More All-of-a-Kind Family Read online

  “Hello, Miss Ella. How pretty you look today!”

  Ella felt a warm glow of pleasure. “Thank you.” She’s so nice, Ella thought. She must have been awfully pretty herself when she was young, with such a creamy skin and such beautiful eyes.

  Miss Martin handed back the card. “I hope you find something interesting.” Her eyes followed the girl into the circulating room, and she saw the young man reading at a table. She smiled to herself.

  Lured by an interesting book she had selected, Ella sat down on a stool and soon was lost in its pages. The young man rose from his chair and sauntered over to the section just behind the one where Ella sat reading. From time to time he would poke his head around the corner and stare at her.

  Henny came down to pay Ella a visit. “I can’t find a single thing upstairs. Just a lot of baby books. Wish I could belong down here. Why do they make you wait till you graduate? Oh, look!” she cried in delight. “Anne of Avonlea! That’s the sequel to Anne of Green Gables. I must read it! Take this one out, Ella.”

  “I’ve read it already. Besides, I’ve picked my two books.”

  “Please! Didn’t I lend you my tam?”

  “Yes, but I promised I’d lend you mine in return.”

  “I don’t want your old tam. I want this book!”

  Ella sighed. “All right, I’ll take it. But I just hate to have to give up either one. Somebody else is sure to take it out.

  Henny’s eyes gleamed. “I tell you what—let’s hide it,” she whispered. “Some place where no one will find it. I know—with the foreign books! People who read foreign books don’t even know English, so they won’t bother with it. It’ll still be there when we come back next Friday. See?”

  The young man had returned to his seat when Henny appeared, but he hadn’t turned any pages in his book. Now he raised his head and watched carefully as Henny slipped the precious book into the chosen hiding place.

  A moment later he was standing in front of the librarian’s desk. “Could I please have a piece of paper?” he inquired. His face reddened slightly. “Uh—I want to write something.”

  Miss Martin tore a sheet off a pad. “Will this do?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thanks.” He went back to his seat.

  Alas, what Henny and Ella did not know was that library shelves are checked continually. The following morning, first thing, Miss Martin went through the stacks, patiently rearranging the books and putting them back where they belonged. Now how did this book get on the German shelf, she wondered? She pulled it out. A neatly folded piece of paper protruded from its pages. Oh, dear, she thought, people are always leaving things in books. She smoothed it out and began to read.

  Dear Ella,

  I suppose you’re surprised that I know your name. I heard your sisters calling you. I think it’s a very pretty name.

  I realize I’m being very forward writing you like this since we haven’t been formally introduced. Please don’t be angry. Seeing you in the library all these past weeks, I feel I already know you.

  I want so much to talk to you. Somehow, I know we have a lot in common. One thing we’re already certain of—we both like to read. Please, Ella, I should like to be your friend.

  Some of my friends are going roller skating in the park this Sunday afternoon. Would you like to come along?

  Hopefully,

  Jules Roth.

  Hmm. So that’s why he wanted the piece of paper, Miss Martin thought. Such a sweet letter. He’s a nice boy. Well, it’s against the rules, but—. Carefully she put the note back and replaced the book where she had found it. Better a broken rule than a broken heart, she said to herself, with a little laugh.

  The following Friday, Henny and Ella went immediately to the foreign section. “It’s here!” Henny cried. “What did I tell you? Well, help yourself. I’m going upstairs. Maybe I’ll find something good, for a change.”

  As Ella pulled the book down, the paper fluttered out from between its leaves. Curious, she picked it up and unfolded it. She read it once, twice, three times. Two bright spots of color flamed in her cheeks. Excitement sparkled in her dark eyes. Her very first letter from a boy! She tucked it into the pocket of her middy blouse, away from the inquisitive eyes of her sisters. Her head in the clouds, she went back to the English section.

  Across the room, the young man looked up eagerly from his book. Ella smiled ever so slightly; the nod of her head was ever so tiny. The young man stood up and began to walk towards her.

  Behind her desk, Miss Martin smiled understandingly.

