MUSIC OF THE SOUL

MUSIC OF THE SOUL

        The train seemed to gather speed as the bor­der drew nearer, almost as if it felt a certain  re­lief to be approaching new territory. Sara, the single occupant of one of the train's compartments, re­moved a brush from her overnight bag and, turning to the mirror, started to tidy her long chestnut curls. She added touches to her makeup and looked at her reflec­tion with satisfaction. She would soon be there, and perhaps the scheduled meeting would help her solve some of the mystery.

Sara shivered as she turned toward the window and peered out through the shutters. The snow was falling heavily outside. She would have to dress warmly. She had never been able to get used to this kind of cold. In South Af­rica it was very different. Even in midwinter, it was only oc­casionally necessary to wear a thick jacket at night. When she had first stepped off the plane into Europe's winter, she had hardly believed such intense cold could exist. But now she was beginning to find it more tolerable.

      She closed the shutter and pulled her concentration back to her heated compartment. She was looking for­ward to this meeting. It had been totally unexpected. She wondered why there had been such an insistence on se­crecy. The man had taken all kinds of precautions to make sure they would not be seen together. Why the mystery?

She would know soon.

 She was to meet him in a small town, ten minutes across the border. Sara hoped the end of her search had finally come. He certainly had led her to believe she was close to it.

Sara started to feel sleepy, but she jerked herself awake. She was nearly there and had to start arming her­self against the snow. She retrieved her ski jacket, put it on, and zipped it to the top. Immediately she was flooded with warmth. She stood up and reached for her suitcase, which was on the luggage rack above her.

As she set her suitcase on the floor beside her, Sara heard a soft knock at the door, and a woman came into the compartment carrying two bags.

"This is it," the woman said to herself in German. She put the bags down heavily on the seat opposite Sara and sat down with a loud sigh.

Sara frowned. It was strange for someone to enter a compartment when the train was not at a station. The last stop had been quite far back. This was a semi-express train, and they did not stop at every town.

The woman looked at her carefully for a few minutes and then smiled.

"English?" she asked in a heavy German accent.

"Yes," said Sara, sitting back down with her suitcase at her side. She did not feel like explaining that she was South African.

"The border is twenty minutes away," the woman said, still with a smile. But why didn't her smile reach her light blue eyes? They remained cold, almost watchful.

Sara just nodded. She didn't really feel like talking. She wanted to return to her thoughts and plans.

"You are meeting someone?" the woman asked, when Sara didn't respond.

"Yes," replied Sara curtly. She cringed inwardly at her slip. She remembered that she was supposed to keep the meeting a secret.

"Someone special?" asked the woman, ignoring Sara's obvious reluctance to speak.

"No, no," said Sara, "nothing like that. Just busi­ness."

"So you are going to the city."

"No, I am getting off very soon," said Sara, annoyance creeping into her voice. She wanted to tell the woman to mind her own business, but she stopped herself before the words were out of her mouth. She didn't like to be rude. And the woman was probably just trying to make conversation to make the journey seem shorter.

"I am getting off at the first town beyond the bor­der," Sara said, trying to act a little more friendly.

"That is soon," said the woman. "You haven't much time left."

"I know," said Sara, looking at her watch. "I've got to finish putting my things together."

 She stood up and shivered. "It's cold out there."

An odd expression crossed the woman's face, making Sara uneasy, but within seconds it was gone. Perhaps she'd imagined it. "In the summer, it is very beautiful and green here. Quite warm. Will you be here then?"

"I don't think so," said Sara. "I plan to go back soon."

"Maybe you will be here longer than you think," said the woman. Was it her imagination playing tricks, or did this smiling woman suddenly seem harder, more sin­ister? The woman looked pleasant enough. But it was her eyes that worried Sara.

Finally, there was blessed silence; silence, except for the sound of the train's wheels speeding along the tracks. Even this noise sounded a little sinister. Was she losing her mind? Why was she afraid? Perhaps it was this upcoming meeting.

Strange that the man had made her travel across It­aly to meet him. But he had promised to help her, and for some reason he could not come to Milan. So she had agreed.

The silence did not last long. Once again, the woman broke into her reverie. "Sara Rosenberg," she read the name on Sara's suitcase. "You are Jewish?"

"Yes," said Sara.

"We didn't know," said the woman. "It happened right beside us and we didn't know. We knew nothing about it." Her voice suddenly became thick with emo­tion. "Will you believe me that we didn't know?"

