Do You Feel What I Feel. a Holiday Anthology Page 18

“I love being your friend too, Rosa. I can’t say I haven’t looked at women—I even kissed a girl once—but I’ve never been with anyone other than Mark.”

  “So you don’t think you could—?” Rosa looked away, and in that moment Sadie imagined her life without Ro.

  “Yes! Yes, I can. And I do. And I will. Yes!” She grabbed Rosa, and as the sun rose higher in the sky, they embraced and kissed, wrapping their arms around each other, just as the silk sheets would wrap around their legs later that night in the hotel.

  When they returned home, Sadie announced to her family that her dear friend Rosa was moving in to keep her company and help with expenses. For the first couple of years, she hadn’t been comfortable telling her kids the truth, and then when she was, Ro wouldn’t hear of it. They’d argued back and forth, and even though Sadie knew Ro wouldn’t change her mind about coming out, the day she stopped asking her to would be the day she put one foot in the grave. Five years later, this was still just as true.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why we can’t speak up.” Sadie sighed. “I love you so much, and I want everyone to know it.” Impulsively, she pulled a small box from her purse.

  “Here.” She pushed it toward Rosa. “This is the gift I want to give you. It’s a commitment ring. If I can’t tell the world how much I love you, then let me at least tell you, Rosa Toledo, that the five years we have spent together have been the happiest of my life.”

  Rosa looked at her, head tilted slightly to one side, and the next thing Sadie knew, tears were starting to trickle down Rosa’s cheek.

  “I love you too,” she said softly. “I guess it’s time to tell you why I can’t come out.” She sat down at the dining room table and intimated to Sadie to do the same. “When we were first getting to know each other, I told you that I was born in Spain to a Sephardic Jewish family. That was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. When the war started, my family was living in Hungary, in a suburb of Budapest, where my father was from. Papa thought the family would be safe, and although there were some anti-Jewish laws, he thought we could wait out the war. Then, in early 1944, he heard that they were starting to round Jews up. Papa was able to connect with a wonderful man called Perlasca at the Spanish embassy who was smuggling Jews out of Hungary and into Spain.”

  “Perlasca? I’ve heard of him! He and Angel Sanz Briz saved thousands of Jews by telling the Nazis they were Spanish, even though almost all of them were Eastern European Ashkenazim. I never knew you were one of them!”

  “Most people have only heard of Raoul Wallenberg, not Perlasca and Angel. But I’m not surprised you have, my little professor.” Rosa squeezed Sadie’s hand. “Perlasca told my father to come back the following day, and he would have papers for him, his wife, and his two daughters.”

  “Two?” Sadie asked. She thought Ro was an only child. Could she have forgotten this important piece of information?

  “Yes. In 1944, I was just a baby, but my parents also had a seven-year-old daughter. The day my father went to the embassy to collect their papers, my mother sent my sister to Sarah Levy’s house to play so she wouldn’t be underfoot while my mother packed. Sarah was my mother’s dear friend, and she had a daughter Hinda’s age. Late that morning, soldiers came to Sarah’s house and rounded up the family to take them on one of the dreaded transports. Sarah told them Hinda wasn’t her daughter, that she was a Christian friend from kindergarten. They believed her—Hinda had our father’s blond Hungarian features. One of the soldiers said he would take Hinda home. He took her hand in his.

  ‘Is it true?’ he asked my sister. ‘Are you one of us?’ All she had to do was say yes, and she and I would have grown up together; my father wouldn’t have gone running and screaming to the train station, only to discover that the train had left and that no one knew where it was bound; my mother wouldn’t have had to learn what had happened to her daughter years later when we were already in America, from a stranger who’d survived Auschwitz and had been there the same time as Sarah Levy.”

  “What did Hinda say to the soldier?” Sadie barely breathed the question, already knowing the answer.

  “My brave, stupid, proud sister drew herself up and said to the soldier, ‘I’m a Jew. I would never hide who I am or pretend to be someone I’m not. I’m proud to be a Jew.’”

