Travelling to Aunt Luba’s apartment took Naomi deeper into the heart of Brooklyn—Flatbush Avenue. “I hope I’m not late,” Naomi told Daniel when he opened the door for her.
With one hand he held up a finger and with the other pointed to his mouth which was obviously full of food. His head turned to show her a large platter of antipasto.
Looking around the room, Naomi felt she was back at Sylvia’s. Rose colored walls, mahogany wood tables, and the smell of—could it be?—chicken parmesan?
Naomi did notice one major difference in Luba’s home. Rather than family portraits gracing the walls, one wall showcased Marc Chagall prints and another wall displayed what appeared to be original artwork. Naomi’s impression was that these were works in progress.
After a large swallow, Daniel said, “A little bit late, but don’t worry.” Daniel kissed her cheek. “My aunt is potchking around the kitchen. You’re her special guest. She’s probably been in the kitchen since yesterday getting this dinner together. You better be good and hungry.”
He bent down over the platter of antipasto, picked up a large chunk of cheese and put it in front of Naomi’s mouth. “Here have some cheese. There’s also some artichoke hearts. They’re my personal favorite.”
She opened her mouth and accepted the provolone cheese. I better make a personal note—keep artichoke hearts stocked in my future kitchen.
While potchking in her kitchen, Naomi and Daniel could hear Luba singing. Beltz, Mayn Shtetle.
“Sounds almost like Klezmer music,” Naomi observed. Since a child, Naomi had always been drawn to this distinctive musical style. Something about the sounds made her feel a part of the old Eastern European world of her ancestors.
“You like Klezmer?”
“It’s a fun sound.”
“We got a date! There’s a Klezmer band playing in the city next week.” After another artichoke heart, Daniel commented, “You’re not eating. You want something else. I can ask—”
Naomi jumped in quickly. “No, I’m fine.” How am I going to eat any more today? She sniffed the air and asked, “Daniel, do I smell chicken parmesan?”
“How’d you know? With spaghetti and . . . ? C’mon guess. What else do you smell?”
“Garlic?”
He nodded. “Garlic bread. My aunt has a new Italian boyfriend she wants to impress. So, how was your time with Sylvia?”
“She’s wonderful, Daniel. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Well, just in case you kinda prompted her to call me, I’m glad you did.” On her train ride to Flatbush, Naomi had contemplated the woman’s advice, and now plunged in. “Daniel, why don’t we ask Dana and Ed to join us at the Klezmer concert?”
“Are you—”
Luba came waltzing out of the kitchen and asked, “Smell gut? Come, children.”
Daniel and Naomi followed her into the dining room and were surprised by the formality of the table setting. Two lit candles sat in an elegant pair of crystal holders, a vase filled with pink roses was between the candles, and the table had been set with the finest Wedgewood formal dinnerware.
Daniel hugged his aunt. “You didn’t need to do all this for us.”
“Danielek, not for you, for Berto.” Staring longingly at the fourth table setting, she told them, “Maybe he still come. Later. Ve see.”
Naomi recognized heartbreak when she saw it. “The table is beautiful. And if Berto doesn’t come, it’s his loss.”
Luba pinched Naomi’s cheek. “Danielek, you do gut.” She then asked Naomi, “You hungry?”
“Starving.” She glanced into the kitchen and noticed all the pots and pans piled up on the countertop and on the stove. Oh, please, if You can hear me, forgive me for lying and make me hungry.
Over dinner Naomi asked about the half-finished canvases on the living room wall. Luba looked at Daniel and asked, “You vant I tell her? Or you?”
“I’ll explain, you eat.” Smiling Daniel said, “They’re Dana’s. It’s typical of her, never finishing anything. Aunt Luba keeps them hung up on her wall to remind my sister every time she comes here. See, actually what happened is one time the whole family was over at Dana’s old place, before she moved to Staten Island, and we noticed a bunch of canvases piled up next to where the garbage was. None of us said anything—no one but my aunt.”
