Part I
Mrs. Rivka Rabinovitch wandered around her house dressed in
festive clothes and with a pleased countenance. Today was a
special day for her — her retirement. The table set in
the living room was decorated with blooming flowers, amid an
array of refreshments.
For several months, she had been trying to decide whether to
take an early retirement and now she had decided. She would
dedicate herself to chesed and use her time to help
the needy. But whom to invite to the small party she planned?
Her two sons and their families lived far away, up North, and
she didn't want them to take time away from their learning.
Of the veteran clerks who had been her colleagues, one had
died, one was with her son abroad, and the third was sick.
She didn't consider inviting the younger workers. They never
treated her with the proper respect. For them, she was like
some old wall and not a woman with a much richer life
experience than theirs. But today she really didn't feel like
being angry with them. She tried to judge them favorably:
"Young people still don't understand life."
Her guests were the two daughters of her old friend, Mrs.
Bloom, and their families. Mrs. Bloom suffered from a severe
handicap and it was difficult for her to come. She therefore
promised to send her daughters. A true friendship of many
years existed between them, since they had both immigrated to
Israel after the Holocaust, as homeless refugees. Mrs. Bloom,
being the older of the two, had taken her under her wing with
a protective hug, married her off to a survivor with yiras
Shomayim, worried about her needs and was at her side for
may years. In the eyes of the Bloom family, Rabinovitch was
an "Auntie," a close relative. Today, her older friend had
promised to send her her two daughters.
Hadassah, Bloom's older daughter, had come to Israel with her
family for a couple of months before returning. Already a
month and a half had passed since she arrived and she hadn't
been to see her. It didn't matter, Hadassah was a nice girl
and seeing her children for the first time would augment her
pleasure. Also Sari, her second daughter, would come with her
children. It would be a pleasant yet modest party in a warm
and friendly atmosphere. Why hadn't they arrived yet?
The phone rang. Hadassah. "Hi Auntie, how are you?"
"Where are you Hadassah?"
"Oh, that's the thing . . . we've been delayed and we won't
be able to come. Really, we all send our best wishes, with
all our hearts!" She'd so been looking forward to see
Hadassah. For years she'd been asking about her, sending
presents to her children, keeping in close touch. Her heart
contracted as did her mood.
"No problem," she hurried to comfort herself. At least
Sorohle and the children would come.
Seven, seven-thirty, eight in the evening. Over two hours
later than the time they had made up. This was nothing but .
. . but then there was a knock at the door. Rivka hurried to
open it with brightness effusing her face. Sari hadn't
disappointed her. She had always liked Bloom's Sari. Sari
stood there panting breathlessly.
"Come in, Sari," Rivka welcomed her warmly. "It's good to see
you. I've missed you. Sit down, I prepared things you like to
eat."
"No, Auntie, I'm sorry, really you don't need to bother,"
Sari smiled embarrassed. "My husband and children are waiting
in the taxi. We planned a trip out of town today, you see,
I'm sorry to disappoint you. I have to hurry. It's already
late. I'm sorry it turned out like this, Auntie.
Congratulations!" And she shook her hand warmly.
"Perhaps, in any case?" Mrs. Rabinovitch wanted the clock to
stand still, so that she could enjoy her younger visitor a
little longer. But Bloom's daughter was in a rush.
"Well, see you. The taxi's waiting. Much health and
nachas." And she had already disappeared down the
stairs.
Rivka cast a glance at the orphaned table and lacking energy,
she collapsed into the chair beside her. She now felt deeply
what was always missing at times of joy — an extended
family, after her extensive family tree had been cut down in
the Holocaust.
Now a weakness gripped her. She'd put the decorative servings
in the freezer in closed boxes and send them to her sons up
North. But she couldn't freeze her feelings of
disappointment.
However, when she had despaired of her guests, one arrived.
Hesitant, soft knocks sounded on the door. She wasn't in the
mood to open it anymore. The knocks stubbornly continued.
"Well, maybe Sari changed her mind and came back."
"Mrs. Bloom!" Rivka Rabinovitch exclaimed. "Why did you
bother yourself to come all the way to see me?
Very slowly, measuring every obviously limping step and
supporting herself on the wall, her old friend entered her
home, laden with the best, and looked around appreciatively.
"You know, Mrs. Bloom, it was meant to be just a private
party that didn't quite get off the ground. But why did you
trouble yourself so to come here?" Mrs. Bloom coughed,
annoyed.
"Since my daughters were unable to come, I decided to come in
their stead." Rivka smiled sadly. Bloom released a sigh of
pain and added, "It's been quite a while I've been planning
to come to you for a certain purpose, but I'm wondering if
perhaps I shouldn't just go. It isn't appropriate to ruin the
evening with a shocking confession."
The old handicapped lady supported herself on the back of an
empty chair and stood. Rivka noticed the unrelenting
twitching of her eyes, a result of stress. Also her hands
were shaking uncontrollably.
"Stay with me," She entreated her. "Sometimes, happy
occasions are a good time for a personal accounting. I think
I have the strength to hear what you have to say." And the
two friends sailed into the past.
*
Poland, Warsaw, the outbreak of World War II.
That morning, the father of the family had hurried to pray
vosikin and immediately after shacharis, the
members of the household prepared to leave for the train
station. The parents were among the privileged few who
succeeded, with significant wealth and effort, to obtain
permits to immigrate to Israel. They sensed the approaching
danger and decided to leave while there was still time. The
ground was burning. At the last moment, the neighbor from
across the way, Mrs. Bloom, appeared, an old friend of the
wife's. "Mrs. Rachel!" she called towards the mother who was
carrying heavy suitcases, "Did I understand correctly that
you're leaving Poland??" Mrs. Rachel was hurrying.
"Yes, yes," she answered her quickly and quietly.
"Listen, Rachel, I'm sure you remember that you owe me 60
zloty?" Mrs. Rachel stopped for a moment. "You're right, I'd
forgotten!" She defended herself.
"It's not too late. This is a good time to repay the debt,"
stressed the neighbor.
Mrs. Rachel would have been ready with all her heart to pay
the debt. She was an honest woman who didn't owe even a
shoelace to anyone. How had she forgotten the money? The
problem was, that all her money had been sent with a trusted
messenger for deposit in an anonymous account in Switzerland.
The money she had left herself was only enough for the
expenses of the journey. Mrs. Rachel began to apologize to
the neighbor while promising her that she would send her the
money by trusted messenger when she reached Israel. But the
neighbor argued and wouldn't give up.
"Why should I believe you? Perhaps you're planning to run
away from me?"
Precious moments were being wasted and Mrs. Rachel was afraid
they'd miss the train. She began begging her neighbor to
leave her alone but the neighbor persisted. She argued with
Mrs. Rachel for a long time. Only when Rachel burst into
tears did the neighbor relent and leave. Mrs. Rachel hurried
to the waiting carriage filled with her young children. The
suitcases were loaded on as well and the small retinue went
on its way.
When they arrived at the train station, the noise was
terrible. Hundreds of people were crowded together and
pressing towards the train that was stationed at the
platform. Rachel and her family didn't consider giving up for
even a moment. For long hours they stood in the long line
that inched forwards. Towards the afternoon, the family was
only a few meters from the long-awaited train. But then, the
doors closed. A loud, long whistle, pierced the air and the
train departed leaving behind it a long trail of soot, smoke
and curling steam.
[Final part next week]
