Jerusalem Maiden (9 page)

Even if no one except Ruthi had taken notice of Esther's twelfth birthday—she had given her a red candy—surely God remembered and would walk her through His invisible arc of glory into adulthood. Somehow, He would show her the way to becoming the artist He had created her to be. Esther swiveled to feel the luxury of her new dress, then peeked in the book-size looking glass affixed in the coat-and-hat stand. Sleek with olive oil, her raven-black hair was parted in the center and draped over her ears into a braid.

Hanna's voice broke from outside, “Esther,
Nu?
We're waiting!”

Esther withdrew from her pocket the wrapper from the red candy. With the tips of her fingers, she scraped off the sticky red substance and dabbed it on her cheeks. A healthy glow appeared on her skin, and the whites of her eyes shone brighter. She had never noticed how long and lovely her neck was until now that the blue-and-copper petals at the collar of her new dress framed it. She was pretty!

But conceit was a sin. And to aggravate it, the image of Pierre on the monastery wall against the clear sky flashed through her mind. Her breath caught. Aghast, she turned away from the looking glass.

Ima called from the communal yard. “
Nu?
You're waiting for the Messiah?”

“Coming!” Esther dashed through the kitchen and felt the luscious fabric of her dress against her legs. The rush of air flared the fire in the three oilcan stoves. The coals would be burning through the Shabbat, keeping the large covered pots on top warm for the festive dinner later and the noon meal the next day. Esther halted at the door, careful not to slam it behind her, also a forbidden act; Shabbat the Queen deserved to be honored by avoiding any exertion. Now that she'd reached her mitzvah age, she must press upon Hashem how deserving she was of His special attention by being vigilant.
Just don't make my monthly flow start,
she prayed.

She caught up with Aba, who was pulling ahead in his Shabbat walk, his hands held behind his back to slow down the stride of his long legs. “Shabbat Shalom,” he said, not stopping his modulated pace. He wore his calf-length black satin Shabbat coat and a large black hat over his skullcap. With his red beard brushed down to his chest, he was the most handsome man in the neighborhood. Not that anyone would ever speak of a man's handsomeness. Aba and Ima never walked side by side as men and women did in Paris. In her brown Shabbat dress, head covered with a white kerchief made of silk as befitting a woman of her social standing, the stout Ima looked like a miniature Mount Hermon with its snowy peak. Esther vowed she would never thicken like Ima. She'd remain as svelte as Mlle Thibaux.

“Aba, I'll tell you a secret,” Esther said, her voice low. “Promise you won't reveal that it came from me.”

His brows rose in question as he nodded.

“Asher, Tova's Asher.” Esther bit her lip. “He's befriended a monk.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“When and where?”

She forced a casual shrug. “In one of my walks.”

“He should know better than to speak to a girl of marriageable age.”

I
n the synagogue, a lace curtain blocked off the women's balcony from the men's section. Esther could barely make out the tops of the men's heads below. Past them stood the
bima
, where the Holy Ark housed the sacred, silverencased scriptures. As the men
dovened
, some women kept open
siddurs
on their laps, but since tradition did not require their participation—or even attention—they chattered. Babies whined and young children jumped in and out of their seats.

Esther bent toward the railing, cupping her ears to catch the cantor's chants drifting upward through the din. Down there, men achieved closeness to God through the proximity to the Holy Ark. Her heart broadened with pride as Avram faced the congregation at the
bima
alongside Aba, the rabbi and the cantor. The empty velvet
tallit
bag she had embroidered for him lay on a chair behind him.

Next to her, Ima pressed forward and gestured to the women. “Shhhhh-shhhhh. It's Avram's turn.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Such an
eeluy
, our Avram.”

Ruthi whispered on Esther's other side. “You see? Aren't we lucky that we don't have to stand there in front of everyone? I'd hate it.”

Esther nodded. She'd be too shy, too. But in her head, she recited the
parashah
Avram was reading. God heard her, too, His daughter entering her mitzvah age in the remote women's section.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Ima handed Esther her own damp handkerchief, apparently mistaking her daughter's sadness for her own happiness.

