No Time for Tears (39 page)

He smiled, kissed her, and walked down the long ward between the rows of beds. He took Reuven with him, and the two walked on to the nursery. The others stayed behind, understanding that this was a special moment between the father and son.

When the infant was handed to Dovid he lowered the child so that Reuven could see his brother for the first time. It was a shared moment they both would never forget…

Three days later Chavala was able to go home, carrying her new son, sharing the joy of him with Dovid, Chia, and Reuven, who almost from the start acted more like a kind of substitute father than a mere brother. He seemed at once fascinated and possessive about the baby.

The day his son was circumcised Dovid proudly held him, surrounded by Moishe, Reuven, and Mr. Leibowitz. After being given a drop of schnapps the infant slept in his father’s arms while the men toasted the new father.

Afterward they were joined by others at the apartment for the
simcha.
The pearl-stringer Yetta was there, and so were all the people Chavala had worked with. Mrs. Neusbaum and Mrs. Zuckerman had brought enough food to feed everyone and twenty more, and Mr. Leibowitz
kvelled
with the pride of a grandfather as he held the child. “Chavala … Chavala … what a baby, I can’t believe it. It was like yesterday that you sat in my office, needing help, and now …”

Finally people said their goodnights, and as they did, Chavala thought of a leave-taking to come that would not be so sweet. She’d not let the thought settle in her mind up to now, the joy of little Joshua … it had seemed a fitting name when she’d mentioned it to Dovid and he’d immediately agreed … had been too important to be sullied with it. But now, there was nothing to do but face it. Dovid had not changed his mind. He had come to America, she now reminded herself, for the birth of their child, in time to be with her when she delivered, even though he hadn’t come on the occasion of Reuven’s bar mitzvah, which must have seemed almost as important to him. Almost … Remember that, Chavala, when you’re tempted to feel sorry for yourself, or berate Dovid … You, your child, came first. Remember that…

They sat quietly in the kitchen on the last night before his departure, and spoke of everything except what would happen the next day.

Suddenly, framed in the doorway, was Reuven. He looked first at his mother, than at his father. Slowly he walked to where they sat. Without hesitation, he spoke the words he had so carefully weighed, and rehearsed.

“
Ema
, I love you, I always will, but I want to go home
with abba
.”

She cleared her throat, swallowed back the tears. What could she say? He had a right to go, and in a way she’d known without admitting it to herself that this was going to happen. It was only a question of when … and now it was no question. After all, she had the new child, she had Moishe and Chia. Dovid had nothing of his family. She would not stop Reuven, not even argue. This was not his country, perhaps it never would be. Like his father he belonged in the hills of Zichron … the farm at Athlit… the coves of Caesarea. Even when the snows of winter melted in America, Reuven would always be cold.

Chavala nodded, even managed a smile. “I’m happy for you, Reuven. I will miss you, my sweet boy, but your father has missed you long enough. And life has a way of taking care of things … I think there will come a time when we will all be together again. I believe that …” And she did. She had to…

Chavala stood with Joshua in her arms and watched as Dovid and Reuven walked up the gangplank. She felt a chill all through her, and not only from the sharp winds that blew in from the sea.

The whistle blew, and the ship began to move out. She stood on the dock, flanked by Moishe and Chia, until it was lost from sight. Then they turned and slowly walked back to their life.

D
OVID AND REUVEN STOOD AT
Athlit and looked out to the shoals. They watched the sea roll back and cascade above the high rocks. The spray felt so good on Reuven’s face. This might have been the happiest day in his life, except for the look of sadness in his father’s eyes. He could guess that it had to do with being apart from his mother, which he realized affected him too. Yes, even though he had not been happy in America and never really understood, or at least accepted, his mother taking him there and staying there, he did miss her. Yes, he
missed
her…

And Reuven was right. Dovid did miss Chavala, and thinking about her he also thought of the years they’d lived here. How contented Chavala had been, the pride she’d taken in their small house. But the memories were not all sweet. And filtering through were the sounds of dying, killing. They drowned out the good thoughts … Mostly he’d returned here today because Reuven wanted back the memories of his childhood, but for Dovid there was too much to remember…

And now there was even more … He closed his eyes against the sky. This morning he had heard the news that Aaron had died in an airplane somewhere over the Atlantic. It seemed too much to cope with. Aaron had so much more to give, and he’d somehow always seemed so … invulnerable, invincible. He shook his head. Aaron would not have wanted him to be undone by grief. They’d fought too long and hard, too many of them had died to give up now. Their land was still not theirs … to withdraw from the struggle would betray the past, and forfeit the future…

Reuven stood very close to his father, almost feeling his pain. And determination too. “
Abba,
I know we talked about me living with Aunt Dvora, but I would like to stay in Tel Aviv with you … please?”