Sara hesitated, embarrassed. What was she to say?

The woman opened her handbag and took out a box of chocolates. She opened the box and held it out to Sara. "You would like one? Special dark chocolates?"

     "No," said Sara. "I have to watch my weight."

"You, watch your weight?" the woman exclaimed. "But you are lovely, just right.” She pointed to one of the molded chocolates. "This is a star," she said, "for success in everything you do."

Sara began to refuse again, but the commanding expression in the woman's face and the box outstretched determinedly before her weakened her resistance. And she did love chocolate.

She popped the star into her mouth and sucked it slowly. It was delicious. It made her feel warm and relaxed. But wait: it tasted peculiar. Maybe she should spit it out? But the woman was watching her; she couldn't be so rude.

Sara began to cough. She controlled it with diffi­culty. All the while the woman was watching her with those cold, hawk-like eyes.

Suddenly she felt heavy, as if her limbs were not her own. Wide awake a moment ago, now she wanted to sleep. The clickity-clack of the train mesmerized her, and, slowly, her eyes closed until she fell into a drugged sleep.

The woman acted with speed.

She opened the door of the compartment and called out to a tall, fair young man standing a few meters away in the corridor.

"We are nearly there," he hissed. "What took you so long?"

"It took time," said the woman. "I had to persuade her to eat the chocolate, and then it took time to work."

"There was enough in there to stupefy an ox," the young man grumbled.

While he was speaking, the woman opened the win­dow, letting in an icy blast of air. The train was ascending a mountainside. There was a deep gorge below it.

"Here comes Tirs," the man noted. "Just beyond it is the best place."

Together they picked up the sleeping young woman. They slipped her quickly and quietly out the window and over the embankment. Without a backward glance at the way her body fell into the snow and rolled down the mountainside, they set about searching through her belongings, putting them in disarray.

"Her passport is not here," the young man fretted. "You have found it?"

"No, but we haven't got time to look for it."

The woman put her hand into her pocket and pulled out a packet of pills, quickly checking the label.

She tucked it into Sara's suitcase. "The chocolate had a lot of this stuff in it. Probably dead before she hit the ground."

They were the wonder couple: Sara, a gifted artist and musician, and her fiancé , Lionel, a professional violinist with an endearing smile and a thoughtful personality. The fact that Sara was a South African Jew, and Lionel a gentile of German extraction, meant little to either of them. 

But a chance encounter with a Holocaust survivor and a harrowing trip to Germany to meet Lionel’ family leaves Sara changed forever. And so begins a dramatic, action packed story which takes the reader on a breathtaking adventure through three continents, through secrets of the past and hopes for the future. 
Originally published in 2000 by Targum Press, this Jewish novel has become out of print. It is now republished by the author.

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"You can't light Shabbos candles late," warned Yitzy. "It has to be on time."

"She'll be there," said Malka. "Don't pester her, Yitzy. "

Sara obediently bathed, changed into a clean blouse and skirt, and carefully lit two candles - on time - ush­ering in a Shabbos that was to completely change her life, though she didn't know it then.

At the Shabbos table, Malka's husband, Fishel, was very different from his usual self.

 Since Sara had been at his house, he had seemed to be perpetually in a rush. A gracious host, yes, but not one you could spend any time with. Now he was relaxed and open to discussion, and Sara found she could ask him any question and he would always have an answer. She found herself firing question after question at him.

Towards the end of the meal, Sara asked directly what it would mean for her, a Jew, to be marrying a Ger­man.

Fishel was startled by her openness, but he quickly recovered his composure. "His nationality aside, I am concerned about you marrying a non-Jew. Whether he's German or Chinese, marrying a non-Jew has serious ramifications that could affect the rest of your life."

"Ramifications? I can understand if you would say you didn't approve, but why does it make such a difference to me?" Sara fiddled with the lacy edge of the table­cloth, unsure if she really wanted to hear his answer.

"Well," he said, "because doing something like that can entrap your Jewish soul."

"What do you mean? I'll still be Jewish. That won't change, will it?"

"Yes, you'll be Jewish, but you won't be a complete Jew. You were created as a Jew with a very special pur­pose. You can't fulfill that purpose married to a non-Jew.

“You can't be a complete Jew with a non-Jewish partner. You can't join your neshamah, your Jewish soul, to the soul of a gentile. It doesn't work."

To Sara, who had lived without the focus Judaism could have given her all her life, Fishel's words had little meaning.

