Israel

by Fred Lawrence Feldman

  She took her painting and drawing very seriously. Some of her work had gone to her father’s agent in London, but none had yet been sold. Nevertheless, Rosie kept at it. She meant to surpass her father’s artistic success. Haim wondered out loud why that would matter to her if she enjoyed the work, and Rosie just smiled and kissed him.

  Moving silently, Haim was able to approach unnoticed. His wife, intent on her sketching, was deaf and blind to the outside world. Finally he was close enough to tickle her bare brown toes.

  Rosie’s sable eyes widened with surprise, and then she grinned. “You’re home late. Everything all right, love?”

  Haim nodded, coming around to perch on her armrest and give her a hug. Rosie rested her head against him for a moment, shutting her sketch pad.

  Haim noticed her action, but he had long ago learned not to take offense. Rosie could not bring herself to show her work before it was finished. Often she sent it off to London via her father without showing it to him at all. Maybe she would gain some confidence when something of hers finally sold.

  “Would you like me to go inside until you’re done drawing?” Haim asked, nuzzling the top of her head.

  “No, I want to be with you. The light’s gone, anyway,” she added, squinting at the twilight sky. “What I’d like for you to do is to continue to kiss me for a while,” she murmured, “and when you’ve grown tired of that—”

  “That’s not likely—”

  “You can help me out of this chair. Your child has seen to it that I can sit down easily enough, but getting up is quite another matter.”

  By the time they were ready to go in, it was dark enough for the first stars to be seen. In the quiet between day and night they could hear the Mediterranean crashing upon the beach and then the cough, clatter and momentary roar as the city’s lone generator surged into life. Haim considered it an interesting novelty, but like his neighbors, he had no desire for one in his home; they made too much mess and stink. Tel Aviv’s residences still depended on lanterns and candles for evening light.

  Rosie started dinner as Haim went upstairs to change his clothes. When he returned to the ground floor Rosie called out, “What was so important to talk about that we couldn’t go to my parents this evening?”

  Haim entered the kitchen and Rosie turned from the stove. “Well?” She looked at him quizzically. “Haim, are you well? You look pale.”

  “Leave what you are doing and come sit with me a minute.”

  “Dinner will burn.”

  He moved the pot from the fire and led his wife to the kitchen table, already set for dinner. “Sit. We must talk about the future.”

  Suddenly suspicious, Rosie shrugged. “What’s to talk? This is our future.” She patted her big belly. “Our children, the factory—”

  “Rosie, tomorrow I am putting the factory up for sale.” He picked up a teaspoon and tapped it in his palm.

  She stared at him a moment. “Maybe I’d better sit down,” she muttered, taking a chair. “Husband, please explain to me.”

  Haim stared at the tablecloth. “It’s been years already since your work with Meir—”

  “Barely two.”

  “About a few months I don’t want to argue.”

  “Then what?”

  “Rosie, that night on the beach when I proposed to you, you made me a promise.” He slid the blade of his knife between the tines of a fork and wiggled it.

  She shrugged. “I have not forgotten. So what about it?”

  “You said that when your work with Meir was done—”

  “Please don’t quote me back to myself.”

  Haim stubbornly plodded on. “That when the work was done, you would leave Tel Aviv and go with me where I wanted to go.”

  “Please tell me what is on your mind.”

  Haim nodded, his blue eyes anxiously searching her face, the cutlery forgotten. “You heard from Yol all about Um Jumi. Remember, he said the original pioneers would turn the settlement over to permanent workers. Well, that transfer will soon take place. I’ve talked about it to Yol and with Dr. Ruppin, who controls the project. I’ve requested that we be allowed a place at Um Jumi and today Dr. Ruppin agreed.”

  Rosie stared at him aghast and then broke out laughing. “Don’t frighten me so with your jokes.” She trailed off as she realized he was serious. She smiled at him almost condescendingly. “Haim.” She shook her head. “You are my husband, whom I love and respect—”

  “So you will come with me?”

