The Devil in Jerusalem

by Naomi Ragen

  “Stop, you’ll hurt yourself!” she cried out to him, attempting to pry his tiny fists off his body, gathering them in her hands and holding them still as she took him back into her arms. In what seemed like hours, his sobs slowly subsided. Patiently, she guided his mouth back to her nipple. She sat there afraid to budge lest she disturb him, feeling her own stomach ache with hunger pangs. She was starving, beyond tired, feeling the full weight of the life she had chosen in all its intensity as she waited helplessly for Shlomie to return with food.

  Finally, she heard the door open and Shlomie’s unhurried footsteps. She rubbed her eyes, realizing that she and the children had all fallen asleep. She looked at her watch. He had been gone two hours.

  “Where were you! What took you so long?” she hissed.

  He seemed shocked at her anger. She never got angry.

  “I went to the grocery, like you asked. It’s about a twenty-minute walk uphill. But they have nothing on open shelves. Everything is behind the counter and you have to ask for it. Until I remembered the Hebrew words for milk and bread and coffee…” He chuckled. “The grocer was this Hassid, so friendly. We had a little talk—”

  “I was here alone with two hungry, screaming babies and you … you were schmoozing with the grocery man?” she whispered incredulously, with cold fury.

  He looked down, ashamed. “You’re right. Sometimes I forget myself. To be friendly is a good thing. But to everything there is a season, as it is written: a time to talk and a time to hurry. Please forgive me?”

  She sighed. “What did you buy?”

  “They didn’t have any brands I recognized. So I got bread, milk, butter, some yogurts, and a box of cereal. You can go yourself tomorrow and stock up.”

  “We need a car.”

  “But, Daniella, a car is so expensive! And I still don’t have a job.”

  “You expect me to walk for forty minutes carrying groceries?”

  “It won’t be so bad. We’ll put the baby in the carriage. It’s lovely weather outside!”

  But the next day, it rained.

  “I’ll go back,” he offered, but she didn’t trust him to shop. She couldn’t stand having no food in the house to make normal meals.

  “No, no. You just watch the children. I’ll go.” Then she turned to him and looked at him as if she’d never seen him before, searching his face. “You can do that, can’t you?”

  He nodded, hurt.

  She walked along dirt roads rutted with car tracks and soft with mud. When she finally reached the center of the village, she rubbed her eyes. It looked like a stage set for Fiddler on the Roof: run-down wooden buildings housing tiny shops. She began to feel a little more sympathy for Shlomie. He was right: if you didn’t know how to ask for it in Hebrew, you couldn’t buy it. She didn’t fare much better than he. But at least she found out which of the little shops sold meat and vegetables and fruit. She bought what she could, piling it into the empty carriage and making a mental note to buy a shopping cart. With each purchase, she tried to convert the shekel price into dollars. That way, things seemed much cheaper, except for meat, which was prohibitively expensive no matter how you calculated it.

  They managed to live on bread and butter and spaghetti with sauce for a while, getting simple take-out food for Shabbat—roast chickens, potato kugels, vegetable salads—which was thankfully delivered to the center. But the longing to once again visit a supermarket was intense, especially since Tel Aviv and its modern urban conveniences were just a short bus ride away. Unfortunately, the bus to Tel Aviv didn’t come into the village. One needed to walk down the dirt road through the orange groves until one reached the highway. The sun beat down on their heads, and the rough, rock-strewn road stubbed their sandal-shod feet, making their toes bleed, and blocking the baby carriage wheels.

  But it was all worth it when the bus let them off in Tel Aviv. A modern supermarket! A place where you could browse goods laid out on shelves! They had Hellmann’s mayonnaise, and Heinz ketchup, and Nestlé cereals. It was like crossing a border into another country. They filled their cart, only to realize that they would have to lug it all back by bus then carry it down the road. They considered taking a taxi but rejected the idea as extravagant, which it certainly was, considering the alarming speed at which their supply of ready cash was dwindling as Shlomie unsuccessfully scanned the job ads, his weak command of Hebrew disqualifying him for almost everything.

