by Nomi Eve
It was a strange Sabbath on Rav Pinchas Street. In the morning, Eliezer went to synagogue alone. When he returned, the family ate a hasty lunch. Then they said prayers. But the prayers felt big in their mouths, and the lunch not big enough, though all had several helpings. Had the family spoken, they would have agreed that regular things were taking on irregular dimensions. Especially the old house. The house, usually so spacious, suddenly didn’t seem to have enough room. Eliezer kept bumping into Shimon. Shimon kept bumping into his wife. Avra kept bumping into her father. But none of the crossed paths led to genuine smiles or good conversation.
Upstairs, Zohar leaned out of the window and stared hard at the Dormition Abbey. He shut his eyes and imagined that Chasia was leading him around the orchard, alternately telling him the history of each tree and her own history. He wondered how she knew so much, but he didn’t dare interrupt her. Moshe, lying in the bed in the same room, took a good nap. He dreamed that Chasia was walking hand-in-hand with all the beauties of Petach Tikvah. They were coming toward him, lanky and dark and light and blond and well shod and well spoken, and curvy and skinny, and beatific, but in a sexy way. Meanwhile, downstairs, Grandfather Eliezer spent the afternoon unsuccessfully looking for his eyeglass case—a kindly, useful object that Shimon hadn’t brought home but Avra had mistakenly taken back.
SATURDAY NIGHT (SUNDAY MORNING), VERY LATE
Eliezer followed the boys again, but this time he did not stop outside the church. He went inside and stood under its glittery dome for several minutes before he descended to the catacombs where he knew the boys would be. Then he walked down the circular staircase and saw the boys standing together on one side of the sleeping Madonna. They heard him, and turned around in one synchronized sway. He could tell that they were surprised by his presence, but also that they could not really react to it. Somewhere in between bliss, religion, and puberty, this moment lay. The twins were far away. And he, only a grandfather, could not carry them any farther either toward or away from the woman sleeping so calmly in their midst. He walked up to them, and put a hand on each boy’s shoulder. They stood there for a very long time linked by a private enthusiasm that gilded their insides much like the mosaics above gilded the dome. When he finally spoke, Eliezer whispered, “Well, if she is not our Chasia, then surely she is someone else’s.” Zohar nodded. Moshe didn’t move. But both boys knew that their grandfather knew she was their own.
They left the church. And then all three began to run the walls together. The boys pulled ahead as usual. But not far ahead. They ran for a very long time. Past the Tomb of the One-Eyed Sheik, past the British Consul’s residence, past the Wailing Wall. The sky turned from black to pale milk and then the sun began to rise, turning the city a fine shade of butter. Every so often the twins would look behind them. Their grandfather nodded, winked, urged them farther. As they neared home, early-rising friends, neighbors, storekeepers threw surprised waves in their direction. The word went out, “Old Eliezer and his boys are coming this way carrying the sun in on their shoulders.” They ran on. Zohar and Moshe felt that they could run the walls forever, and Eliezer’s jaunty pace took him farther that night than he had ever expected to go.
They returned to the house in the very early morning, entering without waking Shimon or Avra who were sleeping with their toes touching, Avra’s mouth half open, Shimon’s right hand on Avra’s left thigh.
In the late afternoon of the day before, Shimon had seen Avra picking up one of the things he had taken. It was a little round jewelry box made of metal. She found it on the wooden shelf under the mirror in the front hall. He followed her out of the house and caught up with her in the middle of the Street of Death’s Angels where, with a very red face, he tried to tell her something. Something about leaning and learning and taking precious things from God. He was stuttering. He couldn’t complete his sentences. Avra felt sorry for her husband. Drawing the tiny box out of the folds of her skirt she said, “Sweetheart, just tell me where it goes. Then we’ll go home. No tongues today, I promise.” They put the jewelry box back where Shimon had gotten it—a fancy Armenian import store just behind the carpet-seller’s street. Then they went home. And that night they spent hours taking and giving and giving back a marketful of love and pleasure.
