Leah's Journey Read Online Free Page B

Moshe’s home in the town. There, she had shrugged away all questions knowing the danger that lay in answering them.
    Other women had been raped during the pogrom and each day Henia brought her a new tale of sexual violence and violation.
    “Goldstein’s daughter. Only sixteen years old. They say she has not spoken since the attack. And Eisenberg’s wife. A pregnant woman with a suckling at her breast. God help them. God help the daughters of Israel.”
    At such moments Henia forgot her Zionist zeal and became again the daughter of a Hasidic rabbi. She swayed in silent prayer and her tear-filled eyes turned heavenward.
    There was no shame, Leah knew, attached to the violation of innocent, powerless women and it was not out of shame that Leah maintained her silence but out of the terrible doubt that haunted her. For a while she had hoped that her menstrual flow would begin but now she recognized at last that it would not. It was probable that the child she carried was Yaakov’s but there was a chance that it was not. To tell of Petrovich’s attack would mean planting the seeds of doubt in other minds as well and the child would grow up in this shadow of communal uncertainty. And so the teasing half-knowledge remained hers alone and she hoarded her secret like an emotional miser, shrouding it in silence.
    She would have to make plans for herself and for the child and she knew she must come to a decision soon. Moshe and Henia were eager to embark for Palestine and join their friends who were building a kibbutz, a communal settlement in the Huleh valley. They were delaying their departure, she knew, until she was better able to cope with her grief and order her life. They had urged her to join them but the thought of Palestine terrified her as did any mention of violence. The Arabs did not welcome the Jewish settlers and were mobilizing against them. Only the previous week there had been a newspaper account about the burning of a Jewish settlement in the Galilee, and she had thought again of the miller’s house and the orange flames of death that had rocketed from the thatched roof. She never again wanted to watch helplessly while the fires of hatred blazed.
    Her parents were staying in Russia although every day more and more Jews from Partseva came to bid them good-bye. Most of them were leaving the shtetl for the United States and Canada, a few for Palestine, and others were sailing to England and Australia. One family had even opted for New Zealand amid considerable speculation about whether kosher food was obtainable in Auckland.
    The Jews of Russia were on the move, practicing their ancient skill of tying intricate knots around clumsy bundles and trunks and suitcases that seldom closed properly. Huge cartons were anchored together with lengths of cord and rope and finally strapped with broad strips of leather. Pots and pans clattered as they were linked together on a chain of rope. They would be needed to prepare meals during the journey and some worried housewives attached them like a belt to their aprons.
    Families were split asunder as one brother chose Palestine and the other set sail for New York. Husbands left their wives, planning to work for several years in the new world and earn the dollars that would purchase tickets and passports for the families left behind. Each day processions of horse-drawn wagons clogged the streets of Odessa that led to the seaport. There old men kissed their sons good-bye, urging them to remain good and faithful Jews. Brothers embraced with desperate finality and left each other without looking back. Children waved frantically to fathers they would not see again for years, and old women pulled their shawls tightly over their heads and walked slowly back to houses grown silent and empty.
    Leah’s brother-in-law, Shimon Hartstein, had left for America the week before. He estimated that it would take him two years to send for Malcha and the children.
    “Stay with us in Partseva,