Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 27 of a new online serial novel, Nine A.M., by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications.
Amoxicillin – Dosage Instructions:
Speak with a doctor or healthcare professional regarding dosages. The normal dose is three times a day, one tablet with each meal, for ten days. Do not take medication without explicit instructions from a doctor; the damage may be worse than the benefits. This is a warning!
“But there are only eight pills here,” Naomi said to her grandmother as they stood in a dark corner in the yard of the infirmary, her hand shaking as she proffered the little carton. “Based on what the package says, Zuska needs thirty!”
“Not her, she’s a little girl,” Babbe replied, studying the tiny letters written in German. “It’s amazing to see this disgusting writing dripping with compassion and concern for our health… Anyway, we’ll give her one pill a day. It will be enough for eight days.”
“The nes of the pach shemen…” Naomi murmured, but there was no smile.
“It’s not like healing is in our hands. We’re just doing our hishtadlus.”
“True,” her granddaughter whispered with effort. “And those who wrote this weren’t worried about our health. If they would know who the medicine that they produced is being used for…”
Babbe nodded and looked at Naomi carefully. “Was it complicated to ask Elky for protektzia?”
“Not really.”
“But a little bit?” Sara Liba had sharp eyes.
“No, nothing.” Although she had asked Babbe to give Sherer’s pamphlet to Aryeh and to tell him that Naomi had sent it specially, someone like Babbe would not peruse the pages to see what kind of hidden message was contained within the strange delivery.
“Because you look a little…anxious.”
“Zuska, Aryeh, everything,” Naomi said faintly.
“That makes sense,” Babbe agreed. “I’m going inside to take care of your sweet student. Be gebentched and healthy always, mamma’le!”
“Amen,” Naomi murmured as she watched her grandmother walk back into the infirmary. The door closed, and she was once again alone, in the darkened courtyard. It would soon be curfew, when they were not allowed to be outside. Should she go to visit her mother? Mama would surely be happy. Naomie also hadn’t seen Binyamin in quite some time.
But when she saw her brother, she was very taken aback. “Don’t tell me that he’s also sick!” she said to her mother, who was cutting up tomatoes for the letcho she was making for supper.
“No,” her mother said, glancing back at her son. “Baruch Hashem, he’s fine. He’s just been working very, very hard lately. You just happened to meet him now; if I would not have demanded that he come home for supper tonight, he would have stayed at the factory, as he’s done the last three nights.”
Naomi turned to address Binyamin. “How did you stay?”
“I got special permission. I stated that I wanted to work extra hours.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“But why?” Naomi asked as she took a seat, staring at her mother’s busy hands.
“He wants to help two of his friends get their salary,” Rechel said without turning around. “Friends who are in the infirmary right now.”
“Some of their salary,” Binyamin clarified. His face looked very thin and pale.
“Tell him that you, at least, don’t need anything from him,” Rechel begged Naomi. “Tell him that your salary this month is very big, because of the wedding gift. Katarina gave me quite a clear hint about her plans for it…even though in their view, you didn’t deserve a special gift because you didn’t get married at the manor house. That’s why you didn’t get something more significant, like the Kush couple did. But as a gesture to me, she did increase your salary this month. Did you see it yet?”
“Yes,” Naomi whispered, her lips pale. She suddenly looked remarkably similar to her brother right now. The smell of the frying onions reminded her that with all the running around she had been doing today, she’d hardly eaten a thing.
“Good, I’m happy to hear that. Believe me, you deserve it. So please tell Binyamin that nothing will happen if Aryeh doesn’t get a salary this month, and that you’re fine. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” Rechel ignored the fact that the subject of their conversation himself was sitting and listening to every word. “He’s not used to such hard, physical work, and I’m afraid for his health. Tell him that you don’t need it, okay?”
***
“The new packaging has already been printed,” Bentzy said, putting aside his newspaper. He couldn’t concentrate on it right now. “And to go and write something like ‘Check the spices for worms and insects before use’ will deter every potential buyer from buying the product. Who wants to buy something when the manufacturer says clearly that it might be spoiled?”
“But it might be,” Dena said quietly.
“Everything might be,” Bentzy replied. “Honestly, I don’t understand what you are worried about.”
“I’m worried that a Jew will buy the spices without knowing that they need to be checked for infestation, and then he might eat things that are assur.”
“So what do you want us to do?”
“Maybe you really need to add a sentence, like they do on certain foods in Israel. It doesn’t have to be quite as detailed as you just said, but something that could serve as a reminder.”
