I Am Forbidden (25 page)

“I went back up. I heard the door of the study open and close and I thought of the love between Grandpa Josef and Grandma Mila and I prayed that such a love would bind my Yoel to me—but with many more children, if it pleases HaShem.

“The seamstress arrived at nine for the last fitting of my wedding gown. She fastened the tiny satin buttons of the bodice and Grandma Mila said, ‘Seventeen, one for each of your seventeen years.’ When I turned around, the seamstress put a hand over her heart and said I looked just like Grandma Mila looked when she was young—I wasn’t sure how to feel because everyone always said Grandma Mila had been the most beautiful woman in Williamsburg.

“I asked if I could show the wedding gown to Grandpa Josef.

“Grandma Mila said no.

“After the seamstress left, Grandma went into the study and I heard Grandpa Josef ask, in a voice so weak, whether Rachel had arrived. Grandma said no. Then Grandpa Josef asked whether Zalman Stern had arrived for the wedding and Grandma again said no but it wasn’t true because Zalman Stern
had
arrived from Paris and everyone
knew
he was staying with his son Schlomo, everyone knew Zalman Stern had
come from Paris to officiate at the wedding of his grandson Yoel with Judith Halberstamm, the granddaughter of the two orphans Zalman had rescued.

“ ‘Zalman Stern isn’t here yet,’ Grandma Mila repeated.

“The spoon tinkled against the medicine bottle, the pillows puffed … I was afraid all alone with Grandpa so sick and Grandma Mila not telling the truth.

“When she came out at last, I said that if Zeidi, God forbid, was very sick, I
must
call Mummy right away.

“ ‘I told you, my heart, your mother mustn’t come. The shock … it might—’

“ ‘Is something wrong with Mummy?’

“ ‘Is that Rachel I hear?’ Grandpa called.

“Grandma ran to the study.

“I didn’t understand why Grandma Mila was treating me like a child with my wedding in three weeks and my bride-class teacher just taught how even we believers are conceived in this lowly manner, how a man and a woman … the Lord’s ways are unknowable—if something was wrong with Mummy, with her health, God forbid, I, the eldest daughter, ought to know and what if Mummy had Grandpa Josef’s sickness—how could I help if I didn’t know? The notebook? Did the notebook explain Grandpa’s illness and why Grandma Mila was acting so strange?”

Judith started to pace inside the loft, back and forth she paced as if trying to flee who she had become since reading the notebook, as if trying to hold back an earlier self. When
she spoke again, her voice was hoarse. She stopped, startled by the low, deep pitch that could not be hers; she started again.

“I reached into the kitchen cabinet, on the highest shelf. The notebook opened to the last page of writing. I stared at the red garland; the words stared back at me, stronger. The red petals twisted around
King David
 …
Rachel
 …
Judith
.…

“I knew which pages were important, the ones smudged by tears.

“There were French, Hungarian, Romanian words.…

“There was an envelope addressed to
Monsieur Lichtenstein
, from Paris.

“One paragraph and numbers:
Nous regrettons de vous informer .…

“In the notebook, the same passage, over and over. Over and over.” The words stumbled like rocks out of the girl’s throat: “
Tamar sat near the entrance to Enayim and Judah thought her to be a harlot and he came in unto her and she conceived
.

“I knew it was terrible but I didn’t know what it meant. I rushed out of the house—under the elevated track, on Broadway and Marcy. The rumble of a Manhattan-bound train—whom could I ask? Not Tatta, not my teachers—which books could I look up, girls don’t study Mishnah or Gemarah, also not the Shulchan Aruch, I crossed into north Williamsburg with the artists, into the library on Division. The woman told me I wanted the
Encyclopedia Judaica
and I had to go to the Grand Army Plaza branch or to the Borough Park Branch.…”

Judith swayed back and forth.

