by Naomi Ragen
The community was still talking about it: the unused wedding hall and the uneaten food her grandparents had been forced to pay for. The disgrace to the groom—a brilliant, promising scholar from such an important family—who had been shamed before the community, becoming the whispered subject of ill-founded, gossipy conjectures. Even worse, though, was the fact that she’d rebuffed every attempt of the family to bring her home, going on instead to live the shameless life of a shunned outcast. She was Delilah, Jezebel, the Midianite whore…!
But the most horrible sin of all—as far as the gossiping women were concerned—was the difficulties her mother, Pearl, had faced as her younger sister. In wake of the scandal, no decent family would agree to accept her as a shidduch. As a result, at the advanced and almost unmarriageable age of twenty-two, Pearl had had to give up her dream of marrying a Torah scholar and settle for a bus driver, a widower with a small child. That could never be forgiven.
Rivka had taken it all in, angered, amazed, terrified. But when she was fourteen she came across some shocking information that radically changed not only her opinion of her aunt but her view of her own life as well.
She yawned and stretched, getting into the shower. She touched her cousin’s dainty soaps and creams with pleasure, letting the hot water stream over her aching limbs for a long time. After drying off, she dressed once again in the same midcalf pleated blue skirt and long-sleeved blue shirt that she’d arrived in the night before—her school uniform.
She’d brought almost nothing else with her, hoping in that way to gain a few more hours before her mother’s eagle eye spotted something amiss. The only other clothing she’d brought with her was a fancy blue satin suit meant for weddings and holidays that had been sitting at the cleaners.
She found a clean cup, filling it with water and pouring it over her lightly clenched fists three times to rid herself of the ritual impurity left behind when her spirit left her body in sleep. She took out her well-worn prayer book and began her morning prayers. When she came to the Eighteen Benedictions prayer, which must be said facing east toward Jerusalem, she wondered which way to turn. The sun set in the West. So, the opposite … But it had already been pitch-black when she came. So, she twirled around asking God to point her in the right direction. She stopped and faced the window. Taking three steps back and then three steps forward, she bowed deeply, then began to pray.
Every word struck her deeply.
God, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; great, and awesome and terrible, God of endless mercies, repay our kindnesses and in love bring redemption for Your name’s sake to our offspring. God, You help and protect; You bring life to the dead, nourish our lives with compassion, supporting the fallen, healing the sick, releasing the imprisoned, and keeping faith with all those who lie in dust. Who is like You, King, who nurtures life and salvation?
She felt two fat tears make their way down her cheeks to the corners of her mouth. She licked them away. They were delicious.
Her growling stomach led her to her cousin’s kitchen. She searched through the cabinets hoping to magically distinguish which cutlery and dishes were for food containing milk and which for meat, as her cousin’s note had left out such vitally important information. To her shock, there seemed to be only one set, the plates, bowls, and cups lying on top of each other in careless abandon. The cooking utensils proved the same: only one frying pan and one large and small pot, all of them one inside the other.
She found some disposable plates and bowls left over from the party, along with some plastic spoons, then hunted for cereal with a rabbinical stamp of approval. Luckily, she found a box of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes with the stamp of the Orthodox Union of Rabbis. Under normal circumstances, her family would not have relied on this organization, which wasn’t Orthodox enough as far as they were concerned. But in her present circumstances, it was certainly better than nothing. Eagerly, she opened the refrigerator, looking for milk. But it was Gentile milk, with no rabbinical stamp at all.
The phone rang.
A chill crawled up her spine. Then, she calmed herself. No one could possibly know she was here. Besides, maybe it was her cousin.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Hannah’s cousin, Rivka?” a deep male voice asked.
“Who are you?” she demanded, alarmed.
“Wow, slow down! Um, I’m your cousin’s friend from the university from last night. I heard your story…”
“Who told you about me?”
“Well, your cousin said…”
“She shouldn’t have told you anything!” she shouted.
“Listen, baby, I’m on your side! I think what you are doing is very brave, and I told Hannah that I’d be willing to help you pass your entrance exams and go to university. I used to tutor kids for SATs. I’m an expert,” he said with soothing calmness.
She hesitated. “Cuzin Hannah, she told you to call me?”
There was a pause. “I’m not doing this behind her back, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He sounded offended.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to … I’m grateful … really…”
“Look, I don’t have time to waste. If you really are interested, then let’s start now. What are you doing?”
“Trying to get breakfast together and not getting very far,” she admitted.
“Well, what about I pick you up in front of Hannah’s building in fifteen minutes?”
Her stomach rumbled. “Maybe you know a place that sells kosher food?”
“There’s a place not far from my apartment. A supermarket. It’s sure to have something … And after, we can start some work.”
“Thank you very much!”
“See you soon.”
As soon as she hung up, she began to dial her cousin’s cell phone number to discuss this with her. Then, she put the phone down. She didn’t want to be a nuisance, especially if Hannah had gone out of her way to arrange this whole thing. And if she didn’t know anything about it, she might not approve, not that it was any of her business. It’s my business, she thought. My own, personal business.
