No Time for Tears (14 page)

Aaron chose this spot because he wanted to prove that there was no such thing as worn-out, sterile soil. His station was like a Garden of Eden … there was something in fruit or in blossom the whole year round. In drought or rain, his fields of wheat, oats and barley flourished, yielding many times more than those of his neighbors although he used no fertilizer and the same implements as the Arab farmers. Aaron’s secret was nothing more nor less than the rational application of the techniques of dry farming. Aaron drew around him a small group of devoted young disciples to work with him at the station, and one of them, Aaron’s favorite, was himself a great mind—Absalom Feinberg. Absalom was larger than life—tall, handsome, ardent, a poet, a lover of music, wise, witty, a crack shot, a dashing horseman, and so fearless that the Arabs had adopted him as their own, giving him the name of Sheikh Salim.

Absalom was born in Palestine, his parents Russian intellectuals who came to the country with the first organized group of pioneers in 1882, the same year as the Zichronites. They settled at Rishon-le-Zion, the first Jewish settlement in the south, between Jerusalem and Jaffa, one of the settlements that Baronde Rothschild had adopted and, as at Zichron, a set of tyrannical officials administered the village’s affairs and directed the settlers’ lives.

Israel Feinberg, Absalom’s father, refused to be dominated, and his intense independence led to such a violent protest against the officials that his family was forced to move on, eventually putting down roots at Hadera. Absalom’s education was never interrupted … from his grandfather he was taught the Bible, but his father Israel, who realized that the Bible was spiritually rewarding, also knew one day the Jews would inherit their land only if they knew and understood the Arabs. And so he sent Absalom to Jaffa, where he studied Arabic as well as the Koran and by the time his studies were finished he could talk and read Arabic as well as any Arab. By family tradition Absalom was a dedicated Jew, steeped in Russian romanticism and French culture. Israel Feinberg observed the changes in his son carefully. He noticed a sort of melancholy that became almost morbid at times … the sorrow of the Jewish people? The injustices against them? Their perpetual homelessness became the outrage and challenge of Absalom’s life. And his hatred of the Turks was so strong he formed a secret society called the Zion Flag Bearers. For his own sake his father decided Absalom needed to be sent away. His desire to help his people could end in bringing down the wrath of the Turks. Difficult as it was, Israel sent his only child away to France for nearly four years. It did nothing to blur Absalom’s thoughts of getting national rights for Jews. “We are so far from it,” he wrote to his family. “Why should everyone have a nation and we who have given so much can’t even get a charter from the damned Turks. Palestine means nothing to them, not with their vast empire, but they refuse us
only
because we’re Jews.”

When he returned home his feelings were even more belligerent than when he’d left. The Turks were barbarians, and he swore when the day of judgment came he would be prepared. Always in his mind was the thought of rebellion. He talked to Aaron about his burning discontent, but Aaron’s hope and faith was both greater and less bitter than Absalom’s. “With the help of providence and the aid of America we will achieve our goals.” Absalom didn’t quite believe
that.

Aaron was so absorbed in his work it never occurred to him to introduce Absalom to his sister Sarah, although he spoke of her often enough. They had to meet by chance at a social gathering, and by the time the festivities were over Sarah and Absalom knew they felt something special for each other. She was everything in a woman that Absalom wanted … beautiful, tall and with a strength and goodness that seemed to come through in her extraordinary face enhanced by wide-set blue eyes. They were not only physically attracted to one another, but brought closer through their love of poetry, literature, exploring the world. She’d been to Germany, Switzerland and Italy, and Aaron wanted his sisters to see and know the world. But like Absalom, Palestine was the only place on earth Sarah felt content. At
home …

When Absalom was transferred to take over the new station that Aaron had built in Hadera, Dovid replaced him at Athlit, and as the baron had once done in his recognition of Aaron, Aaron in turn took particular notice of Dovid, of his passion and inquiring mind, his
feel
for the land and growing things … Dovid was a born agronomist, and Aaron saw him as an extraordinary future scientist. Shoemaker to agronomist … such was the potential for
change
in these wondrous days. Change and
growth …

For the first time since coming to Eretz Yisroel, Chavala, like Dovid, found herself fulfilled. She adjusted to the life of Zichron. The village …it seemed transplanted from the one she’d left, except her small stone house was better and more luxurious. The kitchen became the center of the household, and, what joy of joys, there were
three
bedrooms. And when Dovid had the time he would add a sewing room, and once again she would take her place as the head of her small family.

