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Sarah Raz
The Full Moon Above Us
Copyright © 2020 Under The Full Moon
All rights reserved; No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.
Translated from the Hebrew by Baruch Pletner
Contact: [email protected]
Contents
Plovdiv 1924
Sofia, 1928
Marseille 1928
Plovdiv
Sofia
Kyustendil
Plovdiv
Sofia
Yaffo, Israel, 1963
Message from the Author
Plovdiv 1924
“Father, father,” Albert’s urgent calls cut through the peaceful afternoon air as he ran down the street and burst into the quiet coffee shop like a sudden squall of wind.
“I brought the letter”, he said, panting. “The letter from Israel. The letter Yitzhak had sent us is finally here!” Father came out from behind the counter, wrapped his arms around his son, and took the letter in his hands. “Tonight, when Jacques comes, we shall all sit down and he will read the letter to us,” he said. Albert went into the kitchen to catch his breath, followed by his father, Menachem, who poured him a drink and went out to sit in the afternoon sun.
It was in late spring, in the month of May, when Menachem Levi, the pater familias, arrived in Plovdiv. He was on the run from forced conscription in his native town of Edirne in Northwest Turkey. Like many young Jewish men, he had crossed the border to Bulgaria, where he enjoyed the warm welcome of the local Jewish community.
At the time of his arrival, he stumbled into a large community celebration. On Lag Ba’Omer eve, the community celebrated “Shekel Day”, a day designed to urge young people to become involved in the resettlement of the Land of Israel and encourage them to participate in building in it new towns and villages. All were encouraged to contribute to the redemption of lands in the ancient Jewish homeland.
The celebration began with services at the synagogue and continued with a wonderful feast and with dancing. At the peak of the event, which was entirely dedicated to the love of Zion, all the Jewish schools and the women’s organizations put on a great parade. Leading the parade was a youth band and everyone was wearing patriotic blue and white. Demonstrations of gymnastics were performed by Jewish sports clubs.
Among the multitude of marchers, Menachem caught sight of young girl of rare beauty. He made a promise to himself that he would find out who she was. That did not prove too difficult. The first person of whom he inquired could tell him that her name was Luna, daughter of Caleb, an offspring of a well-known family. The enchanting Luna, like all girls her age, was anxiously awaiting a suitable match and in Menachem she had found her true love.
The couple wed and opened up an upscale coffee shop in the seaside town of Hissar, serving the cream of local society. Hissar was an ancient resort, in the vicinity of which there were many therapeutic springs. It attracted a varied clientele year-round, but most of the business and the hard work fell on the summer months. Menachem thought himself lucky; a beautiful loving wife, five healthy children, all of them diligent students and hard workers at the family business. Only one thing troubled his sleep, the worry for his eldest son Yitzhak, who had left for a faraway land.
Yitzhak had traveled with a few of his friends to Istanbul, were they became friends with Yosef Trumpeldor and joined his group. “Palestine”, his son would say, “Eretz Israel, the Land of Israel. It is there that we shall build a state for all the Jews of the world.” Yitzhak became enamored with the Zionist ideal when he studied engineering in Germany and it was then that he had decided to help rebuild the ancient Jewish homeland. From his frequent letters, it could be gleamed that he was doing well and that the experience had only strengthened his Zionist ardor. He was proud to be counted among the pioneers who were building the old-new land.
The news brought joy and comfort to Menachem. In his letters, Yitzhak was adamant that he would only call for his family to join him when he became certain that they could find their place in the reborn Hebrew society. An entire new vocabulary entered Menachem’s home; the Galilee, Jewish labor, roadbuilding, labor unions. Yitzhak never missed a beat in keeping his family abreast of his new and exciting life.
Yitzhak’s comrades in Kvutzat Kineret, where he had made his home, soon realized his leadership qualities and sent him to organize the labor relations office in Haifa. Not only had Yitzhak worked in laying down new roads in the Galilee and loading ships in the Haifa port, he devoted much of his time to making sure that his fellow workers were well taken care of. Menachem knew that his son was the kind of guy that always took the initiative and never shied away from leadership roles. Here is what he read in the latest of his son’s letters, one that dealt with a meeting of the Haifa labor union:
“Our leaders are consumed with worry about the big things; settling the land and repatriating more Jews to our homeland. They have no time for the individual worker who is struggling every day to put food on the table. We must fight to get everyone paid in cash and on time. What use are credit notes that are only worth half their nominal value in the open market?”
That was Yitzhak, alright. That was how his father had known him, always quick with his words, never a doubt in his mind. That is the kind of education kids got in the Jewish schools in Plovdiv, this is how they were taught to be; active, opinionated, never shy about taking part in the rebirth of the Jewish nation.
Menachem closed shop and lazily made his way up the street back towards his home, little Albert in tow. Friday was the only day he closed early. Luna would have the Sabbath dinner table ready and all the kids would hurry up and finish their chores. He liked that little ritual; entering the house with his family already seated around the table waiting for him to arrive and take his rightful place at its head.
