No Time for Tears (6 page)

When all the cooking was finally completed, and since Passover had fallen on Friday, at three in the afternoon Chavala went to the
mikvah…
.

At the precise moment of the setting sun the family was seated. At the head of the table papa sat in his armchair, surrounded by eiderdown pillows. To his right sat Dovid, Sheine next to him. The closeness to Dovid made Sheine’s pulse beat fast, this was a place she would rather not be. Sheine still lived with her dreadful secret … she was so much in love with Dovid that most of the time she could not even bear to be in his presence, and it was at those times, when he was near, that she was sullen and withdrawn. At nights she would lay awake and listen to the sounds of love beyond the hanging blanket, and out of fear that her sobs would be heard she buried her face in the pillow. To be so in love with her sister’s husband brought pain and shame to her heart. If only she could exchange her place at the table with Dvora, who sat next to her. But this was the way they had always been seated, with Moishe across the table near papa. Chavala stood at the other end of the table dressed in mama’s black silk with the white lace collar and the shawl over her head as she began the ritual of lighting the candles. But, despite herself, instead of listening to the inspired message of
Shabbes
, Sheine’s thoughts were displaced by envy. Mama had left Chavala the small diamond earrings because she had the good fortune of being the eldest. She also wore the pair of wide gold bracelets that had been Dovid’s mothers. Seeing how brightly they shone in the candlelight, Sheine thought Chavala looked like a queen tonight.
She
looked like the peasant she was. She bowed her head, not in reverence, but because the sight of Chavala with Dovid was too much for her.

The
seder
went on for hours, not a passage was deleted, not a song left unsung.

Avrum Rabinsky could have told the story of Passover without the aid of a Haggadah. It was a story burned into his mind, so that if he were blind it could still have come from his lips. Uncovering the matzohs and lifting up the plate for all to see, he recited, “This is the bread of affliction which our forefathers ate in the land of Egypt. All who are hungry come and celebrate the Passover with us. Now we are here, next year may we be in the land of Israel. Now we are slaves, next year may we be free men.”

Moishe looked across the table, where Dovid’s eyes met his and in both the message was clearly understood.

The plate was then put down and covered with a special fringed napkin and a second cup of wine was filled. It was Raizel’s privilege, being the youngest at the table, to ask the ancient four questions beginning with: “Why is this night different from all other nights?”

Although Avrum answered, Dovid added silently,
Because of Chavala, the blessing and joy she has brought to my existence is why tonight is different…

When the reaffirmation was proudly intoned by Avrum, “Next year in Jerusalem,” again Moishe and Dovid nodded.

Chavala, though, prayed that next year they would be in the land of the free and the home of the brave … America. The Jews of that great land of opportunity had no need to return to Russia, broken in body and many in spirit from the malaria-infested swamps of Palestine. For the sake of her father and her husband, and apparently now her brother Moishe too, she was thankful her thoughts could not be read.

She and Sheine removed the plates, then the cakes were brought to the table and Dvora served small bowls of fruit compote.

Avrum looked around the table at his children, especially the little one, and spoke silently to his Rivka. My dearest, you left me with so much, I weep that you cannot share this with me. Yet you are not far away. I know your spirit abides and is over us, and all the days of my life it will be so…

On Sunday Chavala prepared a platter of matzoh brei and when the sumptuous breakfast was over she left the kitchen chores to be done by the girls and returned to sewing while Dovid went back to his workbench.

The small village hummed with the excitement of market day. Sundays were always special. The women not only replenished their larders, but the square became a meeting place to exchange bits of gossip while their husbands attended to the affairs of earning a living.

The young yeshiva boys sat hunched over their Torah portions as their elders, dressed in their long black coats and wide beaver hats, debated the interpretation of the Law and Prophets.

In the stalls mothers visited while buying their briskets and beets to make borscht. Outside the children amused themselves with a stick and a ball. Nursing mothers with their babies at their breasts sat on a bench. The scene of this Sunday’s Passover afternoon was the same as it had been for a century past. It was a good day, a happy day for the Jews in their small village.