  Reluctantly, they put back half of the things in their cart, things that were too heavy or that wouldn’t last the long trip home: the ripe, juicy half of a watermelon, cans of tuna fish, a pint of ice cream, frozen dinners. The bags were still too heavy, and by the time they reached home, they were both falling off their feet.

  They unpacked in silence. Without a word, she fed and bathed a cranky Duvie, putting him to bed, then read Amalya a story. In the middle, she suddenly felt unwell. She hurried to the toilet, throwing up.

  No, she thought, shaking her head as the bile rose in her throat. No, no, no. It can’t be!

  But it was. Another pregnancy.

  “But you can’t be sure. I mean, not until you have a test. If you are, it’s a great blessing. We will manage, my dear wife.…”

  She had lost interest in anything he had to say. She wanted to go home, she realized. To Pittsburgh. Where she would have help. Where her grandmother would make sure she lacked for nothing, and her mother would come over to baby-sit, and her father would bring her packages of food from the supermarket. Where she had a car.

  She hated her new life.

  She came back into the living room, where Shlomie was sitting by the dining room table. Books were piled beside him, and one was open. He studied it intently, humming to himself as he swayed to and fro, repeating words softly under his breath.

  She found this suddenly intolerable. “Do you need to make so much noise?” she exploded. “Why can’t you study quietly? You’ll wake the children after I’ve finally gotten them both to sleep!”

  He looked up, shocked. “I’m … sorry,” he stuttered. “It helps me to concentrate. It’s not so easy for me to study. I have to keep myself motivated. Feeling happy helps my motivation and gives me the incentive to keep going. Singing makes me happy. But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

  Guilt washed over her. Contritely, she placed an arm on his. A wife shared in the merit of her husband’s good deeds, his Torah learning. So why couldn’t she be more supportive when he was trying so hard to be a good person, a spiritual person? Because of him, you are living your dream, she reminded herself. She sighed. But why does it seem like a nightmare? Why does it have to be so hard? Where was the merit in that? She pressed her lips together, tightening her jaw.

  “Shlomie, we have to buy a car. We just can’t manage without one, not with the children.”

  He put down his book. “But, Dani dearest, how many times have we discussed this? We just don’t have the money for a car.”

  “My grandmother does. She’d be happy to help us.”

  He shook his head, sincerely bewildered. “I thought we decided to do this on our own. To live simply, modestly—”

  “I’m pregnant! What do you want me to do, lug three babies up the road and eat bread and butter for the rest of my life!”

  He felt a stirring of anger. Had they not discussed all these things beforehand? Had he forced any of this on her? But then he saw the tears run down her cheeks. A saying from the Talmud echoed through his head: God does not forgive a single tear a wife sheds. He stood up, putting his arms around her. “I’m so sorry, so sorry! It’s so hard for you, and I don’t help enough. You are right. We need a car. And if your grandmother will lend us the money, we’ll take it gratefully and pay her back as soon as we can.”

  A week later there was a bank transfer. They rode home from Tel Aviv in a brand-new Fiat, a modest little sardine of a car that made American cars seem like whales. It was bright red. And as they filled the trunk with food from the supermarket and drove
back to the Absorption Center, they sang all the Zionist songs they remembered from campfires, as Amalya clapped and attempted to sing along and even baby Duvie made noises to keep up.

  The baby was born in October. They named him Joseph but everyone immediately called him Yossi. Daniella’s grandmother, her parents and their new partners, her brother, Joel, and his new fiancée—a pretty blond legal secretary named Esther—all flew in for the circumcision ceremony. Only Shlomie’s parents weren’t there. They apologized, explaining that they just couldn’t afford the airfare, sending a nice check and some baby clothes instead. Shlomie was deeply disappointed. Daniella’s mother arranged for a lavish party in a Tel Aviv catering hall for the celebration.

  “Now it’s your turn, Joel and Esther,” Claire teased them.

  “Give us a chance, Mom!” Joel complained, his arm around his blushing fiancée. Their wedding was set for February. Granny had already ordered and paid for round-trip tickets for Daniella and her family.

