Sisters Weiss ~ A Novel Page 5

  She nodded, everything about him electric and sharply in focus.

  “You can get a Kodak Argus for … fifty dollars. If you learn to use a light meter, to take your photos outdoors, and are not in a rush to use a flash it will be more than adequate.”

  “Can you show me how to use a meter?” she asked, shocked at her own boldness.

  Before he could answer, the door opened.

  She watched him put his hands hurriedly into his pockets and take a step back, increasing the distance between them, and the movement made her feel suddenly ashamed, as if she had something to hide.

  “I am showing your friend how to use a camera, Michelle. Are you also interested?”

  “No, Papa.”

  “Michelle likes paint and brushes, n’est-ce pas, ma petite?” He smiled, smoothing down her hair. “Well, I am off to work, girls. But when you come again, I am happy to talk to you more about photography, Rose.”

  She cleared her throat. “Thank you very much, Mr. Goldband.”

  “And if you want to borrow the book about Doisneau, please, take it home.”

  “Really?” She was thrilled.

  “Of course!”

  She brought it home that evening in her school bag, standing on a chair to hide it behind her extra blankets, high on her closet shelf.

  “What’s that, Rose?” Pearl asked.

  Rose took a breath. The entire experience of the afternoon welled up inside her with all its dangerous and thrilling complications. She felt slightly feverish and sickened, filled with the kind of energy that demands some kind of release. “None of your business, Pearl!” she shouted.

  Her sister’s face screwed up in resentment and insult.

  “It’s a book from Michelle … her father’s … library. I borrowed it. It has pictures of Paris.”

  “Vus is dus?”

  “It’s a city, far away, on the other side of the ocean.”

  “I also want to see the pictures!”

  “This is not for you! You might ruin it!”

  “I won’t! Why do you treat me like a child! I’m going to be bat mitzvah soon!”

  Rose hesitated, suddenly feeling sorry for her sister, wanting to include her. “But you can’t tell anyone about it, Mameh or Tateh. You promise?”

  Pearl picked up on her sister’s uneasiness with that peculiar radar that exists between siblings who live together closely and have scores to settle. “Why not? What’s wrong with it?”

  “Did I say anything was wrong with it? There is nothing wrong with it. Nothing. Just…” She hesitated. “There are some things that Tateh and Mameh wouldn’t like you to see.”

  “And they like you to see?” she answered shrewdly.

  “I’m older than you, Pearl.”

  “‘The beginning of sin is sweet, but its end is bitter,’” Pearl said, repeating their father’s mantra. “That is true for you, too. For everyone.”

  “Why do you think this is a sin?”

  “Why are you afraid of Mameh and Tateh finding out?”

  “I’m not afraid!”

  “Yes, you are! You’re trembling!”

  Rose looked at her hands. The child was right. She lowered her voice to a whisper.

  “All right, all right. You can take a look, but not by yourself. I’ll show them to you.”

  Rose took down the book, sitting down on the bed next to her sister.

  Pearl stared at the cover. Men in bathing suits, naked to the waist, were jumping off a bridge into the water. In the background was the Eiffel Tower.

  “They are naked! NAKED MEN!” she shouted.

  “Lower your voice!”

  But it was too late.

  “What’s this I heard?” Their mother rushed in.

  Rose tried to move the book under the bedcovers, but her mother’s eye was too quick for her.

  “Vus is dus? Rose, you give that to me RIGHT NOW!”

  “It’s just a book of photographs, Mameh!” Rose said defiantly, holding the book behind her back, shielding it with her body.

  “Are you speaking to me with disrespect?” her mother asked, flabbergasted at such behavior in her obedient Rose. “Give it here!”

  Her heart sinking, Rose handed it over.

  Her mother sat down on the edge of the bed, flipping the pages slowly, as Rose moved away, standing by the door watching her, trying to imagine from her expression what she was looking at: The charming photos of laughing children holding on to each other as they crossed a busy Parisian street? Snow-covered statutes in the park? Or a man and woman passionately kissing? A photo of underwear in a store window? The photo of a woman staring at the painting of a nude in an art gallery?

