That horrid man.
The telephone rang. And rang.
I padded back to Papa’s office. “Josefsohn residence.” My voice sounded shaky.
“Hello, Miriam,” Uncle Hermann said. “I thought you were coming over this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” I stared at my dirty stockings.
“Yes, you mentioned a Hebrew or Yiddish translation. You said you’d be right over. That was nearly an hour ago.”
“Only that long? Oh, I mean…I don’t know what I mean. I’m sorry, Uncle Hermann.”
“Miriam, is there something wrong? You don’t sound well.”
I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. “I’m fine,” I said, hoping I would be by the time I saw him. “I’d still like to come.”
“Certainly.” He chuckled. “It sounds as if the walk will do you good.”
I padded back to my room, changed my clothes, found another pair of shoes, and sank into my chair. The grandfather clock chimed four. I stared out the window. There’s nothing you can do for her now.
Heaving myself out of the chair, I collected the page where I’d copied the letters from my shawl. Then I put my shawl inside its bag next to Baloo and stumbled downstairs. The fresh air steadied my nerves.
Aunt Sophie answered the door. She had more color in her cheeks than the last time I saw her, and she wore a pretty green and peach dressing gown that looked new. I heard Albert shout from upstairs: “Come see my castle!”
Nathan started crying, and Aunt Sophie rolled her eyes. “I just put the baby down for a nap. Whoever said two children are as easy to raise as one was dead wrong. There’s cider in the kitchen, and shortbread. Help yourself.” She headed for the nursery.
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