Authors: Eva Wiseman
The World Outside (19 page)
“Duck!” I screamed, pushing Eliyahu, who was sitting beside me, down to the floor of the car. I threw myself on top of him to shield him from harm. David, on his other side, followed my example. There was a loud bang and a cracking noise, and when I looked again, blood was running down Papa’s face. But he didn’t let go of the wheel.
“Run them down!” David cried.
“Do it! Now!” Yossi said.
Papa put his foot on the gas pedal and drove directly for the mob. People scattered in all directions, and we were able to breathe again.
“You have to go to the hospital, Zaida!” Eliyahu cried, tears running down his cheeks. “You’re bleeding!”
Papa forced a smile. “Baruch Hashem, I’m not badly hurt. Don’t worry about your zaida, boychick. I’m as good as gold. Your mama will clean me up. She’ll be so happy to see the food we’re bringing her.”
Through the windshield, I spotted a group of policemen at the end of the street. “Stop! The cops are there!”
Papa slowed down and rolled to a stop in front of the officers. We told them what had happened.
“You should go to the hospital, sir,” one of them advised Papa, “to have your wound looked at.”
“My daughter-in-law will clean me up,” Papa said. “But if you call for help, you can probably still catch the hooligans who did this!”
“I’m really sorry,” the cop answered, shamefaced, “but I can’t help you. I’m not allowed to do anything.”
“A pogrom in Brooklyn,” Papa muttered as we drove off. “Poor Yankel Rosenbaum paid with his life for being a Jew.”
A few minutes later, we arrived at Avrohom Isaac’s apartment. The family crowded around us in concern. Little Ruthie hugged Papa’s knees.
“Zaida?” she asked. “Are the bad men going to come up from the street and kill us?”
Before anybody could answer her, the phone rang. It was Mama. She asked us to come home immediately. There was a problem with Baba.
E
sther hastily bandaged Papa’s forehead, and we left for home. It was a hot and humid day, and the skies were beginning to spit. When we passed the corner of President and Utica, Papa slowed the car. The crowd Mama and I had watched earlier had swelled even more.
Al Sharpton still had hundreds of people listening to him intently. “Who do we need to get?” he asked over and over again.
“The Jews!” the crowd roared back.
“That man must have crawled out from under a rock,” Papa said.
Sharpton roared, “Charge!” and the crowd began to run toward Kingston Avenue, our main shopping street.
We turned the corner of our own street. A Hatzolah ambulance and a fire truck were parked in front of our house, and a dozen people had gathered there, both black and white. I noticed Mrs. Elliot’s brother, but she
wasn’t with him. Nor was her little daughter. Firemen and ambulance drivers were going in and out of the house. I saw Mama on the sidewalk, weeping in Rita Mae’s embrace. Jade was standing next to them, her arms wrapped around her own skinny frame, a bewildered look on her face.
When she saw us, Mama threw herself into Papa’s arms. I had never before seen my parents embrace. Papa pulled away from her quickly.
“What’s wrong?” he cried.
“Don’t hate me, Natan! Don’t hate me! There was nothing I could do!”
“Why are the firemen here?” he asked. “Why the ambulance? Did we have a fire?”
“It’s Baba … she’s gone.”
Papa stared at her, dumbfounded. “Gone? What do you mean?”
“Oh, Natan!” Mama sobbed. “She’s dead!”
“Dead?” He stumbled over to the front steps and sat down heavily. “Dead? My mother is dead?”
“Are you all right, sir?” one of the ambulance attendants asked.
Papa waved him away. “What happened?”
Mama sat down close to him. “After you left to get Eliyahu, Baba and I began to cook dinner. She seemed better today, and she said she wanted to surprise you with cholent.”
He wiped his eyes and gave a sad smile. “Nothing is better—
was
better,” he corrected himself, “than my mother’s cholent. She made the best stew in the world.”
Mama pointed to the bandage over his brow. “Are you hurt?”
Papa shook his head. “Never mind that now. What happened to my mother?”
“This is so hard, but I know I must tell you,” Mama said. She took a deep breath. “While we were cooking, there was a terribly loud noise on the street outside. We rushed to the foyer and stuck our heads out the front door. Dozens of rioters were running down the street. They were throwing rocks, bottles, destroying everything in their path. They were yelling, screaming, ‘Death to the Jews! Hitler didn’t get enough!’
“Baba began to shriek, ‘They’re coming to get us! They’re coming to get us!’ I’ll never forget the terror in her voice,” she said.
“I hugged her and tried to calm her fears. I thought I was getting through to her, but she suddenly tore away from me and rushed upstairs to her room. I was right behind her, but she pushed me and I stumbled. She seemed possessed of a supernatural strength. And by the time I got to her room …” Her voice faltered.
“I have to know, Miriam!” Papa said firmly.
Mama began to knead her hands. “By the time I got to her room, Baba had pushed a chair under the window
and climbed on top of it. She’d opened the window and had one leg over the sill.”
She was speaking so quietly that I had to strain to hear her.
“ ‘Baba!’ I screamed. ‘What are you doing?’
“ ‘We have to get away from them!’ she cried.
“ ‘Get away from who?’
“ ‘The Nazis!’ She cupped a hand to her ear and said, ‘Can’t you hear them? They’re outside!’