  IT WAS EARLY in October. In a few days, the solemn festival of Yom Kippur would be observed. Yom Kippur, the day when people try to make up for their sins by fasting and prayer. The day when they ask God to grant them pure hearts so that they may lead better lives in the year to come. The day when they promise to help those less fortunate than themselves.

  “This time I’m going to fast a whole day,” Sarah declared stoutly.

  “It’s easy to say that now, when you’re not hungry,” commented Henny.

  “I could never fast a whole day!” Charlotte cried. “I’d just die!”

  “You don’t have to fast a whole day,” Ella assured her. “Papa says till twelve o’clock is plenty for children.”

  “The only one in the family who doesn’t have to fast even a minute is Charlie,” remarked Gertie.

  “He does, too,” Henny said, grinning. “He has to fast between meals, doesn’t he?”

  “Think of Papa and Mama all day in the synagogue without a drop of food or water!” Ella said. “Which reminds me. If Mama is to have flowers for Yom Kippur this year, we’d better get busy, and order them now. We can’t do any buying on the holiday.”

  “Let’s go today.” suggested Sarah. “Have we got enough money?”

  “Sure! We’re rich! With fifty cents from my two piano pupils and with what you all chipped in, we have seventy-five cents. We can get a big bouquet for that. She’ll be proud!”

  “Flowers on Yom Kippur,” mused Charlotte. “Flowers always make you glad when you’re sad.”

  “They’ll help Mama fast,” said Gertie. “Every time she gets a little hungry, she can smell the flowers.”

  It was a long walk, but their happy errand made the way seem short. A visit to the flower shop was a rare treat. Once inside the store, the children roamed about in delight, feasting their eyes on the beauty around them. They breathed in deeply the heavenly scents, and tenderly touched the velvety flower petals. With such a variety to choose from, they could not make up their minds. Mr. Pappas, the owner, finally offered to decide for them. “You just leave everything to me. I’ll fix you the nicest bouquet you ever saw!”

  “With lots of ferns all around?” Charlotte asked.

  “Sure, sure. Lotsa ferns!”

  So Ella turned over the money, and it was arranged that the bouquet would be delivered on Yom Kippur morning.

  “Not before nine thirty,” she warned. “We don’t want Mama to see the flowers before we bring them to the synagogue. And not later, either, because we have to go to synagogue ourselves.”

  Mr. Pappas gave his word, and the children went home.

  On the way home, Sarah reminded Henny, “You’ll have to make up with your friend Fanny. You know it’s a sin to be mad at anybody on Yom Kippur.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Henny answered brightly. “Then I’ll be able to ask her to lend me her brand-new skates.”

  That night Uncle Hyman had supper with the family. When he was about to leave, Mama reminded him, “Remember, Hyman, I expect you Yom Kippur eve.”

  “Don’t worry, Mama,” Papa said. “A Yom Kippur eve supper he wouldn’t dream of missing.”

  Uncle Hyman grinned. He stood at the door, awkwardly twirling his hat in his small chunky hands as if reluctant to go. “Er—er, maybe—” he began. He stopped, embarrassed, his eyes avoiding Mama’s. He swayed back and forth, staring at his shoes. “You think maybe—if—if I brought an extra whole do
zen eggs—.” Finally he blurted out, “Maybe we could invite a certain party also?”

  Mama’s eyes twinkled. “Hyman, what certain party would you mean?” she asked innocently.

  Uncle Hyman’s face turned very red. Mama waved a hand at him. “Don’t bring the eggs, Hyman. Just bring Lena. We’d love to have her.”

  “Uncle Hyman’s got a girl!” Henny cried out, giggling.

  Smiling sheepishly, Uncle Hyman came back into the room. Suddenly he thrust a fistful of pennies onto the table. “Here, girls,” he called out, “buy yourselves something.”

  Shouting with glee, the children pounced upon the money. When they turned to thank Uncle Hyman, he was already gone.

  Yom Kippur eve, and all over the East Side, factories and stores closed down. The market places grew still, no peddlers cried their wares from pushcarts and stands; no horses and wagons threaded their way through the narrow streets. In their homes, Jews were preparing for this most important holiday. In Mama’s house, all was in readiness—the children in their holiday clothes, the table set for a feast, and from the simmering pots on the kitchen stove came appetizing smells.