She thought of Bluma, her obedient, round-faced cousin who’d married the second boy she had ever spoken to and taken up life in a tiny apartment in Borough Park downstairs from her in-laws. She’d work as a secretary in her father-in-law’s import business until she had her first child. She’d grow fatter and more content with every passing year, watching her life relentlessly unfold with no place to get off or turn around until she reached the end and died, never once stopping off along the way to visit her own dreams.
That could have easily been my life, too, she thought with a shudder. If she hadn’t been on a fanatic Passover cleaning binge, she’d likely never have even noticed that box pressed up into the far corner of the wall under her mother’s bed. Of course, she’d opened it. What would her mother ever need to hide?
It was filled with a stash of fading sepia photographs of obscure relatives. She was just about to replace the cover and put it back, when she noticed an envelope addressed to her mother. Inside was a letter.
January 10, 1976
Dear sister Pearl,
Even though you said some terrible things to me in your letter, I was still happy to get it. It’s been so long. Why did you finally break the family’s code of silence?
To answer your charges, I called the police because the family left me no other choice. But don’t think it was easy for me. I can appreciate how embarrassing it was, especially for Mameh and Tateh. I understand you are angry and hurt. But I am hoping someday you and the family will accept my choices. I have a right to live my own life. Everybody has that right!
I understand you are going to be married. I realize that even if you wanted to, you couldn’t invite me. Mazel tov. I am sad I will miss your wedding but happy for you. I know it hasn’t been easy for you to find a husband since I left.
I also have a mazel tov coming to me.
I’m enclosing a newspaper clipping about the award
I just received. Be happy for me, can’t you, even if you can’t be proud? Always your loving sister,
Rose
She’d shaken the envelope, and a yellowing news clipping floated out. It was from The New York Times, dated November 24, 1974. “Young Photographer Wins Top Honors” was the headline. She studied the grainy photo of a slim young woman dressed in an ankle-grazing hippy dress, her dark hair falling long and straight around her shoulders. She had a long, narrow face with high cheekbones and large eyes that looked sad even as she smiled into the camera, accepting her silver statue. The caption read: “Rose Weiss Wins Distinguished Junior Photographer of the Year Award.”
Rose the Outcast! A famous photographer!
That was the moment she realized that life could be unexpected and wonderful. She smiled to herself. And now it’s happening to me! My life is beginning!
She tried to remember the young men she had seen at her cousin’s apartment, but they were a strange blur: men without skullcaps, in formfitting shirts and pants, with longish hair and white teeth … men who looked like the people she saw in goyish magazines and movie posters.
She looked at herself appraisingly in the full-length mirror. Without giving herself any explanation, she opened Hannah’s closet, flipping through the hangers until she came across a pretty blue sweater that matched her eyes and a slim, short blue skirt. She tried them on. The skirt barely dusted her knees. She could have been any one of those girls drinking beer and laughing at her cousin’s party the night before. Looking at herself questioningly in the mirror, she neatly folded her own clothes, hiding them away in her suitcase before hurrying down the steps.
19
“Pearl, have warm drink!” Zevulun begged her.
She was lying prostrate with grief on her bed. In the living room, their eldest son and daughter-in-law manned the phones while their six small grandchildren ran wild.
“How can I swallow when my child has been taken from me! I’m choking!”
“The police…”
“The police!” she said disgustedly. “You know what they’ll say: Maybe she ran away, they’ll say. She is a big girl, they’ll say. Goyish heads! Go explain such a thing is not possible. That your child would never, ever think to do such a thing to her parents … has no reason to do such a thing! How we spoiled her, Zevulun. Gave her everything, more than all the other children together! And the fine boy we found for her, the envy of all our friends. And how patient he’s been, waiting all this time! No, some maniac must have swept her off the street into a van. A white van. You read so much about such things … Oy, Gotteinu! My baby!”
“No one in Williamsburg would do such a terrible thing!”
“Oh, what I could tell you about your holy Williamsburg! Why, when I was a child, an innocent little girl, some Hassid came up to me…” She closed her eyes, her voice failing.
Zevulun sat down heavily on the bed next to her. His hands were shaking. She looked up at his face. It was completely drained of color.
“Aach, Zevulun, I’m sorry. You are not well.” She pulled herself up and sat down next to him. They leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder, propping each other up.
He took her hand gently in his. “We must trust in God, Pearl. He is kind and compassionate…”
She nodded, her heart burdened with the knowledge of every lapse, every slight infraction and minor sin she had ever committed. She had gossiped about a neighbor and not asked forgiveness from her before Yom Kippur, as was required. God could forgive you for sins you committed against Him, but not against others. She had accused a cleaning girl of taking some silver forks, and later found them. While she’d apologized, the girl had quit anyway, offended, disappearing. She had made that innocent girl suffer needlessly, and now it was she doing the suffering. Measure for measure. This was God’s way.
The ringing phone made their bodies suddenly stiffen. It would be just like their dear God to hear their prayers and answer so swiftly! Oh, Blessed Be His Glorious Name Forever!
Their eldest son knocked on the door. Zevulun ran to open it.
“It’s her friend, Malca. Calling from Bnei Brak.”