With a broad smile, Luba empathetically stated, “Art—not garbage.” Dinner was finishing up and her eyes landed on Naomi’s half-eaten piece of chicken. “Vhat? My chicken not gut?” Therefore, by the time their dinner was finished, Naomi’s plate was clean. Yet when Luba told them to wait while she got out the dessert, Naomi protested. “I can’t, Aunt Luba.”
With actual tears pooling in her eyes, Aunt Luba said, “Ah, you must. I make Italian vedding cake.” She stepped into the kitchen leaving orders with Daniel. “Tell her, she must eat.”
When Luba proudly brought out her fancy confection, Naomi oohed and aahed, and then forced herself to eat. She also observed Luba’s eyes staring at her front door. Thinking the woman still hoped her boyfriend would show up, Naomi wanted to distract her. “Daniel told me the story of your life is fascinating. He wanted you to tell me. Would you?”
Luba nodded. “I only one of family not go to camps. Know vhy?”
“Please, tell me.”
She rested the palms of her hands under her chin. “My face. Face like a shiksa, no? My face save me.”
Daniel cleared his throat. “Naomi, she always tells the story this way. And always I tell her it’s not nice to use that word. But it’s so ingrained in her. Aunt Luba, next time just tell people you looked like a Gentile with your blonde hair and blue eyes—don’t say shiksa.”
“Danielek, this name all my life I hear.” She then turned back to Naomi. “Last time I see Papa, he is behind fence. He vhisper to me, ‘Lubomira, run.’ Then Papa point to my face, ‘But, Lubomira, never forget you are a Yid.’ And never do I forget.” She wiped the tears trickling down her face. “Tell story a hundred times—every time, I cry.”
Daniel explained, “It wasn’t until about ten years after the war when she found my mother.”
“Zofia, my sister, she only one. Rest of family vere no more.”
Although not sure what would be appropriate to say, Naomi nonetheless felt Luba was waiting expectantly for her reaction. “It amazes me, Aunt Luba, after going through all this, you don’t seem bitter. You seem even happy, or at least upbeat.”
Luba looked at her nephew and pointed to Naomi. “She thinking vhy your mother bitter and me not.” She then turned to Naomi. “Yes?”
“Well . . . in a way, yes.”
“Zofia see all killed. Our mother, precious Mamala, die in her arms.” She cut another slice of cake and placed it on Naomi’s plate. “Eat.”
“I’ll have the baked ziti,” Daniel told the waitress. “Naomi, did you make up your mind what you’re having?”
Naomi looked up at the waitress with a smile. “Just a small house salad, please.”
Naomi folded up her menu and explained to the others at her table, “I’ve been eating way too much lately. I’m trying to diet.”
Ed laughed and nudged Dana with his elbow. “What is with you women? Dana’s always saying the same thing.” Then looking at Dana, he asked, “What are you having, babe?”
“Chicken parmesan and spaghetti.”
Café Figaro had filled to capacity. Naomi noted that the Greenwich Village restaurant was now turning away people at the door. “Boy, I’m glad we got here when we did.”
The waitress gathered up the menus and walked away. With the food ordered, it seemed the awkward silence returned. Naomi squeezed Daniel’s hand and leaned across the table to Dana and Ed. “I can’t wait to hear the Bohemian Nights play.”
She received only a polite nod from Ed. Dana sat stony-faced. Daniel squeezed Naomi’s hand back and whispered, “I warned you.”
Naomi spied a couple at a nearby table playing backgammon. “Let�
�s play. We can ask the waitress for a game.”
Both Ed and Daniel were receptive to the idea, but Dana told them, “You can only have two players.”
“We can play as teams, boys against the girls,” Naomi coaxed. She reached across the small rickety wooden table to Dana. “I’ll come sit next to you and Ed can sit where I’m sitting.” No response. For an extra incentive, she added, “And you know we’ll win.”
“I’m outnumbered.” Dana rose from her seat and said, “I’ll even go get a game for us.”
By the time the food arrived, they were on their second game, and true to Naomi’s word, the girls had won the first and were winning the second. Ed and Naomi switched back to their original seats, as their plates were set before them.
