Jerusalem Maiden (15 page)

A
ba wedded Shulamit at the synagogue with only two witnesses. The children were told later that afternoon. No celebratory toast preceded the new couple's retreat to the sleeping nook behind the curtain for their
yi'chud
.

Thunder ripped the sky, and a lightning bolt scorched it. Draped in her only sweater, Esther lined up bottling jars on the front-room buffet. On the
mangal
—no wasting coal to cook in the kitchen when this stove was heating the room—a pot of decomposing grapes was reducing into vinegar to pickle pencil-wide strips of cabbage into sauerkraut. At the near end of the table, Hanna embroidered her trousseau and Miriam darned socks.

“What's the responsibility of the guardian who agreed to watch over his friend's coat at no charge but the coat was lost?” Avram challenged Naftali at the far end of the table. “What's the responsibility of a guardian if he expected compensation for watching the coat?”

In her head, Esther was reviewing the various sages' commentaries on this age-old question of Jewish law. She hoped Naftali would show his brilliance with the right answer.

She failed to notice that Hanna had crept next to her until her sister pinched her arm. “Aba and Shulamit are doing the mitzvah now,” Hanna whispered. “Afterwards, they'll do it every Friday night, to welcome the Shabbat.”

Something opened up in Esther. The enormous secret of the husband-and-wife's commune still huddled with its back to her. What did it mean? The Talmud stated that three things carried the faint flavor of the world to come: Shabbat, the sun and marital release. Her tone sharp, Esther said, “Thirteen-year-old virgins don't talk about that before they're betrothed—”

“I'm past getting
betrothed
. It's my time to get
married
. But Aba won't negotiate for me until your marriage is settled.”

Esther dropped her knife and yanked at her sister's braid. “What did you hear?”

“Nothing!” Hanna's beautiful mouth curved into a sweet arch. As soon as Esther let go of her braid and picked up her knife, she added, “Shulamit's son can sleep in Moishe's old cot. But what about her two daughters? You'll get married now and we'll give them your cot.”

“Ouch!” The end of the knife pricked Esther's finger, and a red drop surfaced and gathered into a shiny cap before it dropped onto the fabric Hanna was holding.

“Now look what you've done!” Hanna cried. She threw the fabric down. “What good was giving me your trousseau if you're holding me back from getting married?”

The room filled with the stench of cooking sauerkraut. Esther sucked her finger. Someone—the rabbi, Bilha or Tova—would now force a groom upon her. The taste of blood on her tongue, she shut her eyes. Pierre had been stalking her imagination ever since her visit to Mlle Thibaux's former home. The gaze in the blue eyes that had examined her face shamelessly the last time she had seen him there had turned in more than two years of absence into a caress, even though at the time she had fixed her eyes on her feet. The hand that Pierre had reached out before his mother's admonition stopped him now touched her neck—

Another bolt of lightning ripped across the sky. Her neck? At the immodest thought, Esther's eyes popped open to find Hanna's inquisitive gaze upon her. Her sister winked.

Esther blushed. If only she could ride away on the bolt of lightning to a place uncrowded by people and their unrelenting odors and demands. After seeing how the
klal
had treated Ruthi, she considered Asher's proposal, but living in a monastery sounded as disgraceful as the Greenwald girl's running away with a
goy
.

T
he puddles seeped into the hungry soil, causing the cistern underneath the house to collapse. Esther was groggy from a poor night's sleep; Shulamit had replaced the cots with floor mattresses to make room for her daughters. As Esther served Aba his breakfast of earth-colored tea, barley roll, olives and a scallion, she reported to him about the destroyed water hole. “It's all mud—and filling with maggots,” she added.

“Hashem will provide.” Aba smiled as if the answer to her belligerent tone was self-evident, and chewed with deliberation, appreciating God's favors. When done, he rose to his feet, the corners of his lips curling up to some private pleasure. He hadn't smiled as much in the two years since Ima's death as he had in the two days since he and Shulamit married. Esther glanced outside to the tiny kitchen yard, where, singing softly, her stepmother attacked a strip of hard-packed soil she was determined to turn into a garden.

Aba unrolled the straps of his
tefillin
, phylacteries, as he readied for prayer. He placed one small black box on his forehead and tied the other on his arm with the long leather straps. Esther was merely a few steps away, breathing the same air, when Aba gathered himself inward to communicate privately with God behind an invisible wall. Instantly, his world slammed its gate shut in her face.

T
he following week Esther returned from hanging the laundry and was warming her chilled, chafed fingers over the
mangal
while humming a song.