 "You know, I don't have much to do with Juda­ism, and it hasn't had too much influence on my life. I know you have all made it a strong part of your lives. But for me...."

Sara let her words trail off. Fishel did not look con­vinced. Maybe she wasn't expressing her thoughts right.

      They would never dream o f marrying a non-Jew. It's just not part o f their reality. In my circles, though, it isn't so unusual.

It had surprised her that they were concerned about her engagement, not so much because Lionel was Ger­man, though that might be distasteful to them on an­other level, but because he wasn't Jewish. A wave of an­ger and hurt arose within Sara. What was so wrong with gentiles anyway? Were they inferior beings?

     As if reading her thoughts, Fishel explained, "It isn't that Jews are superior and everyone else is inferior. But Jews are different. We have a different purpose, a differ­ent mission."

"Mission?" she repeated. "What mission?"

 But she closed her ears - and her heart - to Fishel's answer.

This was not something she wanted to think about. She could not afford to be influenced. Her path was set, and she was going to tread it with Lionel.

WAS IT JUST A DREAM ?

This is a collection of Nineteen modern day Jewish Fiction Stories written and published by Dr. Ruth Benjamin. Most of these have, over the years, been published in either the Jewish Homemaker in New York, or in the Concord Magazine, London.

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ISBN-13: 978-1475023282 (CreateSpace-Assigned)
ISBN-10: 1475023286
BISAC: Fiction / Jewish    234 pages

Before I list the 19 titles I will give here in full, one of the stories, number 16, in fact. Between the lines of the story are illustrations and original titles of some of the other 18 stories.

I give it in full because to give less than that would not be fair. to my readers.

 

 CHAD

 A Story by  Ruth Benjamin 

          Tzippora made patterns on the chocolate icing on the cake and stood back to admire it. Yes, it looked good. She would wait until it was completely dry and then 'hide' it from the family until she was ready to serve it. Not that anyone would really think of actually cutting themselves a slice of a complete cake, but she had all too often found small thumb and finger marks where a blob of icing had been sampled.

            She changed the settings on the stove. The pie had baked enough at such a strong heat. Now it was ready for..

             She was startled by the ringing of the telephone, wondering why it sounded so shrill until she remembered that she had put up the volume so that she could hear it above her cake mixer.

            She lifted the receiver, telling herself that before Pesach she would definitely have to do something about the flour that seemed to have ingrained itself into its cracks.

            There was a lot of interference on the line and she soon realised that the man's voice on the

phone, which she did not recognise, was speaking from a car moving at high speed, obviously on a cellular phone.

            "Hello Edna", he said. "Please would you do something for me and pick up Chad. I am going away for a few days and he needs to stay somewhere. You pick him up at 4 at the Ebenezer children's Centre..."

           "Excuse me...you have the wrong number", she began. This number is.."

            But the man seemed not to be able to hear her. "I am sorry, Edna, but the line is so bad. But please don't forget to do this for me. He can be every day at the crèche."

           "You have the wrong number", she tried to shout.

          "His mother, you know," he continued, "yes, my ex wife. I hope..."  With that the sound seemed to fade into......silence..

           Just a wrong number, she thought as she went into the kitchen. Soon she was concentrating on the rest of her baking.

But what was nagging at her consciousness. What was worrying her.

That had been a wrong number, hadn't it. She was not Edna.

            She glanced at the clock. It was almost 3 p.m. Her children would be home soon. She would have to hurry with what she was doing.

But what was tugging at her mind.?

.Chad that is what it was . Who would pick up Chad? Who was Chad? Whoever he was he was a child who would be waiting outside a children’s centre for a father who would be away for at least two days. She dried her hands and looked through the telephone directory for the Ebenezer Centre.

 "Mommy, who is Chad?" asked Shifra, her eight-year-old daughter who was accompanying her in the car. "Is he Jewish? How old is he? Do we know him?"

            "I am sure he is not Jewish", said his mother. "He is not Jewish because the Ebenezer Centre is not a Jewish place and I have no idea how old he is or who he is. I told you about the phone call."

         

    It was already 4-15. The Centre had been quite far away and she had not been able to get them on the phone. 

       A young woman was standing by the door looking this way and that and next to her was a small child, possibly around two. She stopped the car and the young woman went to the window.

        "You have come for Chad?" she asked. "You are a bit late, you know. We like the children fetched on time. But I suppose it is a little different

with Mrs. Gatfield in the Garden City Hospital and everything. Give her our best wishes," she said almost bundling the child into the car and rushing off to whatever appointment she was late for.