  Mama beamed approvingly at Uncle Hyman. He looked so scrubbed and neat. He was wearing a clean white shirt with bright red garters holding up the sleeves and bright red suspenders to match. “Firemen’s suspenders!” he boasted, snapping them proudly. Mama nodded her head smilingly at Lena. What a difference a woman can make, she thought.

  “Come,” Papa announced, “we’d better begin. We must be finished eating before the sun sets.”

  Tonight’s dinner was like a banquet. Chicken fricassee first. Then came chicken soup in which fluffy kreplech (squares of dough filled with meat) floated temptingly. Uncle Hyman and Lena fell to shoveling vigorously with their soup spoons, drinking down the hot savory liquid with gusto.

  Roast chicken and carrots followed. And then Mama brought out a steaming noodle pudding, rich and sweet, with lots of almonds and raisins. Fruit compote next, tea, and last of all, sugar-and-cinnamon-topped cookies.

  “Oh, I’m so full!” Ella cried, folding her hands over her stomach. “I just can’t believe that I’ll be hungry tomorrow.”

  “That’s the way it is with people,” Lena said. “Either they feast to death or fast to death.”

  It was time now for Mama to light the holiday candles. Everyone was quiet as she recited the special holiday blessing. They were extra quiet as they watched her touch a match to the wick in a special candle-filled glass—the memorial candle. This light would burn through the night and all through the next day, in memory of loved ones who were dead.

  Now Papa blessed his children, one by one. “May God bless you. May he grant you a good life and a good and understanding heart, that you choose the righteous way of life with faith and good deeds.”

  It seemed strange for the children to go to synagogue at night. In the street Gertie linked her arm through Charlotte’s as they trotted alongside Lena. “When I was a little girl,” Lena said, “my grandpa told me that, on the day of Yom Kippur, the little door of Heaven opens up, and you can see the angels.”

  “Is that really true?” The two little girls stared up at Lena with wide eyes. “Can you really see them?”

  “Tomorrow you’ll watch, so you’ll see,” Lena answered, with an air of mystery.

  The synagogue, looking unfamiliar with the lights on, was crowded with devout worshippers. The young children went to sit with Papa and Uncle Hyman. Lena, Ella, and Henny followed Mama behind the curtains to the women’s section. The cantor began to sing the old, old prayer, Kol Nidre. Tender and moving, and set to a hauntingly beautiful melody, it touched the hearts of all with great sadness.

  That night, when Gertie was brushing her teeth just before going to bed, Charlotte cautioned, “You mustn’t swallow the water, Gertie. Not even a single drop. Or it won’t count for fasting.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Gertie replied earnestly. “I’ll spit it right out.”

  Next morning, a few minutes after Papa and Mama had left for the all-day service, the bouquet of flowers arrived. “Isn’t it gorgeous!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Mr. Pappas fixed it up just perfect!” She buried her nose deep in the bouquet. “Mmm-mmm!”

  “Let me!” demanded Gertie.

  “Close your eyes, Gertie. Then you can smell better,” suggested Charlotte.

  “Give Charlie a smell,” Sarah said. “No, no, Charlie—mustn’t touch!”

  Finally Ella had to cry a halt. “You’ll take all the smell out of them,” she complained.

  “I want to carry the flowers,” Charlotte declared.

  “No,” Henny told her. “You’ll crush them. I’ll carry them.”

  “I won’t crush them. I’ll be very careful, I promise. Please, Ella, let me carry them just for a little while.”

  “Then I want a chance too,” Gertie insisted.

  Everyone wanted to share in the lovely feeling of holding a bouquet of flowers—even Charlie. Ella finally decided that they would take turns while she kept a close watch on the bearer the whole time.

  “Mama’ll be surprised,” said Sarah happily. “We certainly kept the secret. She doesn’t suspect she’s getting flowers this year.”

  Up the narrow stairs the children went, tiptoeing into the synagogue. The room hummed with the continual intoning of prayers. It was hot and close, full of the mingled odors of old and yellowing prayer books, prayer shawls, people, and the sharp scent of snuff.