O young man, lift up thine eyes and look before choosing;

Look not for beauty, but seek for good breeding.

Vain is beauty and false is grace,

An Adonai-fearing woman is alone worthy of praise.

“Your Aba asks for you,” Shulamit said from the zinc table.

Esther hung her shawl on a nail and skipped into the front room.

Aba turned to her from his desk. “Esther, you've been a good, dutiful daughter since your mother, blessed be her name, passed away.”

Esther lowered her head in acknowledgment.

“But I have not been a good enough father,” Aba continued. “Hashem should forgive me for neglecting you.”

“You haven't.”

“Yes, I've neglected my sacred duty to find you a groom.”

Esther's high spirits evaporated. “I don't want to get married!”

“It's taboo not to get married. Didn't Hashem say, ‘
It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make a helpmeet for him
'?”

“It's a taboo for a man not to marry. Not for a woman.”

“And who's a man supposed to marry? A fish?”

“It's not decreed that
I
must get married. A woman was only made to fulfill Hashem's decree for a man.”

Aba's glaring at her was new, foreign. “Hashem made Eve out of Adam's rib for a reason. And for the same reason He's sent you a groom.”

“He did?” Esther pulled her shoulders back. “As for Ruthi?”

Aba stood up to tower over her. “Your impertinence! I've had enough of your
chutzpah
.” To Esther's horror, he slapped her face. “If you have no respect for Hashem, for the
klal
, or for me, at least have respect for your late mother's wishes, bless her soul.”

T
uesday. The word roared in Esther's ears. Tuesday was an especially auspicious day, for on the third day of Creation, upon seeing His own work, God had said twice, “
It was good.
” She might be married off today. Her skin felt prickly all over, and her eyes were dry as if blasted with sand-carrying southern wind.

In the kitchen yard, Shulamit sat on a stool, an earthenware bowl of Egyptian broad beans squeezed between her knees.

“I won't get married,” Esther told her, and crossed her arms.

“You can't make trouble for Avram. He'll be sharing the
chupah
occasion with you. He's matched with the great-granddaughter of a great rabbi from Poland—”

Esther dropped onto a stool to anchor herself. Avram was getting married, too?

“Besides,” Shulamit continued, “What's your alternative? Be a spinster and eat at Moishe's table for the rest of your life?”

Esther's fingers closed around the cold pewter amulet in her pocket. It emanated no comfort. Avram, a scholar, would be maintained by his future in-laws. The husbandless women she knew were widows so poor they had to rely on relatives for sustenance. “I can become a seamstress.”

“Where?” As if the absurdity of Esther's statement was self-evident, Shulamit handed her the bowl of beans to shell. “A woman's lot in life comes with different variations of suffering. No woman is ever spared, no matter how blessed with sons, rich with money or credited with
tzedakah
she might be.” She sighed, perhaps thinking of her dead children and first husband, then went on, “You know the story of the rabbi who invited everyone who complained about his
tzuris
to put his package of troubles on the table and pick up a different package of his choice? Guess what each was quick to grab? His own.”

Esther snapped the beans, fast, faster, as Ima had used to do. The beating of her heart, she realized, was fear. If only she could still it by getting lost in art. In her mind's eye she sketched herself bent over the bean bowl, her shoulders slumped in defeat. No. No imagining drawing. She needed God on her side. He must intervene to help her out of Aba's
shiddach
.

By noontime she was relieved that Shulamit didn't drag her to the
mikveh
. Her nuptials wouldn't happen today. She waited to hear Avram's steps padding in for his midday meal, and when he entered, she followed him to the boys' partitioned alcove. The raw wood plank ending two meters below the domed ceiling and the absence of a window made the space look like a roofless crate. “You're getting married,” she told Avram.

His lowered eyelashes were as light as grains of sand. His cheeks blushed.

“Who is she?” Esther asked. “Have you met her?”

“I'm told she's humble and modest—”

“That's it? From age fifteen until Hashem claims you at one hundred and twenty, you'll spend with a total stranger?”

He shrugged. “The rabbi knows her family—”

“Family tells you nothing! You and Moishe are from the same family, and you're not even remotely alike. I can't believe you'll be happy with merely a lineage.”

“Happy? Who is happy in this world? The Bible says, ‘
A man was born to labor,
' not happiness. But yes, I am blessed to be challenged in my studies—”

Aba opened the door without knocking. Under the thicket of his red beard, his lips were a thin line. The wave of his wrist motioned for Avram to step out.