             

  "Chad, come Chad," said Shifra holding out her arms to the child. He had a mass of dark curls and large blue eyes and his nose was pouring. "Mum, do we have tissues anywhere?"

          Absentmindedly her mother handed her the tissues  "Garden City," she was saying turning the car in the direction of the Hospital. Well we will ask the mother who we should take the child to.”

          But when she gave the name in at the reception desk she was directed to the major injuries unit and she soon realised that the

young woman, Mrs Miriam Gatfield, had had a very serious car accident and was hovering unconscious between life and death.

           She said a few Tehillim beside her bed and then went to speak to the nurse to find out more details.

          "She was brought in late this morning. We almost thought we had lost her but she has managed to survive for this long. She didn't have much identification except for her name and address and the name and phone number of her ex husband.

We managed to contact him at home. He was very concerned especially for his young son who was in crèche.

          He said that he had to be away for a couple of days on an important business matter and would get a friend of his to fetch the child from crèche and look after him for a few days. Are you that person?

       

"No. well, yes" she said, going on to explain the whole story.

         "We are taking him home" said Tzippora, wondering what on earth her husband would say about an extra child in the home.

          Shifra looked delighted. "He really likes me, Mom. He has fallen asleep on my lap. But I don't think he is well. He is very very hot and he is coughing a lot.

           For four days, Chad stayed with them. With the help of the family doctor he was much better and he seemed to have taken to their home like a duck to water. The children loved him and seemed delighted to have him. Tzippora had to stop them teaching him brochas, though. Remember, he was not a Jewish child.

             Every day Tzippora visited the Hospital. Marion Gatfield, though improving, remained unconscious.

Every day, even twice a day, Tzippora's husband Yaakov phoned Mr. Gatfield's number, to no avail. He wondered if Edna would have looked after the child as they had.

         On the fifth day, Marion opened her eyes. At first she was confused as to her surroundings but the nurse, constantly on duty, told her what had happened and that slowly, slowly she would be getting better.

           Suddenly her eyes grew wide and frightened and she burst into tears. "My baby, she sobbed. "What has happened to my baby? My Chad. He has been in the Ebenezer crèche. It is only a day centre. I ..I"

          Quietly the nurse handed her the card with Yaakov and Tzippora's address and phone number.  "They have Chad" she said. "They have been looking after them"

           "But from where? Who found them?" She was sobbing freely now. "When are they coming , I must speak to them"

            "Oh here they are right now," said the nurse turning to the couple who had just walked into the ward. But Marion was staring at them her face turning a ghastly white.

             "Chad is fine", said Tzippora reassuring her. He still has a bit of a cold but he is so so much better. We will bring him to you.

          "Thank you", said Marion. "How did he get to you?"

            Tzippora told her the whole story, realising that Marion had dissolved into tears.

             She continued "We call it Hashgocha....." 

             "Protis.." said Marion.

             "You are Jewish?" asked Yakov. "I thought Gatfield.."

              Amidst tears the story emerged. Miriam had been brought up in a frum family but had somehow rebelled and six years ago had run away with a non-Jew. Recently they had divorced leaving her alone with her two-year-old son. She had never seen her parents since. Their names?  Yes, she would give the names. They were in Florida, far away. Perhaps one day they would forgive her even for the sake of their grandchild they had never seen, never knew existed. She cried, saying how much she longed once more to live the life of a Jewish woman.

            As they arrived home and greeted Chad with a hug and a message that his mother would be well, Yakov shut the door of his study. He had an important phone call to make.

          Several hours later he left for the Airport to fetch two overjoyed and crying parents who had left their home without delay to meet their grandson and reunite with their daughter.

           As they held Chad in their arms and covered him with kisses they asked again how this miracle had occurred.

          

"Hashgocha Protis", said Yakov. "Hashgocha Protis just from a wrong number on a cellular phone."

JEWISH STORIES                         

INDEX

         The Neighbour

         Guest for the Seder

         My Very Extra Special Son
    
         Spread the Miracle Outwards

    Mrs. Burris

    Who has Influenced my Child?

    A Second Chance

    David’s Strange Behaviour

          When Will Things Change? 

   

          I Don’t Feel I Belong Here

          The Debt

          Was it Just a Dream?
    
          One Turn Towards HaShem

     Real Festive Lights

      A Very Special Barmitzvah

           Chad

           Making Up

     

     Sholoch Monos finds a Jewish Soul

     The House on the  Hill