by Meryl Ain
She heard the agent who was driving whisper to his partner sitting next to him, “Take a look at today’s Daily Mirror; there’s another story about Greenglass.” A light bulb went off in Lenore’s head as she finished applying the last of her lipstick.
Maybe looking beautiful got me into this whole mess to begin with, she speculated. After all, it was what had attracted Al, her boss, to her in the first place. And she had met David Greenglass and his wife, Ruth, through him. Greenglass was the brother of Ethel Rosenberg, who, along with her husband, was being tried for giving atomic secrets to the Russians. Lenore began to go over the chronology of her relationship with Al and his connection to Greenglass.
She had been twenty-two years old when she graduated from NYU with a degree in accounting in 1943. She immediately went to work for thirty-year-old Alvin Springer, who lived in Great Neck with his wife and two small children. Al, with his brilliant business sense and inventive mind—and his partner, Max Pearlstein with his scientific genius—were on the cutting edge when they founded the SpringPearl Company and began to manufacture and sell deodorant.
At the initial interview, Al told Lenore that he was looking for someone sharp, multi-talented, and hard working—someone who could work long and unusual hours. Al was involved in everything and wanted a person who could grow with the company.
Lenore eagerly accepted the challenge and soon became Al’s right hand. She was totally and utterly devoted to him and to their work together. The company was on the cusp of developing and marketing a squeeze bottle for deodorant and also beginning to do research and development on a men’s deodorant. “After all,” Al said, “It’s not just women; men can be convinced they smell bad, too.”
They worked long hours side by side, often dining together in Manhattan at posh restaurants. While Lenore was a beauty, Al’s looks were nothing special. He was neither too short nor too tall, too fat nor too thin. He had nondescript brown hair and eyes. To look at him, an objective person might have described him as bland. But when he opened his mouth, he was transformed from Average Al into a powerhouse, a force of nature.
Lenore had been captivated by Al’s analytical mind, his knowledge of current affairs, his vision, his vociferously voiced opinions, and his incredible command of the English language. He had created a company that was in the forefront of a brand-new industry that would become essential to all Americans. By contrast, the boys her own age, who were now going off to war, were childlike and naïve. When Al touched her knee for emphasis, she was flattered. When he kissed her hand as a thank you, she melted at his chivalry. He hinted at the possibility of her one day owning a share in the company. He was unlike anyone else she had ever met. As their relationship progressed, Al spent less and less time with his family in Great Neck. And Lenore’s world began to revolve around her affair with Al.
Toward the end of 1944, Al had been recruited as a scientist for the Manhattan Project and was sent to Los Alamos, New Mexico. Upon hearing the news, Lenore was devastated.
She had no idea what he would be doing, but she knew he had been chosen because of his scientific expertise. When he was gone, the day-to-day business operations would be left in Lenore’s capable hands. Al insisted that she report to him on a regular basis. But reporting to him from afar did not take the place of daily physical contact. To the outside world, she was dedicated to her job, but what she really wanted was to be near Al.
Finally, after several months, he asked her to join him in New Mexico. In May, Lenore arrived at the Santa Fe Railroad Depot in Albuquerque, where Al met her.
For the first week, Lenore stayed at the Hacienda del Sol, an historic luxury hotel. But then Al asked her to move in with him, explaining that his wife was home in Great Neck with the two kids and had no plans to visit. Lenore tingled with excitement; she was twenty-four years old and infatuated with her boss. She assured herself that the safety of distance ensured that neither her parents nor anyone else would ever know.
Al was renting an apartment, which was located on North High Street. His neighbor was Ruth Greenglass. Her husband, David, was a serviceman stationed at Los Alamos as a machinist.
She remembered how Ruth Greenglass was so delighted when she first met Lenore. She told her she was thrilled to have a young Jewish woman, who was about her age, staying next door. And she promised that she would ask David to make a date with Al so the two New York Jewish couples could get together socially. And that’s how the relationship began.
“Are you okay back there, ma’am? Do you want another cigarette?” one of the cops called from the front seat of the car, interrupting Lenore’s recollections.