“Malca?” Pearl repeated. That girl who’d disgraced herself? Who’d been shamefully married off to some half-shegetz Israeli and banished to Israel to save the family honor? Rivka had been forbidden to even speak to her! Why would she be calling? “Give me the phone!” Pearl gasped, filled with a terrible foreboding, and yet at the same time some measure of comfort. A friend, calling from Israel with news. Not a policeman who had found a body, God forbid!
“Malca?” She held the phone steadily, listening intently as all eyes were upon her. For many minutes she said nothing, and then: “Are you sure? Is this the truth?” Again, she said nothing, nodding silently to the voice on the other side of the world. “Give me your number.” Zevulun hurriedly handed her a pencil and paper. She scribbled it down. “Tell her she must call us as soon as she gets there. We are sick with worry! But thank you for calling, Malca. God bless you.” She hung up, gnawing at her lips until she drew blood.
“Pearl, what?” Zevulun asked hoarsely, his voice strangled with tension.
Pearl turned to her son. “Go close the windows and pull down the shades. Don’t say anything.” Then, she went to her bedroom window, staring out for a moment as if expecting every window to be filled with staring, accusatory eyes. She slammed it shut, pulling the curtains closed.
“But Mameh…” her son entreated.
“Listen to your mother,” Zevulun murmured, putting a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezing it encouragingly as he led him out the door, locking it behind him.
“She’s run away! She’s gone to Israel to be with her friend! She didn’t want the shidduch. Her friend says she thinks we were pushing her…”
“PUSHING HER? I pushed her? She never said she didn’t want…”
Pearl sat down, wringing her hands, a terrible sense of déjà vu washing over her. “Oh, the shame of it! What shall we tell her brothers and sisters? The shadchan? The boy and his family?”
“This is what you are worried about?”
She looked up at him, amazed. A great smile had broken out on his face.
“This is nothing to laugh about.”
“You and your white van … Yes, I can laugh. My daughter has made a foolish mistake, but she is young. She is not hurt. She is alive and well. Think of it, Pearl. Just think of it.” He put his arms around her and both of them wept, the tears falling into his beard and to the top of her head covering.
20
“Hello? Anybody there?” Hannah called out. It was early evening and the house was pitch-dark. When she put on the light, her jaw dropped. There were grooves in the old carpet, which had been vacuumed within an inch of its life. When she lifted her eyes, she realized that the entire apartment had been scrubbed and polished and vacuumed. Even the big living room window, permanently tattooed by city debris, had clearly been attacked if not completely vanquished by someone with equal parts endless determination, foolish optimism, and bottles of glass cleaner.
She wandered from the freshly made-up bad to the spotless bathroom to the gleaming kitchen. Even her characteristically empty fridge had been stocked with juices, fruits, vegetables, and dairy products. She took out a yogurt. It was a strange brand called Mehadrin, which was twice the price of other brands. She shook her head wonderingly, putting it back.
She flopped down on the couch. And the girl had done all this on no sleep, because how in heaven’s name could anyone sleep on this thing? Gratitude and guilt coupled with a vague irritation coursed through her. The door suddenly opened.
“Oh. You’re home,” Rivka said. She was breathing heavily, her cheeks a red burn of cold. Beside her was a large sack of laundry. “I took it down to the laundromat,” she said, trying to catch her breath.
Hannah got up, walking over to her and taking the bag. “Rivka, look at your hands!”
They were chapped a
nd red, with deep grooves in the palms.
“It’s nothing. Rubber gloves I should have used. Next time, the bag will be lighter…”
“Rivka, Rivka, what am I going to do with you?”
“I did something wrong?”
She tried to compose her thoughts. “I didn’t ask you to do any of this, did I?”
“No, but I thought, a favor…”
“I took you in because it was the right thing to do. You don’t have to kill yourself trying to pay me back with housework. And all that expensive food you bought!”
“Cuzin, there is nothing to eat in this house.”
“I’m … I eat out mostly. Were you hungry?”
“I also ate out,” she said without elaborating, afraid of tainting her morning’s experiences by hanging them out for even more of her cousin’s withering disapproval. “I didn’t know which dishes were for milk and which for meat.”
“Like most people, I only have one for both. Are you going to need two brand-new sets of dishes?”
“No, no! I don’t want to make you trouble. I can use plastic, paper.”
“But what about pots and pans? I’ve got only one set of those, too. You won’t be able to cook anything…”
“I’ll manage, Cuzin. Don’t worry about me.”
“But that’s just it, Rivka. All day long, I sat doing just that. Worrying. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.”
“Do you want I should leave?” Rivka asked, holding her breath.
Hannah hesitated. “Look, Rivka, as you can see it’s a bit crowded here. But I can’t have you wandering around New York City.” Like prey, she thought, but didn’t say. “I hope you realize that it can be a very dangerous place out there for young women.”
Hannah’s young, but she talks like an alte kocker. She’s as bad as my mother, Rivka thought. But she said, “Good you are, Cuzin, to care about me! But I know what’s what. This is why I’m coming to you first instead of riding around all night on the subway.”