No Time for Tears (4 page)

But when she awoke after an unexpectedly peaceful sleep she found in the early dawn that the place next to her was empty, as empty as she now felt. And suddenly she was consumed with a different kind of fear … perhaps Dovid would never come back. What she had done by denying him gave him every right to have their marriage annulled. It was a sin for a wife to deny what rightfully belonged to her husband. All he would need do was submit his case to the rabbi, and according to Jewish law the marriage would cease to be. Quickly she dressed and nervously began the preparation for breakfast. As she rekindled the fire Moishe’s voice startled her.

“Where’s Dovid?” he asked.

“He … he had to repair a pair of boots for … for … Reb Bernstein. Now, no more questions. Get dressed and wash behind your ears.”

“Why didn’t he stay and eat?”

“I just told you. And I said no more questions. Do as I say.”

“Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry. Go wake up papa.”

Moishe shrugged. When Chavala was upset there was no use trying to speak to her.

She sewed furiously all day long, and as she pedaled she listened for the front door to open, praying that Dovid would come back and say how sorry he was for not understanding, at least give her a second chance. But even as she thought it she knew he would not. Day became dusk, and her stomach turned over and over. After feeding the family she filled a lunch pail of hot soup, put on her shawl and walked across the road to Dovid’s hovel. As she waited for him to open the door her warm breath steamed against the terribly cold air, but he did not answer her knock. Finally she called out “Dovid, I’m freezing, open the door.”

Still no response.

Frustrated, she pounded on the door, then kicked with her foot so hard that it throbbed. Finally the door opened. When she entered she found Dovid at his workbench, continuing to repair a boot without looking up. Well, at least she’d been honest with Moishe.

Trying to control her anger and frustration, now that she was here she didn’t know quite what to say. Dovid’s silence didn’t help. If only he’d say
something.
Trembling in the cold, somehow she found the courage to set aside her pride and say haltingly, “Dovid … I want … I’ve come to—” She had intended to say she was sorry, to apologize, but the words would not come. “Supper’s waiting for you.”

He continued to work, which wasn’t too surprising. She wanted to take his hammer and toss it out the window. “Dovid, I’m speaking to you.”

He ignored her.

“Come home, Dovid, I have supper—”

“I am home.”

“This is not your home anymore. We’re married and your place is with me.”

For the first time he looked up at her. “You should have remembered that last night I’m not your husband.”

“You’re acting like a stupid child—”

“Like a stupid child, you think? Well, I’ll show you how wrong you are.” In one swoop he lifted her up into his arms and went to his room. Dumping her on the wooden cot, he ripped the dress from her body, hurried out of his own clothes and pinned her against the thin straw mattress. “Now I’ll show you what a man is like.” Without another word he spread his long, strong legs over her.

After a muffled cry of pain Chavala lay quietly as Dovid thrust deeply. The intensity of her own passion came shockingly to her. All the desires of womanhood rushed through her. Now that he had made her aware of them, she wanted Dovid to hold her, love her as a woman ought to be loved, but instead he dressed and without a word went out of the room, then through the front door, which he slammed behind him.

She shook her head, and in spite of some annoyance lay back in a kind of languor. It was not so bad being a woman after all. Not so bad … Dovid leaving her side couldn’t take away from her what she was feeling. Besides, maybe he’d only done it as a gesture of consideration, leaving her alone with her new thoughts. Yes, she was happy she had chosen Dovid to be her husband. She knew he would come to her again. Such pleasures were not likely to be denied, to himself as well as her. And with such thoughts, she fell into a deep, sweet sleep….

She was startled when she woke up to find it was dark, and more disappointed than startled that Dovid was not at her side. Her former fantasies turned to misgivings. In her naiveté she had thought that Dovid would be consumed with the memory of what they had shared—which, naturally, would make it impossible for him to resist her. Dovid would be at her side, watching her sleep, waiting for her to wake up as he stroked her hair and kissed her lips. She wondered what his kisses would taste like … in the abrupt moments of discovery he hadn’t kissed her…. Feeling frustrated and incomplete, she dressed quickly … and noticing the missing buttons from her bodice she smiled in spite of herself, then blushed, remembering the way Dovid had undressed her. Covering her garment with her shawl, she left and crossed the road….

