No Time for Tears (11 page)

“But what about the family? How can I leave them—?”

“Look, damn it, I love them too … but don’t we have a right to our own lives? Maybe it was foolish, but I honestly believed that once your father was settled we would be free to leave Jerusalem. I was even foolish enough to believe that after all we went through in Russia that you too would see that our only hope for survival was an Eretz Yisroel restored. I was wrong. I’m not blaming you, you just don’t feel what I do …”

“And I’m sorry for that, Dovid, truly sorry, so what do we do … ?”

“Chavala, as much as I love you and the family I can’t stay here and rot … give up my mission. When two people can’t share the same needs and hopes, well, I suppose you must do what you feel best I
won’t
beg anymore. The decision is yours, but I tell you … I must leave here or I’ll just cease to exist…”

The words cut through Chavala like a knife. If she did not go with Dovid she would lose him, and if she went her family might be lost, especially her father … she tried separating the pieces. In her heart she knew the answer … her place was with her husband … “All right, Dovid, have you decided where you want to go?”

“Yes, to the Galilee.”

She’d never heard of it. “Is it very far?”

“From Jerusalem, yes.”

“Isn’t it possible to find a settlement closer to Jerusalem where you could be happy?”

“I wish you could have said
we
instead of … never mind … most of the settlements are failing, Chavala, but at least there’s
hope
in the Galilee.”

And he proceeded to explain that a strain of wheat had recently been discovered by a man named Aaron Aaronson, whose fame as an agronomist was worldwide. On his recommendation the purchase of a large parcel of land had been made from an absentee Arab effendi who lived in luxury in Beirut. The discovery held the promise that the Galilee could become the most productive farming area in Eretz Yisroel, and five American Jews of great wealth were contacted. Their allegiance to the rebirth of Palestine was as deep and strong as those who had inhabited the land for centuries. They too had once fled the ghettos of Russia and Poland. It took little persuasion to convince them. The money that was sent to the Zion Settlement Office in Jaffa and five thousand dunams of land now belonged to them.

When the effendi signed over his ownership he looked at the document and considered the Jews to be, as always, stupid fools. They had purchased a parcel of swamp and malaria-ridden earth that could never be redeemed. It was a place, in fact, where even birds of prey never ventured, but Jews were children of death anyway and he had properly disposed of this uninhabitable scourge, this abominable cancer in the earth, by selling it to the lowest of human vermin.

Twenty-five men, one single woman and four married couples with small children accepted the challenge. This settlement would be worked for Jews by Jews and when they reclaimed the land, as they were determined to do, it would be because of the sweat and toil of
their
hands. They would be in debt to no one. No foreign administrator and no baron. It would be a commune based on social equality, democratic justice. They would become a judiciary unto themselves. Marriage and divorce, education and the rearing of children would be implemented by the consent of all. And so this small group of people set out to prove to the world that they were more than idealistic dreamers …

It was a moving story, but Chavala was still desperately unhappy with the choice she had to make. How to prepare her father? Still, she decided, finally, that her place was with Dovid. The debate was over … “I’ve decided to go, but dear God, how do we tell papa?”

“He trusts you, Chavala—if only you could convince him to come with us.”

“Oh, Dovid, you know he would never do that, for him Eretz Yisroel means Jerusalem.”

Dovid knew Chavala was right. “Well do the best we can … Chavala, I
will
try to make you happy, I love you very much…”

She put her head on his shoulder. “I love you too, Dovid, much more than you can imagine, especially …” she smiled “… considering the way I act sometimes.”

The next night after supper, the family around the kitchen table, Chavala’s courage almost collapsed as she tried to explain the reasons they had to leave, and Dovid felt at once grateful and guilty.

“Papa, please, I beg you, come with us.”

His hands shook slightly as he embraced his holy book. “Never …” The old man sat with his head bowed, then looked at Dovid. “And you, who I’ve considered a son, have forsaken me, listened to false prophets … I know about your Zionists, and to them I can … I came to this place because it is written that from the seed of Abraham—”

Dovid did not want to hear the rest of the quotation.

Moishe thought back to those days when he’d first heard about the Lovers of Zion and knew that he felt like Dovid. He must not bend to his father’s will either. His father was an old man who was like iron in his determination to live out his days as he felt he must Well, Moishe would do the same … “Papa, please try to remember that I love you, but I must go with Dovid and Chavala.”