  “Darling, listen a minute, please. You have been in Palestine for five years, but I was born here, yes? Perhaps, if you’ll excuse my saying so, I know a little more about the land than you. It is barren wilderness in Galilee. In winter, when the Jordan is in flood, it is difficult even to get to Um Jumi. It is swamp there in the spring and fall and in summer nothing but scorched earth. There are vermin and fever.”

  “It is part of the homeland and it must be colonized.”

  Rosie wearily rested her chin on her hand. “What could you do in such a place?”

  Haim shrugged. “Whatever is needed. I’ll dig ditches, plant trees, farm; it is not up to me to decide what to do. I’ll be told.”

  “You’ll break your back.”

  Haim’s blue eyes began to glint with anger. “I was a stonecutter in Jerusalem and again right here in Tel Aviv, you’ll remember, young woman. My back did not break then, nor will it in Um Jumi.”

  “Enough, Haim. You are talking nonsense. You have responsibilities right here. What will happen to the business?”

  “The business is for sale,” Haim stolidly repeated.

  “And what about me? You sit like a stone and make your pronouncements, but what about me? Am I to be sold as well?”

  “Don’t be so foolish.” Haim scowled.

  “Me foolish?” Rosie screeched. “It’s you!” Her face contorted with bitterness. “What about our child?”

  “Stop, Rosie—”

  “Shall I come with you to that horrid swamp so that our child is born dead like Meir Dizengoff’s?”

  “Stop!” Haim’s fist came crashing down on the table. A water tumbler tottered, rolled, and shattered on the floor.

  Rosie’s own vehemence shocked her. Her hand went to her lips and she shook her head. Now she stared down at the broken glass. “From our wedding set, the first one broken.” She began to cry. “Oh, God forbid what I said, Haim. I didn’t mean to say such a horrible thing.”

  “I know.”

  “I know you don’t wish the baby any harm.”

  “Sha! It’s over, calm yourself . . .” Haim saw that she was pale and trembling; she was on the verge of hysterics. “You’ll understand everything in a minute.”

  “I want to hear it all.”

  “All right, but first you’ve got to relax, for the baby, yes? Take deep breaths.” He reached across the table to take her hand. “It gives me no pleasure to upset you, Rosie, but there is no time.” He shrugged helplessly. “These matters must be discussed. One question you must answer for me right now, and after that the problems will be solved one after the other. You’ll see.

  “First I have to know. Will you—” He stopped, shaking his head. “Wrong words. Not will, but can you keep your promise to me?”

  “You mean follow you to—that settlement?” Rosie began to cry all over again. “I don’t know . . . yes, of course I will, I love you.”

  Haim squeezed her hand. “And I love you.” He winked. “Now that we’ve got the most important matter settled, the rest will be easy.”

  “Hah!” She sniffled and then laughed, swiping at her red eyes with her sleeve.

  “You want I should finish cooking the dinner?” Haim asked.

  “I want you to explain how easy it’s going to be.”

  “Well, like I said, the biggest problem is time. I’ve got to be there a little more than a month from now.”

  “Why?” she implored. “Haim, what will happen to me? I must have our baby all alone?”r />
  “Oh, Rosie, I’m sorry, but Dr. Ruppin was quite firm on that point. The women can come later, but the men must be there when the transfer of control takes place. I can’t expect Yol and the others to do my share—”

  “Yol is staying? I thought he was going to move on with the other pioneers.”

  Haim smiled. “It’s something Yol and I cooked up during his visit with us to help sweeten the deal with Ruppin. He was begging for volunteers from the original group to stay behind and advise the newcomers. They all refused, but now Yol has agreed to stay on condition that I be included as a new member.”

  He became short of breath in his eagerness to tell her about it. “I found out that my desires, my ambitions are not so farfetched after all. Around Dizengoff and the other capitalists of Tel Aviv, faced with their scorn, I had begun to think I was just an idealist. Thank God Yol came to visit. It proved to me that there are others who share my beliefs. Palestine is Eretz Yisroel, Rosie, our ancient homeland from which we were sent into exile. This land and the Jewish people are like a husband and wife too long separated. Now that the Jews have returned, we must embrace the land, make love to it; only then shall our spirit be restored and healed.”