  Rebbitzin Weiss slammed the book shut.

  “Mameh!”

  “I’ll talk to you later. First, I must talk to Tateh.”

  “Mameh, please don’t show it to him!” she wanted to wail, begging her mother for mercy for the first time in her life. But she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words. Besides, what good would it do? Her parents were one person.

  *

  “ROSE!” her father called.

  She stood up stiffly, walking into the living room as one walks to the guillotine.

  Her parents were sitting side by side at the table, the place where usually her father’s large Talmud lay taken up by Mr. Goldband’s book.

  “Sit down!”

  She pulled back a chair. Her knuckles were white.

  “Where did you get this filth?”

  “I … borrowed it. From the Goldbands’ library.”

  “This is the kind of book these people have in their house?” her father thundered.

  “Tateh, they didn’t give it to me. I chose it. You remember, I had a camera once. I was interested. I didn’t see all the photos, just a few. They were wonderful.… Then, he said I could take it home if I wanted. It’s not his fault. He was very kind.” Too late she realized that Michelle’s father should not have been mentioned at all. But she had never before had reason to lie, and too late she recognized that she suddenly did.

  “You spoke to your friend’s father? Alone?”

  “Just for a minute, Tateh! Michelle went to the kitchen to get water, and I waited for her in the library. Her father came in to get a book and saw me reading this…”

  “You are forbidden to go back to that house, do you understand?”

  “But Tateh, who will help Michelle?”

  “You are forbidden! End of discussion.”

  “But how will I return this to Mr. Goldband?”

  “I will make sure the school returns it to Mr. Goldband.”

  She felt a chill go up her spine.

  “Tateh, no!”

  “You are forbidden to go back to that school, understand?”

  “But where else can I go?”

  “You will stay at home until we find another school. A more suitable school. Now go to your room!”

  She ran to her room. Fully clothed, she pulled the covers over her head.

  “Rose, what happened? What happened, Rose?” Pearl shook her, trying to pull down the covers. Without looking up, she smacked the child’s hands away viciously.

  “Leave me alone, you brat! You’ve ruined my life.”

  Pearl howled, but Rose could not hear her over the sound of her own heartbroken sobbing as she felt her life shatter into a million painful, wounding shards.

  6

  It was, Rose thought as she sat in the living room surrounded by her parents, older brothers, grandmother, aunts, uncles, and older cousins, like the biblical ordeal ordained for the sotah, a woman accused without proof by her jealous husband of committing adultery. When she was dragged to the Holy Temple, the priests would undo her hair and publicly demand answers to horrible and embarrassing questions about her character, her behavior, and her sins. The punishment for lying was a terrible death, one worse than stoning or hanging, your body simply dissolving into a painful and putrid waste.

  Mute with frigh
t and confusion, her eyes darted from one accuser to the next as she was pelted with questions that bounced painfully off her heart like sharp little rocks.

  How many other forbidden books did she have hidden in her bedroom?

  Did the Goldbands eat food without the proper rabbinical hechsher?

  Did they eat pork?

  How many other books had Mr. Goldband forced on her?

  Did Miriam Goldband eat in nonkosher pizza parlors?

  Did Miriam Goldband secretly meet boys?

  What did she know about Miriam Goldband? About Miriam Goldband’s mother?

  And, last but not least, the questions that made her heart stop: What was her relationship with Mr. Goldband? Had he ever tried to touch her?

  Had he? She wondered. Tried? Was that what it was, his hands over hers on the camera, the way he stepped back suddenly when Michelle returned?

  She shuddered, large sobs finally breaking from her silent lips, her slight, girlish shoulders heaving, her chest rising and falling, bringing the family council to a frustrating and premature end and the consensus that the task at hand was beyond their powers. The proper rabbinical authority needed to be consulted. The Honored Rav would certainly get answers out of her that they could not. And if not, at the very least he would remove the crippling burden from their shoulders of deciding what was to be done next. This alone, it was decided, was worth the shame of involving him.

