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God's Dancer: A Search for Identity
God's Dancer: A Search for Identity
God's Dancer: A Search for Identity
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God's Dancer: A Search for Identity

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“Which tune do I dance to?” the little boy asked.
“We all dance to God’s music,” the nun replied.

This is the story of a tenth generation Catholic-American on his mother’s side, a second generation Jewish-American on his father’s side and his Search for Identity. Victor Holland dances to many tunes: Tough Street Kid, High School Failure, Combat Marine, Railroad Conductor, Auctioneer, Businessman, Candidate for a Rabbinical College, Emigrant to Israel, Teacher and High School Principal, City Councilman and Best Selling Author.

God is Victor’s musician, choreographer and partner, leading him through four wars, an intense and complicated love affair, intellectual awakening, religious revitalization and paternal conflict. The last melody leaves Victor and God in hand to hand combat as partners on the Dance Floor of Life.

This novel is written by Dov Silverman, Best-Selling novelist, international literary prize winner and historical researcher. Having written twenty novels Dov uses his experience talents, researched information of personal and formal letters, family diaries, and tape recordings, radio and TV broadcasts spanning half a century of American, Korean and Israeli history to bring you an emotion-filled saga of a man, his wife and their Search For Identity.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherDov Silverman
Release dateMar 1, 2014
ISBN9781311268778
God's Dancer: A Search for Identity
Author

Dov Silverman

Born in Brooklyn, New York, Dov Silverman has served as a U.S. Marine in the Korean War, worked as a Long Island railroad conductor, been an auctioneer, and even established the Autar Microfilm Service. While working so hard on the railroad, he earned his high school diploma and went on to graduate from Stony Brook University, Long Island, New York, cum laude, at the age of 39. He and his family settled in Safed, Israel in 1972. He credits a spiritual meeting with God and a Tzaddik (righteous man), Jules Rubinstein, in the Brentwood (New York) Jewish Center, with setting him on the path of study, religious involvement and settlement in Israel. His novel, FALL OF THE SHOGUN, appeared on the London Times Best-Seller List and has been published in multiple languages. He also won a 1988 Suntory Mystery Fiction Award, Japan, for REVENGE OF THE GOOD SHEPHERDS.

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    God's Dancer - Dov Silverman

    CHAPTER 1

    The Hills Of Galilee

    November 16, 1979 – Safed, Israel

    Maybelline, you’re an antediluvian, Siberinarian, cheese-hound. Victor said and put down his briefcase. He straddled the chunky, white and brown Basset Hound. Her eyes challenged him. The rest of her flabby, fat body and tail wiggled with happiness. Dog, don’t look at me in that tone of voice.

    That’s the spot where you cut the umbilical cord to her first puppy, Jenny said without turning from the kitchen sink. She never forgets when she’s in that spot.

    Victor went up behind his wife and hugged her. Have you been crying? he whispered.

    No more than usual. How was school?

    I handed the keys and principal’s duties to Dina Raz. Officially my sabbatical has started. I’m free. He buried his face in Jenny’s short hair and breathed in her scent. Hmm, I like your smell.

    I’m receiving calls from our friends. Parents have been requesting anting to know why…? Jenny sobbed. Victor waited. They want to know…"

    What?

    Why we brought Jeff home from the hospital.

    Victor shrugged. He asked me to tell him stories about the family.

    Tell him.

    My parents didn’t talk much. I learned about my father from his brother, and about my mother from her step-sister.

    Tell him the interesting stuff, Jenny said. About the tough guys you grew up with. He wants to forget the pain.

    I’m ashamed of some things.

    He’s matured beyond his eighteen years.

    He’s had the ultimate maturation course for a teenager.

    It’s time for his pills. Jenny handed Victor a glass of water. Take Maybelline in there with you. Jeff keeps his feet warm on her body."

    Victor glanced down at the dog and she growled deep in her chest.

    Maybelline, Jenny ordered, go to Jeff.

    The Basset Hound wagged her tail and got slowly to her feet. She lumbered across the living room and ascended the three steps, sweeping them with her long floppy ears and teats. Before she disappeared through the arch and down the hall to Jeff’s room, she turned and wagged her tail for Victor to follow.

    Now she’s my buddy.

    She loves you, Jenny said. Except when she’s in that one spot.

    Victor followed the dog into his son’s room. Jeff lay in the bed near the double window overlooking the garden. Beyond the garden lay a view of the green hills of Galilee, Nazareth and the harp-shaped Sea of Galilee.

    How you doing, Big Shorty? Victor asked. Want me to fix those pillows around your legs?

    After I take the pain killer. Help me up?

