by Naomi Ragen
10
“She wants to talk.”
Bina turned around in her chair and looked at Morris. “The White Witch?”
He smiled, nodding. It had become a sad joke around the office. Every day they invented nicknames for her: “the White Witch,” the “Haredi Lady,” or, Bina’s favorite, “Mommy Dearest.”
“About what?” She tapped a pencil impatiently on her desk. Although she had been taught and absolutely agreed with the importance of maintaining distance and objectivity toward the subjects of her investigations, somehow, with this woman, she had failed. Daniella had gotten under her skin. She dreaded being in the same room with her again. On the other hand, if this was a game of poker, the White Witch must be less sure of her hand if she was volunteering to talk.
In answer, he shrugged.
“So maybe we should just let her stew in her cell for a few weeks.”
He shook his head. “You know the judge won’t allow that. We’ve got to charge her or let her go.”
“We’ve certainly got enough for that, haven’t we?”
“Without the children’s testimony against her, it will be hard to get a conviction.”
“Child neglect, surely?”
“Yeah, that. But it won’t guarantee her any major time. We need to put her there at the time the kid got burnt.”
“So, you think we should bring her in again? Will you be there?”
“Actually, Bina, I think you should do it alone.”
She swallowed. “Why?”
“Well, it was you she asked to see. You seem to be getting to her. But you have to promise you’ll keep from flying off the handle again. Can I trust you?”
She was ashamed he needed to ask. She looked down, nodding.
“Okay then, it’s in your hands. But I’ll be watching from the other side of the glass.”
* * *
The White Witch looked different in her prison uniform, Bina thought: smaller, more vulnerable, less full of herself somehow. She was also visibly bruised, no doubt a catfight with jailhouse moms. Who could blame them? Bina felt almost glad. Maybe it knocked a little sense into her.
“Please, can you take them off?” Daniella asked in a small voice, thrusting her handcuffed wrists forward.
Bina took out her keys and unlocked the cuffs, laying them down conspicuously within easy reach between them on the desk. Let her look at them while we’re talking, Bina thought. Let her remember what’s waiting for her.
They sat in silence as Daniella massaged the red circles on her wrists.
“Well?” Bina finally said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well what?”
“You’re joking, right? You’re here because you asked to come. Why is that?”
Daniella sighed deeply. “I want to talk. I want to…”
“So talk!” Bina exclaimed brutally, ready to be fed up, actually looking forward to putting those cuffs back on and sending her away.
“My husband and I, we went through a hard time. Our marriage … it started to break down. Oh!” She suddenly stopped, wiping her eyes on her sleeves. “I’m so afraid, so confused. I don’t understand anything anymore. And I thought I did, you see? I thought it was all clear, what happened, what I have to do now. But it’s not. Not at all!” She broke down and wept.
Coldly, Bina reached for a box of tissues, handing her one, her mind still filled with images of the woman’s crying children.
“Thank you.” Daniella blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
“Take a few minutes to compose yourself,” Bina told her, shocked to see this monster show some human qualities at last. Involuntarily, she glanced at the window, wishing she could see Morris’s expression. Was it just her inexperience, her soft heart, at work here? Or was the woman actually undergoing some transformation for the better?
Daniella took a deep breath. “It’s so hard for me to be without my children! All my life, I did nothing else but take care of them with all my love. I was dedicated to them, body and soul.”
“Was that what you wanted to confess? I’m not a psychiatrist. Or a rabbi.”
“No, no. I wanted to tell you that my husband and I … our marriage … it started to break down.”
“You already said that.”
“Yes, you’re right. But I didn’t tell you this: I asked him to leave the house and to let the tzaddikim come stay to help me. I thought it would help the tension between us.”
“Tzaddikim?” Saints. Bina’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at the window. “Who are you talking about?”
“Yeshiva boys. Students. There were three of them. I called them my dear brothers. I couldn’t manage with seven children alone. So they were sent to me to help educate my children.”
Bina straightened in her chair, her back hard as a rock. “Who sent them?”
“They were yeshiva students who learned Torah together with my husband. We knew them well. They were always at the house. After my husband left, the children were very upset. They began behaving like wild animals, destroying the house. Nothing I said had any effect on them.”
Bina tapped her pencil, studying the jagged, uneven lines it made on the white paper in front of her. The beginning of a story, she thought. But only that, nothing more. “And did they help you?”
“Of course! They helped me to educate my children, to feed and bathe them, to watch over them. I felt … I don’t know if I can explain this to you.…”
“Try.”
“I … I felt that there was some evil inside them that was making them act this way. Something that was hurting them. I thought they needed much more than a harsh word or a slap on the wrist to fight those demons.”
Bina let the words sink into her. “Evil,” “demons.” That’s what we’re talking about now. Like something out of a medieval village, some sick version of the dybbuk.
“It wasn’t my idea, the things the tzaddikim did to help. I thought they knew better. All I wanted was the good of the children. I wasn’t always there when they were disciplining the children, but they would describe it to me afterwards—what had happened and what they had done. About the burns on Eli’s legs … I wasn’t there.… that is, I was in the house but not in the same room. The tzaddikim never, ever lied to me. I believed them. From what they said, I understood that they were sitting around and talking, and Eli stood too close to the heater and got burnt before they could stop him.”
