Sisters Weiss ~ A Novel

by Naomi Ragen

  “I’ll eat, but first I want to do my homework,” she said, anxious to hide her treasures in a safe place.

  “First, eat!” her bubbee commanded.

  She ate, tasting nothing, thinking about how only the first lie was hard. The rest came so naturally, it almost felt the same as telling the truth.

  *

  That night, and every night that followed during that period of her life, she lay under her bedcovers holding a dime-store flashlight that illuminated rows of words strung together with magical skill. Slowly, they dissolved the fetters on her spirit, which had felt like shoes bogged down with mud from tramping through the jungle. Dried, polished, repaired, she danced with them through the night, slowly at first, then kicking up with joy, roaming freely, transcending the rigid strictures of her life, the little apartment in Borough Park, her family in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York, America. She sat cross-legged on a magic carpet that floated over lands and lives so very different from her own.

  There, in secret midnight rendezvous, she met Anna Karenina, Madame Bovary, and Anne of Green Gables, standing side by side with them, viewing the world through their eyes. What photos she would take, she thought, of the onion-spired churches of St. Petersburg, the French countryside, or Prince Edward Island as it burst into life each spring!

  And that was how one night she met David, the sensitive little boy aching with loneliness and fear in Henry Roth’s Call It Sleep. For the first time, David saw a coffin. He asks his mother about death, and she answers him: “They say there is a heaven and in heaven they waken. But I myself do not believe it.”

  Her mind lingered over these shocking words. “They say there is a heaven … But I myself do not believe it.”

  It was the first time in her life that she considered such a shocking idea. It was not so much the idea of dismissing heaven, but of disbelieving things that were taken for granted by everyone around you. That you had the right, the power, the freedom not to believe. It was a stunning revelation, both miraculous and terrifying.

  The next night, she sat in the kitchen watching her bubbee’s small, heavy figure bent over the old stove, stirring the contents of a steaming pot with her large wooden spoon. This is real, she thought. This you could know. But as for the rest … everyone was simply guessing, rabbis, parents, teachers … They believed what they wanted, what they had been taught, what their parents before them believed.

  And right then, surrounded by the odors of chicken soup and stewed apple compote and baking challah, her life changed forever.

  I do not believe I deserve to be punished for looking at beautiful photographs. I do not believe the Honored Rav is infallible or that his knowledge of the world comes from God. It that were true, then all of the Honored Ravs in Europe would have told their congregations to escape the Nazis when there was still time. Instead, they told them the opposite. The Honored Rav was wrong to tell my parents to send me away; and my parents were wrong for listening to him. Rebbitzin Brindel is wrong for speaking Yiddish in America, for wearing stockings with ugly seams and old-lady shoes, and for giving us Bible stories, instead of teaching us how to read the Bible and to understand the words of God for ourselves.

  And so began her own life, a secret life. She had no idea where it would lead her, but only that she had no choice. Once you see, you cannot unsee. The ends did justify the means, if the alternative was to live a lie rather than simply just telling a few lies yourself. Just how bad it could get, or how far she would be forced to travel, she was in no position at that time to even imagine. Had she seen the future, she would not have been able to imagine the joy, only the terror.

  8

  Her mother tried everything.

  “Come see the delicious cupcakes we bought you in the bakery, Pearl, chocolate icing with sprinkles.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I passed by Judith’s clothing store and saw this in the window. It’s for Shabbos. Look how shaine!”

  Pearl glanced briefly inside the bag, fingering the pretty, soft material. She made no attempt to take it out.

  “Nu, don’t you even want to try it on?”

  “Not now, Mameh. I’m tired.”

  “It’s been three weeks already. Enough!”

  Pearl slunk into the room she once shared with her older sister, quietly closing the door behind her.

  The pain, Pearl thought. She’d never felt such a thing before. Although her stomach felt queasy and she found it hard to swallow, it wasn’t a stomachache or a sore throat. It was as if she’d accidentally swallowed something sharp, a fish bone or a sliver of glass, that had lodged deep inside her, tearing into her tender flesh like a splinter under a fingernail, and had no way to pry it out.