  “Any luck in finding a job, Shlomie?” Claire asked pointedly.

  “With God’s help, it will be all right, Mrs. Whartman.”

  “Yes, well, you know that joke, right?”

  He cocked his head innocently.

  “Martin is in deep trouble. His business is bankrupt and his bank account almost empty. So he prays to God: ‘Please, help me. I’ve lost my business and if I don’t get some money soon, the bank is going to foreclose my mortgage and I’ll be out on the street. Please, God, help me. Let me win the lottery.’ Lottery night comes and goes. Another person wins. So Martin prays again, ‘God, I’ve already lost my business and my house and I’m about to lose my car. My wife and children are starving. Please, please, let me win the lottery this one time so I can get my life back in order!’ Suddenly there is a roar of thunder and a blinding streak of light, and the voice of God Himself rings out: ‘First you’ve got to buy a ticket!’”

  His mother-in-law cackled, and her new husband howled. Daniella, fortunately, had been out of hearing range in the bathroom changing the baby’s diaper.

  “Did I miss something?” she said with a smile, coming back to a table groaning under the weight of expensive pastries and other mouthwatering desserts, enough for twice the small gathering who had come to celebrate.

  “No, you didn’t,” muttered Joel, squeezing his sister’s hand. “I’m sure Shlomie is doing his best, Mom. Let it be,” he whispered.

  Claire Whartman looked around innocently. “It was just a joke.”

  Responding to his wife’s questioning gaze, Shlomie’s pale face stretched into a tight smile. “Nothing serious. Just talking,” he assured her.

  Granny took the newborn into her arms, cradling him. “God has blessed you once again. Such a handsome child!” Before she left for the airport, she put a well-stuffed envelope into Daniella’s hand. “Buy yourself something.”

  “Oh, Granny. You’ve already been so generous.”

  “What do you care? There’s lots more where that came from. You just take care of yourself and the children.”

  “I will, Granny. Thank you.” Daniella put her arms around the elderly woman, embracing her, shocked by the sudden thinness of her shrinking frame, the delicate frailty of her almost meatless bones. When had this happened? But saying good-bye to Joel was the hardest. “I’ll miss you so much, brother. Who’s going to yell at me when I say something stupid?”

  “I know, it’s a sacrifice for me, too.” He grinned, then turned serious. “How is it going, really? Tell me the truth.”

  She swallowed. “It’s hard, Joel. Very, very hard. Harder than I thought it would be.”

  Joel, of course, wanted details, but her loyalty to her husband made that impossible. “God will help us. It will be all right.”

  “Daniella, is this really what you want? This life?”

  She hesitated, but as much as she wanted to pour her heart out, she found she couldn’t. It was too embarrassing. She didn’t want to lose the last shred of respect Joel might still have for her. “It is the deepest desire of my life, Joel,” she told him, swallowing her doubts.

  He shrugged, almost convinced. “But you’re coming to the wedding, right?”

  “How can you even ask that? Would I miss your wedding?”

  He smiled, pointing a finger. “You know that I’d track you down and find you. Okay then. Take care of yourself and the munchkins. But you could call me more often. Write.”

  “You know, I heard this rumor that the phone cables carry calls in both directions. Same thing about the post office. But okay, I’ll try. If I ever have a minute to myself.”

  “Well then, you are leaving me no choice. You’re forcing me to add ‘call sister’ to the weekly schedule on my PalmPilot.”

  “Damn right.”

  “Oh, I love it when my pious sister uses curse words.” He put his big arms around her, hugging her close.

  She never wanted him to let go.

  * * *

  Soon after everyone left, their Jewish Agency caseworker asked Shlomie the same question his mother-in-law had asked, except with greater urgency: “Any luck in finding a job, Shlomie?”

  He shrugged.

  “Well, you know you arrived in December and now it’s October. New immigrants usually only get six months here. You really have to move.”

  “But we have no place to go!” Shlomie pleaded.