“
Marriage between forbidden people is void, not valid
. Let the messiah come, please let the Temple be rebuilt, I walked back to our Williamsburg. Was Mummy’s marriage void? I went around the block, once, twice, one does not run from God’s trials Mummy would say, Mummy would go to the Rebbe—will Tatta be encouraged to remarry and have new children,
legitimate Jews
, while I, my brothers, sisters … the ten mamzerim of Williamsburg—‘Judith!’ Running toward me, Grandma Mila in her housedress and slippers. She pulled me up the stoop, inside the house, into the kitchen, she closed the door, ran to her
T’nach
, the
T’nach
trembled in her hand, it opened to the story of Tamar and Judah. She pointed to a verse. ‘
Zodequa mimeni
. See?
More righteous than I
, that is what Judah said about Tamar—you
will
be happy, you
must
be happy, that is why Josef sacrificed all the happiness in his life—think, think carefully before you decide to go to a rabbi, think about whether you want to undo the silence for which my Josef sacrificed the happiness in our marriage, what seems right to you now may begin to haunt you, if you don’t want to spare yourself, spare my Josef,’ and she asked if I knew about Florina—of course I knew. She said she heard Florina call across the bluff:
‘Anghel! Anghel!’
She said Florina’s voice was the voice of a mother calling for her son, she said Josef yearned for his second lost mother separated from her not by war nor death but by
us, us
. She said, ‘I did not understand the silence that would save my daughter would further cripple him,’ then she made me swear I would go see Atara Stern so that I would know—know what?”

Judith looked into Atara’s eyes, fiercely. “Atara Stern will save me when God cannot?”

“You need time, and a quiet space, inside of you. Stay with me, Judith, even if only a few days. We can go to the country, tonight, after sundown. We’ll bring food with all the right certifications, everything kosher to
your
standards. You need to rest, to think—”

“Think about what? HaShem created us to keep his commandments, what should I think about?”

“You need to look into this further—”

“I looked into it. I searched my father’s books, I saw:
God will reward the repenting adulteress and her reward is that her offspring will die young, young enough so her sin will not enter the congregation
.”

“Where did you read such a thing?”

“I read that one posek
(jurist)
advises that the word
mamzer
be tattooed, by a non-Jew, on the baby’s forehead—to make sure a mamzer will not marry into the congregation.”

Atara placed her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “Judith there are other worlds, where marriage is not so much about lineage, where parents can love their children unconditionally—”

Judith clamped her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear apikorsus.”

“I’m putting a set of keys in your jacket pocket. Stay with me, Judith.”

“My nisoyon
(trial)
is to get closer to HaShem, not to those who abandon Him.”

“You need time—”

Judith strode across the loft. “I don’t need
time
, I need the opposite”—she stopped in front of the oven clock—“eight thirty?” She rushed to the coatrack. “Grandpa Josef is waiting.”

“So you did see Josef?”

“Not yet. I told Grandma Mila that I would go to you in Manhattan if I could see Zeidi in the morning and take him to synagogue.”

“Josef is well enough to go to synagogue?”

“He wants to hear Zalman Stern lead services.” Judith slid her thin arms into the sleeves of her jacket and walked to the front door.

Atara grabbed a scarf and rushed after her.

Judith headed east, toward Williamsburg. She walked oblivious to traffic. Atara held Judith’s elbow with one hand, with the other she pushed stray wisps of hair under the scarf.

They started across the bridge. Cars whizzed by. A train clanked as it started and stopped. During a lull in the din, Atara asked whether Judith had thought about her fiancé, about what Yoel would want her to do.

“Yoel would want what HaShem wants,” Judith replied.

The horn of a tugboat sounded on the river below.

“But there are indications that this … 
status
no longer applies since your Grandpa Josef kept quiet so long,” Atara said.

“My mother’s name should have been on the register the rabbis keep, the register of people forbidden to marry in our community.”

“But if the Law says it’s too late now—certainly
you
believe the Law must be obeyed. We’ll check the Law—”

“
We
will check?
We
will decide? A court of Law must decide.”

“There are places—Jewish places—where you could study the Law yourself—”

“I told you, I read my father’s books.” Judith clutched the orange fence. She looked for the river but car lanes, tracks, guardrails blocked the view of the water, nothing seemed to link Williamsburg to Manhattan. “At a mamzer’s circumcision we must skip the prayer
Kayem at hayeled hazeh (Preserve this child)
. The Shulchan Aruch says:
Ein mevakshim alav rachamim (We do not ask mercy for him)
. We do not ask that this child live.”

“Judith! That can’t be what was meant.”