    A pleasure. Victor laughed. Did you hear that accent? I’ve been working on it. That’s how the South Africans say it.

    Who’s South African? Jeff put the pill between his teeth.

    Victor placed his right hand on his son’s bony spine, his left hand on the thin shoulders and gently raised him to a sitting position. The dog watched with her soft brown eyes focused on Jeff. Victor wanted to hug his son and put his face on the ulcerated cheeks and swollen lips to take the cancer into his own body. God, Victor prayed in his heart, please bless our son. He fluffed the pillows with one hand then let his son gently down.

    Following Jeff’s instructions, Victor moved the pillows around his leg and hips.

    Dad, can you put Maybelline by my feet? I like the feel of her fur on my toes.

    Victor lifted the dog. Jesus Christ, she weighs a ton.

    Bet she weighs almost what I do, Jeff said.

    Not even close. You’re taller than your old Daddy.

    Yeah, but I’ve lost a lot of weight.

    Why did you buy this sad-looking dog? Victor shoved Maybelline’s back up against Jeff’s bare feet. The dog snuggled closer.

    When they told me the cancer turned to leukemia, she was the only thing that looked sadder than I felt.

    That South African I told you about is a doctor who used to be a student of Muff Abramson’s in Dublin.

    You called Ireland?

    We sent him your charts and he called us.

    Jeff’s eyes searched Victor’s.

    Nothing, Victor said. He’s treating cancer as an allergy, but you don’t fit the profile. Everybody is working for you. You want your back rubbed?

    Tell me a story until this pain killer kicks in.

    You want me to make it up like I did when you were little?

    No. About when you were little.

    Well, I was a beautiful baby, a child genius and very humble.

    Come on, Dad. Jeff had his mother’s blue eyes that twinkled when he knew Victor was pulling his leg. I once heard Grandpa Charlie call you God’s Dancer. Were Grandma and Grandpa Handicapped when they got married?

    Yes. Grandpa grew up mostly in St. Charles Hospital. He used to take me there on the polio ward to see his old friends. He would play the banjo and I would dance. Sister Rosemary gave me the name ‘God’s Dancer.’ Grandpa Charlie got polio at age three and lost the use of his legs from the hips down.

    You inherited his shoulders, Jeff said.

    From walking on the crutches without braces, my father became very strong from the waist up.

    And Grandma Gracie, what happened to her?

    My Mother, Victor remembered Jenny’s advice to tell it like it was, your Grandma broke her ankle jumping rope when she was eight. Her father was a rummy.

    What’s a rummy?

    An alcoholic. He carried her into the hospital Emergency Room, went to the nearest bar and came back three hours later. He grabbed little Gracie and ran so he wouldn’t have to pay the three dollar medical fee. He was so drunk he fell down the hospital steps on top of her. He broke her knee and her ankle again. He took your Grandma home and hid her. Not many visitors came to the house. The family was what people called Shanty Irish. They lived near the pig farms. When the wind blew… what a stink! By the time the truant officer came around, both the knee and ankle had healed crooked and Grandma had to use crutches.

    Grandma doesn’t use crutches now. And what’s Shanty Irish?

    Dirt poor Irish. That was your Grandma’s family. She and her sisters used to follow the horses. They collected horse poop to fertilize the gardens. Victor’s eyebrows rose. You’re old enough for me to say horseshit.

    Jeff’s eyes sparkled and Victor knew he thought he was hearing a joke. No joke, Victor said. Your Grandpa Charlie and Grandma Gracie were also dirt poor when they got married. I once watched my mother pull my father’s tooth with a pair of electrical pliers because he didn’t have the money to go to a dentist. My father pointed to the wrong tooth and my mother pulled it.

    Oh boy, so what did he do?

    What he hated most. Asked his father for a loan of five dollars for the dentist. He couldn’t go through that pain again.

    Why would Grandpa worry about asking his father for a five-dollar loan?

    Grandpa Charlie never wanted to take charity from anyone, especially his father.

    Why not?

    He never told me, but I think your Great Grandfather didn’t like having a handicapped son. He tried crazy ways to get my father cured, like painful electric shocks. And once he threw my father off a cliff into the water.

    Why?

    He heard swimming and shock treatments were good. At the time Grandpa Charlie didn’t know how to swim, but he learned fast. His father was also a drinking man.

    Was he a rummy too?

    He liked his oil.

    You mean he drank a lot of whiskey?

    Your Great Grandpa not only liked to drink booze, he helped his brother, BlackJack Silverman, smuggle it into Long Beach and Fire Island. I once heard your Great Grandpa called ‘Two Gun Ike.

    Was he a gangster?