  Sadie got up and walked around to Rosa.

  “Oh, my darling, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s a heavy story. I don’t like to burden people with it. I myself didn’t learn about it until I was much older, when a middle-aged Israeli tracked us down in Philadelphia. She had a number stamped on her arm—well, that wasn’t unusual; so many of my parents’ friends did. My mother gave her iced tea and sent me to bed. But I snuck out of my room and sat on the stairs listening while this woman told my parents about a woman she met in Auschwitz called Sarah, who’d been separated from her daughter and her daughter’s friend the day they arrived. Sarah told as many people as she could the story of Hinda Toledo, so that if any of them ever found Miriam Toledo, they could tell her how brave her little girl was. I sat on the stairs and listened. And all I could think was, ‘What a fool.’”

  Sadie didn’t know what to say. She stroked Rosa’s hair and held her hand.

  “I wish I’d known sooner. I can’t believe the burden you’ve lived with.”

  “I learned a lot from that. I learned that you can get over almost any tragedy and move on; I learned that you make the most of every minute you have with the people you love. But I also learned that speaking up proudly for your identity isn’t always the smart choice. I know it’s easy for today’s generation to think that everyone loves and accepts them, but I know better. You can call me paranoid if you want, but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “I understand,” Sadie said softly. “I have to go over to Johnny’s now.” She pecked Rosa gently on the cheek.

  “I’ll see you later. Hag sameach.”

  There were no less than five menorahs standing on the table, though only one of them looked like her own bronze candelabra. The others looked as if they belonged in either an art gallery or a toy shop: one was hand-painted wood that opened up like an accordion, its images depicting birds and flowers in vivid colors; another looked like little pieces of multicolored chewing gum stuck together; a third was a triangular shape in deep blue ceramic; and the fourth was composed of tiny golden cups interwoven with silver filigree. In her day, the candles were short, blue, and white. But these menorahs had a whole variety of candles in them: tall, slender, multicolored ones; thick, creamy, homemade beeswax ones; candles that seemed to change color depending on where you stood. There was also oil for the little gold cups.

  “We promised the kids that this year, everyone would have their own menorah,” Johnny said. “This way, the girls get to light candles from day one and sing the blessings too. Last year, Lily complained that Jason got to do all the lighting and reciting because he’s the oldest. This year, everyone will be happy.”

  “Did you have your own menorah when you were a little girl, Savta?” asked dark-haired, brown-eyed Courtney.

  “No, honey. In my day we just had one for the whole family. We children all had to be home in time for the lighting, even if it meant missing something at school. Then, as soon as my father was home from work, we all gathered around the menorah, and my father lit the candles and recited the blessings.”

  “How come he was the only one to light it?”

  “That’s how it was in those days. The men did all the rituals.”

  “Didn’t you mind?” asked Lily.

  “It didn’t occur to me to mind. What you’ve never had, you never miss.” It was true, but not entirely. In Sadie’s day, women lit Shabbat candles and men lit Hanukkah candles, and that was fine with her. In fact, it still jolted her to see men lighting Shabbat candles. But as a thirteen-year-old, although she’d never wante
d to wear a tallit or kipa or read torah, she had felt a little jealous of the bar mitzvah boys. Back then, girls didn’t have a bat mitzvah, and even though bar mitzvahs weren’t the elaborate affairs they were now, the boys got to show off their Hebrew talents and in return were showered with gifts.

  “How’s Rosa?” Johnny asked, “Her back doing any better?”

  “Not really. I’ve begged her to go to the chiropractor you suggested, but she insists she won’t go to ‘a voodoo doctor.’” Sadie put the words into air quotes. “Her own doctor does nothing to help, but you know how stubborn she is: she won’t take painkillers and won’t go to an alternative practitioner.”

  Sadie lowered herself onto the white leather sofa. She could never get over the idea of having white leather in a house filled with children, but Johnny’s wife was almost as stubborn as Ro, and she’d insisted on it, even though she spent most of the time eyeing everyone nervously any time they sat on it.