“I’d like that, Reuven, but my life is too unpredictable. I’m away too often. It’s important for a boy, even a big boy like you, to have a settled place to live, and a woman … well, a woman like your aunt—”

You’re
my family, he wanted to say. And
you
need a wife. “Will I see you?”

Dovid knew Reuven’s feelings, knew them too well. He’d once been comforted when he needed it most by Chavala’s mother, Rivka Rabinsky. His son had been cut adrift too, must be feeling the pain and fear of leaving Chavala and Chia. The next week he’d planned with his son would, he hoped, help ease the change for him.

Dovid put his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Will you see me? Of course, as often as possible.”

As they walked back to Dovid’s car, Reuven looked across the fields and saw the laboratory at Athlit where he remembered his father had brought him as a very small boy. Some of the sounds and sights came back. He had wanted to be a scientist like Dovid, he remembered his father holding him up so he could look into the lens of the microscope. Well, maybe he still would be, but first he would work with his father to create a permanent homeland for the Jews.

They drove up into the hills of Carmel, the first time Reuven had seen it, thanks to the war. The view was so breathtaking from the summit he asked his father to stop the car. Together they stood and looked out to the city built on rolling hills. Beyond the sloping landscape lay the harbor and a startlingly blue bay. They looked to the mountains of Galilee … Mount Hermon looked regal with its crown of snow … the golden dome of the Bahai shrine shimmered in the noonday sun.

Reuven was so taken with this place he felt he never wanted to leave, but Dovid said they had a long ride to Tel Aviv.

They wound their way down the hills, and Dovid became very quiet as they passed the Oriental inn. He slowed the car and looked for a long, lingering moment, recalling those four beautiful days when he and Chavala had stayed here … a lifetime, really …

When they’d come to the Arab section at the bottom of Carmel, Dovid passed the harbor, turned and continued south. There were few vehicles on the road except for an occasional busload of Arabs and the donkey carts. Further on, they were forced to the side of the road by the sirens of a British convoy as it passed.

Back on the road again, Reuven noticed the contrast between the Jewish and Arab villages. The kibbutzim seemed green, fertile, the earth seemed to come alive as the men plowed the furrows. Passing the Arab villages, he saw the women working in rock-strewn fields (while men sat in the coffeehouses, playing backgammon or sleeping in the sun). Along the roadside women seemed to sway back and forth as they walked along, trying to balance the heavy loads they carried on their heads.

As they passed Zichron Yaakov, Fort Taggert, in the distance, seemed more foreboding, surrounded as it was by barbed wire. Now, abruptly, they saw Hadera in bloom, vast expanse of lush green with counterpoint of orange groves.

It was four o’clock in the afternoon when they arrived at the outskirts of Tel Aviv. Reuven would never forget the sight. A shimmering whiteness, it almost seemed to rise out of the blue Mediterranean. Dovid drove to his apartment on Hayarkon Street. Then he and his son walked down Allenby Road, alive with shops, honking cars and people rushing to catch buses. There was one bookstore after another. The plaza was packed with mothers and children. They strolled up to Rothschild Boulevard to the Old City, which had been a part of Jaffa. The shops in the Arab city appeared neglected, shabby … Reuven wanted to go back to Tel Aviv.

They walked through the connecting street of the two cities, through the common marketplace, where both Jews and Arabs traded, then on to the narrow alleys where the multitude of shoppers milled about the stalls.

Finally they returned to Allenby Road, walked past the Mograbi Plaza, then turned into another wide, tree-lined boulevard—Ben-Yehudah Street was alive, filled with sidewalk cafes, patronized mostly by German Jews, others by sabras, others by bohemians, political engagées … all creating a feeling of carnival. A sense of camaraderie seemed in the air. The city pulsed with vitality.

