DISOWNED (8 page)

"My shoes aren't ugly."

   "Very ugly. And in this new world, you'll learn other things too. Things you never even imagined possible".

   "I don't want it daddy."

"How do you know? You never had a chance to know. You can't make a choice if you don't know. You're smart too. It's wasted here.  Wasted."

Rivkah puts both hands over her ears.

   "Take your hands down, Bekkie. There are things to learn!"

"But do they matter, daddy?" 

The words of her grandmother come to her vividly.  "Or, will they make me rotten and sick, just like the other daughters?"

"What?"

   "Will they make me twisted?"

   Henry bolts up straighter, amazed. "Your grandma told you that? She is the one who is twisted."

   "She isn't."

   Despite themselves, a link has grown between Rivkah and her grandmother, a link forged from the centuries, and from hours together in her white kitchen.

   "Grandma's other daughters are rotten and sick. They've forgotten everything."

"Brainwashed," he murmurs.

"Daddy, daddy," Rivkah cries out, with a sudden force that stuns them both, "if you take me out of Yeshiva, who is going to hold the entire Jewish people up?"

   At that he gets up from her bedside. “They’re not getting you. Not you. Believe me. Over my dead body! You're My daughter, Bekkie. You belong to me. There's got to be someone in this family who is on my side. Just one!" 

   "And what side is that, exactly?"

   He stops and looks into the distance. "What side? I despise them all."

Rivkah can see worlds flicker back and forth in front of her father's eyes. He sees his father, sitting and learning Torah all day long. He sees the men he knows at work, downtown. Men who love natural women. Then he sees the Rabbis on these blocks, running back and forth to synagogue praying and learning about a world he despises, that has no room in it for the likes of him.

   "I will always despise them."

"They are men of learning."

   "And what good does all their learning do? What difference does it make? They're not kind, Bekkie. Not to me."

 And then, from nowhere, in front of her eyes, he breaks down sobbing like a lost little child.

    Rivkah flinches and reaches out to hold him. She wants so much to hold him and comfort him, but then she realizes in a flashing moment, she can't do it. She has her period. It is forbidden for her to touch a man!

   "Daddy, forgive me, I love you."

   He reaches for her, and she gives him her hand.  Then just as quickly she pulls it back. 

   "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I can't touch you, daddy! I'm Niddah. It's not allowed!"

***

"God will forgive us if we let him," Rivkah's grandmother says from out of nowhere late one chilly afternoon. 

It is the middle of autumn now and the days are getting darker sooner.  More and more on these late afternoons, her grandmother just sits on her wooden chair in the kitchen and talks to herself.

   Rivkah is busy scraping carrots. The little orange scrapings gather in a small heap in the bowl. 

   "What did you say, grandma?"

   "I'm not talking to you," Devorah answers, a little absent mindedly.

"Who are you talking to then?"

 No answer comes.

 "Who? Tell me."

 "You want to know everything," her grandmother perks up for a moment. "But there are things you are not allowed to know."

    Rivkah goes back to the carrots she is peeling. In a little while her grandmother starts murmuring again. Rivkah stops peeling and turns around. Devorah is staring into the distance, her lips moving silently to herself.

   "Who are you talking to?"

"Everyone. The whole family.  They're coming to me these days."

    A shudder passes through Rivkah. "Who?"

"My mamma is coming with a beautiful dress on, just like she used to wear for Sabbath. It's ivory silk, with a lace collar."

 Rivkah puts the carrot peeler down. "Your mamma has been dead a long time, grandma."

   "Dead or not, still she's coming to me."

    "Grandma! Go lie down!"

 "Silly, you think she is dead, but what do you know? No one dies forever. It just looks that way for a little while."

"You're over tired, grandma!"

"You go back to the peeling and don't judge me."

   "I'm not judging you."

   "Of course you are. Go back to the peeling. Right now."

 But Rivkah can't. Her hands shake as she tries to peel what is left of the bunch of fat orange carrots.

   "My father is coming too," her grandmother says later on that afternoon. "He was a great scholar, Rivkah, the greatest sage in all of Vladivostok. Just look how his eyes are shining

now! He's still wearing his silk tallis. He says he never takes it off."

