A Life Worth Living (24 page)

Gaby turned back around to see what her mother would say. Her mother covering her hair drove Gaby crazy. It felt like a symbol of allegiance to her father, something that man definitely didn’t deserve, but she had stopped bothering her mother about it a while ago. It was her mother’s life; she could do what she wanted with it, including covering her hair. But why on earth would someone do that if they didn’t have to?

Mrs. Kupfer patted her scarf as if she forgot she was wearing it. Then she shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “There are many reasons why women cover their hair after they get divorced, but the reason why I do it is because even though I may not be a wife, I’m still a mother. If people see me with my hair uncovered and without a ring on my finger, they’ll think I’m a single lady without children.” She paused for a minute, and then said quietly, looking down at her novel, “My children are everything to me.”

Gaby stood still, the knife in her hand. Her mother caught her eye and gave her a half-smile. Gaby tried to smile back, and whispered, “Oh, Mommy.” She almost went over to give her a hug, but she hadn’t done that in years. Besides, Shira was sitting right there, nodding sagely.

The boys walked in just then, and Gaby quickly adjusted herself and put a smile on her face to greet them properly, just as she imagined, whenever she actually considered the possibility of having a religious home of her own one day, she would greet her husband when he came home from shul. Then, also just as she imagined, she put everyone to work finishing the salads and preparing the fish and setting the table.

Hillel poured the wine into the plastic cup they were using as a
becher
and began to sing
shalom aleichem
, welcoming the
shabbat
angels into the house. Gaby sat next to him, filled to the brim with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

Rafi, her mother, and Shira sat with Hillel and Gaby around the table that was covered with fresh salads and dips, singing the ancient hymn, while the food warming in the oven filled the house with savory scents. From the windows, the reflections of her family winked back at her, and she knew that the hills of
Jerusalem were just behind the glass.

She breathed deeply, feeling her lungs expand with air and happiness. Although she knew that later, when she would tell Shira how she felt, Shira would laugh at her, there was no denying it.

This finally felt like home.

This novel is based on many of my experiences in
Israel. It is a country filled with fascinating people, incredible energy, delicious food, and the sense that history is not just under your feet, but being made every day.

Shiloh
is a wonderful, warm community. I spent a lot of time there when I was a teenager in Israel, and the communal feeling of family and relaxed lifestyle made a deep impression on me. Learn more about the community
here
.

Military enlistment is mandatory for all Israeli boys and girls. Many volunteers come from overseas to partake in the cultural experience of either the army or national service. Read more
here
about serving in the Israeli Defense Force and lone soldiers.

I may not have portrayed the kibbutz lifestyle so favorably, but nevertheless, I highly recommend checking out
this link
or to visit one yourself on your next trip to
Israel. I spent six weeks on a kibbutz in the summer of 2001, and although I was too immature to appreciate it, it was a very cool experience in retrospect.

Yad Vashem is
Israel’s world-renowned Holocaust Museum. The administrative offices are located at the site, but for the purpose of story, I separated them. The recovery project is a monumental project that was recently inducted into the UNESCO registry. For the novel, I took the liberty of fictionalizing Gaby’s job description. Read more about the arduous, awe-inspiring work Yad Vashem does
here
.

My great-aunt Lee Rubin was a phenomenal, brilliant woman who passed away in 2002 and is sorely missed. Everything I wrote about her is factual, and is based on my memories of her and the reminiscing of her sisters, Dotty Stein, Simi Strum, and Mickey Smith. The one exception is the story about the boy who lost his shoe on the train, which I overheard in conversation and falsely attributed to her.

When I came upon the story that a large number of descendants of Nazis converted to Judaism, I knew I had to include it in my story. It is rumored that close to three hundred Germans have done so. Read more about this astonishing story at
aish.com
.

A huge thank you goes out to my many supporters who helped me fund this book, among them: Sora Moss, Miriam Goldblatt, Iris Baumgarten, Shaindy Gross, Shulamis Soffer, Tina Imani, Nillie Goldman, MaaYanky Davis & Co, Ben & Abby Feferman, and last but never least, my ever-suffering husband who is always there whenever I ask. Thank you, Jacob.

A special shout-out to my niece, Eliana Goldblatt, who volunteered to proof-read my book one more time. That’s dedication.

I would love to hear what you thought of the book. Please write a review, and let me know what you think!

Pnina Baim

Brooklyn
, New York