“And you believe this?” Bina asked incredulously.
Daniella nodded. “Why shouldn’t I? They were there to help me. It was very kind of them. They were there to do tikkunim.…”
Bina looked into Daniella’s face. That word again.
According to kabbalists, God created the universe as a vessel to hold His holiness. But it wasn’t strong enough. It broke, sending sparks of holiness all over the place. A tikkun was any human activity that succeeded in returning a lost spark.
“Whoa. Take a step back. What does that mean, that word, in relation to bringing up your children?”
Daniella seemed surprised. “You’ve never heard that word?”
“Yes, I know what it means. It’s a way of improving someone’s character. When you’re flawed, you try to correct it—that’s the tikkun, right?”
“Well, almost. If we want to be close to God we have to be worthy. And imperfect people with spiritual flaws must try to change. A tikkun is a corrective, a way of making you change for the better.”
“And you’re saying that these men, these tzaddikim from your husband’s yeshiva, were involved in administering tikkunim to your babies?” She saw Daniella stiffen. Bina bit her lip. She shouldn’t have said “babies.” She was showing her hand. She must remain neutral.
“They weren’t babies!” Daniella cried.
Bina waited.
“The youngest were toddlers, two and a half and three and a half. But even so young, they were out of control. There was something inside them that was harming them, making them misbehave. The tzaddiki
m were helping to expel the evil from them. I thought I was doing the right thing for my children. I couldn’t let them suffer, to grow up possessed by demons. You do understand that, don’t you?” She looked at Bina meaningfully, as if everything must be perfectly clear now.
Bina felt her head spin vertiginously. So much made sense now. And it was terrifying. What had happened here was beyond a crime. With a crime, you have a perpetrator with some selfish end in mind: money, sex, revenge … But these people … What had anyone gotten out of torturing small children? It was just pure evil.
“I’ll be right back.” Bina got up and walked out, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.
Morris looked at her, disturbed.
“What’s your take?” she asked him.
“There’s a key here that will unlock everything. But you didn’t follow up on it. It was the most important thing she said.”
Bina stared at him, trying to recall the conversation, but she was at a loss.
“Think, Bina. What did you ask her, and what did she answer?”
“I asked her who the tzaddikim were. And…” Then it suddenly dawned on her, like a bright light at the end of a dark road. “I asked her who had sent them.”
Morris nodded. “And what did she answer you?”
Bina closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “She didn’t.”
She went back in and sat down. “Tell me more about the tzaddikim.”
“I’ve told you everything! What more do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with their names.”
To Bina’s surprise, she didn’t hesitate: “Kuni Batlan, Shmaya Hod, and Yissaschar Goldschmidt. Kuni and Shmaya would shake the children if they didn’t listen. Once, I saw them tie Menchie’s hands so he wouldn’t scratch himself in the face. I thought it was for his own good! I never heard them beating the children or doing anything harsh to them. There wasn’t anything deliberate to hurt them or wound them. It was, you know, just the way things sometimes go with naughty children. I and the tzaddikim kept hoping at every moment that the situation would change for the better so that more tikkunim wouldn’t be necessary. Sometimes, though, mistakes were made.…” She went silent.
“Mistakes?”
Daniella hesitated. “They hit them a little too hard, and I trusted them completely! They said it was an accident. But I never heard that they hit the children in the head with a hammer or handcuffed them. And I know for sure they never starved them.”
Bina looked at her, wide-eyed.
Daniella stopped. “At least, that’s what the children told me happened to them.”
“Your children told you those things?” Again, she felt herself losing control, the nausea rising up inside her.
She nodded. “The older ones. But they were angry … about their father leaving. I didn’t believe them. It wasn’t possible. They, the tzaddikim, were … are … good, gentle boys.” She suddenly stopped, jumping up.
“I love my children! I’m a good mother! I would never, ever hurt them! Neither would the yeshiva boys, whose whole lives are goodness and kindness and purity! Why would we suddenly go crazy and decide to abuse innocent children? God forbid! God forbid!”
“Sit down!” Bina commanded her.
She sat.
Bina gripped the sides of her chair, steadying herself. “I asked you a question before but you didn’t answer me.”
Daniella looked surprised. “I answered all your questions.”
Bina shook her head. “I asked you before who was it that sent them, the tzaddikim, to help you. What’s his name?
“It was our rebbe. A God-fearing, gentle man, a sensitive man whose educational methods don’t include violence. Despite his greatness, he has always been very modest and unassuming. He never wanted to gather hundreds of people around him, but because he was so wise and beloved everyone wanted to be with him. But he only allowed a chosen few. We—my husband and I—were among them. We were so fortunate! Everything he told us to do was so wise. We were blessed because we listened to him. So when he told my husband to leave the house and not to bother me … when he said the children were in need of tikkunim, of course I understood it was for the best. When he saw how hard it was for me to manage the children alone, he sent Kuni, Shmaya, and Yissaschar to help me.”