  In the hours that followed, Rose lay awake in her bed, her body trembling as the cold, dark hours of night swept over her in terrifying waves, her imagination conjuring up worst-case scenarios. Had she, without knowing or willing it, done something sinful and shameful? Would she now be sent abroad to the Gateshead girl’s boarding school in England, where they reportedly watched your every move and you had hardly any contact with your family? It had been rumored that a girl found smoking cigarettes in the park with a boy had merited that punishment. Married off at seventeen to an English Hassid, she had never been heard of again. What will happen to me? she agonized, until her exhausted body fell unwillingly into a troubled sleep.

  “Rose, Rose…” Pearl shook her awake. “I’m sorry, Rose, I’m so sorry … please, Rose…”

  Pearl was standing at the foot of her bed, her long blond hair disheveled, sticking to her wet cheeks as she sobbed. She looked abject and miserable, which only made Rose angrier. What did she have to be miserable about, the little snitch?

  “Leave me alone! I never want to speak to you again, you little moisar! This is all your fault!”

  Astonished at this vicious response from her kind sister, Pearl stopped crying, wiping her eyes. “But if I’m truly sorry, Rose, and ask you three times, you have to forgive me; otherwise, it’s your sin.”

  “That’s only before Yom Kippur! Right now, I don’t have to talk to you at all!”

  “Please, Rose!”

  Their mother swept through the door like an angry wind. “What are you two speaking about? Rose? Pearl?”

  Rose said nothing, pulling the covers back over her head. So, this was how it was going to be, then, from now on? Her mother standing outside her bedroom door like a spy, listening for secret transgressions.

  Pearl burst into fresh sobs. “Rose won’t forgive me!”

  “What is there to forgive? You did nothing wrong, Pearl. Now go get dressed for school. And don’t speak to your sister again until I tell you it’s all right. And you, Rose, get up and say your prayers with special kavanna so the Holy One, blessed be He, might forgive your sins!” Later that morning, sitting between her parents in a chair that made her feel like Goldilocks usurping the Papa Bear’s seat, she faced the distinguished and powerful religious authority she had before only glimpsed from afar through the thick curtains of the women’s section in the synagogue. His eyes were dark and piercing under his gray, bushy brows; she could not meet them for shame. She lowered her gaze, focusing on the way his fingers clasped and unclasped, the gnarled knuckles like the branches of an old olive tree she had once seen in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

  It was like facing God, she thought, who could see directly into your heart and soul. All her thoughts and transgressions were laid bare before him. There was no escape.

  Suddenly, he leaned across the table, his face stern, but not unkind. “Do you believe, dear child, that our God is a merciful God who forgives transgressions and welcomes back those who stray from the righteous path?”

  She nodded sincerely.

  “And do you believe that though your sins be as scarlet God shall bleach them as white as snow if you repent?” he continued.

  “Yes, Kavod HaRav.”

  He nodded, satisfied, his hands enfolding each other gently. “A good girl does not suddenly wake up one morning and look at forbidden pictures. Tell me, child, whose idea was it to look at that book?”

  “Mine! Only mine! I took it off the bookshelf at the Goldbands’ house.”

  “And when you saw the pictures, did you not immediately put it back?”

  She hesitated. “No.”

  Her parents inhaled deeply.

  “And why not, child?”

  “Because some of them were beautiful!” she burst out, shocked by her own defiance. “They were pictures of children, of the streets of Paris.”

  “Beautiful! And the others? The immodest ones? Did they also seem beautiful to you?”

  What could she say? That they were no worse than the photos in Life and Look magazines she’d been looking at for years? That she even kept magazines with photos like that under her bed? That, yes, she did think they were beautiful?

  “I am interested in photography. I was given a camera in school.”

  The Rav looked up at her parents in surprise and disapproval.

