DISOWNED (9 page)

"Good riddance to all of them," Henry says as Moshe leaves on Friday evenings. "What a

relief! Now the house is ours. We can do whatever we want." Then he turns on the radio loud. 

Rivkah runs downstairs and sits alone in her grandmother's kitchen, eating her Shabbos meal by herself and wondering where Devorah is now? How is she doing? Has she been found worthy in God's eyes?

   "Come up and eat with us, Bekkie," Henry calls down to her from upstairs.

But how can Rivkah eat upstairs? There is no Sabbath there anymore.  And downstairs too, it isn't really Sabbath, not the kind Rivkah longs for. Her grandfather is at other homes, being introduced to all the widows. It is expected that he will re-marry fast, as it is not good for a man to be alone.

Molly cries about it too. "Who knows who he'll bring in here to rule over me now?"

   "It's my turn, Molly," Henry cries out. "Me. I'm ruling now."

So, as the long, lonely Sabbath passes, Rivkah wanders around the streets alone, stopping for a moment here and there to listen in at different synagogues.

   "See, Bekkie," Henry delights in saying when she comes back upstairs after dark, "they're not kind to you either. Are they? There is nowhere you can go now!"

Rivkah turns on him in a flash. "Don't call me Bekkie." She stares at him harshly.

"What the hell are you staring at, Bekkie? Damn you. You're becoming like them. Damn you."

   "How can you say that?"

   "Since your grandmother died, you know what? You're turning into her under my eyes."

Worse things could happen, Rivkah thinks.

   "But I won't have it. Not in my house! If you're gonna be like her, you don't belong here. I'm not living with a religious woman."

Waves of disgust wash over her then. "You're right, I don't belong here," she starts. "And I don't belong on this block either. “

Henry stands up taller at that. "All right. Quiet."

 But Rivkah has been alone for too long and can't stop now just like that. "You want to know where I belong? To an ancient tribe of wandering Jews. Nomads we were, wandering in the desert."

   "If you don't stop now, I'm calling your mother."

   "Shepherds, homeless by nature, gathering in the tent to pray morning and night. To God only. Not to man!"

   "You're getting crazy. Soon you'll be completely lost."

   "But the Jews of old could never be lost, because we had nowhere special to go. Every place was special, just because we stopped there."

Henry goes close to her now and yells louder. "Bekkie! Grandma wouldn't want to see you like this."

   "How do you know what my grandmother wants?"

"All right then, right now I made up my mind. This is too much for you. I'm taking you out of Yeshiva."

"You're what?"

"Then you know what will happen? You'll become normal. That's what."

   "I'm taking her out, Molly," Henry growls later that night in the living room. From her bedroom Rivkah can see her mother and father. Molly, curled up on a chair, whimpers a little and says nothing. She's five months pregnant now. From out of nowhere, a new baby is coming along. After all these years.  Molly can't get over it. She rubs her stomach constantly, thoughtfully. It's a name for my mother, she thinks to herself.

Henry goes on now as though Molly were listening. "I'm taking Rivkah out of Yeshiva, I'm finding us a new house. We're moving out of here! Starting fresh."

Rivkah's heart stops flat inside of her. She gets up and walks to the living room door.

"Grandpa won't allow it."

   Henry looks up startled. "He has no say about it."

 "He'll never let you do that to me."

   "Oh no? You watch and see." Then he turns promptly to Molly.  "Molly, if it's between me and your father?"

Molly tosses her head a few times. "Do what you have to," she replies tautly.

Henry is entirely triumphant now. "It's about time you said that to me. About time."

***

   Very early the next morning before she leaves for school, Rivkah runs downstairs to her grandfather. "Grandpa, Moshe," she bangs on the door loud.

   He comes quickly. "What's the matter?"

"Let me in. Open the door, grandpa."

   "What's the matter with you?"

"Open it wider! Let me in."

   "I can't. I'm not allowed."

   Then Rivkah hears Henry coming heavily down the stairs.

   "What's going on, Henry?" Moshe steps out into the hallway.

   "It's all over, Moshe." 

"What?"

   "I'm in charge and you're not! This is my family."

Moshe closes his eyes and starts humming, a little melody they sing when they study the Talmud.

   "Hum all you want. I'm in charge, Moshe."

"Only God is in charge." Ever so slightly Moshe opens his eyes.

"Don't give me that." Henry's hand clenches into a fist. "I'm taking Rivkah out of Yeshiva."

For a flashing moment Moshe gasps. He grows pale and Rivkah's knees buckle.

   "You can't let him do that, grandpa."

   "I'm making her normal."

   "Dogs bark when the wind blows," Moshe replies to no one at all.

   "You think I care about your stupid phrases? “says Henry.

   "Grandpa, don't let him do it to me!"

Moshe tilts his head, and looks past the two of them, up over their heads and through the tiny windows that line the hallway, to the street.  His white hand lifts for a moment and then falls back, limp like a pale leaf, to his side. "You are making a very great mistake Henry."

Henry is silenced for a moment. Then he re-coups himself. “I’m not asking your advice."

"Aren't you?" Moshe looks at him directly. With his piercing blue eyes, he stares through Henry, deep into his soul.

   "No, I'm not."

"Then there's nothing further I can say."

Rivkah starts to breathe quickly. "Of course you can! Tell him what grandma would have said. Tell him it can't be allowed."

   Moshe faces Rivkah directly. "Your grandma is gone. Nothing lasts. God sends different tests to everyone."

"Please. I'm begging."

   "I didn't make the world this way."

   Cold, white ice pours through Rivkah's heart and mind.

   "This is your test. It's your lesson. Each soul needs its own repair. From this you must grow stronger."

   "Don't desert me, grandpa!"