   Rivkah's hands go limp. Where is he, she wonders? She turns quickly to see him, but is unable to. Nothing is there. Air, shadows, a little sun shining in through the kitchen curtains.

  "And look at that. Aunt Yennie is with him."

  "Grandma, go lie down and rest." It could be a little stroke, Rivkah thinks. Old people get sick and nobody realizes.

   "Rivkah, did I ever tell you, your aunt Yennie used to love to fast. She fasted for days. It didn't bother her. Whenever she fasted she saw wonderful things. Once she told me there was a garden on the other side, filled with happiness, with gardenias and lilacs. The people of her generation were really something. Nothing like the ones of today."

   "Grandma, please, go lie down!"

"You're interrupting!"

"Interrupting what?"

   "Leave me be. I'm just worried."

"About what?"

   "After I'm gone who will be left to hold our people together?"  This question tormented her deeply. More and more these days, it gripped her heart. While Rivkah was baking, cleaning, or just sitting beside her, she would turn to her swiftly and ask her, "who?"

   "Don't worry so much, grandma. God will provide for his people."

   "It's easy enough to say that. But it doesn't satisfy me. Before I go, I want to know definitely!"

   "Go lie down and rest."

   "I'll be lying down plenty when the time comes," Devorah breathes heavily then. A long sigh, that turns into a lament."And it's coming soon too. I'm telling you that."

   "Don't talk that way!"

"Why not?  What's the big problem?  It's coming soon, and that is that. When you're a religious person, if God loves you, when the time is coming, he lets you know.  Then you can get ready to meet him."

   "You don't have to get ready."

  "We all have to get ready. It's good to get ready," then she smiles. "Like we get ready for Sabbath each week. If you get ready for Sabbath like you're supposed to, then God tells you when it's time to get ready for other things too."

Rivkah's eyes fill with tears.

  "No crying for me either! Just take good care of my kitchen.  Do you hear?"

  "Yes."

   "Very good care. I'll be watching."

"I will."

   "If there's nobody left to hold up the whole Jewish people, then at least let me know, Rivkah, there's somebody left to keep my kitchen clean."

   This grandmother's kitchen is no small legacy either, Rivkah realizes right then. It is a room to grow into, a kitchen to remember, to take with you wherever you go. How can you forget the rigor of it, the tastes, smells, order, the incredible cleanliness? How can you forget the blessings it brings? 

People came back to this kitchen after weddings, circumcisions, funerals, shivas. A kitchen like this makes demands on you. But if you don't make use of it, who else can you blame for the hunger you feel?  And for the hunger of all of the wandering Jews?

   Two weeks later, at the end of November, with a cold wind outside and a light snow beginning to fall, Rivkah and her grandmother work silently together in the kitchen. Rivkah is putting some dishes away in the pantry when she suddenly hears Devorah call.

"Rivkah," the call comes from the bottom of the universe.

 A wild chill goes through Rivkah's every bone.  Without turning around, she knows what is coming.  "Don't go, grandma," she pleads.

   "I have to," Devorah barely mutters from somewhere else already, from some place deep within.

   Rivkah turns and runs to catch her grandmother who is swaying back and forth. Now the entire universe is turning, collapsing. A mighty earthquake is taking place.

"Grandma," Rivkah calls louder.

   Devorah falls into Rivkah's arms with the weight of a mountain coming down. Rivkah practically collapses under the shock of it, and then, like a small ant pulling a huge load behind it, pulls her grandmother onto the couch in the next room. 

By then Devorah's breathing is shallow. An enormous light is growing dim. Rivkah feels it as she holds her. The whole world is falling apart inside her arms.

Stretched out on the couch now, Devorah's breaths come further and further apart.

   "Pray for me," she gasps finally and then with an odd smile, opens her eyes wide.

Without any control, Rivkah starts praying, and puts her hand over her grandmother's face.

"Close your eyes, grandma."

   Her grandmother closes them.

Rivkah keeps praying, and holding her grandmother in her arms.

 It is almost nighttime before anyone else comes in. When her grandfather walks in, he lets out a piercing cry."Dubbie!"

