“When we were outside, my father told me, ‘In this school, the children of the poor are taught the Torah and commandments. If you neglect your studies, I’ll send you there, and what the teachers in the government school failed to achieve, that teacher will achieve with his cane and whip.’“
What is the point of this tale? The Hebrew University in Jerusalem, where our good friend Manfred was appointed lecturer, is the point. I don’t suppose the university in Jerusalem is exactly like the school my father threatened me with in my childhood. But most likely it is similar; otherwise, why would the Zionists want to create a Hebrew university in Jerusalem, when they send their children to universities in Germany? What role is there for Hebrew in our time, our forefathers having renounced it? And what do we, the Jews of Germany, need with Jerusalem? Invoking his advanced age, this relative now begs to be brought to Jerusalem.
Henrietta thought to herself: I’ll go to those in charge of certificates, and they’ll give me as many as I need, for the certificates are in their hands. After all, they are Jews too, and they know what’s in store for German Jews. But she was not aware of the difference between those who seek a favor and those who have the power to grant it.
So Henrietta ran around in pursuit of certificates. She took on the job herself, rather than encroach on Manfred’s time, for Manfred was busy with the new book he was writing on burial customs of the poor in Byzantium. The book was still unborn, except in his thoughts. She ran to the office she had been told to go to, only to be told, “This isn’t the place, and this isn’t the office.” She asked where she should go. The clerk said, “I’m not an information service, and it’s not my job to tell people where to go.” Henrietta stared at him, her blue eyes black with despair. The clerk relented and, departing from the letter of the law, told her where the right office was located, giving her several landmarks: the streets in Jerusalem change names from one day to the next, so you won’t necessarily find a street just because you know its name. He told her, “Go quickly, or they’ll all be gone for lunch, and you’ll find yourself facing a locked door.”
She managed to run, unimpeded by the ruts in those Jerusalem streets. The good Lord is not overindulgent; He seems content to have covered Jerusalem with a sky that is uniformly blue.
Henrietta arrived at her destination and found the office open, but it was so crowded that she couldn’t get in — either because she wasn’t the only one with relatives sighing and moaning in exile in Germany, or because the office was overflowing with clerks. She stood — who knows how long? — until the clerks got up and went home for dinner, locking up for the day. Early the next morning, she was back again. She found that others had preceded her. She stood with them — who knows how long? — and left with all the rest, empty-handed. This was how it was, one day, two days, three days, and many days more.
She was once at a university reception for Weizmann, where she happened to be seated next to a prominent Jewish Agency figure, the one in charge of certificates. There was a long series of speakers, and this eminent man was struggling to remain alert. He saw a well-dressed woman, neither old nor ugly, sitting next to him. He began to talk to her. She sat and listened. He said, “My dear lady, do you take me for one of the speakers?” “Why?” “Because you sit so quietly, without interrupting.” She found her tongue and told him about her relatives. He said to her, “It’s impossible to bring them all in at once, but they could be brought in one by one. In three months, there will be a new round of certificates, and one — maybe two — could be earmarked for your relatives.” The anticipated day arrived. He remembered her, was most cordial to her, and inquired about her health, as well as her husband’s. As for the certificates, he said that all the certificates that arrived had been for individuals from a designated country, and every certificate had someone’s name on it. “But, in three months from now, there will be more certificates, and, what we failed to accomplish with the certificates that are here, we will accomplish with those that are on the way.”
The anticipated day arrived. She went to the Jewish Agency and knocked on the proper door. An assistant appeared and said, “He’s away.” “When will he be back?” He said, “My boss, the chief, is not in the habit of reporting his plans to me.” She stood there, not knowing what to do. She peered in and saw the chief at his desk, polishing his fingernails, like a woman. She felt like screaming, “What use are these people, what good are their promises?” But her mouth failed her; it did not utter a sound. Henrietta didn’t know that it was wise not to utter a sound. As long as we don’t tell our benefactors what they are, there is still hope. The fact is, we depend on them, for those close to our hearts are crying out in distress.
Chapter two
Let us turn from the anguish of certificates to the joy of a son.
A son was born in Ahinoam. His parents didn’t bother about getting him a certificate from the Jewish Agency or the Mandate government, yet he has come, he is here, he lets his voice resound, unafraid that Mandate officials will hear and expel him from the country. When Maria Teresa sought to limit the descendants of our father Abraham, peace be unto him, she issued a clever decree allowing only one member of each Jewish family in her kingdom to marry. The Mandate government behaves in a superior fashion, setting out with rifles to confront our brothers and sisters when they arrive at our shores, the old and infirm among them, as well as babies born en route. They stand ready to fire at these survivors, already debilitated by their woes, so they won’t come into the country. But they have issued no decrees limiting births.
So we are happy that a child was born unto us. Rejoicing over this child, the grandmother, Henrietta, and the grandfather, Manfred, have come to celebrate with his mother and with Avraham-and-a-half, her mate. Despite the fact that he was conceived and born in Kfar Ahinoam in the Land of Israel, whereas they were born in another country, he allows them to approach him, even to hold him in their arms. If he kicks them, how much charm there is in his legs, how much power in his kicks! A thousand times a day, Grandpa would willingly subject his face to Dani’s kicks, not to mention Grandma Henrietta. She has never enjoyed anything as much, even when Zahara was at Dani’s stage of life. You assume Dani’s kicks are random? Then look and see. They are deliberate and deliberately delivered. Grandma Henrietta has a gold tooth in her mouth. She had it made when she was pregnant with Zahara; when Dani kicks her, he aims at the gold tooth. He is suggesting to Grandma Henrietta that, if not for his mother, she would still be stuck with a rotten tooth. Despite his modesty, there is something about the shape of Grandpa Manfred’s nose that conveys pride, so, when Dani kicks Grandpa, he aims for his nose. I am no expert in physiognomy. Dani, may he have long life, makes it clear that he still remembers the passages from the Zohar that are relevant to this subject. It would seem that the angel forgot to slap him on the mouth as he emerged from his mother’s womb, so he still remembers everything he learned there.
The Herbsts are in Kfar Ahinoam, eating, drinking, sleeping, walking, kissing the hands and feet of Zahara’s baby. Out of love for his daughter’s son, Grandfather doesn’t smoke in his presence, much less when he holds him in his arms. It’s lucky that Grandpa Manfred doesn’t wear glasses, as most professors do, the eyes being so close to the nose. And it’s lucky that Grandpa can do without his pipe. Dani isn’t accustomed to the smell of tobacco, for neither his progenitress nor her constant companion is a smoker, unlike some people we know, who are never without a cigarette — the fathers even when they hold their child, the mothers even during pregnancy and while they are nursing.