  “How come Rosa didn’t come with you to light candles with us? Doesn’t she like Hanukkah? Doesn’t she like us?”

  “Now, now,” Johnny cut in, “you know Mommy’s rule in our house. Only family members for first night candle lighting. That’s the way it was in her home, and that’s the way it is here. Special family time. Your friends don’t come over, and nor do Savta’s.”

  Sadie felt a lump in her chest. If only she could say something. But now, more than ever, she understood why she had to keep Rosa’s silence.

  “Let me help you in the kitchen,” Johnny called through to his wife, then got up and joined her. Sadie suspected that it was the tantalizing scent of frying latkes that was drawing him in.

  Sadie patted the seat of the sofa and beckoned Courtney and Lily to come and sit next to her. “Before we light candles, let’s do the quiz,” she said.

  “Yes, yes!” Lily and Courtney jumped up and down.

  “I’m gonna win!” shouted Courtney.

  “No me, I’m gonna!”

  “First question to Courtney: what are the four letters on the dreidel?”

  “Oh, that’s easy.” Courtney stuck four fingers in the air, then counted them off, “Nun, Gimmel, Hey, and Shin!”

  “That’s not fair. Make it harder,” Lily said.

  “She’s younger than you. Okay, for a bonus point: what do they stand for?”

  “Um…” Courtney paused.

  “I know, I know!” Lily’s hand had shot up as if she were in class at school.

  Sadie looked at Courtney, who clearly didn’t know the answer.

  “Okay, tell her, Lily.”

  “Nes Gadol Haya Sham—A Great Miracle Happened There.”

  “Excellent! Now here’s your question. What are the four letters on the dreidel that your Aunty Hannah and her family use in Israel?”

  “Is it a trick question? Surely they’re the same?”

  “No, one of them is different.”

  Lily’s forehead scrunched up in thought.

  “Do you want me to tell you?” Lily nodded her head.

  “The fourth letter is different. It’s a Pey instead of a Shin. Instead of saying A Great Miracle Happened There, in Israel, they say, A Great Miracle Happened Here—po is the word for here—because, after all, that’s where the miracle took place.”

  Johnny’s wife, Debbie, appeared in the doorway. “Jason texted and said he’s running late. I think it was football practice. Said he’ll be home within the hour. I told him we’ll wait for him. After all, we don’t want him to miss first night.”

  Sadie smiled, but the girls made faces. “The latkes will get cold! Do we have to wait for him to have them?”

  “How about we have latkes before we light up, and we can keep the donuts till after the candles are lit?”

  That seemed to satisfy everyone, and they all piled into the kitchen, where a plate of jelly donuts sat on the counter, and hot, fresh potato latkes sizzled in an enormous pan on the stove.

  “So, what’s the theme for tonight?” Sadie asked her son. In her day, there were no themes behind the eight days of the festival. On first and last day, her parents would give them each some gelt—usually a silver dollar each—and that would be that. Since then, Hanukkah had started to compete with Christmas in the gifts department, and for many children, it was just all about comparing their expensive presents. She was so appreciative of the fact that Debbie and Johnny not only kept to the spirit of the holiday but they added to it. Each night they created a theme that had to do with social justice, which the children discussed while the candles burned.

  “I don’t know. Jason said he wanted to take charge tonight, so we’ll have to wait and see.” Just then, the door opened and Jason himself appeared. He embraced his grandmother warmly.

  “I know we always light candles before Dad gives us his drash, but I’d like to do my talk first. Would that be okay?”

  Johnny and Debbie glanced at each other, then nodded their assent. Debbie brought in the donuts, and they settled in the living room to hear what Jason had to say.

  “We all know that Hanukkah is about miracles. Co-co, can you tell us what the miracle of Hanukkah is?” He turned to his younger sister, and Sadie smiled, remembering how Jason used to be so protective of Hannah when she was that age.

  “After the Maccabees had won the war against the Greeks, they went to rededicate the temple. They only had enough oil for one day, and they knew it would take a week before they could get more. But that one day of oil ended up lasting for eight days, and that’s the miracle.”