  The room felt huge and lonely. She had trouble falling asleep, and once she did the night was interrupted by terrible nightmares in which naked men jumped up and down on her bed while her sister stared at her with angry, accusing eyes. In the morning, no one was there to help her get dressed or braid her hair. In school, she found she no longer had any desire to gossip with her classmates, but neither could she concentrate on her schoolwork, her teacher’s voice an annoying buzz in her ear. She was tired, so tired, all the time.

  “Tateh, I’m worried.”

  He looked up at his wife, closing the Talmud that lay spread out on the dining room table and kissing it. He pushed his glasses to the top of his head. “Vus?”

  “You don’t have eyes? She’s like a skeleton, skinny, pale. She eats nothing.”

  None of this had gone unnoticed. He was also worried. And he also missed his daughter Rose. Terribly. The fact that she had called to speak to him and he had not called her back cut him like a knife. But he had no choice, no choice. The Honored Rav had spoken, and he could only obey. The medicine was bitter, but to dilute it would simply prolong the illness.

  “Did we do the right thing?” she asked him for the hundredth time, she who had been so sure at the beginning.

  He shook his head. “We can’t question the Honored Rav.”

  She was silent. What was there to say?

  “Is Pearl here?”

  His wife nodded.

  He got up heavily and knocked on his daughter’s bedroom door. “Pearl, it’s Tateh. Can I come in?”

  “Of course, Tateh.”

  He opened the door and looked at her.

  It was worse than he’d imagined. The sweet bloom of her round cheeks had disappeared seemingly overnight, her rosy complexion taking on a sickly pallor. She sat on her bed, her thin arms folded tensely in her lap, her thin legs dangling listlessly off the side.

  “Can we sit and talk?”

  She grabbed her heart-shaped pillow—a birthday gift from her sister—hugging it tightly as she folded her arms across her chest. A private conversation with her father was not something that happened every day. She was honored as well as apprehensive. Finally, she nodded.

  “Then come into the living room with me.”

  She followed him.

  “Sit.”

  She looked up at her mother, who stood fidgeting nervously in the corner, pretending to be dusting.

  “Mameh, you have something to do in the kitchen?” he said pointedly.

  “Oh, yes,” she answered, surprised and a bit offended, walking out of the room.

  He went to the bookcase and took out two copies of the Bible. “Let’s learn a little Torah together, all right?” He opened it to Genesis, chapter 36. “And Joseph was a shepherd with his brothers … and he brought their gossip to his father.”

  Busy reading, he did not notice the dark crimson stain that spread suddenly across her pale cheeks. “And Joseph dreamed a dream and told it to his brothers, and they hated him even more.” He closed the Bible and kissed it. “Joseph was his father’s most beloved son. But in his youth, he made mistakes that caused his family much pain. But instead of disciplining him, his father continued to spoil him, giving him a coat of many colors. Now, Hashem, May His Name Be Blessed, coul
d see into Joseph’s soul. He knew that Joseph was a tzadik, but He also realized that Joseph could only reach that height through suffering. And so Hashem arranged for Joseph to be taken away from his family for many years. His father mourned him. His brothers missed him. But for Joseph’s own good, Hashem ordained him to suffer enslavement and exile in Egypt so Joseph could become the tzadik he was meant to be. In the end, this exile saved not only him but his family. In the end, Joseph and his brothers came together in love. Do you understand, maideleh?”

  “But I was Joseph! I brought you gossip!” she cried, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  Had she not been responsible for Rose’s terrible punishment? If only she had never asked to see that book! If only she had kept her big mouth shut! “God should punish me! You should send me away!”