   "I never desert anybody! I pray for each Jew every day. We are all in the exile. Not just you. There's nothing else I can do. We're forbidden to interfere with God's will."

   But even as he is speaking, Rivkah turns her back to him now. “I’ll always hate you for this," she whispers loudly to her father.

   "Someday you won't hate me. You'll see I meant the best for you."

   "It's not true," Moshe breathes softly. "You don't mean the best for her. Do you?"

***

About two weeks later, very early in the morning, Henry stops Rivkah at the door before she leaves for school.

   "This is your last day at Yeshiva," he says. "Say good-bye to the people there."

   Terror washes through Rivkah like a merciless storm coming over a hill.

Rivkah goes to school as if nothing is happening and acts as if it were a normal day. She does not say good-bye to anyone at the end of the day, and no one says good-bye to her either.

Just as she is walking out of the door at the very end of the afternoon, the principal comes out of her room for a moment, walks over to Rivkah and touches her arm ever so lightly.

   "Rivkah," she says and looks at her with pools of pain in her eyes.

   "Yes?"

   "You were a wonderful student, Rivkah. Try not to forget." Then the principal leans over for a minute, kisses her on the head, and goes back into her office and shuts the door.

Rivkah walks out onto the street and very, very slowly takes her usual route back home.

The next morning Henry wakes Rivkah up early with a short blue skirt in his hands for her to wear.  She won't put it on.

   "We're going somewhere new today."

"No."

"You have no choice about it."

"I won't put this on."

 "Then wear what you want to."

After she has dressed, he comes and drags her by the hand to the big, brick public school, about half a mile away. What have I done, Rivkah wonders, for this to happen? Maybe already God has not found me worthy in his eyes.

The public school is a huge, dark building with metal staircases and long banisters along the stairs. There is wrought iron grill work alongside of the stairways and monitors stationed on the landings. Just like a prison, Rivkah thinks, as she and her father slowly climb the stairs.

   "The principal is expecting us," Henry whispers as they climb higher and higher.

   "Where are we?" Rivkah can barely speak. It is dirty and noisy with all kinds of kids, boys and girls running around and yelling out to each other.

"You'll get used to it. It's the real world here."

At that moment Rivkah loathes him deeply.

   Then they stop at the third floor, at the principal's office. She is a tall, gaunt woman with thin blonde hair.

   "This is Miss O'Reilly," Henry introduces them, and MissO'Reilly smiles at Henry fondly. A little too fondly, Rivkah notices. Miss O'Reilly is wearing a strong perfume and Rivkah

will not look her straight in the eye.

   "It's all right," Miss O'Reilly says sweetly to Henry, "some children are shy in the beginning. You can go now. Leave her with me. After all, she has to make an adjustment."

"Bekkie," he holds his hand out for a moment, "I'm doing it for you. Someday you'll thank me." But then swiftly, he turns on his heel and walks away.  He doesn't look back and Rivkah doesn't look forward. She stands there frozen at Miss O'Reilly's side.

   "Give me your hand, dear," Miss O'Reilly offers, but Rivkah cannot extend her hand. She looks down and just follows this odd, tall, lanky woman down the corridor to her new classroom.

   Bells ring out as they walk down the hallway. They have a hard metallic sound like the bells of a prison. No sounds of praying here, no ancient, soothing melodies.

   Rivkah is taken to a classroom along the long, dark hallway.
 
It is Miss Morgan's room. Eighth grade.

"There is a new child in our classroom," Miss Morgan announces in a high, official tone. "Her name is Bekkie. She has come to us from another school."

   Rivkah hears Miss Morgan call out the name Bekkie, and will not take it in. It is not my name, she thinks.  And this is the last thing she thinks before the great silence descends upon her. It descends from within and beyond, encompassing her completely, holding her, and with kindness, wrapping her up in its arms.

   When Miss Morgan calls upon her a little later, Rivkah does not respond. Now her language and name have been taken from her. For all intents and purposes, she is gone.

  Now Rivkah learns the great art of sitting in a room with others and disappearing inside herself. She disappears inside memories, prayers, and pages of Torah that have been left engraved upon her heart. They can't take these away from me, she realizes. No matter where I am.

They say the sins of the fathers are visited upon the heads of the children for five generations. As the days and weeks go by and Rivkah sits in silence, it strikes her occasionally that she is sitting here in this public school now, in exile for every single Jew.

"Tell us your name dear," Miss Morgan tries to speak with her from time to time.

But only silence pours from her now. And as she sits in the classroom and looks through the windows, she realizes her grandfather is right. She is learning a lesson. That even if God is with her, at the same time she is still fundamentally alone.

After two months or so have passed in this manner, Moshe stops her on the street one day as she is coming home from school.

Rivkah will not look at him. She hardly sees him anymore anyway. Most of the time he is with Helen, the new woman he is planning to marry.

   "Rivkah. Stop a minute."

  She stops, stands there, and looks to the side.

   "This not speaking, Rivkah, is a great sin."

   In a way now, he seems foolish.

   "You are not allowed to afflict yourself, or separate yourself from other people."

Allowed, not allowed. Silly.

"You must accept whatever God sends you. He has sent our people much worse things than this."

Rivkah’s silence begins to agitate him.

"What would your grandmother say about this?"

She scrapes the pavement with the bottom of her foot.

"Do you want to see your Uncle Reb Bershky?" Moshe's voice takes on an odd, pleading tone.

   Inside, she starts laughing.

   "Answer me."

   Her laughing grows darker. 

   Moshe's hands start to tremble. "You're wrong not to answer! You're wrong not to speak! What are you thinking of in those wild eyes?"

  **

   "She'll speak when she's ready," Rivkah hears Moshe tells Molly later that afternoon. "And when she does, God help us. Who knows what she'll say?"