  “Well, in that case, I have an idea for you. The government is trying to add people to communities in the Western Negev. They’ll give you land and a mortgage to build a house, along with a mobile home to live in while it’s being built. They’ll lend you money to buy equipment to set up hothouses for growing tomatoes and peppers and flowers—”

  “You want me to be a farmer!” Shlomie scoffed, shaking his head, amused. “What do I know about growing things?”

  “None of the other families knew anything either, when they began. They were teachers, computer programmers, editors. You just need to be willing to learn. We’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

  “Where is that exactly, the Western Negev?”

  The Jewish Agency employee cleared his throat. “It’s a lovely place, not far from the sea.”

  “Right near the Gaza Strip…,” Daniella broke in.

  “Yes, yes, that’s true, but our soldiers will be stationed all around you. You needn’t have any concerns about your security. After all, the entire state of Israel borders enemies everywhere you look. You’ll be pioneers, and you’ll be making a very profitable living. Some of our older farmers are exporting a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of produce a year.”

  “Are there any religious people there?” Daniella asked.

  “Oh, is that important to you?”

  Daniella and Shlomie eyed each other. True, Daniella’s hair covering was an expensive wig, but surely even this secular Israeli could see that Shlomie was wearing a kippah.

  “Ah, yes. Very important,” she answered.

  The caseworker seemed crestfallen. But then his face lit up. “I have just the place for you. Yahalom, in the Jordan Valley, not far from Jericho … and,” he added hurriedly as he saw their expressions sour, “only an hour’s drive from Jerusalem! Fifty young, religious families just like you! They grow figs, passion fruit, grapes. They have a wonderful day care center for young children. Why, they even have a kollel! I even heard all the families join together every Sabbath for communal meals.”

  Shlomie’s eyes shone. “A kollel. Where I could learn full-time?”

  Daniella glanced swiftly at her husband, mortified.

  “Oh, you couldn’t do that. The kollel students are all single men. You’d have to work to support your family.”

  He looked crestfallen.

  Fortunately, tiny baby Yossi began to whimper and squirm. “We’d better go,” Daniella said, thankful to escape further humiliation.

  “Think about it, okay? We’ll talk next week.”

  But Shlomie wouldn’t budge. “It’s
ridiculous, Daniella. Me, a farmer?”

  “Then what will you do, Shlomie?”

  “I’ll find a job. You’ll see. My Hebrew is getting better every day.”

  * * *

  Three months later, the showdown finally came. After nursing the baby, feeding and bathing the children and putting them to bed, Daniella sat down opposite her husband at the small kitchen table.

  His eyes were glued to a book about Hassidic wonder workers, a subject that of late fascinated him.

  “Shlomie, we need to talk.”

  “Sure.” He nodded affably, not lifting his eyes from the page.

  “Can you please put down the book?”

  “Right now?” he asked, aggrieved.

  She nodded, trying to keep her emotions in check. Something inside her was coming together, building up, like the first indication of a lava flow about to blow the head off a volcano.

  Unhappily, he set his book aside.

  She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Then she took out a letter, unfolding it slowly and laying it down on the table between them. “It’s an eviction notice. If we don’t vacate the apartment in thirty days, ‘legal proceedings will be initiated’ against us.”

  “They can’t do that!”

  “Why not? These apartments are meant for six months. How many times did they tell us that? We’ve been here nearly double that.”

  He tapped the white paper nervously with his forefinger.

  “And there’s something else.”

  A strange urgency in her tone made him face her at last.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  For the first time, his face showed uncertainty. “God be blessed!” he said by rote. “But is it possible? Yossi is only three months old and you’re still nursing.”

  “You can get pregnant while you’re nursing.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded, growing more furious by the second. “Didn’t you notice I was still nursing Duvie when I got pregnant with Yossi?”

  “No,” he said honestly, his face full of wonder. “I didn’t.”

  “It seems to be a pattern with me. Thank God Israel has socialized medicine and the hospital stays are covered, but we need to find a way to support ourselves! If you haven’t noticed, our wedding gifts are running out.”