“I guess we can consult with our public relations agent before the next round of packaging is printed…” Bentzy paced around the dining room table, and after a few rounds, he sat down on the armchair in the corner, a clear sign that he was thinking.
Dena decided to change the subject. “What did your worker want?”
“Who, Alexander?”
“If you say so—I didn’t know that was his name.”
Bentzy chuckled. “We recently hired a large group of Russian immigrants, and they are looking for someone to give them a Mishnayos shiur in the factory during their lunch break.”
So Duvi hadn’t exactly understood the heavy Yiddish. “Really?”
“Yes, they want to learn a bit, he says, and he suggested that I learn with them.”
Dena moved the small, decorative plant that her mother-in-law had bought off the coffee table, wiped away a few flecks of dust, and replaced it. “Ah.”
“They are older people, who remember a bit here and there from their grandparents, or maybe their parents,” Bentzy continued. “After seventy years of Communism, there really isn’t much that they know…”
“What did you say his name is?” Dena tried to keep her voice even, and not betray how focused she was on a certain point.
“Alexander.”
“And he’s sixty?”
“A little younger—I think he’s in his mid-fifties.”
“So he was already born at the peak of Communism…”
“Yes, and his children know nothing about Yiddishkeit, he tells me.” Bentzy toyed with the empty ashtray sitting on the wood table. “But he still remembers his father ‘reading a big book,’ and warning him not to tell anyone in his class about it… He also had an uncle who disappeared in Siberia because he taught Torah in secret or something. He doesn’t really know, he just remembers his aunt coming to their house and sobbing to his mother… All kinds of stories like that.”
“Wow. Those are chilling stories.”
“I know. It’s interesting; I recently heard lots of stories like these—like I told you, we recently hired a large group of Russian Jewish immigrants, and each one has his own stories. These men are trying to save up some money while they decide if they are going to make aliyah, or if they’re going to try it out in America.”
Dena went to the kitchen and came back with two cups of tea. Autumn in Vienna was much colder than in Eretz Yisrael, and this was just a taste of what awaited them in the winter. She sat down on the other side of the table and pushed the bowl of fruit toward the middle. “Should I peel an orange for you?” she asked her husband.
He shook his head. “No thanks.” He seemed thoughtful, though she had no idea what he was thinking about. The stories of the Russian workers? The Mishnayos he would be teaching, maybe, halevai?
“They consult you about whether to make aliyah or go to America?”
“Or stay here. They don’t exactly consult me, but I hear them talking about it amongst themselves, and sometimes they talk to my father about it, or to me.”
“If someone would ask me, of course I would advise them to make aliyah,” she said, her voice laced with her own longing.
“Obviously.” He laughed. “But the situation there for Russian immigrants isn’t great, so I for sure would not take responsibility for such a decision.”
“But that’s not what he came to talk to you about, right? He spoke about a shiur, didn’t he?” Was she nagging too much? She hoped not, though she was afraid that she was. But Bentzy was so immersed in his thoughts, he seemed to hardly notice her questions, or the answers that he was offering in a distracted manner.
“Right.” Without noticing, he took the orange and the wood-handled knife that was stuck into the bowl and peeled the fruit in one long spiral. “We have about nine Russian Jews, all aged twenty-five to sixty. There’s one more, but I’m not sure his mother was Jewish. Anyway, they really want to learn more, and my father says…” Bentzy fell silent.
“That?”
“I don’t know if you’re going to want to hear this. He says that in Russia, they got used to trying to find favor in the eyes of the employer, and to please him as much as possible. So it’s not really clear that they want specifically the learning and the Torah knowledge. Maybe this is simply their way of currying favor with my father, and with me.”
As he’d thought, Dena did not like this thread of thought at all. She would have liked to think that Jews were thirsting to become closer to Hashem after years of being cut off from Yiddishkeit. But she preferred not to respond to this specific point. “Either way, will you start a shiur for them? It’s a real responsibility to learn with them.”
“Yes…” he replied, looking thoughtful again. “I’m also trying to figure out whether we can give him more work hours, and doing what. He’s pretty strapped, financially.”
“Oh, he wanted that too?” Her finger meandered along the frame of the table, back and forth.
“Yes.”
“I thought you were thinking about the shiur, the opportunity to draw Yidden closer, and all that.” “It’s actually quite a task.” He shook her off. “And that’s why I suggested my father for this. After all, such a responsibility is really more for a rav or some other chashuve person. Not so much for me.”
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