Shira (87 page)

Herbst’s thoughts about education were interrupted, and once again they settled on a subject I assumed he had already put out of mind. What had happened to him some time back happened that night. He lay in bed, seeing himself either with Shira in her new apartment or in the role of the man with the whip, walking with her, far away. Suddenly, an Arab approached her and did what he did. He himself had been hiding in a hollow, his eyes closed, so he wouldn’t see. He fell fast asleep, only to be startled by the bite of an animal or an insect. He tried to get up and escape, but the creature’s teeth were in his flesh. He was dripping blood and didn’t have the energy to defend himself, let alone get up and take flight. If not for Zahara, who knocked on the door and asked if he was up yet, he would have been late to his son’s circumcision.

Before I tell about this event, I should say that Herbst had announced in the newspaper that a son was born to him and his wife, giving the day, the hour, and the place of the
brit
, the ceremony that admits a male child to the covenant of our father Abraham. Actually, Herbst had considered putting an announcement in the paper as soon as the baby was born, but he reasoned: When I read in the paper that Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so announce the birth of a son, whether it says “announce” or “are happy to announce,” the information is of no interest to me; this is not the case when they announce that there will be a
brit
, at a given time and place, and invite their friends to come. I can see that they mean to ask me to take part in their celebration, so I figure out what the invitation has to do with me and whether or not I should go. Tamara had said, “I don’t understand these things, but, if you want to put an announcement in the newspaper, I assume you want to put it in
Ha’aretz
. Here we are, right near the office. We can stop in, if you like.” Herbst said, “But I still don’t know exactly when the
brit
will be. When I know the day and the hour, I’ll arrange it. Why make two announcements?”

Henrietta presented her husband with a healthy and sound son. Many of her acquaintances, who hadn’t seen her while she was pregnant, read on the front page of
Ha’aretz
, “Henrietta and Dr. Manfred Herbst are happy to announce the birth of a son,” and were surprised that such a smart woman, at such an age, had done such a thing. When they read the rest of the announcement – “Friends are invited to the ceremony admitting their son to the covenant of Abraham” – anyone who was not otherwise occupied decided to come. Some were dressed in holiday finery, others in everyday clothes. Some brought flowers for the new mother; some sent flowers by messenger, either to Hadassah Hospital or to the Herbst home.

The circumcision ceremony, or
brit
, as it is usually called, was like all such ceremonies performed in Jerusalem and in most of our cities. Men and women were gathered in one of the ugliest rooms of Hadassah Hospital, huddled together because the space was so tight. The room was bisected by two tables filled with all sorts of cakes – large ones, small ones, tall ones, short ones – in a variety of shapes, with white, red, and green icing. There were also tarts and cookies and other kinds of baked goods. Alongside the cakes and assorted confections was a row of bottles – wines, cognac, arrack, and other beverages, both sharp and sweet – adorned with seasonal flowers. Men and women who hadn’t seen each other for months were now in one place, eager to talk to one another. What often happens happened here: neighbors they saw every day kept interrupting them. But this was not a loss to everyone. You can often learn something new from a person you see every day.

Meanwhile, the
mohel
, who was to perform the circumcision, was preparing the instruments. He was a young man, a yeshiva student, skilled and expert at the job. At first, he used to perform this mitzvah for its own sake, without expecting a reward, in accordance with the age-old custom. In time, he began to consider it a skill, like any other, and charged a fee. He was of less than medium height, blond, with a tendency to plumpness, due to so many ceremonial feasts. His eyes were small, blue, and watery; his voice was slightly hoarse; his earlocks were curly, fluffy around the edges but for the most part pressed flat. He wore a clean white robe and a shiny black yarmulke. He did his job carefully, inspecting and testing the knife, the cotton, the alcohol, turning neither to the left nor to the right. But it was clear that he wished to be noticed. In fact, in his heart, he hoped that those doctors and professors, who made a point of scorning the Orthodox, were watching him and observing his hygienic procedures – unlike those of that old man, a partner in a contracting firm, who comes to perform a circumcision in plaster-stained work clothes, with a rag wrapped around an injured finger. Go and understand the workings of the mind! In Jerusalem, people are especially fond of this old man. A certain pediatrician says that, even with the dirty rag on his finger, he is more careful and more sanitary than all the other people who handle babies. The
mohel
finally turned to the crowd, inspected his fingernails in the light from the window, and inquired, disapprovingly, “Why are we putting off the mitzvah? Why not bring in the baby?”