Jacques, his other son, a true redhead in both appearance and character, was about to graduate from law school that year; his ready wit more than made up for his somewhat disheveled looks. Jacques was much appreciated in the community for his wisdom and many talents. Corinne, Menachem’s eldest daughter, tall and lanky, was hardly a great beauty, but she had found, eventually, a match with a young man from Sofia the capital and the wedding date had been set. Her young sister Alice was only sixteen. She was the prettiest in the family and there were those who said in the whole town. Alice was undoubtedly the apple of Menachem’s eye, but tragically she had to separate from her childhood betrothed because he could not afford the dowry set by the boy’s family and they would not budge from their requested sum. The two families had much in common, as the eldest sons of both, Yitzhak and David had left together for Palestine, but Marco, their youngest, was not allowed to pursue his relationship with beautiful Alice. She was lucky, Menachem thought, as her beauty would always stand her in good stead.
Menachem opened the door to his home. The enticing aroma of Luna’s cooking enveloped him in its warmth. He knew that she had been working to prepare her dishes since the small hours of the morning. Her voice, singing an old ballad, wafted from the kitchen. Every night she would sing old Ladino romances, songs that reminded him of his own mother’s voice back in Turkey. In the dining room everyone was seated wearing their Sabbath best, the girls giggling and whispering among themselves, Jacques, as always, with a serious expression on his face.
Jacques took the envelope from his father’s hands and immediately exclaimed, “This is not Yitzhak’s handwriting!” He quickly tore the envelope open. His face lost all color. “Who is this? Who is writing to us in Hebrew?” asked Menachem. “It is David Anavi, Yitzhak’s friend,” Jacques let out a heavy sigh. He looked at his mother and then his father. His strength failed him. It was the worst news. Yitzhak had stepped on a rusty nail at work, got a nasty infection, and passed away in the hospital.
A great cry of anguish escaped Menachem’s throat. Luna’s voiceless sobs were followed by those of her daughters. How could they properly mourn a family member who had died so far away? How could they come to accept this death when they couldn’t travel to say the final farewells to their loved one? When they couldn’t put him in his grave? Jacques extracted from the envelope another piece of paper, this one in his brother’s handwriting. “Father, there is another letter here. This one is from Yitzhak.” Jacques proceeded to read it out loud.
“To my beloved family, heartfelt greetings!
I do not know what will be my situation when you get this letter. While we were doing construction at the Haifa port, an old nail penetrated the sole of my shoe. I thought nothing of it, but after two days my foot was greatly swollen. The medic at the clinic became quite alarmed and sent me to the hospital. It was there that I understood how bad my condition really was. The doctors surround me day and night, but there is nothing they can do. It appears that a microorganism of some sort entered my bloodstream and my body cannot overcome it. The nurse here takes good care of me and soaks my foot in baths with soapy water and iodine. My body is weakening, but my spirit is strong.
My dear family, you can never know how happy I am to be here in our homeland. It is true! Our people have finally merited to return to Zion! My comrades around me are full of faith that everything will be fine here, although the daily life is difficult. Remember how I have always told you that when there is a real city in Israel I will send for you? Father and mother, dear brother and sisters, this is the time to come. I am certain that each of you will be able to make a contribution to the rebuilding of our homeland. Jacques, lawyers are needed here also. The girls will be able to find work as teachers. And father, you can start a coffee shop.
Whatever happens to me, know that my life is rich with labor and my spirits are high from my work as one of the pioneers. I have merited much respect from my fellow workers and they have even given me the honor of representing them. I am working tirelessly to make sure that our members all have meaningful work to do, even though it is not always easy to compete with the Arab laborers. Jacques, I trust that you will have the strength of spirit and the determination to convince everyone to repatriate to our Land, the Land of Israel. Please see this as my dearest wish, to see you all here with me. I am entrusting this letter to my friend David, so he can mail it to you.
Be well my dearest! In my spirit’s eyes I already see you here with me in our homeland. Farewell!”
Jacques pressed the letter with trembling hands on his heart. “This is Yitzhak’s last will and testament and I will do my utmost to make it come true. I will double down on my activities with the Jewish Congress, so that the door to repatriate to Israel is opened for all of us.”
For Luna, the universe had just gone dark. For a while now she hasn’t been feeling well and the doctors cannot tell what could be wrong with her. She is weak, they say. Menachem was advised that Luna should stop working at the coffee shop and rest and that was what he did. He took upon himself all the hard work and the children helped after school with serving and cleanup.
Luna has never been the same since. She simply could not bear the loss. For naught was all the attention lavished upon her by her family. She fell ill and did not leave her bed for several months. Corinne and Alice, her daughters, served upon her hand and foot. Her two sisters helped maintain the household. But she never arose again, refusing to be comforted. When she felt that her time on this earth was near its end, she asked to see her husband with haste.
