Max cleared his throat. Emma and Abe understood this to mean that the old man wanted to try to give a serious answer to his original question.
“On the one hand, Abraham asked God to spare the sinners of Sodom if there were ten righteous among them.”
“See,” Abe interjected quickly, “Abraham—my namesake—was the first defense lawyer, and he argued on behalf of the guilty.”
“On the other hand,” Max said, “Abraham lost. There were no righteous people in Sodom.”
“Sounds like your client list,” Emma interjected.
“Yet on the other hand,” Max said in a tone of finality, “the rabbis praised Abraham for his advocacy on behalf of the guilty and condemned Noah for not arguing with God when he told Noah that he was going to destroy the world. So the answer is yes, our tradition approves of what our Abraham does for a living.”
“But on the fourth hand,” Emma complained.
“There are never more than three hands,” Abe said, making a “V” for victory.
The conversation continued long into the night, until Max finally excused himself. After Abe and Rendi saw Max to the door, Abe whispered to his wife, “Let’s go upstairs. I don’t want to know what the sleeping arrangements are for Jacob.”
“You know,” Rendi twitted Abe, leading him to their bedroom with a coy smile.
Chapter 3
HALF A YEAR LATER: APRIL 1999
“What should I ask Daddy for this year?” Emma asked Rendi as they rummaged through the basement for the box containing the religious items used at the Passover seder. As the youngest participant at their seder, Emma, by tradition, would “find” a special matzah hidden by the “leader” and demand something in return for it.
“Don’t you think your father has given you enough, Emma? Tuition, a car . . .”
“Of course he has, but he loves giving me things. Sometimes I wish he could give more of himself.” Emma sighed. “Let’s at least not deny him the pleasure of giving me stuff. I think I’m going to ask for a new computer.”
“Your father gets a rash when the word computer is even mentioned.”
“Only when he actually touches one. He calls me to do computer searches for him. He claims they’re only for innocent clients. I wonder.”
“Then I guess you should have an up-to-date one,” said Rendi. “What time are you expecting Jacob?”
“Late. He’s taking the train. I made Daddy invite Max. He hasn’t been to a seder in more than fifty years. Doesn’t like them for some reason. But Dad talked him into this one. Jacob loves talking to Max. I think Max is the real reason Jacob decided to come to our house for Passover rather than fly back to Amsterdam.”
“I suspect you also had something to do with his decision.”
“I sure hope so,” Emma said, wiggling her bottom and laughing.
Emma and Rendi spent the rest of the day preparing the seder meal.
At six o’clock sharp Max rang the bell. Abe went to the door.
“Max, you look terrible. Is anything wrong?”
“No, I’m fine.” He managed an apologetic smile. “The seder makes me nervous.”
“Don’t worry. It’s just an informal meal with us. A few blessings, songs, and discussions. Nothing heavy. Why are you nervous?”
“I don’t know. It’s been so long.”
“Relax. You’ll love it. You can help Emma find my matzah. In the meantime, Rendi and Emma need your sage advice about setting the seder plate. You’re the only one around who studied this ritual stuff as a child.”
Max went into the kitchen, where Rendi was trying to teach a reluctant Emma how to make matzah balls.
A few minutes later Jacob arrived.
“Let’s begin,” Abe said, leading his guests to the table. Although the seder went smoothly, with spirited songs, lively conversation, and occasional prayers, it was clear that Max was uncomfortable. During dinner he excused himself three times to use the bathroom. He was sweating profusely and fidgeting. Most surprising, he was utterly uncommunicative. It was not the Max of the Shabbat dinners. There were no Bible stories, no philosophical questions. Just nervous silence. Something was wrong. But Abe knew enough not to probe, especially in front of company.
After the traditional meal of chicken soup, lamb, honeyed carrots, and plenty of wine and matzah, it was time for the ancient ritual of welcoming the prophet Elijah.
“Okay, Emma,” Abe said brightly, “it’s time for our special guest.”