T
he oil chandelier shone brightly, its six flames casting yellow light on the twin rows of backless benches brought from the synagogue into the Kaminskys' front room. Four of Ima's and Aba's siblings and their children were joined by the two yeshiva
boochers
who had no local family and by one
tzedakah
case, a welfare family suffering from the loss of its breadwinner. Tomorrow, for the Shabbat midday meal, forty more people would dine here. Then, at night, after the men concluded their Havdalah prayers to mark the Shabbat's departure, they would come from the synagogue and chant the wordless incantations of
nigunim
while consuming the rest of the sweets. Esther gathered the wax drippings from the candles and molded them into a ball. Saved over several weeks, it would be enough for a
yortzeit
candle, to commemorate the anniversary of a relative's death. Her fingers kneaded the wax as she circled a second table at the doorway to the kitchen, set for the children; they could sit down only after the dishes were all brought out. Before she knew it, a white wax dove nestled in her palm.

“What are you doing?” Hanna whispered in horror. “It's labor on Shabbat!”

“And our serving food on Shabbat isn't?” Esther squeezed the bird back into a ball, and to be certain she didn't offend God with her impertinence, she offered a silent prayer:
Forgive me for breaking your Fourth Commandment.
But when she stepped into the kitchen, where the women doled out tiny portions of food onto plates, she couldn't help feeling elated that the dove had turned out so well. She carried the minute delight into sprinkling the plates with chopped parsley, cumin and wild dill and held on to it when she distributed the plates around the long table, even though no one commented on her decoration.

Avram joined Aba at one end of the table in a symbolic rest, reclining on all the pillows in the house.

“Jews don't keep the Shabbat; the Shabbat keeps the Jews.” Aba summoned the half dozen youngest boys. “It took Hashem six days to create the world, then He rested on the seventh. Resting on Shabbat was so important that He decreed it the Fourth Commandment. Therefore, we're receiving Shabbat the Queen with lighted candles, enjoyments, beautiful clothes and a house embellished with many fine appointments.” Aba's hand swept the room expansively. “Who can tell me: What did the wife of Rabbi Meyer do to honor the Shabbat?”

Miriam piped in from the kitchen door, “When her two children died on Shabbat, she didn't tell her husband in order not to disturb him.”

“That's right.” Aba waved at her and told the boys, “Shame on you for letting a girl beat you with knowledge.”

Aba's approval brought color to Miriam's sallow face. Esther kissed her cheek with pride and took the heavy tray from her hands to serve the men. Eavesdropping on their conversation was far more interesting than the women's chat. The men were discussing the problem of Jewish men who avoided the Ottoman military conscription and hid in distant Jewish neighborhoods, putting everyone at risk.

“Hashem should also protect the new arrivals from Germany.” Aba stroked his beard. “With their light skin and European clothes, they stand out. Not only do the Turks abduct them in the street, they even raid their homes.”

“They should pay for protection, as we do.”

Esther's hands tightened around her tray. Pierre looked European, and with his impetuousness, he'd walk right into the Turks' arms, thinking it an adventure. For a split second, she saw herself as Deborah the Judge, who had saved her people. Esther would go straight to the Ottoman governor—

“The Ashkenazis should unite with the Sepharadis on this problem,” said Aba's brother, Zvi-Hirsh.

“The Sepharadi Jews originated in Spain or Arab countries. Why do you think they live apart and pray in their own synagogues? Because they want to keep their good connections with the Ottomans to themselves,” replied Tova's husband.

Aba broke the discussion to call everyone to order. “Let Shabbat the Queen descend upon this table with all her glory.” Ima sat down, and her face emptied of all concerns. Her fingers, resting in her lap, seemed translucent, like lizards soaked in water. The young women helped the horde of children take their seats before settling at the other end of the table deep into the bedroom, as
tzni'ut
required.

Calm settled over the room. Aba opened with chanting the kiddush: “
Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. And on the seventh day Adonai ended His work that He had made; and He rested on the seventh day from all his work. . . .”