But for the Christians in the city of Odessa, there was quite a different drama being enacted. As the church bells pealed out, calling the faithful to worship, their religious fervor was forgotten as they sat in their pews. Dressed in his robes, the bearded priest looked out to his flock in a moment of silence, then began: “This is a tragic day. A terrible act has been perpetrated upon one of our beloved children. At dawn this morning an innocent child was found murdered at the very door of this holy place. We are civilized people who live for the brotherhood of man and the kingdom of heaven. We preach and teach love, but our words go unheeded. Who in this land could be so vile as to violate this angel? Who could be so perverse as to want the blood of this precious lamb? In the name of our Savior, the life of this maiden must be avenged.”

Before the priest had finished a hue and cry rang throughout the sanctuary. As one voice they called out, “KILL THE JEWS, KILL THE JEWS … DEATH TO THE JEWS!” The parishioners ran from the church, the women and children told to return home, the men gone to saddle their horses…

Moishe was returning home flushed with excitement as he felt the
kopeks
in his pocket. He had sold three pairs of boots today. He would keep only a small part for himself and the rest he would give to Dovid. Going up to the front door, he paused, then looked into the far distance. Coming down over the hills he saw the smoking torches and the galloping horses. An army of students had joined in the crusade. Although the shouting was still not distinct, he knew. He’d seen this and heard the words before. Quickly he went into the house and stood in front of Chavala… “Pogrom, pogrom…”

Chavala clutched her heart but told herself she mustn’t panic. If ever she needed her wits, it was now. She had Moishe come with her to the kitchen to open the trapdoor to the cellar, which was hidden beneath a heavy movable cupboard. After the two had managed to swing it open, she then went to summon her father. Without preamble—“They’re starting, papa… they have come to kill us.”

Taking his holy books, he obeyed.

When all the children were assembled, she sent them down. Dvora carried the canister of water, Sheine the matzohs, and Raizel the bottle of goat’s milk. They were back in Egypt. But here there was no Moses to lead them across the parted sea and drown their oppressors. Handing Moishe little Chia, Chavala said, “There, safety is in your hands, light the candles.” Then she paused and handed him the death pellets.

Moishe could only look at her, stunned.

“Remember Masada,” she told him.

“What about you, Chavala?” Moishe said.

“I’m going to Dovid. With God’s help we’ll join you.”

After she pushed back the cupboard with all her strength she started toward the front door but retreated back against the wall as the door crashed forward. And then her courage left her and in its place was terrible, stark fear. These, she knew, would be the last moments of her life. She stayed rooted to the floor, barely breathing. Her fears became even greater at the sounds of furniture being thrown against the wall. The most shattering sound of all was the crashing glass. They must have been in papa’s room and had evidently found nothing, because the footsteps of heavy boots were heard going into her sewing room. Mama’s diamond earrings, the gold bracelets Dovid had given her on their wedding day, the small diamond-and-amethyst brooch which had belonged to his grandmother. But the jewelry didn’t matter, she only prayed Dovid was hiding and safe. Until now Chavala considered calling on God’s help useless, but in this moment … “Please God, don’t let Dovid come home now, keep him safe, although I know I am unworthy, I beg you.” The rest of her pleas remained silent as she heard the clash of her sewing machine hurled against the wall. The bread they ate came from the toil of that machine. Hearing the screams and wailing beyond the confines of where she stood, she knew the wave of horror that had fallen over her people. They were being tortured and beaten, they were being dragged from their hiding places in cellars and garrets and put to death. Smoke rose up from the burning houses and the winds shifted so that she stuck a rag in her mouth for fear she would be heard choking.