  He shook his head. “It cannot be done in cities like Tel Aviv, where the fortunate Jews posture like aristocrats, where our people are divided up into the oppressors and the oppressed. We Jews cannot afford to be our own worst enemies. We must all be brothers and sisters to each other and let our reclaimed land regenerate us.”

  “Haim, we are relatively well-to-do,” Rosie began.

  “I don’t care about wealth.”

  “Maybe not, but think of our child.”

  “I am thinking of our children. I want them to grow up at one with their homeland and their comrades.”

  “But right now you’ve begun a great business. Is it fair to throw it away? Isn’t it something to hand down to your children? Haim, you’ve worked hard to build up the factory. I am proud of you, but don’t imagine that you didn’t have a tremendous advantage over others. When you went to Arthur Ruppin’s assistant so long ago, they gave you a chance, yes? That initial contract was the key to everything that followed. Why were you so favored over a thousand other young men, Haim?”

  “It was my idea, Rosie,” he said, slightly defensive. “A thousand others didn’t think to go to the assistant.”

  “That’s true. You are clever, and as I said, I’m proud of you.” She hesitated, thinking twice about what she was about to say. “But clever ideas are not always enough, especially when one has no reputation. Darling, your proposal would have been turned down flat if it had not been for my father and Meir Dizengoff, who spoke up for you. I don’t tell you this to belittle you, but only to point out that what you have accomplished here in Tel Aviv has had as much to do with our connections in this city as with your ability . . . If you throw away what you’ve built so far, you may find—should the time come when we want it again—that it is impossible to replace.”

  “I don’t care about—”

  “Wealth,” Rosie finished for him, laughing. “I know, I know.” Her voice softened. “I don’t care about it either, not as long as I have you. It’s our children I worry about. Do we have the right to make them paupers? Will they hate us for not allowing them the choice?”

  Haim smiled. “I’ve thought about it and worked out a way to provide for them, should it turn out that the cooperative settlement program is a failure or should they decide to pursue a different life. It’ll all be clear to you when the time comes.”

  She gazed into Haim’s eyes and then heaved a great, resigned sigh. “Our house must be sold too, I suppose.”

  “The house too.”

  Rosie nodded, but the tears welled up again. She cursed herself for crying, roughly blotting the tears trickling down her cheeks. “Sometimes I act like a child. Don’t mind me.”

  “There’s nothing about you I mind,” Haim said tenderly. “To me you are perfect. I am very fortunate to have you as my wife.”

  “That’s a certainty,” Rosie murmured, and then giggled. “You know what most breaks my heart? I’ll never see that silly garden in bloom.”

  “Eretz Yisroel shall be our garden,” Haim swore.

  * * *

  The next day Haim began the paperwork to transfer ownership of his business to his prospective buyer. He’d lied to Rosie to spare her feelings, leading her to believe that he’d not yet begun the selling process pending her approval. Actually Haim had already completed most of the work through confidential meetings with his buyer, a wealthy young immigrant from Germany, and the Anglo-Palestine Bank. Selling their cottage took only a week. There were always prosperous would-be citizens arriving in Tel Aviv, and many of them preferred to buy a solid cottage in the center of the city rather than build in the outskirts.

  Rosie’s parents were at first disturbed by Haim’s decision, but eventually Erich Glaser came around. He was, after all, possessed of an artistic temperament and had been a pioneer quite as daring as Haim. Miriam Glaser remained furious and was only slightly mollified when it became clear to her that Rosie would be moving back into the family’s house for the duration of her pregnancy. Their daughter had been spending several nights a week there anyway as her time grew near.

  Meir Dizengoff sent Haim a curt note expressing his disapproval but beyond that showed no interest. Haim was relieved. Meir could have caused real trouble, for example by using his influence to impede the sale of the business and the house.