Emma rose and began to move toward the front door.
Suddenly Max started screaming, “No! No!” Bolting out of his seat, he blocked her path. The old man’s hands were shaking as he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “Do not open that door, Emma,” he said sternly. “Do not even go near it.”
“Why not?” Emma asked incredulously as she pulled away from Max and continued toward the door.
“They will kill you. Stay away from the door!” Max shrieked, chasing after her with the speed and energy of a much younger man. As the frightened Emma dodged his grasp, Max turned to Abe with a frantic look in his eyes. “Stop her,” he pleaded. “Don’t let her near the door.”
“Max, what’s wrong?” Abe asked.
“They vill take her avay.” Max was nearly sobbing now. His European accent was becoming thicker as he continued.
“Ve vill never see our Sarah Chava again. Please, Grandpa Mordechai, please stop her,” Max persisted.
Abe placed his hands on Max’s shoulders and shook him firmly.
“What are you saying, Max? There’s no one named Sarah Chava here. That’s Emma. And there’s no Grandpa Mordechai. Look at me, Max. I’m Abe, your friend. Why are you so upset? What’s wrong? There’s nobody outside.”
“Yes, there is!” Max screamed. “They are here. They are vaiting for us. Don’t you understand? They vill kill us. Prandus and his men. Don’t open the door. Run away. I can’t save you.”
“Please, Max, calm down. You’re frightening us,” Rendi pleaded.
Wild-eyed, Max turned to Emma and, pointing to Abe and Rendi, shouted, “They can’t protect you. Run avay, hide. Don’t let them take you.”
Finally, in desperation, Rendi strode to the front door and flung it wide open.
“See, no one is out there.”
Suddenly Max dropped to the floor like a marionette whose strings were cut. He lay there, panting, as Emma picked up the phone.
“No, don’t call anyone. I am fine,” Max insisted in his normal voice as he sat up and stared at the empty doorway. Then he began to whimper. His hysteria quickly turned to embarrassment as he realized where he was and what he had done.
“I’m truly sorry, Abe, Rendi, Emma, Jacob,” he said, standing slowly and straightening his tie. “I’m all right now. I’ll just go home so you can complete the seder.”
Abe looked directly into Max’s eyes. “You’re not going anywhere. We can’t just pretend this didn’t happen. There’s something inside of you that you have to get out. You’ve been keeping it locked up for years, and it finally burst open. You’ve got to tell us. Max, we’re family. There are no secrets here.”
“I cannot.”
“Please,” Rendi implored. “Please tell us. We want to help you, but we can’t if you keep it to yourself.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I have been able to deal with my past only by keeping it to myself. Please, respect my privacy. Respect my decision.”
“No,” Emma said firmly, putting an arm around Max’s shoulder and guiding him to a chair. “You really frightened me. You owe it to me—to us—to tell us what you were so afraid of. We love you. And when you’re in pain, we’re in pain. Please, Uncle Max.”
Max was silent for what seemed like an eternity, with tears rolling down his face. He looked at Emma and saw her tears. Rendi was crying, too, as was Jacob. Then Max looked at Abe—the hard-nosed criminal defense lawyer who had seen it all. He saw Abe dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief.
“All r
ight,” Max said quietly. “You are entitled to know why I reacted as I did. I was worried about how I would feel even before I arrived at your house. Many times I picked up the phone to cancel. I knew that would upset you, so I came. When I saw you preparing for the seder, I knew it would be difficult. It was so much like the preparation of my family’s last Passover seder—the one I dream about every night. I thought about my sister, Sarah Chava, and my grandfather Reb Mordechai. That is why I shouted their names.” Max paused as if to reconsider his decision. Then, with a look of apprehension trumped by determination, he continued. “I will tell you about Sarah Chava, Reb Mordechai, and the rest of my family.”
Part II
Max’s Story
Chapter 4
MEMORIES OF VILNA, LITHUANIA: APRIL 1942
Rendi poured Max a cup of tea as the old man thought about where to start his story. He took a sip, looked at the Passover table, and then began.