As Lenore lit the cigarette, it suddenly became clear. David and Ruth Greenglass—that’s why I’ve been arrested, she thought. It’s because we were friendly back during the war. Their names had been all over the newspapers lately in connection with the Rosenberg trial. Hadn’t Al been pulled in a year ago and questioned about his relationship with the Greenglasses? But they let him go! Why are they arresting me now?
Lenore began to panic. She knew she had done nothing wrong, well maybe except for having an affair with a married man with two small children. She believed Al when he said he had never given David secrets from his work at Los Alamos. But she also knew he had lied to the grand jury, denying that he had ever been a member of the Communist Party. He admitted to her that he had joined when he was in college during the Depression, when so many people were suffering from economic hardship. But weren’t the Russians our allies in defeating the Nazis in World War II? Why would that be a crime now?
She was no dummy—she knew the answer; there was hysteria about the Soviets.
She wondered if they had picked up Al too. She did not allow herself to weep; she was not going to ruin her makeup.
When Izzy and Aron arrived at the morning minyan, it was half over. But Aron, who prayed faster than anyone there had ever seen, quickly caught up. He remained pale and trembling while he prayed.
Izzy didn’t even bother to put on his tefillin. He could not stop thinking about what he had just witnessed.
Following the service, Rabbi Herbert approached Izzy. He had been pleased—actually astonished—to see Izzy for the past two days, and delighted that he had brought his cousin, who was clearly a pious man.
“What’s going on?”
“My neighbor’s daughter was taken away this morning, I saw G-men parked right in front of our house.”
“Do I know your neighbors?”
“Yes, the Mandelsterns are members here.”
Consternation flooded the rabbi’s face.
“Let me know how I can help. I’ll try to connect with them as soon as possible.”
“Thanks, Rabbi.”
The rabbi then approached Aron, who appeared to still be in a daze.
“Nu, what’s doing with you today young man?”
Aron dissolved into tears and answered the rabbi in Yiddish.
“I brought my family to America because we thought it was safe, safer than Israel. We believed Jews could have a new start here. We’ve only been here two days, and I see a young woman, the age of my wife, taken into custody by government officials, just like the Gestapo agents did in Kielce. Why? What did she do? Could it be for nothing, just like they did to the Jews of Poland?”
“We don’t know yet why she was taken away, but I can assure you this is nothing like Nazi-occupied Poland,” Rabbi Herbert answered in Yiddish. “And she wasn’t arrested because she is Jewish. There may be anti-Semitism here, but it’s not officially sanctioned.
“We Jews, like everyone else, have rights here. Look, even free countries experience nasty politics from time to time. This is such a time, but it too will pass. We have a strong country, based on a Constitution that ensures the rights and freedoms of individuals. Please, don’t think this is a Jewish thing.
“Everyone is fearful because of the Soviet Union and the nuclear arms race. But the pendulum will swing. It always does. Jews are
safer here than they have been anywhere in the world at any time. If you want to be extra safe, follow my lead. Just tell the truth and don’t discuss politics. I’ve learned that there are congregants on every side of every issue. Understand?”
Aron desperately wanted to believe the rabbi that his family was safe in America. But he had learned the hard way that most rabbis, no matter how much Torah they knew, could not predict the political winds. Hadn’t his own grandfather failed to anticipate the escalating Nazi threat?
Rabbi Herbert shook Aron’s hand vigorously and said, “Perhaps we’ll see you in shul tomorrow, Aron?”
Aron looked surprised that the rabbi would even ask.
“Definitely,” Aron replied.
The rabbi beamed. He knew he had just gotten himself another regular shul-goer. Not just a body, but a religious man—a swift davener who could lead the service.
“Gut Shabbos, Aron. See you tomorrow.”
The bakery was a busy hub, especially on Fridays. There were all the special occasion orders for the weekend, in addition to the synagogue’s standing orders of challah and finger cakes for the Friday night Oneg Shabbos and Saturday services.