A young nurse entered, carrying an infant enveloped in fine and delicate wrappings. Only the
mohel
noticed her. He shouted and cried out, “Welcome and many blessings.” He shouted and cried out, “Elijah, angel of the covenant…” Everyone turned and noticed the sweet nurse with the baby in her arms. They made way for her, and Tamara came and stood in front of the nurse, to protect her little brother from harm. The
mohel
elevated the knife, inspected it again in the light from the window, and told the
sandak
, whose job it was to hold the baby, exactly how to sit, how to position his knees, how and how and how. Like most people who perform a mitzvah for pay, the
mohel
made himself conspicuous, whether or not this was necessary. Since Herbst didn’t know he could have bestowed this honor on one of his guests, the
mohel
took it upon himself to recite the blessings over the wine. His voice was hoarse and hard on the ears, but most of the guests were attentive and gaped at this miracle worker, who recites prayers from memory as fluently as a cantor reading from the prayerbook.

After the circumcision, he handed the infant to his mother. All those who had come to the
brit
sat down at the brimming tables, ate, drank, and ate more. Tamara had prepared an enormous amount of food and drink, along with an assortment of things to smoke. After the first glass, the
mohel
wiped his mouth with an oddly rapid gesture, pounded on the table, and began to chant traditional verses in his hoarse voice. He then whispered something to Herbst. Herbst got up, left the room with him, and gave him the sum the nurse had suggested as payment for his services. The
mohel
demanded that he double it, arguing that he ought to be treated like a professor and paid on the same scale.

Book Four

Chapter one

T
hat same day, in the afternoon, Henrietta came home with her male child. After changing her clothes, she stood beside her son’s cradle. She studied the red, wrinkled face; the skull, oversized in proportion to the face; the little eyes, so blue in contrast to his white wrappings, and cooed at him, saying, “Now that we’re home, you are all mine. No one else has any right to you. Your father is a prophet. Before you were born, he foresaw that your mother would give birth to a male child, and his prophecy has been fulfilled. You are a male child, a man. A little man for now, but in time you will truly be a man.” That word, that concept, with all of its ramifications, amused Henrietta immeasurably and endlessly. Little by little, the amusement gave way to a sweet, delightful joy that soothed her soul. If I call it soul-felt joy, I think the phrase is apt.

Avraham-and-a-half came to congratulate Zahara’s mother and to take Zahara back to Ahinoam. Not because of Dani, who has already forgotten his mother and doesn’t mention her, who doesn’t need his mother, because there is good child care in Ahinoam, which makes mothers expendable. Nor did the economy suffer from Zahara’s absence, because Ahinoam’s lumber factory was so successful that a member with Zahara’s standing could be allowed to spend another day, and still another, away from Ahinoam. But it was Avraham who needed Zahara. He needed her, and he therefore constructed an entire philosophical scheme, roughly as follows: When a man takes a wife, he should avoid anything that suggests to him or to his wife that they can survive without each other.

So Avraham-and-a-half came to his wife in Jerusalem. He brought honey and cheese for the household, a snakeskin for his sister-in-law Sarah, and a lovely baby carriage made in the Ahinoam factory, a carriage made especially for Zahara’s little brother. The carriage is made of four panels, two long and two short, that can be taken apart and put together quite simply. Anyone who has seen fathers, mothers, and babies in Jerusalem on a Shabbat afternoon – the father carrying the baby in his arms because it is tired of lying in the carriage, while the struggling mother drags an empty carriage through the bumpy streets, filling the air with its shrill squeaks, collecting dirt from the road, along with dog and cat droppings – anyone who has seen this sight will appreciate a folding carriage made in segments that can be folded like the pages of book, with wheels that can also be separated from each other. It doesn’t require much imagination to see how smooth and comfortable Henrietta and Manfred’s walks with their little son will be. Apart from all the actual presents, Avraham brought regards from Dani, who instructed him to welcome his little uncle. He didn’t give explicit instructions, but, when Avraham went to kiss his son before leaving and told Dani that he was going to see Dani’s uncle, Dani had cried out, “Uncle, uncle,” referring not only to his uncle, but to his uncle’s mother as well. That’s really how it was, since he had also talked about “uncle’s grandma.”