    I don’t think so. He helped deliver booze during prohibition.

    How did he get that nickname Two Gun Ike?

    He was making deliveries. They sent a tough guy along to make an overdue collection from one of the speakeasies. The tough guy gave my Grandfather Ike a gun while they were in the truck. Then he pulled a second gun when they got to the place and gave that to my Grandfather too. The tough guy said they would surely frisk him at the door. Well, they not only frisked him, but the owner of the joint came out and searched my Grandfather. They knew he wasn’t a fighter and, as a joke, called him ‘Two-Gun Ike.’ He got so scared he decided to get married and settle down. BlackJack got him a job as a lace salesman and offered him a lot of money if he would marry Jack’s sister.

    Was my great grandma that ugly?

    Victor waved his hand in the air. "Menza, menza. That means so-so in Italian. Pictures I saw of her weren’t bad, but she was stone deaf."

    So Two-Gun Ike took the money, Jeff said.

    He held out for more, and then married her. They were first cousins.

    I thought that’s forbidden in the Bible?

    First cousins are allowed in Judaism, Victor said.

    Does Mom have any skeletons in the closet?

    You mean your mother’s mother?

    Yes.

    Grandma Malka thinks she committed an unforgivable sin when she ate bread her older sister stole so the family wouldn’t starve. That was when they were kids in Poland. Before he died, your Grandpa Philip confessed to running away from the Russian Army after serving six years.

    Why did he sign up for the Army?

    "He didn’t. From the age of four he was being trained to become a Rabbi. The Russian Government took all Jews over the age of 12 to serve twenty-five years in the Army. He fought against being taken, but a Cossack knocked him on the head, tied him up and threw him in the back of the cart with others. He served six years in the artillery. The Russian soldiers became his friends. They took him to their villages and showed him off as a Jew. He said the people felt his head for horns and his backside for a tail. When he heard of his father’s death, he knew his mother and two sisters would starve with no one to work for the family. The Russian soldiers in his platoon helped him run away from the Army. He wanted to take his family to Israel. It was called Palestine then. He was a religious Zionist back in the 1920s. His mother and sisters insisted he take them to the Goldene Medina."

    What does that mean?

    It’s Yiddish for America, the land of streets paved with gold. Grandpa Philip found a lot of backbreaking work in the United States. He also found freedom and never got to Israel.

    Until we came, Jeff said. Then you built the downstairs apartment for him and Grandma. What happened to Grandpa Charlie?

    Two-Gun Ike shipped his son to Saint Charles Hospital. It’s a Catholic home for kids who have polio and their families didn’t want them.

    Is that where Grandpa got that cross he keeps in his wallet?

    That Sister Rosemary gave it to him the last time he ran away.

    When was that?

    From what his brother Phil told me, my father ran away about once or twice a year.

    Where was he going?

    To Florida, the March of Dimes Foundation at Silver Springs. It was a rehabilitation center for polio victims. He and a friend named Eddie Pedis hitchhiked from New York to Florida. Remember this was in the 1920s. There weren’t many cars and few good roads. When they arrived at the March of Dimes Center they were interviewed, but turned away.

    Why?

    They were Jews.

    There was discrimination against Jews in America?

    That’s not the reason we came to Israel, Victor said. Your mother and I didn’t run away from something. We ran to be part of a miracle happening here.

    I could use a miracle, Jeff said. Sometimes I wonder what I did wrong to get cancer.

    That kind of thinking will make you crazy, Victor said. I told you how I heard the nurses betting five dollars whether I would die before or after midnight.

    Yeah, well I hope they find a miracle drug for me like they did for you. Jeff sighed and closed his eyes.

    You want to sleep?

    "You once told me Grandma Gracie was a good Catholic before she converted to marry Grandpa. But Grandpa never came to the synagogue for Barbara’s Bat Mitzvah or my Bar Mitzvah."

    My father was angry with God, Victor said. Like you, he wondered what he did wrong to get polio.

    But he was only three years old.

    "That’s why I told you not to try and figure God out, and don’t think of your cancer as a punishment. There was a saying in the Marine Corps, ‘Shit happens.’ The only times I saw my father in a synagogue was at my Bar Mitzvah and my brother’s."

    Then why did Grandpa make Grandma convert?

    I asked, but he never answered. My mother said he wouldn’t marry her unless she converted. To this day she walks on the other side of the street when she passes a Catholic Church. Her family was from County Cork in Ireland. Her mother’s name was Mary Mackelheaney, as Irish as Paddy’s pig. Your Grandma, her brother and two sisters were all bright redheads.

    What does that mean?

    I forgot how long you’ve been in Israel.

    Eight years next June, Jeff said.