Bleak and remote as the village might have been, it never seemed so to Chavala. The household work was no drudgery for Chavala and Dvora. She washed stone floors and scrubbed the wooden tables and benches with sand and water. She reveled in watching her family eating the meals she cooked on the iron stove that stood in the corner of the kitchen. She accepted with pride the praise when she brought the loaves of bread, cakes and cookies to the table. Their first
seder
was bittersweet, with the absence of her father and sisters, but when she saw Dovid sitting at the head of his table she told herself a time would come when papa and the whole family would be together. The family…

With Arabic batiks Chavala made colorful bedspreads and cushions. In Haifa’s Arab market she bought wall hangings. Gradually this was a home that in her wildest dreams she never thought could happen to her. Russia seemed very far away now, and the dream of America became less and less urgent. Yes, she’d rejected working in the fields of Galilee, but she found planting her own small backyard wonderfully rewarding. With little Chia at her side she planted the seeds that Dovid had brought home to her. Their growth seemed to match the growth she felt in her womb. When the first sprouts came she laughed with delight, and when her small vegetable garden was ready to be taken from the ground, she felt tears in her eyes. Her cherry tree would have made it perfect, but Dovid planted a palm, three olive trees and a few vines for grapes from which she would make wine. Chavala’s life was content.

In the afternoon when the work was finished, Dvora and Chavala got dressed up and took Chia for a walk to the village square. Unlike the other women she’d become friends with, Chavala and Dvora’s clothes had a bit of style and color. Sarah and Rivka Aaronson, taking their afternoon walks, stopped one day and admired Chavala’s loose-fitting garment, which concealed the tiny bulge beneath it. Sarah had come back from Paris several weeks before with the latest fashion magazines. She would be more than happy, she said, for Chavala to see them. Sarah was rare, as was her sister Rivka. They were accomplished, elegant, and the truth was, Chavala was awed by them. She’d never known Jews like this … they’d been to France, Switzerland and Italy. For Chavala life had become sweet.

At four of a morning Dovid found her ready to give breakfast to him and Moishe. Then she followed them out the door, standing on the porch and watching as they climbed aboard with the other men onto the wagon that went to Athlit. When they got back in the evening Dovid’s exhaustion was quickly forgotten as he looked at Chavala’s contented face and abundant belly. After dinner he read his books on agronomy and farming that he’d gotten from Aaronson’s library. At times he might look up and see Chavala, a woman beyond anything he’d thought possible for him, and his gratitude for her wisdom in insisting that they leave the Galilee and come here was something almost beyond words.

Everything seemed so good. Be careful, he told himself. Nothing, as a Jew should know, is forever…

C
HAVALA GOT UP FROM
her knees from scrubbing, and, rubbing her back, she felt the beginnings of labor. She went into the kitchen and sat down. As though a dam had burst she held onto the table and watched as water poured from her womb. She was not afraid as she called Dvora. But, coming out of the bedroom, the young girl was petrified as she looked down at the floor now flooded with water. The awful reminder of her mother’s death nearly paralyzed her … what if Chavala died? God, please God, not Chavala too.

Seeing the girl’s fear, Chavala said, “Don’t be frightened Dvora, I’m young and strong and we’ll soon have the blessing mama must have asked God to give us. Believe that, Dvora. Now, sister, take Chia to Mrs. Bronusky and then tell Mrs. Lieberman to bring the birthing stool. Then go down to Athlit and tell Dovid I want him here.” Dvora could not move, she could not function. “There’s nothing to be
afraid
of. Now, Dvora, do as I say.” Without a word Dvora left the room, picked up Chia and hurried from the house.