The old man slowly shook his head, it was a new world where respect and honor were no longer important to show a father. He was losing his children.

As if reading his mind, Moishe said, “Papa, if you love Eretz Yisroel as you say, you must see how very important this is to us. We were once a great nation and we must be that again. It’s for us, papa, to make the greatness of our people known to the world.”

Now the old man was not listening. His children, it seemed, all of them, had become bewitched by the devil… “And you, Dvora, what about you …?”

Putting her arms around her father she said, tears in her eyes, “Please forgive me, papa, but I want to go with the rest.”

Gently he released her. “Better that you should ask God to forgive you … and you, Sheine, you will go too?”

“
No.
I’ll never leave you. Let them go, papa, we can get along without them. They don’t seem to need us or want us—”

“What a thing to say, Sheine,” Chavala told her.

“I think what you’re doing is shameful, leaving your father. Families don’t separate. But don’t worry, Chavala, we won’t die just because you and Dovid go off. Maybe life is just too difficult for you here. You know, Chavala, you think the whole world will fall apart if it weren’t for you—”

Chavala’s anger flared and she actually slapped her sister, and then just as quickly it died as she took her sister in her arms and tried to kiss away the hurt … “I’m
sorry …
this is a time of great emotion, Sheine—”

Sheine pulled herself away from Chavala and stood up. “Oh, I think you’ll recover, after all, Chavala, you should go where your husband wants. Now, I think the others should make a decision: How about you, Raizel?”

For Raizel it was like being cut in two. One part wanted to stay with papa, the other to go with Chavala. She too craved flowers and green grass and sheep. She loved the pictures of shepherds and their flocks, and she hated the crowded, narrow stone alleys here where the children had to play. There was no sun here, she longed just to see a blue sky. They rarely went beyond the confines of where they lived. The only beauty Raizel ever saw was when she stood on a chair and looked out to the Mount of Olives, and now, to be separated from Chavala … after all, hadn’t Chavala been the one who all but nursed her? … Still, she loved papa too. And seeing him in such distress, she put her arms around him and said, “I’ll stay.”

None of them slept that night. The next morning Dovid went to the donkey cart. The mule that was to take them across the country looked sick and mangy, but Dovid could hardly complain since it had been loaned to him by the Sephardic Jew in Mea Shearim, who was no longer his boss. It was enough that the man had trusted him to return it.

Since there were no possessions to take along, except a small amount of bedding and clothing, the cart was ample for them. Dovid strapped the sewing machine to the side of the cart, then tied the goat to the back of the cart, wondering if perhaps he shouldn’t reverse the two animals. The goat seemed the more sturdy of the two.

Chavala, huddled close to Moishe, watched Dovid as he stood holding the reins, his face alive with excited anticipation. And her heart ached as she thought of the tears that ran down papa’s cheeks, how old and pathetic he seemed as he stood with Sheine on one side and Raizel on the other, watching them vanish out of the city. And Sheine for all her strength of will had broken down at the end and clung sobbing in Dovid’s arms. Poor, dear Sheine, who was always so afraid to show her true feelings, always fought the fears of letting anyone know how much hurt she locked away inside. Of course she had held Dovid … he was like her brother, someone she had shared her precious, and too brief, childhood years with, as they all had, but now he was also their protector, he had become their strength and she must have felt terribly abandoned …

And what about her? … well, she loved Dovid, but she was also upset with him at this moment because he was, she felt, sending them into exile, and hadn’t the Jews had enough of
that
… ? At least when they had stayed together as a family, life seemed bearable, but now…

The next four days were almost beyond even Chavala’s stamina. They were put up for the night at the settlements along the way. After a meal of thin barley soup and bread and a cup of wheat tea Chavala was only too happy to go to the tent with little Chia. It seemed the only joy she had was in the baby. She had become so winsome, Chavala would never have believed that that shrunken little doll was going on ten months. Instead of the hardships making her irritable, she seemed to thrive. It was almost as though she understood all the reasons not to be difficult

Chavala, hugging little Chia to her, would fall asleep with the child. Dovid, on the other hand, sat up until all hours discussing, debating, talking with the
chalutzim.
The stamina of
these
people was unbelievable. They worked in the fields from earliest morning, and when the sun became too much they took shelter in the only building erected on the commune, where they repaired tools, made chairs and tables so that when the time came and they had housing they would be ready….