  “It was a gift, from the Dime Savings Bank, years ago, Honored Rav,” her mother said hurriedly, mortified.

  “She doesn’t even have it anymore. It was a toy. She took pictures of the family,” added her father.

  “M’ken nisht aroifstzen a freshen kop.”

  A clap of silence, as loud and frightening as thunder, struck them all dumb.

  I can’t give her a new head.

  The Rav turned to her. “Go, wait outside until we are finished.”

  Her legs shaking, she left the room.

  The Rav waited for her to close the door, then turned to her parents, shaking his head sorrowfully. “The corruption started long ago, under your noses.”

  All the words they had practiced to defend her, to foist the blame on the Goldbands, felt like dust on their tongues. There was nothing left for them to say.

  “But what can we do now, Honored Rav?” Rabbi Weiss asked humbly.

  “You must send her to a different school, where she will be sheltered from bad influences. How old is she?”

  “Almost sixteen, Honored Rav.”

  “In another year, you’ll find a good shidduch for her, and she will become a kosher wife and mother in Israel, and leave all this narishkeit behind her.”

  “What school, Honored Rav? She is already in Bais Yaakov.”

  He smoothed down his white beard. “For someone like your daughter, that is too frei. Send her to Bais Ruchel.”

  “Bais Ruchel?” Her parents looked at each other in alarm. “That is Satmar. We are not Satmar.”

  “But as the Rambam teaches, sometimes to reach the middle path, a sinner must go in the extreme opposite direction. Bais Ruchel teaches al pi taharas hakodesh, a pure holy education. It’s what your daughter needs now. Do you have any other children?”

  “Baruch Hashem, another five, Honored Rav. Four boys, three at kollel and one in yeshiva, and a younger girl.”

  “They share a room, the two girls?”

  They nodded.

  “Ah, this cannot continue! Rose must be sent away, at least for the coming year, until the school works its influence of purification. They must have no contact, lest the older corrupt the younger.”

  Rabbi Weiss said nothing, the sharp exhale
of a single, hard breath the only sign of the depth of his heartbreak at this ruling. He found it necessary to clear his throat harshly before he could utter a single word. “But surely, the Honored Rav does not mean that Rose should have no contact at all with her family?”

  “Like Joseph the tzadik, she must undergo this total separation for a short time in order to grow into the pious, good wife and mother she is meant to be. Of course, this is up to you. But if you are strong and are able to resist your natural feelings, my advice will bring blessing to her and your whole family.”

  “Yes, Honored Rav. Thank you, Honored Rav,” Rabbi Weiss said meekly, getting up to go.

  His wife followed, her face frozen. Once outside the door, he turned to her in agony.

  “How can we send our Rose away?”

  Bracha Weiss looked at her husband in surprise. “We have asked the Honored Rav for his advice. And now we must follow it to the letter. As it is written: ‘Do not turn from their words either to the right or to the left.’”

  “And Rashi says: ‘Even if they tell you right is left or left is right…’” Asher Weiss grimaced.

  The session was over, Rose thought, looking at her parents’ miserable faces as they exited. And so is my life.

  *

  The next day, her father handed over the borrowed book, wrapped in a plain brown paper bag, to the principal of Bais Yaakov, informing him that his daughter Rose would not be returning. After examining the book thoroughly, the principal agreed. He called in the Goldbands, returning the book and expelling Michelle.

  Later that evening, Rose was called into the living room.

  “You are going to live with your bubbee.”

  She was stunned. Her grandmother lived in faraway Borough Park, where she knew no one. It was exile.

  “But Mameh, Tateh, please, please don’t send me away from the family! I’ll never do it again!”

  “We have no choice,” her father said sadly, looking down at the floor, before putting on his hat. “I’m going to daven Mincha.”

  She ran after him into the street, begging, “Tateh, please, please!”

  But he was gone.

  “Stop making a tzimmis! You want the whole neighborhood should hear?” her mother said harshly, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her back up the stairs.