No Time for Tears Read online

  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 who
le 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…

  Dovid, among them, lay on his bed convulsing with the disease. His condition was so severe Chavala had to doubt his recovery. Day and night she sat by his bed, feeding him quinine, sponging his body and thanking God that she had Dvora to take care of little Chia, and that Moishe had already recovered from this dreadful disease. Weak as he was, he went back to work, although she pleaded with him to rest for a few more days. He shrugged. “When we have a real kibbutz, I’ll remember what it took to build this one.”

  Chavala looked at him and swallowed hard. Moishe, she realized, was proud that he was a part of the land now, and wore his illness like a campaign ribbon.

  Finally Dovid did recover, and his attitude was much like Moishe’s … he went back to the swamps almost as soon as he could stand.

  While the work in the fields was going on, three clapboard sheds were erected—one a communal dining room that doubled as a meeting room, the other a tool shed and barn, the third, a community barracks. Although thin partitions were provided for the five married couples to have a little privacy, they would all sleep under the same roof and share common showers and toilets.

  When these were completed a much-needed celebration was held. There was little to feast on but they still rejoiced. In the evening a bonfire was lit and they danced the hora until dawn. Indeed, they rejoiced. Chavala’s pleasure was, as always, tempered by her longing for her family, but when she risked confiding in the other women they all but laughed at her sentimentality. The problem with Chavala, they said, was that she lived too much in the past She hadn’t really escaped the shtetl… her problem wasn’t her longing and love of the old place but her Jewish guilt … “Wake up to today,” one said, “we’ve been so conditioned by family obligations, it’s become a kind of Jewish disease. Until you leave the ghetto of your mind, there isn’t much hope that you’ll make it in Eretz Yisroel.”

  No, Chavala found no comfort in them. In fact, she felt alienated from these women, who seemed to revel with an almost religious zeal that at last they had attained the same kind of rights as men, working side-by-side in the fields, ploughing the earth, draining the swamps, removing the rocks and refusing to be treated as women. Sonia Chernik lived openly without shame with Yudel Liebowitz, which even Chavala found difficult to accept Traditions were rejected, pushed aside….

  Once they’d rolled up their tents and moved into the barracks, a meeting was called. Leah Abramowitz and her husband marched into the meeting hall and sat next to the four other married women. As the proceedings began, Leah, who had been appointed the women’s leader, stood in front of the assembly dressed in a pair of her husband’s work-pants. “We, the wives of this community, want to voice our disapproval. Since we do the work of men we expect that you men should share the work that was thrust on us only because we are women.”

  Yudel Liebowitz, the head of the committee, asked her, “What is it that you won’t accept?”

  “All responsibility for the cooking, kitchen chores, housekeeping and the rearing of children.”

  There was more than a murmur of dissent from the single men.

  Sonia Chernik, the second in command, brought down the gavel. “This meeting will be conducted with decorum. Anyone who wants to debate will have their chance. But comrade Leah will be heard.”

  Knowing Sonia would be in sympathy with their petition, Leah nodded and began, “As of today I insist that the work be rotated. The men will assume the same amount of hours in the kitchen, cooking and in the tending of children, since this is the responsibility of the entire community and not ours alone because we are women and wives.”

  From the back of the room an angry chalutz called out, “You forgot to say one thing, comrade Leah, will you also allow us to give birth?”

  Jeers and whistles of approval echoed in the barnlike room.

  The gavel came down sharply. Yudel called out, “This is a democratic meeting. You’ve been told that each of you will have an opportunity for rebuttal. Now I call for silence.” He looked over the group and asked that Leah please finish.

  “I’d be delighted,” she said, “but first, an answer to comrade Shmuel’s question. Yes, you will be allowed to give birth when you are equal to women and can stand the pain.”

  Three of the wives applauded.

  Leah nodded her thanks. “Now, I ask that the vote be taken.”

  The twelve members of the committee reached for the ballots and wrote their answers. Then Sonia read them aloud, “Eight against, four in favor. Now it goes to the assembly, since it wasn’t unanimous in the committee. May I have a show of hands?”

  Of the fourteen members, Dovid voted along with the nine remaining chalutzim.

  Leah rose quickly and delivered a swift volley of words. “We do not accept this. We will exercise our rights—”

  “And what are they?” asked a stern Sonia.