   But by then, Rivkah can barely hear him. For hours she has been sitting in the middle of prayers that have been pouring by themselves from her lips.

   "Put her down, Rivkah."

By now the prayers themselves are praying Rivkah.

"Rivkah, do you hear me?  Put grandma down. Open your arms up."

Her grandfather Moshe comes over to her and pulls her arms open.  Then he lifts Rivkah off the couch.

"Walk."

Rivkah starts to walk slowly. Her feet are stiff and can't feel the ground.

   "I felt it coming," Moshe is sobbing and Rivkah can barely

make out what he says.

    "I felt it coming," he repeats more loudly, and he takes Rivkah's hand in his. "Walk now, Rivkah, walk stronger."

   Rivkah presses her feet harder down on the floor. The floor is still here. The room hasn't vanished.

"Go into the kitchen." 

   She looks up at him.

   "There's work to do there."

Moshe comes over closer for a moment. "She's gone, Rivkah."

   "I know."

   "Your grandmother left us." His eyes are staring off into space and then quickly, he gathers himself up. "All right, now it's up to you. Go into the kitchen. Start cooking. Hurry up, Rivkah. There's no one else left."

***

   Before long, all the mirrors are covered with white bed sheets, calls are made, the house is filled with daughters, sons, nieces, nephews, son in laws, friends, members of the congregation talking, crying, carrying food, dresses, shawls to wear at the funeral.  Men in black are huddled together in the corner praying.

The prayers will go on now for days and days.  A great light has left the world.

  And Rivkah, almost thirteen years old, is in charge of the food preparations. 

   "Thank God you are here, Rivkah," her grandfather murmurs. "Look at the daughters all in bed crying. From such a strong woman, such weak children! Why?"

   Rivkah's mother and aunts have all taken to bed and fainted several times already. The mourning will be intense.

   "Don't speak out against the dead," Rivkah answers softly. And Moshe knows that she is right.

A few hours later, Uncle Reb Bershky comes into the house for the evening prayers. Rivkah has not seen him for a long while.

Uncle Reb Bershky, she calls out inside, but he walks softly, eyes down, and barely notices she is there, he is too engrossed. He can barely hear her. All his prayers and thoughts are only with Devorah now. He is guiding her now to where she must go, and praying for God to be a merciful judge.

  "Uncle Reb Bershky, Uncle Reb Bershky," Rivkah calls out loud. 

Still he does not respond, and does not even notice that Rivkah may not be entirely ready to occupy this enormous kitchen yet. But who else knows exactly where every little thing belongs? And for the next seven days someone must handle it. There will be a tremendous amount of cooking and food preparations to be done.  There will be two prayer sessions daily in the house, and visitors arriving constantly to console the mourners and to share a meal. The entire neighborhood will soon be grieving. People will come and tell stories to each other of all her good deeds and words.

  "She was a mountain of courage," a little man, Shmuel, is even saying now, to no one in particular. "God should not leave us forlorn, without such a mountain of courage in our midst."

Another man, Bennie, chimes in. "Where do you find another like Dubbie? And what's going to happen to her kitchen now?"

   The big wooden door of this house opens and closes hundreds of times this week, as Rabbis, friends and neighbors come to honor Devorah. To speak well in her name.

   "She knew she was going," Rivkah says to her grandfather one evening as he comes into the kitchen for a moment to check on the food left in a pot.

He stops checking, and stares at Rivkah sadly. "She knew everything Rivkah. Remember, we men sit in Shul all day learning, but your grandmother, with all her cooking, was the one who kept the world strong. She was the one God really loved."

CHAPTER 8

The house is different with Devorah gone. It is empty, silent, and a strange chill roams through every room. Moshe spends more time at synagogue, and upstairs, Molly has taken to staying in bed until late in the afternoon.

Rivkah goes to school and comes home to a strange kind of loneliness. Devorah's kitchen is cold and silent. When Rivkah walks in it heats up a little, but the sadness in it does not go away.

   Sabbath at the house is different too. Now Rivkah is in charge of preparing the food downstairs and no one comes anymore. Moshe is invited out for Sabbath. He goes wherever they invite him, leaving Rivkah behind.