  At the entrance to the women’s section, Ella bent down and placed the bouquet in Charlie’s arms. “Take these to Mama,” she whispered. She drew aside the curtain. Little Charlie, his small body almost buried beneath his precious burden, toddled forward slowly, followed by his watchful sisters. Women smiled at the little boy, but he did not notice. His eyes searched only for Mama.

  There she was! She was holding out her arms to him, her face alight with joy and pride. Pleased all over himself, Charlie snuggled to her side, offering up the flowers.

  “Such a surprise!” Mama murmured. “Dear children, thank you!” She kissed each one of them. Holding the flowers up to her face, she breathed in their sweetness. It made the girls happy for Mama and sorry for all the other mamas who had no flowers to help them through the long, long day.

  “Are we in time, Mama?” Ella asked softly.

  “Yes. S-s-sh! The memorial services are starting.”

  Gravely the congregation began to chant the opening words in memory of the dear ones who had died. The children could feel the mournfulness come creeping into their own hearts. All around them, women were sobbing unashamed. And even some of the men wiped their eyes with their handkerchiefs.

  On and on the services went, and by noon the younger children were more than ready to break their fast. “I’m so hungry, my stomach is talking,” Gertie whispered. And Charlotte rejoined, “Me, I could eat a bear!”

  But Sarah remained strong in her resolve to stick it out all day. Mama studied her thin, white face, the faint shadows under her eyes. She stroked Sarah’s head. “You fasted long enough my child,” she said tenderly. “I’m sure God has already forgiven you your little sins. When you are older, you will fast longer. Papa and I are still here. We’ll keep on praying for all of you.”

  So Sarah went home and ate lunch with the others. And a moment after, it was as though they had never fasted at all.

  All through the afternoon, the services continued. When the children returned, the story was being read of how Yom Kippur was celebrated in the Temple in days of old.

  Amidst all the splendor in the Temple at Jerusalem, there was one small chamber which boasted no wonderful golden objects, no luxurious hangings. It was considered the Holy of Holies, because it was the place where the spirit of God was thought to rest. The curtains to this room always remained closed. They opened for but one man—the High Priest; for but one day—Yom Kippur.

  For a whole week the High Priest prepared himself for this awesome day. He s
tudied with the wise men and other priests. He prayed; he cleansed his body. The last night he did not sleep. With the coming of the dawn, he did not break his fast, but performed the necessary rituals. In the course of the day, he bathed five times and washed his hands and feet ten times.

  Then came the moment. He donned a simple white linen gown. He chanted a prayer confessing his sins and the sins of all, and, holding a vessel of burning incense in his hands, he entered the Holy of Holies. The curtains closed behind him.

  No one knew what went on in the small chamber, but in the Temple courtyards the priests and, behind them, the congregation of men and women, anxiously watched the circles of smoke rise through the folds of the curtain—watched and prayed.

  When the High Priest emerged at last, shouts of joy burst from the lips of the people.

  Services were drawing to a close. N’ilah N’ilah—the closing prayer symbolizing the locking of the Temple gates—was being recited. The congregation rose to its feet.

  “The Lord He is God!” The Shofar (ram’s horn) was sounded once, triumphantly. “Yom Kippur is over!” All were ready now to face the coming year with renewed hope and spirit.

  Amid the general rejoicing and well wishing, a young man pushed his way through to where Ella stood with her family. “Hello, Ella,” he said. “How was your fast?”

  “It wasn’t too bad,” Ella replied, flushing. She started talking very fast, giggling a bit. The sisters stared at her. What had gotten into their big sister to make her act so silly all of a sudden? And who was this young man, anyway?

  “Who are you?” Henny burst in impudently.

  “Henny!” Mama chided, but she did not seem very seriously annoyed. “How about introducing your acquaintance, Ella,” she said.

  “Oh, excuse me,” Ella cried, all flustered. “This is Jules—Jules Roth. Jules, this is my family.”

  The young man shook hands all around, getting the names mixed up. “It looks like my folks went on ahead without me. Well—er—nice to have met you all. See you later, Ella.” He beat a hasty retreat.