“As I watched you prepare for the seder, I saw my grandfather Reb Mordechai, the day before our last Passover. He was in the attic of our house, looking for the special box containing the religious items we used for the seder.
“We must have looked strange,” Max said with a warm smile as he remembered the scene. “A portly old man with a flowing white beard and a fur hat, crawling around a dark attic, while his eighteen-year-old grandson, wearing a black suit and yarmulke, with curly sidelocks and the beginning of a never shaved beard, held a flickering candle.
“I remember as if it were yesterday, Grandpa finding the Pesach box and opening it, the way the flame of the candle reflected off the large silver chalice.
“The chalice had been in my grandmother Blima’s family since 1492, when the Jews of Spain—where my grandmother’s family had originated—had been forced to convert to Christianity. Grandma’s family had pretended to convert, but secretly continued to practice their Judaism until they were able to immigrate to Lithuania. The Christians called them ‘Marranos’—a derogatory term derived from the Spanish word for swine. During this time, a silversmith had created a beautiful chalice, which from the outside appeared to be Christian. The secret compartments contained all the religious implements needed to practice Judaism, including tiny candlesticks and even a miniature Torah scroll.
“Every year when Grandpa would unpack the chalice, he would ask me, ‘Maxy, doesn’t it make you proud to be descended from a family that could make something like this?’ He would remind me how my ancestors risked their lives, and how if the Inquisition had discovered their hidden treasures, everyone would have been killed.
“Then Grandpa would promise that if I continued our tradition, he would leave the chalice to me, not to my father.
“You cannot know how much it hurt me to hear my grandpa and my papa argue about religion.”
Max was reciting half-century-old discussions as if they had just taken place. He closed his eyes as he recalled the conversations. Occasionally he spoke directly to Abe and the other guests, explaining parts of the dialogue that he thought might be unclear.
“It was not as if my father, David, were an atheist,” Max said to Emma. “Far from it. He was a moderately religious Jew who believed that a Jew could live a full secular life. He was against anachronistic rituals designed to keep Jews from interacting with gentiles. My father was an instructor of ancient history at the University of Vilna. He had many Christian friends, colleagues, and students. Some of them he would bring home. But Grandpa Mordechai did not want his grandchildren to become comfortable around non-Jews. ‘Remember Chava,’ he would always say—a reference to the character in Shalom Aleichem’s short story about the daughter of Tevya the milkman who married a Christian boy. The Chava reference was meant especially for my younger sister, who was named Sarah Chava after two of her great-grandmothers.
“Sarah Chava was sixteen years old, though she looked younger,” Max said, looking off into the distance. “Olive in complexion, she was a true beauty who was already the envy of every Jewish mother in the neighborhood. She had the most glorious smile. The most expressive eyes. When she spoke, her entire face lit up with joy. Sarah Chava had everything a prospective husband could want: a good family background, wealth, beauty, and intelligence. She was destined to marry the son of one of the great rabbis of the Vilna yeshiva.”
As Max described his sister, pain was etched in his expressive face. He closed his eyes as if to conjure up her image in his mind’s eye. Then, after a brief pause, he was back to his story.
“The issue of associating with non-Jews had become moot since Christians were no longer allowed to socialize with Jews. My father had been fired by the university and was now teaching private classes to Jewish students who had been expelled from the schools. I remember watching in awe as my father taught the classes at home. I had never seen my father at work. The students treated him like a god as he stood in the dining room discussing issues I barely understood.
“Although my father lived a secular life—he dressed in modern clothing, was clean-shaven, read books in several languages—he did not try to make me or my sister follow in his ways. We had both chosen to follow more in our grandfather’s footsteps, in my case forsaking a secular education for a rabbinic one.
“Emma, I know you will find this difficult to understand,” Max said, pausing to gauge his young friend’s reaction. “But I agreed to an arranged marriage when I was even younger than you.”
“How old were you?”