Suddenly her fear left and in its place came an overwhelming hatred. How long would it be before this monster discovered her, not only her, but her precious family imprisoned beneath where she now stood? Mama hadn’t given her life so that the lives of her children should end in a massacre. If it meant dying, she would die. But not until she killed this crazy devil. Her eyes fell on the large butcher knife. Reaching for it, she inched her way along the wall until she stood to one side of her sewing room. She listened as her heart beat like a drum. It seemed too quiet. She peered through the crack of the wooden slats. His back was turned away from the entrance, and dear God, he was going through her sewing basket. Now he fondled the gold bracelets and put them in his pocket. Taking off her shoes, she walked softly into the room, and plunged the knife between his shoulder blades. As though in a daze, she picked up the metal leg that had been broken from the machine and with all her strength brought it down over his head. The body fell with such a thud that the flimsy floorboards shook. For a long moment he … it … quivered as the last breath of life was dissipated. Chavala stood trembling. She thought her legs would give way as she steadied herself against the wall. Looking down at the body, an even greater fear came over her … what if the devil should be found at this moment? Oh God, what had her vengeance brought down on the family? Why hadn’t she let him kill her? That she should even have committed an act so violent … but with all her overlapping fears, she brought herself up short … she had to deal with them as she had with this monster … Quickly she covered the body with rags and the debris he had created, mopped up the bloody floor and shut the door. She went back to the kitchen and sat at the table, holding her face in her hands. Dovid, where was Dovid? Once again, terror washed over her… Dovid was dead, she knew it. Nothing else would have kept him away. Should she go out and try to find her husband? But what about the ones huddled together below? She prayed Moishe would survive. He would be the only one to protect the family if anything happened to Dovid and her. As the confusion in her mind flew back and forth, she suddenly became aware of less and less noise in the village … was it possible that the wave of horror had ended? She was afraid to hope, yet it truly seemed to be abating. She listened. There was no more shouting of KILL THE JEWS. She looked at the cupboard, which covered the trapdoor, wondering why God had spared this house. She would never know the answer, but for the first time since her mother’s death, a rush of tears came down over Chavala’s face.

Unsteadily she got up from the kitchen table and walked past the closed door to her sewing room, past her father’s bedroom, in front of which lay the broken front door. She took a deep breath as she stood framed in the doorway, then without hesitation found herself standing against the wall on the front porch. Her shock was total. Most of the village was in flames. All she heard were the agonizing, mournful cries of the living. How had the Angel of Death passed over their house? Why had God singled them out to be saved? Why? And then the thought of Dovid rushed back to her, and she managed the strength to run across the road. All that she had feared was well-founded. Dovid lay on the floor in a pool of blood. His hands and ankles were bound with rope. His face had been battered almost beyond recognition. She knelt at his side. Drawing him to her she heard his shallow breathing. He was alive. Cradling him close to her as a child, she whispered, “My dearest Dovid, don’t die. Don’t leave me. I love you, dearest…”

Somewhere from the valley of his consciousness Dovid’s eyes fluttered. Still, he knew he was dead. Chavala was, too. They were together. But if he was dead why was the pain so great? Did one suffer in death as in life? Chavala’s sweet voice soothed him…

“My darling, I’ll be back in a little while and we’ll take you home. Do you hear me, dearest?”

His eyes fluttered yes, and she gently put the pillow beneath his head, covered him with a blanket and put a cup of water to his lips. They were too swollen to take it. Kissing him, she left and ran across the road.

When the family came up from out of the darkness and saw Chavala, they clung to her, and as though with wings of an eagle she embraced them all and tried to quiet their fears. She poured mugs of milk when they sat at the table and put out the sponge cake. After they had finished she told Sheine to go across the road to Dovid and watch over him, then motioned to her brother to follow her.

Inside her sewing room she tore away the rags and exposed the … creature.

Moishe stood back in horror, looking at the huge butcher knife now dried with blood.

“What
happened?
”

Chavala explained with as little detail as possible. There was so much to be done.

“If he’s found here we know what will happen. He must be buried so deep that the dogs will not be able to sniff him out Start the digging near the cherry tree while I wrap him up in rags. Then I’ll help you.”

When the digging was finished Chavala poured alcohol over the body and the two of them dragged him to the small orchard and watched as he tumbled down the six feet. After the burial was finished they stood back, breathing hard.