No Time for Tears by Cynthia Freeman Read Free Book Online Page B

table, to ask the ancient four questions beginning with: “Why is this night different from all other nights?”
    Although Avrum answered, Dovid added silently, Because of Chavala, the blessing and joy she has brought to my existence is why tonight is different…
    When the reaffirmation was proudly intoned by Avrum, “Next year in Jerusalem,” again Moishe and Dovid nodded.
    Chavala, though, prayed that next year they would be in the land of the free and the home of the brave … America. The Jews of that great land of opportunity had no need to return to Russia, broken in body and many in spirit from the malaria-infested swamps of Palestine. For the sake of her father and her husband, and apparently now her brother Moishe too, she was thankful her thoughts could not be read.
    She and Sheine removed the plates, then the cakes were brought to the table and Dvora served small bowls of fruit compote.
    Avrum looked around the table at his children, especially the little one, and spoke silently to his Rivka. My dearest, you left me with so much, I weep that you cannot share this with me. Yet you are not far away. I know your spirit abides and is over us, and all the days of my life it will be so…
    On Sunday Chavala prepared a platter of matzoh brei and when the sumptuous breakfast was over she left the kitchen chores to be done by the girls and returned to sewing while Dovid went back to his workbench.
    The small village hummed with the excitement of market day. Sundays were always special. The women not only replenished their larders, but the square became a meeting place to exchange bits of gossip while their husbands attended to the affairs of earning a living.
    The young yeshiva boys sat hunched over their Torah portions as their elders, dressed in their long black coats and wide beaver hats, debated the interpretation of the Law and Prophets.
    In the stalls mothers visited while buying their briskets and beets to make borscht. Outside the children amused themselves with a stick and a ball. Nursing mothers with their babies at their breasts sat on a bench. The scene of this Sunday’s Passover afternoon was the same as it had been for a century past. It was a good day, a happy day for the Jews in their small village.
    But for the Christians in the city of Odessa, there was quite a different drama being enacted. As the church bells pealed out, calling the faithful to worship, their religious fervor was forgotten as they sat in their pews. Dressed in his robes, the bearded priest looked out to his flock in a moment of silence, then began: “This is a tragic day. A terrible act has been perpetrated upon one of our beloved children. At dawn this morning an innocent child was found murdered at the very door of this holy place. We are civilized people who live for the brotherhood of man and the kingdom of heaven. We preach and teach love, but our words go unheeded. Who in this land could be so vile as to violate this angel? Who could be so perverse as to want the blood of this precious lamb? In the name of our Savior, the life of this maiden must be avenged.”
    Before the priest had finished a hue and cry rang throughout the sanctuary. As one voice they called out, “KILL THE JEWS, KILL THE JEWS … DEATH TO THE JEWS!” The parishioners ran from the church, the women and children told to return home, the men gone to saddle their horses…
    Moishe was returning home flushed with excitement as he felt the kopeks in his pocket. He had sold three pairs of boots today. He would keep only a small part for himself and the rest he would give to Dovid. Going up to the front door, he paused, then looked into the far distance. Coming down over the hills he saw the smoking torches and the galloping horses. An army of students had joined in the crusade. Although the shouting was still not distinct, he knew. He’d seen this and heard the words before. Quickly he went into the house and stood in front of Chavala… “Pogrom,