The Debt of Tamar by Nicole Dweck Read Free Book Online

chair. She took a moment to catch her breath. “G-d knows it’s just the affection of children for one another.” She spoke slowly. Her words were splintered and stretched like an old thread frayed along the edges and pulled too tight.
    “G-d knows we’re no longer children. I want to marry her. I know she wants it too.”
    Doña Antonia shook her head limply.
    “You haven’t even heard me out.”
    “You’re practically brother and sister.”
    “You know very well we are not brother and sister.”
    “She’s been promised to another.”
    “Promises can be broken.”
    “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t give my word!”
    “And I won’t be here if you don’t take it back.”
    Doña Antonia dropped her head to her palms.
    “Not long ago, you told me that I was the Señor of the house,” José continued. “If that’s still true, summon Doctor Hamon. Call off the wedding.”
    “I can’t do that.”
    José looked through the window into the courtyard where Reyna sat waiting. “If you won’t, I will.”
    Doña Antonia stood slowly from her place and made her way to the window. The sun was low in the fire-colored sky. “We’ll have no more unpleasantness today.”
    “But, Tia —”
    “The Sabbath is coming.” She kept her eyes on the horizon. “Bring me my candlesticks.”
    Begrudgingly, José made his way to a large armoire, withdrew a pair of candlesticks and brought them over to the windowsill where his aunt stood.
    Doña Antonia lit her candles, one by one. Then, she closed her eyes and said a blessing to welcome the Sabbath into her home. “Better hurry and wash up.” She turned to José. “They’ll be expecting you at the synagogue.”
    José stormed out of the room. Hastily, he washed his face and hands, changed into a fresh tunic, then placed his Sabbath turban squarely on his head.
    Looking in the mirror, he barely recognized himself. No longer did he possess the boyish charm of his youth. His skin was rugged and aged. His eyes were glazed over with the sheen of too much worry. A trim beard covered the lower half of his face. His expression was stern and his heart was heavy. He had finally made it to this great land, where he could practice his religion freely. The chains that had shackled his spirit were finally broken only to be replaced by the chains that were now shackling his heart.
    He left the house and made his way down the torch-lit path away from the villa. He had to fight the urge to turn around, head back to the house and blow out the candles. Hiding his Judaism had become a natural instinct and he was not yet accustomed to living in a city tolerant of his faith. Glancing back, his eyes rested on the flickering glow of the Sabbath candles in the dark window. It was a simple moment, one he would never forget.
    As he made his way through the narrow, winding streets of Istanbul, he passed German Jews and Romaniote Jews, Spanish and Portuguese too. He was greeted at least a half dozen times by the faithful on their way to synagogue. They would tip their brightly-colored turbans, bend forward in their wide-sleeved cloaks, and utter as they passed, “ Shabbat Shalom.” Then they would go their separate ways, the German to the German synagogue, the Ashkenazi to the Ashkenaz synagogue, and José, to the Spanish- Portuguese synagogue that his aunt, along with Doctor Hamon, had helped to establish.
    As he made his way through the dark alleyway leading towards the synagogue, the melodic song of the cantorcould be heard through sealed, wooden doors. Upon entering, he greeted acquaintances and neighbors with a quiet nod or a smile before picking up a prayer book and heading for an empty seat on one of the long wooden benches throughout the vast sanctuary. From the bimmah, the Rabbi addressed the congregants in both Spanish and Portuguese and led the evening prayer beneath the steady glow of an enormous, oil-lit chandelier.
    The room was packed with men, young and old, some hailing from the