Tova's husband blessed the wine, but tonight, the honor of blessing the challah went to Avram. As tradition required that the braided soft bread not be cut with a knife, he broke it into pieces to symbolize the sacrifice in Temple times, and passed them around for all to partake.

His warm eyes on Ima, who was seated closest to the kitchen door, Aba said, “It is our duty every Friday night to recite the psalm of the Woman of Valor from the Book of Proverbs in honor of the queen of this home.” He launched into the twenty-two Hebrew verses arranged alphabetically:

A woman of valor, who can find? Far beyond pearls is her value.

Her husband's heart trusts in her and he shall lack no fortune.

She repays his good, but never his harm, all the days of her life.

She seeks out wool and linen, and her hands work willingly,

She rises while it is still nighttime, and gives food to her household and her maids.

She considers a field and buys it; from the fruit of her handiwork she plants a vineyard.

Ima's eyes sparkled with the flickering of Shabbat candles. Her wide smile revealed her crooked tooth. She nodded to her guests as if she were Shabbat the Queen taking her bows.

Bedspreads she makes herself; linen and purple wool are her clothing.

She anticipates the needs of her household, and the bread of idleness she does not eat.

Many daughters have attained valor, but you have surpassed them all.

False is grace, and vain is beauty; a God-fearing woman, she should be praised.

Esther admired anew the poetry of the words. But how could any woman be a Woman of Valor? Even Ima wasn't a merchant and a weaver, nor had she planted a vineyard while tending to her home and family.

The moment Esther most loved each week was here. The children queued up to receive Aba's blessings. When it was her turn, Esther kissed his hand, but before he recited the benediction, he announced, “We have a daughter here who has also reached her majority.”

Startled, Esther felt her knees buckle under the weight of forty pairs of eyes, but as Aba's palm hovered over her head to give blessing, she shut her eyes, savoring the heat of his hand on her hair. God was with her along with Aba's love. This was her bat-mitzvah! In his clear, melodious voice, Aba asked the Divine One to protect and sanctify and save Esther for all her days. “
May Hashem bless you like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah.
” Yes, God was here, with her; He hadn't forgotten His special daughter.

A choir of “Amens” broke the awe. So fast! “This time next year you will be betrothed, Hashem willing,” came the well-wishings from all parts of the room.

Esther forced herself to nod at the flock of relatives, and started toward her seat.

“One more minute,” Ima called out. Across her arms lay a rectangular package wrapped in bleached linen and tied with a baby-blue ribbon. “For you, my daughter,” she said solemnly.

A gift! Her own festive celebration! Esther smiled with gratitude. She clutched the package to her chest.

“Like Pharaoh's daughter cradling Moses,” Ima laughed. “Open it.”

“Show us!” came several calls.

Esther pulled the ends of the bow. On top was a folded pillowcase. Its border was exquisitely embroidered in the same baby blue as the wrapping ribbon. In one corner, two large letters looped into each other.
E
.
K
.

“I've started your trousseau,” Ima said with glee. “
Tfoo, tfoo, tfoo.
”

Esther gulped. Her dreaded future was marching toward her. Yet, the soft Damascus linen fabric under her fingers was finer than Ima's sheets; Aba had splurged for her trousseau.

She found her voice. “It's exquisite—” she breathed her awe, and touched the smooth, tiny stitches of silk thread. This thread was the most expensive there was, she knew, but also was the hardest to embroider, requiring hundreds more stitches than cotton thread.

“Use the pattern to make the rest,” Ima said. “With God's blessings, your groom will arrive before the Messiah does.”

“He's on his way, I hear,” someone said, as Avram dragged out from under the table a trunk Esther hadn't known was there. Made of wood, it was inlaid with mother-of-pearl in intricate triangles that created a field of Stars of David. Moishe lifted the lid and grinned. Aba, who had stepped closer, pointed to the bolt of linen and a wooden box matching the trunk's mother-of-pearl design. He opened it to reveal spools of blue silk thread partitioned from a section containing a thimble, scissors, a packet of needles and a tape measure.