All but Naomi complained that their food was bland and overcooked. Naomi’s iceberg lettuce was fine as was the French dressing. Daniel reminded them they were not here for the food. The place was more a coffee house than it was a restaurant—but tonight for the first time Café Figaro featured a Klezmer band.
As the musicians began setting up, Daniel got the attention of the waitress and asked for some espresso. “It’s the only way I’m going to stay up.”
“I’ll keep poking you,” Naomi teased. Why hadn’t she been more sensitive? Friday night and all day Saturday were the busiest time in a rabbi’s life, and by Saturday night her fiancé was exhausted. “From now on, we won’t make plans for Saturday nights, okay?”
Taking her hand and looking tenderly at her engagement ring, he kissed his future bride.
Dana commented, “Ed and I don’t need a piece of paper. And I’d rather we gave the money it would cost for the diamond and for the wedding to some charity.”
Ed put his hand up to his forehead, covering one eye, and shook his head. “Daniel, I’m sorry, man. I don’t know why she’s including me in this. I’m happy for you and Naomi. I mean, hey, marriage was good enough for our parents.”
Naomi was grateful the waitress arrived at that moment. She brought coffee just as the band picked up their instruments, ready to begin. The first sounds heard were from the accordion and flute, followed by the cornet, and soon the hammered dulcimer, the snare drum, and lastly the fiddle and the cello.
With a splash, the cafe was filled with lively ethnic sounds. Even Dana smiled and bobbed up and down with the music.
When an especially upbeat song began Naomi rose from her seat and walked over to Dana. “Would you do the hora with me?”
To the surprise of both her brother and her boyfriend, Dana bounced up in a flash and the two ladies were on the dance floor. Naomi and Dana took each other’s hands and spun in a circle, with three steps forward and one step back. Typical of Klezmer music, the music increased in speed, eventually reaching a frenetic pace.
They returned to the table, breathless and flushed, and explained to the men they needed to use the ladies’ room. Once alone, Naomi took the risk and said, “I’m really hoping you’ll come to our wedding. It’d mean a lot to Daniel.”
The noise from the music made it impossible to carry on a conversation and Dana motioned Naomi to follow her. Standing outside the café, under the awning, Naomi repeated her request.
“Daniel doesn’t need my coming,” Dana answered. “He’s in his own little world with his religion. Religion is the opiate of the masses—you’ve heard that before, right?”
“Maybe, but what’s rudeness? The drug of choice for the rest of you?”
“I’ve seen what religion has done to Ed’s family. It’s made them act like doormats to the white people.” Dana stared at her future sister-in-law, as if sizing her up. “Are you a vegetarian?”
“No, why?”
“I saw the way you wrinkled up your nose when I was eating my chicken parmesan. Actually, you know what? That was rude.”
Naomi explained how she recently had to eat two such dishes in one day. “Both with spaghetti and garlic bread and dessert. I was so stuffed.” Naomi puffed out her cheeks and did her fat girl waddle. She was delighted to hear Dana’s laughter. “Can I tell you a secret?”
With her eyes unblinking and fixed on Naomi, she nodded her head.
“I lied to your Aunt Luba. I told her I was hungry even though I was forcing myself to eat her food. I was praying . . . see religion is necessary . . . anyway, I was praying I wouldn’t get sick.”
With girlish laughter, they returned into the café and back to their table. Daniel rose and hugged Naomi. As he pulled out her seat, he said, “What a gift you are to me. I love you.”
I can do this, Sylvia, I can do this.
The band now transitioned into the poignant and slower rhythm of “Jerusalem of Gold.”
Daniel pulled Naomi to him and asked, “Would you like to go to Israel for our honeymoon?”
CHAPTER 12
“A person may plan his path, but. . .” Prov. 16:9
After five nights free from any nightmares, the chasm of empty shadows returned. Naomi was jarred out of her sleep with the piercing screams of babies reverberating in her head. She cupped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. She forced herself back to sleep, but soon came the vision of Stefan’s face looming over her.
“You killed one of our babies,” Daniel’s father cried. In a flash, the vision morphed into Daniel’s face, which was wrought in agony.