  He shook his head, resting his large warm hand over her small, young head, smoothing her hair down tenderly. “None of this is your fault or your responsibility. We are not punished for another’s sins. Obey God’s will with joy, little Pearl. Pray with a pure heart for your sister’s return, and God will answer your prayers. Eat, and rest, and play outside to keep your body healthy, as your body is a gift from God and it is His will that we care for it. As it is written: ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul and all your might.’”

  In his words, she heard the pronouncement of God Himself. To disobey would be catastrophic. Enslavement and exile. “Yes, Tateh. But, Tateh, when can I see her?”

  He gnawed thoughtfully on his lips. “We’ll see, we’ll see. Now go, have a snack, go outside to play. Will you do that out of respect for God and for your parents, who only want the best for you and your sister?”

  “Yes, Tateh.” How could she refuse?

  Obedience became her shield. Where once she was thoughtless and willful, she now put aside her childish tantrums, finding that even the most difficult and distressing of life’s trials could be accepted once you got used to them. You could find compensations for old joys with new pleasures.

  The compensations were many. Her mother, who viewed her as a convalescent, began helping her to get ready in the morning, even walking her to school several times a week, while her father continued to lavish her with attention, including private study sessions and gentle affection, until one day the ache inside her was suddenly and mysteriously gone. Her fear of sin and repentance over what she had done to her sister metamorphosed into a fervent and uncompromising obedience, which expressed itself in the almost fanatical adherence to even the most minor requirements of religious ritual. As long as she obeyed, she was sure that she and those she loved would be saved from the terrible scourge of Divine punishment.

  And so she put her right shoe on before her left shoe, then tied the left shoelace before the right shoelace. And when she took them off, she remembered to reverse the order, exactly as written in the condensed version of the Code of Jewish Law. She never questioned why. Like the mysterious law of the red heifer, whose ashes somehow purified the Jewish people from sin, she accepted that all her religious obligations were God’s will without asking for explanations, doing whatever she was taught by her teachers and her parents, convinced that performing such acts was a way to please Him.

  What, after all, did human beings understand about anything? Could anyone really explain how the earth was created or why they were here? Wasn’t it better, then, to simply obey all the rules blindly, because asking questions just led to doubt, and doubt led to sin? And how could you sin against an all-powerful God who created you and controlled the universe? A God who would control your fate even after you died, for all eternity? Even if something you were asked to do made no sense at all, wasn’t it better to just do it than risk the consequences of defiance? After all, look what had happened to Joseph! And to Rose. It was too dangerous to stray, to think for yourself, to ask too many questions. If she wanted her prayers answered and her sister to come home, she needed to be worthy of God’s love by being strictly obedient to His laws.

  She took to studying the condensed Code of Jewish Law, memorizing the rules.

  It is written (Micah 6:8) “And to walk humbly with thy God.” Therefore it is the duty of every man to be modest in all his ways. You should not put on an undershirt while sitting but while still lying in bed, placing your head and then your arms through the garment, so that when you get up you will be covered. One should not say, “Behold I am in the most concealed of rooms, who will see me?” For the Holy One Blessed be He fills the whole universe with His glory. It is forbidden to walk in an erect posture (for it shows haughtiness) … Before praying in the morning, you are not allowed to go to a neighbor or meet him or say “good morning” For why should you honor him before you have honored Me?… On saying the praises to the most high God … you must remove the phlegm and saliva or anything that tends to distract your thoughts. Then walk three paces backward and say: “Who redeemed Israel,” then walk three paces forward, in the manner of one approaching a king … It is proper for every G-d fearing person to be aggravated and worried about the destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem …

  It was all overwhelming. She had not known! She had been such a sinner, such a sinner! And now, all her transgressions fell on heavily, like boulders. Her teachers had only the highest praise for her transformation. But her parents were concerned. She seemed older to them, her easy laughter seldom heard. But only when they saw her sneak a copy of Duties of the Heart off the bookshelf did they finally become alarmed enough to intervene.

  “This is not a book for a young girl!” her mother scolded her, and even her pious father agreed. “It is a book for scholars and yeshiva boys who need to repent their sins, a book full of fasts and self-punishments.”