Judith turned around and took hold of Atara’s hand. “I know you want to help, I can see you’re not a bad person, you’re only mistaken.” Judith patted Atara’s hand like a parent consoling a child, then she let go and set out toward Williamsburg.

Atara tried to keep up with the girl. With every step Judith took, the closeness that had seemed possible in the loft, that still seemed possible just seconds ago, was slipping away. Atara scurried after Judith still hoping she might whisk her to some place and time where the girl would smell the earth after rain, and hear the birds sing again, a place where Judith could watch the world renew itself.

Judith’s lips moved to the rhythm of her hurried steps: “I am forbidden. So are my children and my children’s children, forbidden for ten generations, male or female. I am.…”

Judith’s lips were still moving when she came down the pedestrian ramp. Before reaching the sidewalk, she stopped and pulled the seams of her thick stockings, to straighten them.

*

A
SHADOW
peeled away from the wall. The coat, too heavy for the season, floated around the shoulders. The coarse, synthetic hair accentuated the pallor of the face.

“Mila?” Atara whispered.

Mila’s gaze traveled from Atara to Judith, searching for signs that a solution had been found.

Judith climbed the stoop and entered the house.

Mila and Atara hugged. Their bodies recognized that they once shared the same bed and the child in each held the other tight.

Nesting her chin on Atara’s shoulder, Mila wiped her tears. “How is she? What has she decided?”

Atara stroked Mila’s shoulder and wiped her own tears. “She needs time.”

“Her wedding is next week.” Mila nodded to passing neighbors on their way to synagogue. Her hand came to Atara’s forehead and tucked a strand of hair back under the scarf, then pulled up the collar of Atara’s dress. Smiling a poor stab of a smile, Mila whispered, “Can I get you a shawl? I think I have something that would match your dress.”

Judith appeared in the doorway. “Zeidi isn’t in his study?”

“Yuditka, your Zeidi Josef is in shul. He wanted to go early so he could be wheeled to the front before the crowd arrived. I brought him then I rushed back, to be here if—when you returned. Let’s go in, let’s have breakfast.”

Judith’s lower lip trembled. She hesitated and started down the stoop.

Mila extended a hand. “Stay with us, Yuditel, stay here with us a while. Wait! Wait for us! Let’s all go to shul together.”

Judith stepped away from her grandmother, so it was Atara who threaded one wrist through Judith’s elbow, the other through Mila’s, and they walked together as if they belonged to one family, one life, they walked a few blocks toward the celebration of the Festival of the Law and Mila let herself hope that the men’s rounds would still dance Judith to the wedding canopy.

Atara planned to explain to Mila that the first step toward a decision was for Judith to learn to think for herself, that it might be good for Judith to get away from Williamsburg, even if only for a few days. Mila would find a way to arrange it. Perhaps the girl would come to Atara’s loft this very evening and they would leave together for her cottage in the country.

Atara whispered to the girl that she would wait for her, she reminded Judith of the key in the pocket of her jacket.

Mila, Atara, Judith entered the street filled with strollers and clusters of mothers. Atara’s attention drifted to the realization that she might soon see her father. Her heart pounded. She would pull aside a young boy after services, she would instruct the boy to tell Zalman his daughter, Atara, was in the women’s balcony and wanted to wish him a Good Holiday. Perhaps Zalman would call for her, perhaps Zalman would agree to see the daughter he declared dead, and they would meet, she would kiss her father’s hand as after a long journey.…

When Atara had felt secure enough in her new life, after her first film, Atara sent her number to Hannah. In the middle of the night, the telephone rang. In the receiver, Zalman was asking, commanding, that Atara repent and return to
our Hasidic home
. The word
home
set Atara sobbing, but when she failed to reply that she was coming back, Zalman cursed her, called her a
zonah
—a harlot. Atara placed a finger on the switch. Click. The line went dead for thirty-seven years.

There had been times when Atara had considered appearing on her parents’ doorstep, times when she needed to believe her parents would be happy to see her even if they suspected she might not keep the Sabbath—she would lie if they asked, if it made it easier for them—there had been times when Atara needed to believe that her parents longed to hear her voice as she longed to hear theirs, but when Atara reached out to her younger siblings, they warned: Your father’s heart might give—have you not done enough damage?