  When negotiations were completed, Haim sat Rosie down in her parents’ garden and explained to her what had been worked out. The Anglo-Palestine Bank had fed the sum into Erich Glaser’s account. From there it would be transferred into Rosie’s London account, established when she began to ship her pictures there. In London their capital would be invested in British and American concerns by Erich Glaser’s business advisors, under Erich’s supervision.

  Rosie objected, wanting to know why the money was not being put in both their names. Haim explained that it was a condition placed on them by the Turkish official in charge of currency transfers. The man was quite willing to look the other way during the transfer in exchange for a substantial bribe, but he insisted for his own protection that the money go out under the surname of Glaser.

  “He said that his department is used to such activity under your father’s name,” Haim told her. “Anyway, you sign your work Rose Glaser and the account in that name already existed. There was no sense in further complicating matters. The important thing is that the money will be safe for our children.”

  It was late December. They sat wrapped in sweaters on a bench beneath a gnarled, ancient sycamore. Mrs. Glaser’s gladioli lay dormant until spring. Rosie, watching the wind ruffle her husband’s blond, curly hair as he revealed what was in his heart, desperately fought back her tears. He was going to be leaving for Galilee in just a few days. It would mark the beginning of their first separation since the wedding.

  “When I join Yol and the others I want to be the same as them,” Haim was saying, his voice dreamy. “Let the money be in your name. I want only to share what belongs to my brother haultzim.”

  The weeks following Haim’s departure were dismal for Rosie. She hated herself for doing nothing, but she could not even bring herself to pick up her pencils or paints. Now that her house was gone, she tormented herself over the garden she would never see in bloom and the nursery her baby would never inhabit.

  She would get furious at Haim for disrupting their lives; her pregnancy was enough to endure. Then she would find herself feeling guilty for being angry with him. Surely it was only because she missed him so.

  She felt almost disgraced without him. She dreaded shopping in Tel Aviv, dreaded even leaving the grounds of the inn. Everyone in the community knew where Haim had gone. The wives smirked at her when she passed.

  It was worse when she was with her mother. Miriam Glaser could not for the life of her understand what
possessed Haim. She endured the taunts and gossip from the community for a time but then finally suggested to her daughter that for the sake of the family it might be better if Rosie stayed close to home.

  Rosie, tight-lipped, was glad to agree. She did not want to humiliate her mother or herself.

  Her friends cut her off, seething over Haim’s rejection of their way of life. Her brothers and sisters were well-meaning but awkward with her. Their sister Rosie was different—weak, unhappy, even weepy.

  Then there was her mother. Before Rosie married, the two women were allies against Erich Glaser’s remoteness. Mrs. Glaser felt betrayed when Rosie moved out of the house. Her sons could not distract her and her other daughters were too young for her to turn to.

  Now Rosie had returned. At first Miriam was pleased, but as she became aware of her daughter’s misery, fierce satisfaction seemed to set in.

  “Aren’t you ashamed of the way everyone is laughing at you?” Miriam would demand. “Why do you let him run roughshod over you?”

  When it got to be too much, Rosie would hurry out to the garden, where she could be alone. It would not do to cry in front of her father, as he would only be embarrassed, and she would not give her mother the satisfaction.

  On the stone bench under the twisted old tree she would quietly weep, her fingers laced across her distended belly. It comforted her to feel the life kicking within her. Keeping company with the baby in her womb eased the dreadful loneliness.

  Chapter 11

  New York, 1910–1911

  That winter was a grand time for the garment workers on Allen Street. In December there was the Feast of Lights, Hanukkah, which commemorates the Maccabees’ victory over the Syrians in 168 B.C. Not a few Jews in the sweatshops around the city equated the fledgling union’s victory over the manufacturers with the ancient rout of the Syrians.

  This year the economic gains won by the summer-long strike allowed the Christians to treat their families to a most generous and festive Christmas.