Murder At The Mikvah (2 page)

 Two

“Abba, Nehama’s crying.”

Rabbi Yehuda Orenstein was jolted from his sleep by the
tap tap tap
of a finger poking his arm. He opened his eyes and looked up; his nine-year-old daughter Rachel slowly came into focus. She stood on the side of the couch wearing a long white nightgown, a concerned expression on her face.

“What?… Oh, okay, Racheli… Where’s Mommy?”

“I looked Abba. I couldn’t find her anywhere.”

Yehuda sat up and rubbed his eyes. After a minute or so, he was more fully awake and remembered that Hannah had gone to the
mikvah
. “It’s all right Rachel… Mommy will be back soon,” he told her, repositioning two small pillows that had been displaced while he slept. “Go back to bed; I’ll take care of Nehama.”

“Can I get a drink first?”

“Okay Racheli, but then, bed!” he told her, playfully wagging his finger.

She smiled back at him and padded off toward the kitchen.

Yehuda stood up and stretched. It was unlike him to fall asleep on
mikvah
night, but then again, with a newborn in the house, his share of the workload had increased substantially. Both he and Hannah were exhausted. Fortunately, Lauren, their babysitter, had been available 24/7 for the first month after Nehama’s birth in September. But now Lauren was in class most days, leaving Yehuda no choice but to pick up the slack. This meant grocery shopping, preparing meals, supervising bath time, even doing a bit of laundry. Yehuda enjoyed the additional one on one time with his kids—helping Rachel with her homework, kicking the soccer ball with Eli—that being home more afforded him. It also gave him the opportunity to do the things so easily put off, like removing David's training wheels, and teaching the boys to cross the street by themselves. Nevertheless, he was starting to feel the familiar effects of having additional domestic responsibilities.

Whenever he and Hannah were blessed with a new baby, Yehuda was reminded of exactly how hard his wife worked to keep their home
, their lives
running smoothly. Somehow she made caring for a husband and five children look effortless. He didn’t know how she managed it all: meals, school, tutoring, piano lessons, sports, doctor’s appointments. All this in addition to hosting their weekly Shabbat guests, teaching women’s classes at the center,
and
her volunteer work throughout the community. Each day, Yehuda thought of his wife during his morning prayers when he thanked God for, among other things, not creating him as a slave or a woman. These words were offensive to feminists and most secular Jewish women—as were a handful of other traditions—who often cited them in their argument that Orthodox Judaism was repressive to women. Taken at face value without fully understanding the meaning behind the traditions, Yehuda could see how they would reach such conclusions. He and his wife often addressed the issue in their classes, teaching that in Judaism, women were actually considered to be spiritually
superior
to men. When a man thanked God for not being born a woman, he was essentially thanking God for the obligation to perform more
mitzvahs
. Each mitzvah brought a person closer to God. Being spiritually inferior, men needed to perform many more, including an array of “time bound” mitzvahs from which women were excluded. God in his infinite wisdom realized that men needed to work harder than their female counterparts just to stay on track.

On a more personal level, Yehuda was thankful that God didn’t make him a woman because, quite frankly, he doubted he (or most men in his opinion), could handle it. Besides the physical discomfort of pregnancy and childbirth, there were the never-ending responsibilities of running the home, which extended far beyond cooking and cleaning. The Jewish home was considered a living
beis hamikdash
or temple, in which the spirit of God,
the Shechina,
resided. The Jewish woman was charged with protecting and maintaining that spiritual presence. According to Jewish belief, the holiest thing a person could do was to bring God and spirituality into the physical world, and women were given the opportunity to infuse Godliness into the world through all aspects of domesticity, raising the mundane events of daily life to the most elevated heights of the heavens.

Yehuda heard Nehama cry out from upstairs.

What time is it anyway?

He looked at his watch; his eyes popped at what he saw.

12:07.

Oh my God.

“Abba, Nehama’s still crying!”

“Ok, Racheli, I’m coming right now…” As Yehuda bounded up the steps toward the baby’s room he went over the evening's events in his mind.
Hannah left the house at 9:45. She called home a little after 10:00… more than two hours ago.

Visibly shaken, Yehuda reached into Nehama’s crib and picked up the tear drenched infant. Pulling her close to him, he kissed her face and rubbed her back. “Poor Hummi… she’s sopping wet! …”

“Abba? Is something the matter?” Rachel stood in the nursery doorway, blocking the light from the hall.

“No, no… Nehama needs a change, that’s all.” He looked down at Rachel’s pink bunny slippers; one of the ears was missing. “Did you have your drink?”

“Yes Abba.”

“Good,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Rachel, please go check and see if there are any messages on the answering machine.”

A cordless phone had been sitting right next to him while he slept on the couch. Though almost certain he would have heard it ring, it was possible that he had been in too deep a sleep. He swung around to the changing table and gently lowered the baby onto the pad. His eyes darted around—
diapers stacked in neat piles, creams lotions, powder
—Hannah kept everything so organized.

Rachel returned to the room. “No messages Abba.” She looked at him, as if willing him to explain, but he didn’t.

“Where are the…”

“Here Abba.” Rachel cautiously approached the table and pulled three wipes from the container that her father’s eyes had somehow missed.

“Oh… I didn’t see them,” he said, avoiding her eyes. He extended his hand toward one of the piles of diapers.

“Abba, why is your hand shaking?”