At hectic times like these, they had to give out numbers in the tiny narrow shop, which could just about accommodate a single-file line. Izzy had been looking forward to Aron’s assistance behind the counter today, but he didn’t want an unfriendly, brooding refugee just off the boat to greet his customers. He directed Aron to the back office, where he could help assemble the Sabbath orders.
“Make sure they put aside two challahs for us, as well as a pareve chocolate layer cake for tonight,” Izzy said. “Faye is whipping up a delicious dinner for your family’s first Shabbos in America. She’s making matzo ball soup and roasted chicken and rice. If there’s anything else you think your family would like, just add it to the bundle. And let’s put together a little package for the Mandelsterns—maybe a challah and some brownies and a big black-and-white cookie for Mindy. I’ll drop it off on the way home later.”
When all the orders had been picked up, and the sun began to set, Izzy closed and locked the door to the bakery. He would make sure everything was in its place, and then he would take Aron home for a nice, traditional Shabbos dinner. Aron was still in the back, where he had been all day. Izzy had checked on him a few times, but it had been so busy, he really couldn’t take Aron’s emotional temperature every few minutes. They would have wine and Faye’s wonderful home-cooked meal, and hopefully, that would calm him down. But just as he was about to go back and get him, there was a loud banging on the door.
“Izzy, Izzy, it’s me, Irv, please open up.”
Izzy opened the door and ushered Irv Rosen in.
Irv normally had a poker face, but now his face was flushed and he was agitated.
“I found out what went down this morning,” he said.
“Please tell me.”
“Lenore was arrested for conspiracy to obstruct justice. They first took her to Foley Square, FBI headquarters, fingerprinted her and asked her some questions. Now, she’s sitting in the Women’s House of Detention in Manhattan.”
“Oy, oy, oy. When is she getting out?”
“Don’t know; there’s the matter of bail, and she needs a top-notch lawyer, not a court-appointed one, to get her out,” said Irv. “I sure hope she has her own lawyer and is not relying on her boss to get her one.”
“But she’s his right arm, and I know they’re friends,” Izzy said. “Surely he’ll help her.”
“I doubt that he can be of much help to her now,” Irv replied. “He was arrested this morning too—for conspiracy to commit espionage.”
“I was just going to stop at the Mandelsterns’ on my way home with some cake for them. Do you want to come with me?”
“Okay, sure.”
“Let me give you something too for your family—brownies, cookies for the girls? Bread, challah, rye bread, rolls?”
“That’s okay, Izzy, we’re good.”
“Let me just go in the back and get Aron. Here, please take some brownies and cookies,” Izzy said as he quickly threw the items into a white paper bakery bag. “Here, I’m giving you a challah too; Connie can always use it over the weekend for French toast.”
Irv laughed as Izzy thrust the bags in his arms. It would be rude not to accept.
Aron does not look well, Izzy thought as he went into the back office to fetch him. His cousin’s elbows were on the small desk that was scattered with papers and his head was sunk in his hands. How long has he been sitting like that?
“Aron, it’s time to go. Did you put aside the cake and challahs?”
Aron looked at Izzy, his shoulders slumping as he blinked back tears.
Izzy could see that Aron had forgotten his instructions. No big deal about the challahs and cake, Izzy thought. There are more up front. But Aron’s a wreck.
“It’s been a tough day for everyone,” Izzy said. “Let’s go home.”
It was a particularly chilly January evening, but it was only a five-block walk home. When they got to their street, Izzy said, “Why don’t you run ahead, Aron? You can change for Shabbos, and the women can light the candles. Here, take the challahs and cake. I’m making a stop with Irv. I won’t be long.”
The two men watched as Aron took giant strides as he hurried home; the sun was fading fast and it would soon be his first Sabbath in America—the day of rest.
“Should we ring the bell or knock?” Izzy asked Irv when they arrived at the Mandelstern residence.
“Definitely ring the bell,” said Irv.