Zohar, Moshe, and Eliezer had tiptoed up the stairs. The boys fell asleep immediately. They dreamed one dream, holding her from all sides. Lying down in his room, Eliezer nodded smilingly to the sun rising over the Dormition Abbey. Then he shut his eyes and enjoyed a sleep that was no longer flimsy gray, but was once again the deep velvet it used to be.
Chapter 7
MIRIAM
MY FATHER WRITES:
My maternal grandfather’s family lived in the southern Ukrainian village of Noviye Mlini, which means “New Mills.” In 1900, my grandfather, Yaacov Mandelkern, married his first cousin, Rasia, in Noviye Mlini. In 1902, their son, Pinchas, was born. In 1903 Rasia died of tuberculosis, leaving Yaacov a young widower with an infant son. After the traditional period of mourning came to an end, Yaacov was advised by a matchmaker to visit a certain Rabbi Leib in the nearby village of Kodrovkah. The matchmaker told Yaacov that the rabbi had several eligible daughters of marriageable age. And since both families, the Mandelkerns and the Leibs, were Lubavitch, that is, they were both members of the same religious sect, it seemed very likely that the visit would result in a proper match.
Bela Leib was, relatively speaking, an old maid when Yaacov came courting. She was twenty-seven years old and had two older unmarried sisters. She had already turned down several marriage opportunities because of the age-old tradition of older sisters marrying first. Yaacov was a very attractive young man, he was highly educated and pretty well-off. Bela was the smartest and most attractive of her sisters. And Yaacov set his sights on her soon after he arrived in Kodrovkah. Bela eventually decided to marry him regardless of the tradition, and her parents did not object.
In Noviye Mlini, the couple lived with Yaacov’s parents. The family had a large grocery store in which both Bela and Yaacov worked. In 1906, Bela gave birth to a daughter who died at the age of two. Their son, Benyamin, was born in 1908, their daughter Noona was born in 1909, and Miriam (my mother) was born in 1911.
I WRITE:
Of Miriam it could be said that she had a fashion sense from the moment she was born, and that when she emerged into the world, even her ordinary infant nakedness was not only beautiful but also somehow stylish. By the time she was six, she made her father, a religious man, think of queens (and smile), and her mother, a realistic woman, think of concubines (and frown) when she skipped by.
From an early age she had a talent for handiwork. She loved to knit and to embroider and to crochet. She learned first from her mother, who had learned from her mother, who had learned from an aunt of whom a story is told that she was really an uncle, though this rumor is only a matter of family lore. Miriam’s mother, Bela, hailed from the village of Kodrovkah, a place renowned for its production of priceless tapestries that took at least six years and sixty pairs of hands to make. Bela, who was a slim sparrow of a woman with big, pretty eyes, taught her daughter everything she could remember. Miriam’s quick white hands were like memory perches for the old images, bawdy gossip, and intricate stitches. Of Miriam it could be said that she held her art like doves. Her thread flew deep into the cloth.
MY FATHER WRITES:
Jews began to leave Noviye Mlini and other towns in the area prior to the outbreak of World War I. Some left in the late nineteenth century and during the Russian-Japanese war of 1904–1905. At the outbreak of World War I (1914) and later, during the Communist revolution (1917), living conditions for the Jews worsened. Pogroms, murders, and rapes were daily events. Many Jews left the small towns for large cities where they were less noticeable. At least five of our family members were murdered during this period by the gangs of Petlura, or by the White Czarist Army of General Danikin.
Like many other Jews, my grandparents fea
red a pogrom. So, in 1916 they moved with their four children to the city of Sartov on the Volga River. In Sartov, Yaacov established a coffee factory. They lived in a house that shared a large court with about forty-five gentile families. When Yaacov was practicing his torah for Shabbat, he had to keep his voice down so as not to anger the gentiles.
They stayed in Sartov until 1918. When the Communists began to take control of the area, the entrepreneurs knew that they were in danger. Yaacov’s strong desire to educate his children guided him in their next move. They decided to move to Lithuania. Yaacov knew that the Jewish communities of Lithuania had established a large and modern school system. The family planned to go to the city of Riga but the first train to come was for Kovno. They took that train and lived in Kovno from 1918 to 1923. In Kovno, the children studied in the Hebrew Realick Gymnasia.
