“Rachel, is that you?” Esther Berlatsky appeared from the shadows in the corner. She stood in front of the last cot on the right-hand side of the room. Huddled behind her were Mrs. Berlatsky, Elena, and Jacob.
Rachel rushed over to them and found herself in a comforting embrace. “How is Chaia?”
Mrs. Berlatsky dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “The doctor didn’t have time to speak to me when we arrived. So many people. She was taken away without a word.” Mrs. Berlatsky’s eyes rested on Rachel for a second before welling up with tears. Jacob, his face gray and wan, flung his arms around his mother and started crying as well.
Rachel stepped back as Elena and Esther tried to console their mother, embarrassed to witness their private sorrow. She turned her head and saw her mother climb onto the empty cot beside the Berlatskys. Without uttering a single word, her mother closed her eyes and turned onto her side, her back facing Rachel.
While Nucia embraced the Berlatskys, Rachel looked around and realized that there were no more empty beds. A few children slept fitfully on the floor and a number of beds held two women. One small square window overlooked the courtyard, but Rachel turned away from it. She didn’t want to see the stacks of bodies again.
It was difficult to sleep on the hard floor, wedged in between her sister and Esther Berlatsky. A thin, brown cotton cover was folded over them, but Rachel pushed it down. It smelled strange and musty, reminding her of all that had happened even when she closed her eyes and tried to pretend that nothing had changed… that she was safe at home with her parents and sister… that tomorrow would be another normal day.
But tomorrow would be far from normal. Life would never be the same or as good without her father. Rachel recalled his last words, how he had promised her that he would make sure everyone in the house was safe, and then join them in the outhouse. If only he had come with them right away, she thought. He would be in the hospital with them right now. She would have his strong shoulders to lean on, his infinite wisdom to guide her through the difficult days ahead.
Rachel tossed and turned, groaned, and sat up. A soft light from the moon streamed in through the window just like it had at her house, reminding Rachel that the outside world was unchanged, unaffected by these riots. For people far away in Petersburg and Moscow, life would go on as usual. And the Bessarabetz, filled with the lies that had led to these attacks, would continue to be published without penalty. It all seemed bitterly unfair.
Nucia sat up beside Rachel.
“What are we going to do?” whispered Rachel.
“I don’t know,” said Nucia quietly.
“Where are we going to live? Our house is gone. And how are we going to pay for food?”
“Shh! You’ll get Mother upset.” Nucia squinted at Rachel and yawned. “Why don’t you go back to sleep?”
“I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I think of Father.”
“You must try. We need to be strong for Mother.” Nucia sighed and lay back down. Rachel listened to the noises in the room. Across from her, someone snored loudly. A few babies were crying, and many of the women wept softly. Rachel couldn’t cry anymore. Every tear she had in her had been shed for her father. A hollowness had settled inside of her, a hole that could never be filled.
“No… no… no! My children… don’t hurt them… no… No!”
Rachel turned in the direction of the voice and saw a woman in the hallway yelling at a nurse. The woman’s long hair hung wildly around her face.
“Please calm down. You’re in a hospital,” said the nurse. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Where are my children?”
“They’re gone.”
“No, they can’t be dead. They’re only children. They’ve done no harm. You’re lying. Tell me…where are they?”
The woman’s desperate screams woke everyone in the room. All eyes were on her as she called for her children. Eventually, a couple of orderlies carried her away, but her voice could still be heard as she was taken down the corridor, and it echoed in Rachel’s head until dawn.
Funerals could not be held inside the synagogue because it was an ashen shell, destroyed in the riots. Rachel couldn’t believe how the building had been burned into charred remains. Worst of all were the desecrated Torah scrolls. Scattered all over the ground, the sacred scrolls were black at the edges and burned completely through in parts. Rachel wondered if this was a sign that Jews should abandon their traditions, go forward believing only in what they could see, feel, taste, and hear—birch trees that provided welcome shade in the summer, rain that made fruit and vegetables grow, the sweet smell of lavender in the spring, fish that kept bellies full in the winter, brisk wind that howled in the night, and violin music that warmed hearts and souls. What purpose did faith have? How had it improved their lives?
“This is horrible,” said Sacha. His curls were barely evident, flattened by dirt and grease, and his eyes were outlined in dark shadows. He and his father were also staying at the hospital because their home had been destroyed. “I can’t believe the scrolls weren’t burned entirely to ashes.”
Rachel looked away and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She wondered if her father’s faith would be shaken right now, like hers, if he would be devastated by this sight, or more committed to their faith than ever before.
The rabbi said a prayer asking for peace for all of the forty-nine victims. It was early afternoon, two days after the massacre, and Rachel stood facing the dead who lay on the ground at the Jewish cemetery. Since there were not enough coffins, the bodies were wrapped in prayer shawls.
Rachel listened to Rabbi Yitzchak with an impassive face, and her hands shook as she tore her clothing at the gravesite to honor her father. She didn’t know what to believe anymore… was being Jewish worth all the pain and suffering her family had endured? While everyone else said the Kaddish to mark the end of the burial service, Rachel closed her eyes and listened to the words of the prayer.
“May His illustrious name be blessed always and forever… Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, honored, raised up, and acclaimed to be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, beyond every blessing, hymn, praise and consolation that is uttered in the world. And let us say Amen. May abundant peace from heaven and life be upon us and upon all Israel. And let us say Amen.”
Rachel opened her eyes. The meaning of this prayer, which seemed strange given the occasion, confused her. The prayer didn’t mention the dead, and she didn’t understand why there was so much praise when so many were killed because they were Jewish. And as for peace, how could anyone expect peace when they were surrounded by such open hostility?
Warm tears started to flow down Rachel’s cheeks. Sobs rose from her throat to her mouth. She hung her head down as her mother and sister threw clumps of earth over her father’s shrouded body. Suddenly, she pictured her father in the ground, scratching at the earth to get out. “Father, Father!” she cried. “Don’t put him in the dirt. He’s not dead. Please, take him out of there. It’s cold and dark underground. He doesn’t belong there. Let him out! Please! Let him out!”
Strong arms pulled Rachel away from the grave. She struggled to break free, but the arms were stronger than she was.