  “Very good. But actually, there’s a miracle behind that miracle, which happened before they even lit that lamp.” Jason smiled indulgently at his little sister. “The Maccabees knew they needed eight days of sanctified oil but that they only had enough to last for one. They could have said, “There’s no point lighting the oil, since we know it’s only going to last for one day.” Why didn’t they say that, Li-li?” He looked at his middle sister.

  “Um… well, I guess they figured they didn’t know for sure, and that it was better to at least try to use what they had?”

  “Right. But what lay beneath that logic—Savta, can you tell us?”

  Sadie thought for a moment. “Even though they didn’t know what would happen, they had faith.” Sadie felt awkward using the word ‘faith’, because even though her Jewish identity was important to her, she didn’t always feel as if she had a lot of faith, especially not on the spiritual side of things.

  “Exactly, Savta. And faith is really just another word for trust. They trusted. That’s the miracle. We get so caught up in thinking about the ‘what ifs’ that we can end up having no trust and living in fear. In Hebrew school, we learned that when the Red Sea parted, one man, Nachshon, had to be willing to walk into the water. He trusted, and because of that, everyone followed him, the seas parted, and the people were saved. Trust is the most important thing we can have. We have to trust outsiders, but first of all, we have to trust ourselves and our families. When we know our truth, we have to trust that we can share it with our families. Right, Savta?”

  Sadie felt as if her cheeks were burning. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

  Just then, the doorbell rang. Debbie turned to her daughters.

  “Did you invite your friends over? You know we don’t—”

  “No!” They both yelled in unison.

  “I’ll get rid of whoever it is, and then we’ll light candles.” Johnny got up and went to the front door. Sadie heard muffled voices. Then Johnny returned—with Rosa right behind him.

  “Aunty Rosa!” The girls ran up to greet her. Jason stayed where he was, but the smile on his face was as broad as his football-playing shoulders.

  Rosa turned to Debbie.

  “Before you say anything, I have something to say. Jason stopped by our condo a little while ago, and he gave me a copy o
f the drash he was giving to you all this evening. At first, I thought he just didn’t want me to miss out on his first sermon…”

  Everyone laughed. It was well known in the family that they all thought Jason would end up being a rabbi, even though he was still convinced he was destined to be a first-round pick for the NFL draft.

  “But then I realized what he was saying,” Rosa said. “He asked me to come here with him, but I refused. After he left, I couldn’t stop thinking. And the more I thought, the more I knew what I had to do.” She stopped talking and went to stand next to Sadie. Sadie felt her hand being lifted and, with it, her heart.

  “Sadie’s wanted to tell you all for a long time, but I was the one who said ‘no.’ Well, I guess Jason is right. Sometimes we just have to trust, so I’m trusting that what I have to say will be well accepted.” She looked at Sadie, then at each person in the room. “I’m not just your grandmother’s roommate.” She turned to the children. “Or your mom’s best friend.” She looked at Johnny. “Sadie and I are lovers and partners and have been for the last five years.”

  There was a moment of silence. Sadie froze. Had she read them all wrong? Had Rosa?

  Then, all of a sudden, everyone was talking at once.

  “We know, Mom; we figured it out a long time ago!”

  “I told my friends at school I was sure my granny was gay!”

  “What’s a lover?” This last one came from young Courtney.

  “It means,” Sadie turned to her youngest grandchild, “that Rosa and I love each other the same way your Mom and Dad love each other.”

  “Oh.” Courtney looked puzzled. “Well, I knew that. It’s kinda obvious.”

  And with that, everyone laughed and picked up their matches and lighters to light candles and say blessings.

  “What were those four words on the dreidel again?” Courtney asked.

  “Nes Gadol Haya Sham—A Great Miracle Happened There.” Lily punched her little sister lightly on the arm.

  “That’s right,” said Sadie. And under her breath she added, “But more importantly, Nes Gadol Haya Po—A Great Miracle Happened Here.”