In Sartov, prior to their departure, Yaacov ordered from a carpenter a small crate with hollow walls. In it he put his Russian rubles and the family jewelry. This was his daughters’ (my mother’s and aunt’s) dowries. By the time they arrived in Kovno, the Communists had changed the Russian currency and the rubles were worthless. In Kovno, Yaacov established a coffee and cocoa factory.
1000 RUBLE NOTE SMUGGLED OUT OF RUSSIA BY YAACOV MANDELKERN
The family’s next move was to Palestine. Yaacov Mandelkern was a Zionist. My aunt Noona told me that when the famous Jewish poet, Chaim Nachman Bialik, received a permit to immigrate to Palestine, she went with her father for a special farewell reception. The eldest son, Pinchas, was active in a Zionist youth movement. The family story is that Pinchas decided to make aliyah, that is, to move to Israel. But Bela said to Yaacov, “ Pinchas will not go alone. He might get lost there.” The result was that all six family members immigrated to Palestine in 1923. This is notable because Pinchas was Bela’s stepson—this is just one example of what a wonderful and devoted mother she was.
JAFFA
On the way to Israel, the family visited their in-laws, Shai and Devorah Lieb, in the Polish city of Chopot. From Chopot they traveled to Berlin. This was right before the Nazi putsch in Munich (the beginning of Hitler’s rise to power). They were in Berlin for exactly twelve hours. They took a night train to Trieste, Italy. While they were in Trieste, a vessel from Palestine came filled with Jews who had left the country. Most of these Jews were heading for Australia. They told Yaacov and Bela that the economic situation in Palestine was unbearable. My grandparents refused to be discouraged by this bad news and continued on their journey. From Trieste, they went on a boat to Port Said in Egypt. For this boat ride, they had to bring all of their own food. From Port Said, they took a smaller boat to Jaffa, Palestine. They arrived there on the sixth anniversary of the Balfour Declaration, on November 1, 1923.
I WRITE:
By the time the family emigrated, Miriam had surpassed her ancestors’ expertise. She had learned how to sew the scattering geography of Jews. Noviye Mlini, Sartov, Kovno, Chopot, Berlin, Trieste, Port Said, Palestine. Each place had its own stitch. And Miriam could tell the stitches, like a story. Tracing the family journey of loss here in a black swirl, fear there in a green half-moon, desperation in a gray star, hope in a fancy purple cross stitch with little dots radiating eastward in swervy flows. They traveled by train and cart, and foot, and boat and foot and train again and boat again. By the time the family reached the port of Jaffa, Miriam had embroidered so many maps, and their ultimate unreadableness left her sick to her stomach. “Too many legends,” she murmured to herself while ripping out a row of stitches. “Not enough firm ground.”
MY FATHER WRITES:
Immediately after landing in the port of Jaffa, they went to Petach Tikvah, a small city six miles east of Tel Aviv. They traveled by horse-driven covered wagon, called a diligans in Turkish. In Petach Tikvah they purchased a lot on Herzl Street. First, they built a barn in which they lived for about six months until their house was completed in late 1924. It had three rooms and an outhouse. There was no electricity in the town. According to my mother, there were no locks on the doors to the house. They usually ate on the porch where they had a table, chairs and a box for dirty laundry. One morning they realized that the table cloth had disappeared—it had been stolen. Bela, who was very generous and had a great sense of humor, said: “Somebody must have been very cold and badly needed a blanket.”
Soon after they first arrived, a family friend borrowed from Yaacov five pounds (probably Egyptian pounds). This friend planned to purchase a cow in Lebanon. Yaacov gave him ten pounds for two cows—one for himself. Bela knew how to milk a cow from their days in Noviye Mlini.
Petach Tikvah was the citrus-growing center of the Jewish Settlement. Yaacov purchased a citrus grove. In addition to his own groves, he was involved in planting groves for Lithuanian Jews who planned to come to Israel.