What time Dovid finally crept into the cot beside her, Chavala never knew. But she did know that at four-thirty in the morning they sat with the
chaverim
and ate the usual breakfast of cucumbers, tomatoes, black bread and tea.

This particular morning the meal was sumptuous. One egg a week was what the
chalutzim
had, and the Landaus happened to be fortunate enough to be present for it Then, amid a cheerful good-bye, they were once again on the road which would bring them closer to their journey’s end. Morning, which had started out with the delights of an egg, gave up its early promise as the mule suddenly halted, lay down on the ground and died. Dovid didn’t seem surprised, in fact he was grateful that the beast had lasted as long as it had. Chavala was not only disgruntled by Dovid’s stoicism … fatalism? … but the heat beating down on them so brutally made her especially worried about baby Chia, who had a heat rash from head to toe. In her irritation, and as if to underline it, she asked in
Yiddish,
upsetting, she knew, to her husband, “Tell me, Reb Landau, how do you plan to get us to this golden
medina?
”

He pointedly replied in Hebrew, “Chavala, you shouldn’t worry, let me do that. I assure you, we’ll get there.”

“I have no doubt, but I asked
how
.”

“That, my dear Chavala, is no problem. Moishe, you take one pole and I’ll take the other.”

“You mean
you’re
replacing the donkey? You’re walking to—”

“Moishe,” Dovid said, “come help me get the reins off the mule and out of the way.”

Dear God, Chavala thought, at this rate they would arrive by next Chanukah.

Chavala’s timing was somewhat off. After an exhausting day, at dusk, Dovid let go of his pole and lifted Chavala out of the cart. Taking her in his arms he kissed her as the sweat poured from his body. “Look, Chavala, look down below, our beautiful Sea of Galilee. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” and then he called out, “Come here, Dvora, Moishe, I want you to remember this moment all your lives.”

The sight was indeed magnificent. The sun reflected golden on the gentle ripples. A mist, like gossamer, hovered above. The water looked so tranquil, so lovely, shimmering there, waiting, inviting.

The descent was so steep and the roads so narrow Dovid was afraid the cart might turn over, so, since goats were mountain climbers, he hitched theirs to the cart. Leaving the sewing machine intact, Moishe led the animal down. Dovid helped Chavala, who carried the baby in her left arm. Dvora followed behind. Breathless, grateful that they’d arrived, they stood for a moment regaining their strength.

But as Chavala looked about, reality replaced illusion. From above, the magnificent haze that hovered over the Galilee was now almost grotesque. What they had seen was a mist that rose above the stagnant swamps. The denuded, eroded hills seemed to be weeping, the fields were of rock for as far as the eye could see, the earth was unfertile, thanks to a thousand years of violation at the hands of invaders who had ravaged it and left it to die.

What Dovid’s reactions were, Chavala couldn’t tell. If he felt as she did, he hid it very well. Too well… Chavala followed him until they finally reached the settlement—one flimsy building erected on the edge of the swamps, the rest tents.

Still, they were welcomed and then were assigned to a tent.

That night Chavala lay awake desperately trying to justify Dovid taking them to this Godforsaken … not chosen … place. She felt haunted by her father’s face, her guilt at leaving him… she and Sheine had parted without love, and poor little Raizel was losing her whole childhood. She fell asleep from exhaustion, her face still wet from her tears.

The next morning Moishe and Dovid set out with the rest of the
chaverim
to work. And in the days that followed they labored from sunup to sundown … trying to push back the marshland and swamps. By way of America hundreds of Australian eucalyptus trees arrived to be planted, to soak up the stagnant waters. Drainage ditches were dug, handful by handful, the work almost beyond human endurance. They worked waist-deep in the mud, through the terrible heat of the summer and the abominable cold of winter. The rocks had to be dragged by teams of donkeys and the thick underbrush hacked away and burned. Their food was sparse, all they owned was what they wore on their backs, and the labor force was always short, with so many stricken with malaria…