Dr. Manfred Herbst’s house was full. In the crib was an infant, named Gabriel but called Gabi, because he was so small. His brother-in-law, Avraham-and-a-half, stood over him, trying to ascertain from the lines of his face just what he had in common with Dani. Henrietta was at his side, in all her fullness. If we didn’t know she gave birth nine days ago, we would think, from the fullness of her limbs and the fullness of her body, that she was about to deliver. Zahara was at Henrietta’s side, waiting for an opportunity to pick up her little brother. As soon as she saw her brother, her arms began to long for the infant. Father Manfred was wandering around at some distance from them. If I include Tamara, who went to her room, unable to tolerate this fetishism – meaning the worship of a tiny morsel of flesh known as Gabriel – then the entire Herbst family and its affiliate – meaning Zahara’s husband, Avraham-and-a-half – is accounted for. Herbst has expanded in every direction. He has generated four souls, augmented by two others: Henrietta at Manfred’s side and Avraham-and-a-half at Zahara’s side.

I’ll take the time to voice my opinion about all the members of the Herbst household, beginning with little Sarah and omitting Gabriel, whose existence is still limited to the space between his crib and his wetnurse’s bosom. Magicians, sorcerers, and fortune-tellers claim to be able to predict the future of such an infant. Those who judge by what they see can say about him only that he fills his mouth with milk, screams, cries, sleeps, wakes up, and fills the entire house with his screams. Henrietta and Zahara are impressed even by this; Herbst is impressed only when his son is quiet and doesn’t subject the ear to his shrieks.

I’ll get back to Sarah, which is where I began, though I won’t dwell on her. She is still small, and worries are remote from her mind. All one can say about her is that she is native to the land and true to its ways: her needs are minimal, and her concerns few. If she hurts a finger or upsets her stomach, by the time her mother provides a remedy, she is already cured. The sun that belongs to the Land of Israel loves those who live there and cures all of Sarah’s ills. Sarah put on a new dress and tore a hole in it. Her mother scolded her. She looked up at her mother with warm, astonished eyes, and pointed a finger at a patch of skin that poked through the hole, saying, “Mother, this is very much nice.” She means to say that the skin showing through the hole is nicer than the fabric the dress is made from. She sometimes says, “Mother, this is very much important.” I don’t know where she got this abstract phrase from. In any case, when it comes out of Sarah’s mouth, it is very concrete, and it unmistakably applies to skin and fabric. There are many other nice and important things to tell about her, but I’ll leave them for now and move on to Zahara and Tamara. I will add just one thing: whatever she sees in the sky and on the earth, indoors and out, makes her happy. A chicken crying, starlings flying, a turkey strutting, a young ram butting, a dog’s bark, cats’ eyes in the dark, a rooster’s cry, frogs leaping high, a bleating ewe, a cow’s soft moo, the wind’s force, a neighing horse, a porcupine’s bristles, a donkey eating thistles, a burning match, a firefly to catch, a butterfly just hatched – all these things make her thoroughly happy. As well as Mr. Sacharson, when he engages her in baby talk. Sacharson told us she once said to him, “You’re a grandpa, but you talk like a baby.” If you trust what he says, it’s possible that Sarah did say something of the sort. I will now turn to Zahara.

Zahara’s life is in very good order. She has no financial worries, nor does she have to worry about housing. She is a married woman and the mother of a child. If she doesn’t decide to follow the example of some of her friends, who leave their husbands for other men, the rest of her life will go well. Not many people are as kindhearted as Avraham. I have mentioned Avraham-and-a-half again and again in terms of spiritual qualities, such as devotion to Hebrew, integrity, and the like. Now I will mention some of his simpler qualities. I won’t mention them all, but I’ll single out one of them: devotion to the land, a positive quality that includes all others. He is attached to the land and to all that grows on it. You know that there is no higher value, because our entire community depends on agriculture, and, if not for the seductions of our time, it would be apparent to everyone that Israel’s salvation derives from the good Lord above and the earth below.