Several years after they arrived, Yaacov signed a loan guarantee for a friend. The friend went bankrupt, and Yaacov was forced to sell his house and orchard.
I WRITE:
Once they were settled in Petach Tikvah, Bela sent her daughter to spend afternoons at the knee of an expert seamstress—an old widow whose name, Shalva, meant “tranquil.” Miriam walked slowly into the small house. Inside it was surprisingly bright despite the absence of all but a single window. The old woman reached a huge hand out and Miriam stumbled forward. She raised her head and their faces almost touched. Shalva had huge breasts and a big soft middle. Shalva had a Yemenite sense of design, a Syrian sense of humor, the ancient eyes of an Indian, and the wide-open mouth of a loquacious Lebanese. She came from a kind of gracious everywhere, that country in the center of all maps called “nowhere in specific.”
From Shalva, Miriam learned the patterns behind the patterns of lines and swirls. She learned the cloth behind the cloth, the stitch behind the stitch. Finally, she learned that there were fingers behind her own, and how to stop her own from getting in the way. And though Shalva never taught Miriam how to sew the old charms into her creations, over time the teacher realized that the student had learned anyway. And from the time Miriam was twelve they could be found sitting together—the big-breasted old mosaic of a woman and the lovely little girl, sewing entire oceans of incantations.
When Miriam was seventeen, there moved into the settlement of Petach Tikvah a family of impossibly wealthy, impossibly rude Jews from the Island of Sardinia. This family bore the name of a kind of rare igneous rock that sounded like a cross between the Hebrew word for “mold” and the Yiddish word for “monster.” The name—geological, grotesque, and inherently scorching to the tongue—was unpronounceable. And so, depending upon mood, and proximity to the principal players, people would refer to the matriarch and patriarch as either Mister Mold or Madame Monster. Or Madame Mold and Mister Monster. And the children—three young sons and a single daughter of marriageable age—were the Little Moldy Monsters.
They were imperious and proud, black-haired and big-shouldered and bony in the rear. They lorded over the city as if they owned its entirety, which they didn’t, but almost did. They owned half of all the orange groves, a full quarter of the lemons, and all the best, most fertile land to the east.
Miriam was by now recognized as one of the best seamstresses in the entire settlement. She sewed stories into her cloth. Whoever wore these garments took on the mood and moment of the specific tale. She had first experimented with this technique on her parents, making for them a set of lovely pajamas into which she had embroidered a common fairy tale. But Miriam wasn’t one for literary accuracy. So, during this queer period of time in the family history, Bela would bound about the house flexing her muscles while looking for a dragon to slay, while Yaacov would wake up feeling like a rescued princess and then be horrified when he realized that he had lost, or misplaced, or cut off his long golden hair.
Seven months after the Moldy family invaded Petach Tikvah, Miriam was called to their compound. It was located on the far periphery of the city at a high and windy rise in the landscape. Mir
iam walked quickly; she carried nothing with her. Not even her measure. Not her samples of stitches or colors or cloth. Not because she was unprepared, but because the call had been accompanied by strict instructions for her to come empty-handed.
Miriam walked up to the gate of the compound and knocked on the door. It was opened by a hand that was neither monstrous nor moldy but seemed to her to have been fashioned out of precious silk. Skin so perfectly pale it seemed in danger of being stained even by the air. This was very disconcerting.
Miriam wondered if she had the wrong house. But of course, there was no other such house for miles. She walked in and stared at the silky young woman. Then she nodded and smiled. The young woman nodded back but did not return Miriam’s smile. At this point several other people entered the room. Miriam surmised that this was Madame Monster, who, like her daughter, nodded at Miriam but did not address her, and a young man whom she took to be the groom. He had a small round scar on his left cheek and eyes like cracked crystal. He strutted from wall to wall in a most clomping manner. When he was done walking, he said, “You are not accustomed to dressing figures of our caliber, but perhaps you can employ some opposite technique.” And then he laughed, a laugh as cracked as his eyes and round as his belly. It hurt Miriam’s ears.