  “But I want to go up to a higher level, to come closer to God so He won’t punish me and He’ll forgive Rose…”

  Her father shook his head helplessly, looking up at her mother. “You don’t need this book, or fasts or punishments. Honor your parents and teachers and do exactly what you are told, maideleh. That is enough.”

  But it wasn’t, she thought. Her parents had no idea of her numerous, terrible transgressions, which she was now convinced had destroyed her family and separated her from her only, beloved sister. And even though she now believed that this separation was a good thing ordained by God and that her sister and family would ultimately be blessed by it, still it had become necessary because of evil that had been committed, the way Joseph’s separation had flowed from the evil he had committed toward his brothers and the evil his brothers had committed toward him.

  It wasn’t enough to pay lip service. To sincerely repent was to fill your heart with sorrow for all you had done wrong, to feel humbled by your sins and to seek out piety, serving your Creator with all your heart and soul and body.

  She tried. And tried. And tried.

  9

  At first, Rose didn’t recognize her sitting on a table in a crowded kosher pizza parlor surrounded by tall, handsome boys wearing colorful crocheted skullcaps and pretty girls in pastel mohair sweaters and short skirts. The intricate braid was gone, replaced by a fashionably teased short bob, her delicate face accented by subtle makeup. She was a knockout, Rose admitted.

  “Michelle?”

  She turned, a smile forming with infinite slowness on her lips as her eyes focused in Rose’s direction.

  “Ma chérie!” she called excitedly, jumping down off the table and hurrying outside. She kissed Rose warmly on both cheeks.

  Rose exhaled, amazed at this reception. She’d been afraid to even look her in the eyes. “I’m so sorry, Michelle. So sorry. It was all my fault.”

  “Sorry for what?” She shrugged. “I hated that stupid place. It was like the Bastille. I’m in a much better school now, Flatbush Yeshiva. They have the coed classes and a basketball team. I’m even trying out for the cheerleading! There, no one speaks Yiddish, morning or afternoon! They speak English. They even teach French. Imagine!” She grinned.
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br />   “You … you … mean … your parents sent you to a freeer school?” It was stunning.

  “Well, after I got expelled…”

  “They expelled you!?”

  Michelle grinned wickedly. “Not me exactly. My family. For having a father who reads and has a library…” She giggled, pointing her forefinger at her temple and making a circular motion. “Cuckoos, the bunch of them. When my family first came to America, they didn’t understand. They thought … they wanted … a Jewish school. Then, they learned there is Jewish and then there is Jewish. They’ve also had enough of the black hats and the long beards. So, we moved to Ocean Avenue. My father is much closer to the college; my mother goes to a Young Israel where everyone dresses like her. Trust me, it was a big favor, chérie. But what are you doing here? Don’t tell me you also got expelled?”

  Rose hesitated, ashamed more for her family than for herself. “No. My parents took me out.”

  “But why?”

  There was no way to answer that without causing the Goldbands undeserved pain, she thought, shrugging. “They put me into Bais Ruchel.”

  “Does that also have a basketball team?”

  Rose smiled ruefully. “No, but they have other great things, like classrooms in the bathroom and stylish uniforms.” She turned around, pointing to the backs of her legs and the ugly seamed stockings.

  Michele gasped. “Incroyable! What kind of place is that?”

  “It’s Satmar.”

  “I heard about them.” She shuddered.

  “My parents thought the hats weren’t black enough and the beards were too short in Williamsburg.” She laughed bitterly.

  “Your parents … they also moved to Borough Park?”

  Rose shook her head.

  “So, you travel here each day?”

  “They sent me to live with my grandmother for the year. If I do teshuva, they’ll take me back next year.”

  Michelle looked stricken; then, she winked. “So, they don’t have their thumb on you all the time, n’est-ce pas? You must come with me, then, to my classes at the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan. I go once a week for painting. But they have the photography classes, too. You’ll adore it, chérie. Such fun!”