As they sat at an early dinner, Reuven noticed the tensions in his father had relaxed since they’d come to Tel Aviv.

Dovid smiled. “Would you believe, Reuven, that when we came here, right where you’re sitting, there was nothing but sand dunes? I don’t want to make you feel ancient, but you’re a year older than Tel Aviv.”

Reuven was pleased to think that he and his age were important enough to be compared to the first Jewish city in two thousand years. “We’re both sabras,” he said, and laughed.

“I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. Tomorrow, though, we’ll go to places that are even older than
I
am.”

The next morning they journeyed south again. Passing the harbor at Jaffa, Dovid pointed and said, “That’s where your mother and I first arrived when we came here …” and, encouraged by his son, retold all the events of that special day. As he did, Reuven could visualize his mother tearing her petticoat in strips, then knotting them together so that Chia’s basket could be lowered into the rowboat, he could almost see the
chalutzim
rowing out to the boat ahead of the Arabs as they screamed, “
Baksheesh
…”

Eventually they arrived in Jerusalem and wound their way up to Bab el Wad, and as they passed this place Dovid couldn’t help but think how different his life, and his family’s, might have been if Chavala had not so desperately needed a sack of flour on a certain day … Quickly he accelerated the motor and shifted gears as he made the ascent into the Judean hills.

On either side of the road saplings had been planted within the older forests. Somehow their ability to survive in this soil symbolized those Jews who had redeemed the eroded earth.

The ascent made, it was almost impossible not to feel the magical pull of Jerusalem. When they entered the city there was a haunting quality … even in this new city of David the stones that went into the buildings were from the same quarries that had built the Temple and Wall that now remained. They drove along King David Street, past the Yemen Moshe, the windmill gently revolving at Mishkenot Shanayim. As they passed the King David Hotel the bells from the YMCA could be heard, and added to the symphony of sounds, the muezzin called the faithful to prayer in the Old City, and all over Jerusalem on this Friday afternoon the sound of the ancient ram’s horn could be heard.

Dovid parked the car outside of Mea Shearim and they walked into the stone courtyard, where, side-by-side, stood old two-story stone dwellings, their balconies outlined with iron grillwork, their shutters opened and laid back against the walls. Bearded men with sidecurls, wide-brimmed hats and long black satin coats walked briskly along with the Yemenites in flowing caftans, Kurds in colorful silks from the ritual bath to the synagogues. The chanting of prayers, the soulful songs rose beyond the synagogue windows. It occurred to Dovid that he hadn’t been inside a
shul
since he’d first come to live in the Old City.

The sounds of prayer had faded, replaced by the warm smells of living, as Dovid and Reuven climbed the flight of stairs to Raizel’s apartment. Just before knocking, Dovid looked at Reuven and smiled. “You forgot to bring the halvah.”

Reuven hit himself on the forehead, “How dumb. Wait, I’ll run and get it…”

Breathless by the time he got back to the head of the stairs, he said, “I think it’s melting.”

“It’s better when the oil comes to the surface. Besides, it won’t be kosher enough for your uncle, but Aunt Raizel will be glad to accept it.”

Their knock was soon answered, and when Raizel saw Reuven, she could only say delightedly, “I
knew
you were coming today, your letter … but you didn’t say what time … oh, I’m so happy to see you, Reuven. Come in, come in.”

Inside the sparsely furnished living room Reuven said, a bit awkwardly, “Here, I have this for you, Aunt Raizel.”

Raizel looked at the wrapping, and knew it was halvah. She also knew Lazarus would never eat it, God only knew if it was kosher … “That’s very nice of you, Reuven. Thank you. Dovid, how are you? I’m so excited—”

“I’m fine, Raizel.”

“We have so much to talk about, but, later, later … now I’ll just look at the chickens in the oven…”

After Raizel left them Reuven asked, “What does Uncle Lazarus do for a living?”

Dovid felt like saying, As little as possible, but he answered, “He has two jobs. He’s a
shammas
in his
shul
and he also teaches at a yeshiva.”