“I was seventeen, and my wife was fifteen. In those days, it was quite normal.”
“At fifteen I didn’t even like boys.”
“Nobody asked Leah, or me, whether we were ready or whether we liked each other. I was very fortunate. Leah was a wonderful girl.”
“Pretty?”
“Lovely, and when she was pregnant, she was radiant.”
“How old was she when she became pregnant?”
“Leah gave birth to Efraim nine months after our wedding, and she was already pregnant with our second child at the time of the seder. She told me that she wanted to have six children,” Max said, lowering his head.
“Grandpa Mordechai loved Efraim because he was the first great-grandchild and he represented the next generation of Menuchens. Grandpa’s great passion was family.
“For Grandpa Mordechai, yichus was everything. Yichus was the family heritage traced as far back as possible, with as many great rabbis as the family could claim. Yichus was important to everyone in Vilna, and there was even an official yachsin—a tracer of family trees who ‘certified’ the bona fides of the claims made by families concerning their rabbinical lineage. Even in times of crisis, a family’s yichus determined their social standing, and there were few families with better yichus than the Menuchens.
“Grandpa Mordechai’s seventieth birthday fell on the day of Efraim’s circumcision, and I will never forget his prayer that his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren should all reach the magical age of three score and ten, as he had been privileged to do. I hugged Grandpa Mordechai and said I wanted him to live forever. Grandma Blima, ever cautious, immediately went, ‘Poo poo,’ and waved her hand.”
“What was that all about?” Rendi interrupted.
“She was chasing away the evil spirits. She was worried that we might bring on a k’nayna hura—an evil eye.”
“Grandma Ringel always used to say k’nayna hura,” Emma said, smiling at her father.
“The evil eye was all around Vilna in those terrible days,” Max continued. “Several Jewish leaders, primarily political activists, had been taken away. Mr. Bloom, the Zionist leader from around the corner, had been arrested. There were occasional shootings. An epidemic of influenza had taken some lives. And there were dreadful rumors. But death had not touched our family directly.
“Jews were not allowed out of their neighborhoods. For me, it was wonderful. We lived in a spacious old wooden house, whose boards creaked as if haunted by the spirits of the Menuchen rabbis who had inhabited
it and held court in its vast library for many generations.”
“How long had the house been in your family?”
“Since the sixteenth century. It was really a compound, consisting of the large house shared by my father and mother, who lived upstairs with Sarah Chava. Leah and I lived downstairs with our baby. Grandpa Mordechai and Grandma Blima lived in the converted carriage house in the back. The extended family lived in the neighborhood and often visited ‘the house,’ as the Menuchen compound was always called. Now more than ever, it served as a community center, synagogue, school, and meeting hall. For me, it was paradise, because everyone I loved was under one roof for much of the day.
“As the time for the Passover seder approached, the house bustled with preparations. Grandma Blima presided over the food preparation, assigning each woman and girl a task. She showed ‘Surila’—that was what she called Sarah Chava—how to split open each raisin in order to get the most flavor in the stuffed cabbage. It was an old family recipe, and Grandma Blima showed her how to roll this cabbage so that it kept the meat and raisins from falling out. Grandma claimed that the secret was picking large cabbage leaves and then tucking them properly. And Grandma teased Sarah Chava by telling her sternly that no man would marry her if the meat and raisins fell out of her stuffed cabbage.”
Rendi laughed. Emma joined in the laughter as her stepmother gave her hand a squeeze.
Max paused once again for a sip of tea. Turning to Emma, he said, “It must be hard for you to understand a girl like Sarah Chava, because you are becoming a professional woman. But in those days, girls like you were raised to become wives and mothers. We called them baleboostehs. It means those who care for the master of the house.”
A smile crossed Emma’s face, as if she were trying to suppress a laugh.
“What is it, Emma? Did I say something funny?”
“No, it’s just that the word baleboosteh sounds like ‘ball busters,’ which is what my generation of young women is accused of being.”
Just Revenge Page 3