But Yehuda’s mind was racing and he didn’t hear her. He grabbed a diaper, inadvertently knocking a few onto the floor. He gently lifted Nehama’s legs with his other hand and wrapped the diaper around her bottom.

“Abba?”

Yehuda tried to appear calm as he accepted the fresh pajamas Rachel was offering. “Rachel, I need you to sit with the baby for a minute while I make a phone call.”

Rachel nodded obediently and leaned over to collect the fallen diapers. After stacking them neatly on the changing table, she sat down on the rocker. Yehuda placed Nehama gently into her sister’s waiting arms. Rachel snapped the baby’s pajama closures and began rocking slowly back and forth. Not surprising, Nehama’s eyes started fluttering immediately. Rachel was very skilled at taking care of babies. With three younger brothers, she had had many years of practice helping her mom. By the age of five, Rachel could hold and carry an infant; by age seven, she was changing diapers and helping with their baths. Rachel knew that as the oldest, she was
expected
to help with her younger siblings, and fortunately, she enjoyed doing it. A few of the girls at school didn’t. Rachel’s friend Leah hated it more than anything else. Rachel could understand why. Usually Leah wasn’t allowed to play after school because she had to help with her brothers and sisters. On a recent half day, Rachel offered to go over to Leah’s house to help. She thought the two of them could help Leah’s mom and have fun too. But Leah’s mom had said things like, “Rachel, I bet
you’re
a big help to your mommy” and “Leah, see how
Rache
l likes to play with the babies?” So in the end, Rachel didn’t feel like she had helped her friend at all.

“Nehama’s asleep, Abba!” Rachel looked up proudly, but saw that her father was already half way down the hall. She watched him round the corner and disappear down the stairs. She took a deep breath and gazed lovingly at her sleeping sister, her pink lips parted ever so slightly, breathing gently.
What was Nehama dreaming?
Did babies even have dreams?
Whether they did or didn't, babies were lucky to be spared from worrying. Rachel felt a hard lump in her throat. Something was wrong and she suspected it had something to do with her mother. It wasn’t like her to be out this late. Besides, the only other time she had felt this way or had seen her Abba so frazzled was when her mother was rushed to the emergency room four months ago, at the beginning of the summer. Rachel had never seen her father
daven
so fervently. Body swaying, he pleaded in Hebrew for God to save his wife and unborn child:
R’foanynu Hashem, v’nayrofay, hoshi-aynu v’nivshay-o, kis’hilosaynu oto, v’ha-alay r’fu-o-sh’laymo l’chol makosaynu, ki ayl melech rofay ne-emon v’rachamon oto. Boruch ata Hashem, rofay cholay amo yisro-ayl.

“God heard,” her father told her days later, after the danger had passed. “God hears all our prayers, especially heartfelt ones,” he added.

Her mother was discharged with strict orders to stay in bed. Dr. Blynne explained that this was necessary so the baby wouldn’t get any funny ideas about showing up early again.

Yehuda paced around the kitchen, his mind racing. He had just called both Hannah’s cell phone and the mikvah line but there was no answer at either, just recordings. He checked his watch again.
12:19
.

There must have been an accident.

He grabbed the phone off the kitchen counter and dialed.

“911 emergency. This is Marie. Please state your emergency.”

“Yes, hello. This is Yehuda Orenstein. I live at 62 Willow Lane. My wife isn’t home… I mean she should be home by now… She went to the
mik
… uh… she went to an appointment and should have been back by eleven, and she’s not.”

“Sir, you say your wife was supposed to be home just a little over an hour ago. Is this what you are telling me?”

“Yes…”

Marie cleared her throat. “Mr. Orenstein, have you considered the possibility that she might just be running late?”

“No…” Yehuda stammered. “You don’t understand. I’m a rabbi and…”

“Oh, pardon me.
Rabbi
Orenstein.”

“…No… That’s okay… It’s just that we have five kids… We have a
newborn
… Something’s not right. She should be home by now.”

“All right Rabbi Orenstein, try to relax for me and I’ll do my best to assist you.”

“Okay…” Yehuda took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Now what time did your wife, uh, what did you say her first name is?”

“Hannah.”

“What time did Hannah leave your home this evening?”

“About 9:45, maybe 9:50.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Where was her appointment? Do you have a street address?”

“526 Trinity Lane.”

“526 Trinity?”

“Yes.”

“Your wife went to church?”

“No!… No… The church is next door… Hannah went to
526
Trinity, the old high school.”

“St. Agassi High School is next door. Right. Thank you for that clarification. But wasn’t that building turned into a community center or something?”

“It’s going to be a Jewish Recreation Center… but right now it’s in the middle of renovation.”

“You’re saying the former Catholic high school is currently under construction?”

“Yes.”

“Rabbi, could you tell me why your wife had an appointment at a building under construction?”

“No… she had an appointment at the
mikvah
. It’s in the one area of the building that’s already finished. I’m sorry I wasn’t clear.”

“I’m not familiar with the term
mikvah
.”

“The
mikvah
… it’s a ritual bath… it looks like a small swimming pool… used for centuries by Jews…”

“A small swimming pool?”

“Yes, basically Jews believe in immersing in the
mikvah
water to remove spiritual impurities.”
Did he really have to get into this now?

“Oh, a religious thing, kind of like baptism. Okay. So, who was her appointment with at this pool?”

“The attendant… the
mikvah
attendant… Hannah was immersing tonight.”

“And who would that be? Do you happen to know the attendant’s name?”