As Chavala waited, the thought came back to haunt her … the face of her father was as clear as when he stood framed in the doorway on another day such as this. “You should not have sent me away, Chavala, I should have been here to hold her hand as she passed through …” Chavala would not allow Dovid to be tortured with such demons if it were God’s will for her to have the same end. But within herself she knew nothing like that would happen. Still, her hand reached out to the Almighty. Manya was right, God was not to blame for the injustices of man. He had given man a mind that knew what was right and what was evil. Whichever road he decided to take was his choice. This day Chavala felt the presence of God…

Chavala clutched her fists and bit on the rag while Mrs. Lieberman wiped the sweat away. No, she wouldn’t cry out, she wanted this child brought into the world in joy. There would be no tears. Each time the pain gripped her body she shut her eyes and believed her mother was talking to her … “Soon it will be over and you will hold in your arms the child that was conceived in love …” And Chavala said back, “Yes, mama, yes, a lovely girl child and once more you’ll be with us, you’ll be reborn in her and I’ll have you, dearest mama, I’ll see my little Rivkala. You are helping me, mama.
Help me, mama…
”

As Chavala lay back in exhaustion, Mrs. Lieberman watched, thinking that in all her years as a midwife she’d never seen such courage. The pain Chavala was bearing in silence frightened her. Why didn’t the girl scream out? Where did her strength come from?

When Chavala gripped the edge of the bed, Mrs. Lieberman looked beneath the cover and saw the beginning of life. Bringing the birthing stool closer she started to help Chavala out of bed but Chavala protested. “No … this child will not be born until Dovid comes.”

“Chavala, you’ve gone mad, the child is ready—”

“I will have this child when Dovid arrives.”

Lying back, Chavala bit on the rag and clutched the mattress. She no longer thought of anything except that Dovid would see his daughter brought to life. God help me … mama, take the pain away … fill my mind with thoughts of when you were with us … those days were sweet with honey and we were happy and your beauty shone like … I love you, mama, Dovid will soon be here …

The hours had passed, and finally Dovid was there. He went to Chavala’s side and took her sweating hands in his. He kissed the palms, then her lips. Of all days he’d been sent to Jaffa for some equipment, and Dvora had frantically been waiting hours for him. When he returned it had seemed an eternity until they reached the hills of Zichron Yaakov. Mrs. Lieberman brushed him aside and helped Chavala to the birthing stool. Breathing heavily and quickly, Chavala had at last found the blessed release from her agony as the midwife gently pulled the child from her womb. Dovid picked up his wife and put her on their bed. “My Dovid, I waited to share this moment….”

“I know, my love.” Tears were in his eyes.

“You mustn’t cry, Dovid, our people have cried enough tears to fill an ocean. Be happy, darling, we have a daughter—”

“No,” called out Mrs. Lieberman, “you have a son.”

“A son?”

“Yes, a beautiful son. And just listen to him yell!”

Chavala had so much wanted to call her mother’s name again, still … “Bring him to me.” The infant was placed in his mother’s arms. Chavala counted the ten fingers and ten toes, looked at the sweet face. He was Dovid.

“Look at your son, Dovid, and never mind what I’ve said, it’s right that this child was born in Eretz Yisroel.”

Chavala knew about love … for family, Dovid … but love of one’s own child was of a whole different order. Manya’s words rang in her ears about such blessings. Looking down now at the child in her arms, she thanked God for not punishing her for the thoughts she’d once had…

To perpetuate life after death, Chavala remembered, Jews named their children for those who were gone. So Reuven Landau became the living spirit of his grandmother Rivka. Chavala had written to her father and all but pleaded with him and Sheine and Raizel to come to Zichron. She would make the arrangements, but Sheine wrote back to say that papa had not been too well and the trip would be too difficult for him. They’d shared so much sorrow, Chavala was disappointed that they couldn’t now share this blessing, but life had to go on, and the tears dried….

In Zichron Yaakov the
bris
of Reuven Landau was celebrated with the excitement and joy that all children born in Eretz Yisroel were celebrated with. To be born in the land of their fathers was a great
mitzvah.
These children would know what freedom was. At last, at long last they would grow up with honor and pride in their heritage. They would become the true builders of Eretz Yisroel. For them the ghetto would be dead.

All day the villagers came to the house of Chavala and Dovid. There was feasting and dancing, and even the Aaron-sons paid their respects.