In the darkened room, Luna lay on a bed of blinding white sheets adorned with lace. A single ray of light penetrated the windowpane and illuminated her pale face. Her entire family was seated around her. Menachem leaned over her, trying to catch her every word. “I leave all my treasures to you… Jacques will make his own way, you mustn’t worry about him. Corrine is very smart, but she lacks flexibility. She has none of the comfort and warmth of the Jewish Sephardi girls. Please, accompany her to her wedding… we don’t even know who her betrothed is, only that his family is well off. Menachem, she will not lack for anything. Her life will be one of luxury, but please make sure you keep in touch with her, even if Sofia is far away. Albert… he should be a doctor… that is my wish. Don’t tell him that there is no money. You and Jacques make sure that there is enough for his studies. He can do it. That is what good families do, they make sure the youngest can get ahead in life. He will be a doctor… have money… and Alice, our little Liska, she cannot fend for herself as of yet. She is so fragile, so broken from that love of hers that cannot be.”
Luna took a deep breath, struggling to fill her lungs with air. “Alice, come here and give me your hand,” Alice knelt next to her mother, gently kissing her fingers. “Menachem, do what you can to help her. Go to the Anavis and tell them that we are a good family, tell them that money isn’t everything…” Luna’s breathing became labored and she pushed herself up on her pillows and asked for some water. Menachem rearranged the pillows under her. “Tell them that the girl is a lyceum graduate. She knows French and can be a good seamstress; she can be a great help to her husband. We Levite women are hard-working and sturdy. We are survivors. Tell them that, Menachem.” Luna gave Alice’s hand a feeble squeeze; her eyes were filling with tears. “Alice, wherever you go, know that I will always be there with you, from my perch up above. In times of joy and in hours of sadness and danger, be certain that I will be there for you with good counsel and that I will guard you always. When you wish to call for me, raise your eyes to the moon. I will always be there for you…”
Luna shut her eyes and added no more. Everyone knew that the brief saga of her life was now at an end. Sobbing, Alice whispered, “Mother, I promise you that I will make you proud of me, that I shall carry your memory with me always and that I will always cherish your trust in me. My first daughter I shall name after you, so it will be remembered for ever.”
Luna passed away when she was only fifty-seven years old.
Menachem could not afford to mourn her for long. After the seven days of the shiv’ah he was back at work. His customers at the coffee shop came to refresh themselves, to enjoy life, and he, the light in his soul all but extinguished, had served them well. Heeding Luna’s wishes, he continued to work hard in support of the family.
Little Alice stayed at home. Jacques was busy with his studies, his work, and his political activities. Corinne, having graduated from the lyceum, was making preparations for her wedding, and Albert – his father now supporting his medical studies, was away in school. Busy as she had been with maintaining the household, Alice took sewing classes at night. She had many girlfriends and from time to time she joined their promenades around town. Her friend Flora was her biggest confidant and it was with her that Alice shared the secrets of her heart.
Once, they took a trip to the hot springs in the mountains. As Alice sat at the well’s edge in her p
olka-dot dress, she caught a glimpse of her good friend Lisa giggling with a boy as they were walking along hand in hand. The boy was none other than her beloved Marco Anavi, whose family had not given him permission to marry her because of her meager dowry. Marco caught her glance and quickly walked away so as not to cross paths with her. Flora tried to comfort her, downplaying Marco’s virtues, but to no avail. Alice shut herself in her house again, refusing to be comforted. She had no support from her dead mother or from her sister, who was busy planning her own wedding. Father and Jacques - what cold they know of a young girl’s heart?
Alice’s two elderly aunts, her mother’s sisters, Suzanne and Sarah, would visit her from time to time. Both were dressed to the nines, coiffed and impeccably groomed. They wore matching jewelry and other accessories and looked for the whole world as if their lives were one never-ending party. Alice enjoyed visiting their house. There were old tales about both of them having experienced unrequited love. One had fallen in love with a young man who left to pursue his business interests in Istanbul, whereas she could not get permission from her parents to join him. Her baby sister’s love interests were also stymied by dowry matters, so they had decided to move in together.
Suzanne’s beloved would show up from time to time from his travels and each time he left her an envelope of cash in her mailbox. She never knew in advance when he was supposed to arrive, but she accepted his money. This way he could come and go, certain that she would never marry another. For their living, the spinsters began sewing dresses for the women of the town. Always they joked that in college they never paid attention in sewing class and later, when they became seamstresses, they made two left sleeves and had to purchase extra cloth on their own nickel to make it right. They were busy enough, but never had much to show for it.
From her aunts Alice learned the secrets of cuisine. They were the family experts in making marzipan and cooking up traditional Sephardic food, recipes that made their way through generations, from one woman to the next. “The secret to great tasting food,” they used to say, “is to take it slow. Let every dish have its time to cook on a low flame.” In almost every dish they put a little sugar. And most importantly, to them, the food could not be “bulamach”, a mess. It had to look good.
The Full Moon Above Us