As the evening wore on and Dovid still did not come to her, all the fantasies slowly dimmed. Apparently making her a woman was a sign of his masculinity, not his ardor. Men and women were, no question, complicated. She really didn’t know Dovid at all. She would have sworn that what had happened between them would have brought them closer together, but she’d been wrong. All the affection he had shown her as they were growing up was the love that existed between children, not the love of a man and a woman. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she was convinced he’d agreed to marry her mostly out of the love he felt for her mother. Yes, that must be it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have left her as he had. No, Dovid did not love her, and down deep she silently wept…

Chavala’s reasoning, of course, could not have been more mistaken. When Dovid left her he walked in the deep snow until he could not go on. Full of guilt, he berated himself for violating Chavala—what a terrible thing to inflict on his wife. If Chavala went to the rabbi and told him she’d been raped, there would be no question that she could obtain a divorce. He hated himself for what he’d done. Now he lay on his cot in the dark room and he too had tears in his eyes. The only comfort he found was in a bottle of vodka, which he drank until he reached a state of oblivion….

After two days he woke up in a besotted state of confusion. The stubble of two days’ growth irritated his face, but his discomfort was slight compared to his deeper misery … Chavala would never forgive him, of that he was certain. Still, he loved her so, and the thought that he’d committed such an act was more than he could come to grips with. He got up unsteadily, put his head in a basin of cold water to try to wash away the remains of his stupor. Well, there was no debate any longer, he knew what had to be done. Pride was too expensive. He would beg, plead, do anything it took to try to redeem himself in Chavala’s eyes, to persuade her to forgive him. He slipped into his clothes and crossed the road.

Standing in front of Chavala’s door he paused before knocking. Then, finally, after taking a deep breath, he knocked. Too loud.

Chavala’s heart almost stopped beating when she heard the knock. Moishe was about to answer when Chavala stopped him.

“I’ll go,” she said nervously. Trying to control her breathing, she opened the door only a crack.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Their hopes were both the same, but nothing of them was revealed by the expressions on their faces.

Finally Dovid said, “Chavala, please come to my place. I want to talk to you.”

Her heart pounded. He was going to tell her they were through. Why else had he stayed away for two days? Divorce was a disgraceful thing and not to be taken lightly, but Dovid must have ultimately come to a decision.

Dovid waited outside in the freezing night as Chavala went to get her shawl.

When they got to his house she sat rigidly while he added the wooden sticks to the fire. He did not light the kerosene lamp. All the light in the room came from the fire glow.

After an intolerable silence they both spoke at the same time. “Dovid…” “Chavala…” Silence again.

Now Dovid tried again. “Chavala … don’t talk, let me finish … I know you don’t care for me … I guess I’ve always known, but for the sake of your dear mother, may she rest in peace, I ask for your forgiveness.”

Chavala was grateful for the dark. At least it kept Dovid from seeing the tiny crystal tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes. Words simply would not come.

Her silence was the answer Dovid had expected. He had lost her, no question about it. “I can’t blame you, Chavala, for how you feel. I won’t stand in your way. You’re free to do whatever you wish.” He wanted to die.

Almost too softly to be heard, she now said, “I want to be your wife, Dovid.” It took a moment for him to hear, to receive what she had said. And then with a kind of reverence he took her in arms and held her close. Slowly, her arms went around him, and together they went once again to his room, where at last they found the beauty of their honestly acknowledged feelings…

Chavala sat in the dimly lit kitchen with a darning basket in her lap. From time to time she would glance up and see the children surrounding Dovid as they sat at the kitchen table. More than once she pinched herself to see if it were real that he was her husband. She marveled at how blind she’d been about Dovid … how once she’d taken him for granted. Well, she now not only loved him, she was nearly in awe of him. Dovid was not only handsome, but his spirit and knowledge came like a shock to her. In spite of the fact she’d known him all her life, she’d really not known him at all. He had always been the young boy her mother protected … a cobbler, a neighbor. If not for the painful events that put them together, she would never have known how much she had missed. He had brought so much to them all. Even her father, Avrum, seemed more at peace. Since Dovid now provided for the family he could devote his time poring over his beloved books. Avrum felt God had sent Dovid, and he adored him as though he were his own son.