“ ‘They’re not Nazis,’ I said, ‘only some crazy kids.’ I stepped closer to her and extended my hand. ‘Come, Baba. Take my hand and I’ll help you back into the room. I don’t want you to fall.’ For a moment, I thought she would …” Mama hung her head. “But then, she didn’t.”
The silence was pierced by Papa’s sobs. “First Moishe, then my mother! Who will be left?” he asked.
The answer came to me immediately, crystal clear.
I will be
.
I will be left
.
It was close to midnight and my community was still on fire. I was alone in my room, sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed. I put my hands over my ears to shut out the noise outside—the screaming, the profanities, the threats. I’d had enough. I couldn’t bear it any longer.
“Hashem,” I said, “I need help. I need more rain.”
As if in answer, a few bigger drops fell against the windowpane. I jumped out of bed, ran to the window and leaned out. I stuck out my hand and collected a few droplets of water.
“I’m sorry, Hashem, but I didn’t make myself clear. I need it to rain really hard,” I said, louder this time.
The sky began to pour. Water ran down my hair, my face, my neck. I started to laugh.
“Hashem,” I said, “I could use some lightning!”
Suddenly, bolts of light tore the clouds apart.
The rioters in the street below my window took off in all directions toward their homes.
I looked to the heavens and blew a kiss. Then I went to bed.
B
aba’s funeral was the next day. Despite the riot, all our friends and neighbors came to pay their respects to her. It felt strange to have the police waiting to escort us to the grave. They brought us home as well, after we had said good-bye to my grandmother for the last time.
David had stayed at Avrohom Isaac’s apartment overnight so he could attend the funeral. After it was over, it was time for him to go back to the City and his job as a lab assistant.
I knew there was so much we needed to discuss, but when the time to say good-bye arrived, I lacked the courage. Yossi went to move our car, and David motioned me to the corner of the room, where we couldn’t be heard by the other mourners.
“I’m sorry I have to go. I feel that I’m letting you down. My place is with you, here, but I need the money for tuition.”
I was glad there was no time to answer him before Yossi came back.
“I’ll follow you in our car to make sure that you get out of Crown Heights without trouble,” Yossi said. “After all, we don’t want your friend’s luxurious Chevy to get damaged.”
David swatted his arm and Yossi laughed.
“Wanna come with me?” my brother asked, surprising me.
I nodded, but as I opened the door, a man standing near it intercepted me. It was Mrs. Elliot’s brother. He was clutching his cap, folding and refolding it until it looked like an accordion.
“I’m Pansy Elliot’s brother,” he said.
“I know. I remember.”
“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that your grandma … well, you know what I mean.”
“I do. And thank you.”
“If you need my help with anything, tell me. I’m real good at fixin’ things.”
“Thank you. I—” Yossi blew the horn outside. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
I waved good-bye and ran to the car.
We found ourselves in the middle of a battleground when we got to 770. Police in riot gear were holding back hundreds of black teenagers on the far side of Eastern
Parkway. More officers, also in riot gear, were lining our side of the street. It was as if two armies were facing each other.
Both David and Yossi stopped their cars and got out.
“Stay in the car!” Yossi commanded.
I didn’t even bother answering as I climbed out after him.
The three of us elbowed our way through the crowd to see what was happening. We stopped behind the officers on our side of the street. Suddenly, we were being showered by rocks and bottles thrown from the other side. We ran for cover. The police were doing nothing, so Yossi picked up a rock and hurled it back to where it came from. When he reached down for a second missile, David grasped his wrist and made him drop it.
“Stop it!” he cried. “You don’t want things to get out of control!”
Yossi stamped his foot in frustration. “I just wish I knew what the Rebbe wants us to do. Why does he remain silent? Why doesn’t he speak of the riot?”
“We might never know,” I said, ducking as a bottle whizzed by my head. “Maybe sometimes we have to make up our own minds about things and not always wait for the Rebbe to tell us what to do.”
“That’s it!” David cried. “I’m staying! I can’t leave you when things are so bad.”
My heart was full of joy, but I forced myself to shake my head. “Don’t even think about it! Everything will calm down here in a day or two, then it will all be back to normal. And in the meantime, do you want to get fired?”
We knew it was foolish to stay there, so we went back to our cars. David got into the Chevy reluctantly and rolled down the window. “I’ll see you on Sunday?”
“The usual place,” I whispered.
He gave a wave and drove off.
“What was that about?” Yossi asked. “Are you two …?”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
“I rather doubt that, but right now I have other things on my mind, so I’ll let it pass.” He looked around. “There’s nothing for us to do here. Let’s go home and help with the shiva.”
The shiva did exactly what shivas are supposed to do: it kept us talking about Baba and remembering the good times. Soon, the mobs outside our windows seemed unimportant. Mayor Dinkins sent more police to Crown Heights and order was restored. By Friday, peace had returned to our community.
Just before Shabbos arrived, the doorbell rang. It was Jade. “I’ve come to say good-bye,” she said. “The summer is almost over, so I have to go home and get ready for college. But I’ll be back next year.”
“You promise?”
“I do! In spite of everything bad that happened, I loved my holiday with you.”
“We’ll keep in touch!” we said to each other.
“We’ll phone, we’ll write!” we cried.
“How can I ever thank you? You saved me from those boys.”
She laughed. “Can I tell you a secret? My aunt doesn’t go to the same church as Elroy’s mother. I made that up.”
She stood up to go. “What did you decide in the end?”
I told her. And I told her why.
“I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s what I expected of you all along. Have you told David yet?”