Jennie came to the door, still in her robe, looking like she had aged ten years. Harry was dressed, sitting in a chair, still in shock, staring into space. Mindy was also dressed, but her eyes were bloodshot and her face was red as she sobbed. When she saw the two men at the door, she dried her tears and said, “The takeaway men took Mommy away. When is she coming back?”
“Mindy, I’m so sorry about Mommy,” Izzy said. “But I’m sure she’ll be home very soon. I brought you a cookie.”
“I don’t want a cookie. I want Mommy. My daddy died when I was a baby, and now Mommy is gone too,” she blurted out through her tears.
“What can we do for you, Jennie? Please tell us how we can help,” Irv asked.
“Lenore called once at about eleven this morning,” Jennie said. “She said she was only allowed two phone calls—one to her family and one to her attorney. She said she had already put in a call to Jerry Roginsky, Al’s attorney, but she hadn’t heard back from him yet. She asked me to call Al and ask him to go see her, along with Jerry. But I called the office and got Max. He said Al hadn’t shown up at the office yet. He was beginning to get concerned.”
“Sit down, Jennie,” Irv said. “Al isn’t going to be calling Lenore anytime soon. He was arrested this morning outside his home in Great Neck. I suspect Jerry is with Al. I strongly suggest that Lenore gets her own attorney and not rely on Al’s.”
“But who should we get? I know lawyers who do wills and real estate, but—”
“Jennie, Lenore needs a criminal attorney and she needs one now. I’ll see what I can do. If you want, I’ll go with you to visit her tomorrow.”
“You mean she’s not coming home tonight?” Mindy wailed.
“Maybe she will come home tomorrow,” Jennie said.
Faye’s small kitchen emitted the delicious smell of an Ashkenazic Shabbos dinner. On a cold January night, the onions, garlic, and chicken roasting in the oven, along with the chicken soup bubbling in a large pot on the stove, combined to fill the house with the warm aroma of the Sabbath. By the time Izzy returned home, the candles were lit, the table was set with a white tablecloth, and the two challahs were covered with an embroidered cloth. An open bottle of Manischewitz Concord Grape wine sat on the table, its fragrance adding to the festive feeling. The wine had been poured into the adults’ glasses, while the girls got a drop of wine in their glass of seltzer.
Aron had changed into a white shirt, and as the family gathered around the table, he felt tears welling up. Hadn’t his own family presented a similar picture of peace and contentment before the Nazis came and destroyed everything? Although he was grateful to be alive and in the United States at this moment, the pain and horror his own family had endured was never far from his mind. But he had already vowed to himself that he would not inflict his story on his children.
He and Judy had just had this conversation a week ago on the boat.
“But they have a right to know their family history when they are older,” Judy reminded him.
“Do you really want them to know all of it?” he had sneered.
“It was not all bad. Good did come out of it for us. We found each other. And keeping it bottled up is not good for you,” she said. “Perhaps one day when they are older, you’ll change your mind.”
But Aron was resolute that he would never reveal Judy’s past to his children.
Izzy gave Aron the honor of reciting the Sabbath Kiddush, and Izzy recited the Motzi over the challah. He raised the two challahs together as he said the prayer, sprinkled them with salt, and ripped off pieces and distributed them to everyone.
“I like challah,” said JoJo.
“I like chocolate cake,” said Bronka, whose inquisitive eyes had already spotted the cake.
“How did you know the dessert is chocolate cake?” Izzy asked with a twinkle in his eye. “The best pareve chocolate layer cake in Queens.”
As they finished dinner, Faye asked, “When was the last time you had a Shabbos meal like this?”
“Oh, we had Shabbos dinner at Warteplatz,” Judy said. “But it was not as delicious as this one. You’re such a good cook, Faye. I hope you will teach me your recipes.”
“Of course, I’d love to,” said Faye, beaming.
Aron, sensing that Faye was coming dangerously close to interrogating Judy, jumped in. “Aren’t we going to bench?” Aron asked Izzy.
Both Faye and Izzy looked a bit surprised. They had dispensed with the custom of praying after dinner long ago. But they were accommodating hosts, as well as a bit guilty about their own lapses.