“Don't you recruit him into your rebellion,” he told Esther. “Your mother always said you had a wild streak—a
dybbuk
!—”

“She was right. I am possessed.” Esther yanked a blanket from the nearest cot and draped it over her head. She snarled. “Watch out—I might bite the groom.”

Aba's pupils were so large, his gray eyes turned dark. “I'm tired of your
meshigas
! Thankfully, your groom is old enough to control your temper.” He stomped away.

“Old? How old is he?” Esther shouted, her voice screeching in her own ears. She would not slave in a house full of a widower's demanding children. “Who is he?”

Aba didn't respond.

Fuming, Esther closed her eyes.
Hashem, I've been an obedient daughter to you. You've made me according to Your will, but You've made me different from all other Jerusalem maidens. Please, Hashem in heaven—Please intervene. You took Gershon. You took Ima. You must stop this union—

She was so consumed by her prayers that it took some moments for the shouts to come into focus and for her to grasp the mayhem in the street. Horses' hooves pounded the road, and the axles of a wagon squealed. Children screamed. A man shouted. Esther staggered out to the kitchen yard.

“Naftali! Naftali!” Aba was running in the street, flailing his arms. Shulamit and her daughters huddled in a shocked lump. Hanna, on her knees, was wailing. “Naftali! Naftali! Hashem, help us!” In the distance the back of a canvas-covered wagon sped away. Three Turkish soldiers were perched on the back. “Naftali! Naftali!” Hanna screamed.

Don't let it be true! Esther's stomach contracted. Her little brother had been kidnapped! Conscripted into a lifetime of Ottoman military service! She sprinted out into the street.

A neighbor sniffled into the edge of her apron and cried out, “Three boys were captured. They'll never return. Our poor children.”

Bile rose up in Esther's throat. Don't let it be true! Naftali was only eleven, not a soldier. He must be terrified. Everyone knew what Turkish military service meant: starvation, nakedness, beatings, rape. Alone and frightened—tortured!—he would surely die. If he lived, he would be made to forget his family, his Jewishness—

Whimpering, Miriam clutched Esther's waist with thin arms. Esther crouched and held her tight. Supported by Avram, Aba limped back toward them. His face was ashen, his eyes wild with pain.

“What would they want with my boy?” he sobbed. “They saw his sidelocks and skullcap! Haven't we oiled their palms enough to leave us alone?”

Naftali, Naftali. Esther's lips moved silently. Her body shook at the horror of it. She had asked God to stop her dreaded nuptials. Could He have done something this awful? No. God wasn't so merciless as to inflict the harshest of punishments on a child. Even Gershon, in death, walked the paths of the Garden of Eden or sat at God's feet. He didn't suffer. God wouldn't have chosen to rescue Esther by making someone else pay a price for her rebellion. Would He?

Shivering, tears streaming down her cheeks, Esther went inside in search of something to keep her busy. There were floors to be scrubbed, the evening meal to be prepared, and laundry to be pressed. Naftali, Naftali. She could find no spot to rest her anguish. How much beating would his little body take until he became a soldier—or died?

Later, the chanting for the lighting of the fourth candle of Chanukah was perfunctory and interrupted by crying. The precious
ponchkes
, Chanukah's fried soft dough balls filled with jelly, went untouched. Aba put on his American black suit and his fedora and risked venturing out in the dark to appeal to his non-Jewish acquaintances to bribe and pull favors. He would be unable to come back home until the neighborhood gate reopened in the morning. Where would he roam all night? Esther went about her evening chores as if rolling a boulder uphill. Naftali had been her first audience for her biblical stories. What were the Turks doing to him right this moment?

Avram came home from the yeshiva. “Hashem will bring Naftali back,” he said. “The rabbi is praying. We're all praying for the souls of our boys.”

Esther wished she shared Avram's unshakable faith. In the light of a kerosene lamp, she took apart her good blue sweater, pulling the yarn and rolling it into a ball. Then she started knitting a sweater for Naftali; her cardigan must suffice her for the rest of the winter. She stayed up throughout the night, worrying about Aba out there, too, and finding comfort in pouring her love into her knitting.

When Aba returned in the morning, limping, his cheeks were drawn and his clothes disheveled. His hat was missing, and he held his hand over his head because he wore no yarmulke for cover before God. He had prowled around the Turkish military barracks and been lashed by guards before being chased away by their dogs. He had accosted Turkish soldiers in the street and been beaten for his audacity. He had been kicked by a horse when he badgered a mounted policeman.

Esther had never seen the light in Aba's eyes so dim. She had never imagined he would be treated so disrespectfully. He let out a strange muffled sound and retreated to his bed behind the curtain.

What had she done?