  “Strike! In this commune there are no serfs, damn it.”

  Silence fell over the room.

  Chavala looked at Dovid. Since he was against the proposal, and since the committee had said debate was permissible, she raised her hand.

  Yudel acknowledged her. “You have three minutes.”

  That wasn’t quite fair. Leah had been given ten. “I don’t want to work in the fields. I will, though, take on the responsibility of the kitchen. With the help of my sister Dvora we’ll also take over the care of the children.” Chavala didn’t quite realize that with such words she’d finished herself with the other women. Sonia was so angry she forgot her impartial position as vice-chairman.

  “You, Chavala, have been uncooperative since you arrived. You are nothing but a ghetto Jew … with the mentality of a ghetto Jew, and I think that’s what you always will be.”

  Chavala lashed back. “And you are very democratic so long as no one disagrees with you. I have as much right to my feelings as you to yours—”

  The gavel came down, Yudel announced, “You may be seated.”

  “But what about taking the vote on my petition?”

  “Be seated.”

  The single men whistled and applauded for Chavala. A woman was a woman, and a woman belonged in the kitchen, never mind that they worked in the fields. They still could not do a man’s job, it was ridiculous to think otherwise. What kind of a man would do housekeeping, much less take care of children?

  Dovid spoke up to defend his wife. “I believe tonight’s meeting has been biased and one-sided. A member of the committee has committed a personal slander that has nothing to do with the petition. The female members, all of them have the right to petition, but a vote was taken and it was voted down—”

  Leah stood immediately, shaking her fist at Dovid. “As of this moment, my fellow comrades and I strike!”

  And all four women and Sonia walked out

  Dvora looked at Chavala. Yes, she loved her sister with all her heart, but this was different, it had nothing to do with loyalty and love, it had to do with … well … what was fair… she knew that Chavala was not a ghetto Jew, but she also knew that Chavala had tried to walk in the footsteps of mama. She wanted to be like mama and carry on a traditional home, and here she just wasn’t able to. Dvora had to admit to herself that she wasn’t entirely like Chavala. Her feelings we
re much like the other women’s. She wanted to work in the fields, not be shackled to a kitchen. She wanted the freedom men were privileged to, that Moishe had. She wanted to walk out with the others, feeling the strike was justified, and she would tell Chavala so….

  After a week of cooking for the whole community, even though she had the reluctant help of Dvora, Chavala, not surprisingly, collapsed. As she lay on her cot, with Dovid holding her hand, she looked at him and said, “I’m afraid my spirit was stronger than my body; I thought I could do it, Dovid, I honestly did.”

  “I know, and I love you because you tried so hard, but how in the world could you do the work of five women? Now rest, I insist on it.”

  Without Chavala, and the other women on strike, the men realized their cause was lost. If they intended to eat they’d better also learn how to cook.

  “So,” laughed Leah to the victorious women, “It only proves that men are the weaker sex. We really need them only if we want to have children. Once that’s over … they can’t even scramble an egg. We not only can scramble eggs, we can perpetuate the race, we can clear the fields,” and on and on.

  The men gave in, they had no alternative if they didn’t want to starve. Chavala, though, still resented that their lives all but belonged to the community … she badly missed a home of her own, remembered all too well that first seder she and her sisters prepared after mama had died. Sorry, ladies, but she felt like a woman, and to her a woman was a very special thing. Yes, she admitted, she missed that little hovel, and living together in these tight communal quarters was almost strangling her. Everything was brought before the governing body. Even the clothes they wore on their backs belonged to the community. Now, even Dvora had alienated herself from Chavala by working in the fields with the other women. She felt more alone than she had at any time in her life. She had no one to speak to, not even Dovid, because she didn’t want to add to the other burdens of his life.

  In the fall of that year Sonia announced she was expecting a child, and without fuss her marriage was sanctioned by the common consent of the committee. A petition was presented. Since Sonia’s child would be the first born on the commune she decided that there was a more advantageous way to accommodate working parents … The plan wasn’t intended to ignore the children’s needs, she said, rather to give them a greater sense of security because the whole community would take responsibility for their welfare. If they were to grow up secure in a country that lived each day on the edge of danger, it was important for them to be raised independent of their natural parents. If these children were deprived of a family, the loss would be less difficult for them to accept. It was suggested that a children’s house be built. A vote was taken, and the majority agreed.