Naomi awoke trembling. For the next hour, she tossed and turned. Eventually giving up on further sleep, she turned on her lamp and looked on her nightstand. Perhaps whatever current novel she was reading would pull her out from this deep pit.
Instead she found the Jewish Scriptures placed there, the result of a New Year’s resolution to read them daily. Here it was catching dust. What if there would be more about killing some animal and sprinkling the blood . . . ?
Desperate times call for desperate measures. Only God can help me. Please, God, no blood . . . no killing.
Last evening at the Passover meal, Naomi joined Daniel and his family as they read from the Psalms. The Bible now on her lap, she quickly found the Psalms. But what Psalm should she turn to? With a deep sigh, she shrugged. It was no use—this book didn’t speak to her.
Yet somehow her eyes landed on the first verse in Psalm 113. “He settles the childless woman in her home as a happy mother of children.” Tears formed in Naomi’s heart.
She closed her eyes and lifted her head upward. “God, I will make it up to You, if You let me. Make me a happy mother of children; for Daniel, let me be the mother of his children. I will thank You forever and ever.” Her eyes then leaped to a verse in Psalm 115, “The Lord shall increase you more and more, you and your children.” A confirmation? Yes, it had to be. He would give her children.
Those tears in her heart now spilled from her eyes gently down her cheeks, washing away the voices that had broken into her sleep.
A blissful yawn signaled she was now ready for sleep. She placed the Bible back on her nightstand, deliberately leaving it open to where she last read. A few more hours of sleep and she awoke, the distant remnants from the nightmare now shadows, nevertheless still there. And in an instant she understood what had provoked those ghastly visions.
At the Seder meal the day before, they had been reading from their Haggadah which recounted the Exodus narrative. All was fine until they came to the place where they read about Pharaoh ordering the death of all Hebrew males.
The Passover liturgy was abruptly halted by Zofia’s sudden wailing. Stefan, sitting at the head of the table, stood up and explained, “We saw so many of our babies killed in the camps. My wife read something the other day about this horrible thing—abortion—being allowed in this country.”
Naomi watched as Daniel put his arms around his mother. “Mom, it will never happen again. Every Jewish baby will be born and protected from now on. And one day Naomi and I will even bless you with a baby.”
Stefan then lovingly boasted, “Our Danny, see Zofia, look what a gift God has given us.”
Naomi
had excused herself. Although wanting to run, she managed to restrain herself and calmly walked into the bathroom, running water from the sink to cover up the noise of her own wailing. Will there always be something to remind me?
But recalling the words Daniel had spoken only a few moments before provided Naomi the hope and courage to step back out and join everyone at the family table. One day she and Daniel would bless his mother with a child.
It was clear: the events of the day before inspired the nightmare, but thankfully this was a new day. She would pray hard and one day she would give Daniel a son. Wow, this’ll be Zofia and Stefan’s first grandchild.
Still in her bathrobe, Naomi walked into the kitchen. Preoccupied with imagining the time when she tells Daniel, “I’m pregnant,” she made her way towards the coffee pot. She was oblivious to Anne standing right in front of her.
“Naomi, open your eyes,” Anne warned, preventing coffee grinds from spilling all over their white tile floor.
While waiting together for the coffee to brew. Anne asked, “How was the Seder?”
“Daniel and his father, it was so sweet to see how they love each other. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a father and a son get along so well. He calls him Danny, and he says it in such a loving way.”
“What about his mother?”
“Hopefully over time . . . Maybe next Passover.”
The coffee ready, Anne poured for both of them as Naomi reflected, “It’s kinda wild. Last Passover was my loneliest Passover ever and one year later, I have one I . . . I don’t deserve this.”
Anne knitted her brows together. Naomi recognized the concerned look. I’m about to get her stop-putting-yourself-down speech. If she only knew . . .
She owed her friend an explanation. “Anne, less than a year ago, I . . .” But the words would not come out.
“What? What were you going to say?”
“Nothing, I’m sorry.” Naomi stared into her coffee cup until she could think of something else to say, “I don’t know if I ever told you, but what you said about Daniel being too bright for me to hoodwink him . . .”
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