Bina stood up. “What’s his name?”
“Oh,” she said. “I can’t tell you that. I’ll never tell you that.”
11
A few months before their house was ready, Daniella gave birth to their fifth child, a little girl they called Shoshana, meaning “rose.” She was strikingly beautiful, with peachy-warm skin tone, blue eyes, and blond, almost platinum hair. Among themselves, the baby nurses called her Marilyn Monroe. It had been a difficult time, the late summer heat baking the caravan, the odor of soiled diapers almost suffocating. For Daniella, who was home all day caring for her children, it was often more than she could bear.
“It’s like the old story about the house and the goat,” Shlomie said, trying in his way to be comforting when Daniella seemed ready to explode.
“What story is that?” she asked, exasperated.
“The man comes to the rebbe and complains: ‘Rebbe, we can’t stand it! So many children in such a small house. We’re suffocating!’ So the rebbe says: ‘You have a goat?’ The man nods. ‘So bring the goat into the house.’”
She rolled her eyes.
“What, you’ve heard it before?”
“No, I’m sorry. Go on,” she murmured. Of course she’d heard it before. Everybody had heard it before. But she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, not when he was trying to be helpful.
“He comes back to the rebbe the next week. ‘We can’t stand it, Rebbe! If before it was terrible, now it’s a nightmare! The noise, the smells, the crowding! It’s impossible!’ So the rebbe asks him, ‘You have a donkey?’ The man nods. ‘So now bring the donkey inside.…’”
Daniella couldn’t stand it. “And he does it, right?”
“Right. And the next week he runs back to the rebbe and says, ‘You have to help me! I’m losing my mind! The filth … and all night the donkey braying, and in the morning bumping into the goat. We have no room even to turn around!’ So the rebbe says—”
“I know, I know. He says, ‘You have a cow?’” she murmured through clenched teeth.
He stopped. “So you have heard it before?”
Could he really be that stupid? She shrugged.
“The week after that he goes back to the rebbe and says, ‘My life is not worth living. I know it’s a sin, but I’m going to kill myself.’ So the rebbe says, ‘Now take all the animals out of the house—’”
“—and the next week,” she cut him short, “he comes back and says, ‘A mechayeh, so wonderful! I can’t believe how much room we have, how quiet it is, how clean! Thank you so much, Rebbe!’” She lifted her blouse wearily, exposing her nipple to the crying newborn. “Too bad we don’t have a goat.”
“I could borrow one,” Shlomie answered.
Her head shot up, studying his face. She saw his eyes twinkle and they both laughed.
He put his arms around her and kissed her. “I know it’s hard right now. But just try to remember how blessed we are. In a little while, we’ll move into our new house and it will feel like a palace! Just be patient.”
He turned out to be right. And even though they moved in before it was completely finished (everyone in Israel moves into their homes before they are completely finished because otherwise it drags out forever, they were told), amid dust, workmen, painters, unfinished bathrooms, and a yard full of building debris, even then it was a marvel.
By American standards it was a modest four-bedroom ranch house, with the children’s three bedrooms on the small side, and a master suite with an en suite bathroom too small to fit anything larger than a stall shower. Still, it was considered by their friends—especially those still stuck in cara
vans—to be the height of luxury. And Daniella and Shlomie had been in Israel just long enough to agree. Just having a separate room in which to put the new baby was going to be amazing, holding out the tantalizing promise of a few precious hours of undisturbed sleep.
Their lives fell into place. Each morning about 5 a.m., Shlomie would get up and bring her the newly diapered Shoshana to nurse. Afterward, he’d place a freshly brewed cup of coffee along with a sweet biscuit on a tray on her bedside table. After he’d left for work and the baby was settled, she’d slip back into bed for an hour, looking out of the windows that faced the golden, rising sun and their newly planted fruit trees and grapevines. She’d drowse deliciously, almost stupefied with happiness simply to be alive, as the glorious pink-red light washed slowly through their rooms.
“Such a blessing from God!” Shlomie often declared, surveying their new domain.
“And from my grandmother,” she’d add pointedly.
“Of course! I will write her. We must invite her to come and stay with us.”
Daniella thought that was a wonderful idea. While her grandmother had not felt well enough to come for Gabriel’s bris, she’d promised to visit when Shoshana was born. But in the end she’d backed out, saying she still wasn’t feeling up to it. She hadn’t given any details. Her mother came, though, combining the trip with a visit to diamond cutters in Tel Aviv and leaving her new husband home, explaining that his business needed his full attention right now. Daniella searched her mother’s face, wondering if things had already gone south with the relationship. Her mother was stoic, revealing no clues.
Her father came also, accompanied by his new wife, a shrewish blond widow who, her mother whispered, had more money than brains. “After all, she married your father.”
Joel and Esther, who had one small child and were expecting another, sadly gave their regrets but promised to visit as soon as they could. Daniella and Shlomie’s heavy disappointment was mitigated by the arrival of Shlomie’s parents, who had carefully saved up for the trip. While they expressed limitless joy in their grandchildren, they hardly recognized their son.