For the children, Dovid had opened up a world whose boundaries extended far beyond their small village. He excited and enchanted them. Until now their lives had been spent in the narrowness of learning psalms and commandments. Dovid explored the magnificent tapestry of their ancient heritage. He imbued them with a pride in who they were that went beyond tradition.

Moishe hung on every word as Dovid retold the stories of great and fierce warriors of ancient times, of how they had fought off every adversary, although they were outnumbered. The greatest of all stories was Masada, and the children sat in rapt silence, wide-eyed, listening to Dovid as he retold for them those heroic moments in history … After Jerusalem had fallen to the Romans, he began, a battle that cost them thousands and thousands of their legionnaires, a band of zealots formed. Ele’azar became their leader, a man made heroic by a cause he would die for. It was to Masada that the small band of Jews retreated to make their stand for liberty, for the faith. Masada, he went on, was a huge mountain that stood in the wilderness of the Judean hills, an immense rock built by King Herod the Great, who could not have foreseen at the time of his death that Masada had been created as a monument to God’s will. The zealots climbed thirteen hundred feet above the Dead Sea, and at the summit found a refuge. Below stood poised the mighty Roman legions. Imagine, defying the strength that was mighty, Imperial Rome … For three years and against the greatest odds they were able to hold off the Romans. When they finally realized the end was near and they could no longer hold out against their enemies, the leader Ele’azar brought all his tribes together and spoke to them. It was for them, each and every one, to decide whether they should live as slaves or die as free men. They chose to die. Ele’azar spoke to all who had fought so valiantly. Standing in the center he studied each face. For a long moment he searched his heart, and then without hesitation he said, “My loyal friends, you have followed me to this forsaken place knowing what would happen. That one day all this would end. That day is now. But we resolved that neither the Romans nor anyone else would we serve, that we would serve no man, only God. Once before we were spared and continued to exist until our shackles were taken from us. It was then that we made our exodus from Egypt. We have lived according to the laws of Moses, and now the time has come that bids us to reaffirm our love of God by the determination of our deeds. We have never willingly submitted to slavery even though we were cast into it We were the first of all men to revolt, and shall be the last to break off the struggle. I believe it is God who has given us this privilege, this choice. Life without freedom is darkness. Daybreak will bring an end to our existence, but we are still free to choose an honorable death with our loved ones. Our enemies cannot prevent that, no matter how much they try to take us alive.” Ele’azar paused, and once again looked at the faces he’d come to know and love. “Let our wives die unabused, our children without the knowledge of slavery. After that, we shall do for each other. But first, let our possessions, and the whole fortress, go up in flames. It will be a bitter blow to the Romans to find our dear ones beyond their reach, and nothing left for them to loot or plunder. Let us leave our store of food, to bear witness that we did not perish because of famine but because we resolved as one voice to choose death rather than slavery.”

When the inner wall had burned, Ele’azar gathered the ten men the community had chosen to decide. It was a signal for all to return to their homes, where they were to lie down. Of their free will husbands embraced wives and children, then offered their necks to the stroke from those whose lot it was to perform the task. When the ten had carried out their mission, they in turn lay down their lives, until the last remaining man thrust his sword deeply and fell with the rest of his brethren. The legend of Masada became a beacon of courage, Dovid concluded, an inspiration handed down through the ages to Jews everywhere.

In the dimly lit kitchen in Odessa, that small assembly kept unusually silent. Finally Dovid spoke again, looking at each of the children and finally at Chavala. “We must always remember this story. The watchword is,
Never again Masada.
It is our pledge.”