    They were all good Irish Catholics and disowned your Grandmother because she married out of the faith.

    How did she get to walk without crutches?

    Always remember, Victor said. There are a lot of good people working to make you better. My mother’s grade school teacher, Miss Laura D. Scott, was one of the best. When she visited my mother in the hospital, she found out they wanted to amputate the leg.

    How come you remember the teacher’s name?

    It’s one of the few stories my mother told me over and over. Miss Scott took my mother to Long Island College Hospital in Brooklyn. From her own money, the teacher paid two weeks room and board for my mother. The doctors there were also in favor of amputating her left leg above the knee. One day a man in a Brooklyn Dodger baseball shirt and cap walked into the ward. ‘Hey Red,’ he called to my mother, ‘why are you crying?

    She pointed to the group of doctors several beds down trying to convince Miss Scott to get family permission for the amputation. ‘They want to take off my leg,’ Gracie whimpered.

    The man took off his cap, showing a shiny bald head. ‘A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be crying. Let me take a look.’ He pulled back the covers. ‘East and west. Your leg is bent in two directions.’ He waved the baseball cap at the group of doctors. ‘Hey, you guys,’ he shouted, ‘come over here.’ My mother told me the doctors ran to her bedside. Miss Scott followed."

    ‘Fill me in on this case,’ the man said.

    ‘Yes, Dr. Fett,’ the Doctors chorused.

    He listened, looked at the chart, the x-rays and the misshapen leg. He kissed my mother’s forehead. ‘Red, from now on I’ll be your doctor. It will be a long time and a lot of pain. Can you take it?’

    ‘Can you save my leg?’

    ‘I think so.’

    ‘I don’t have any money.’

    ‘How did you get in this hospital?’

    Mom pointed at Miss Scott. ‘My teacher paid.’

    Dr. Herbert Fett, Chief of Surgery and physician for the Brooklyn Dodger baseball team, volunteered his services. The Dodgers paid the room and board. Dr. Fett took out some bone and then fused my mother’s ankle and knee. Sixteen operations and three years later, your Grandma limped out of the hospital without a brace or crutches. During that whole time, Miss Scott tutored my mother

    Is that why you wanted to become a teacher? Jeff asked.

    One of the reasons. My Mother’s Father never came to visit. Her Mother came only on Sundays because the hospital offices were closed and no one would ask her to pay.

    Why did you become a teacher so late in life? Jeff asked.

    You know I tried becoming a Rabbi. That didn’t work. Mom and I thought the next best thing would be a teacher in Israel.

    Why did you come to Safed? You could have had jobs in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem.

    Because Mom likes cool weather. Tel Aviv is hot and we couldn’t afford Jerusalem.

    That was Mom’s reason. What was yours?

    In Safed I found exactly what I was looking for. This is a small development town. That means it’s a bit backward, especially in education. It’s like where I went to school.

    My class was good, Jeff said.

    In each grade they make up one good class, and the rest are called dummies by the principal. The junior high school I went to was like that. They told me I was stupid. In high school they proved it. My parents were afraid of authority and said, ‘The teachers know best.’ In the Marine Corps, I found out I wasn’t stupid. Your mother and Mr. Rubinstein encouraged me --

    Dad, can you tell me later? I’m tired.

    Victor pulled the covers over Maybelline and Jeff’s feet. The dog raised her head and peeked out with those soulful brown eyes. Victor spoke to her in his thoughts, Dog, can you hear me thinking? Watch over Jeffery.

    Maybelline snorted as if to say, You don’t have to tell me what to do. She lay her head down and snuggled against Jeff’s feet.

    Victor went to Jenny in the kitchen. I’ve been telling Jeff about when I was a kid. I didn’t like my childhood. I grew up in two rooms behind a store. My Mother, Father and sister slept in one room, my brother and me in the other. When my Grandmother and Peggy came to live with us, my parents slept on the floor in the kitchen.

    Jeff wants to hear about the street gangs, the Salvation Army, Father Klein and the CYO. Anything to keep his mind off the pain and the future.

    Future, my ass! Victor pointed to an envelope in Jenny’s hand. What’s that?

    Your assistant principal brought it over.

    What’s it say?

    He has your English matriculation classes covered. He said not to worry about that. There’s that problem with the students, teachers and parents.

    Victor saw Jenny’s lower lip tremble and he embraced her. What is it?

    They want to know why we brought Jeffrey home from the hospital in Jerusalem. They know he isn’t being treated for the cancer anymore.

    You answer the letters, Victor said. We’ll send them to our friends abroad. I’ll speak to the parents and teachers.

    Are you going to the synagogue?

    I’ll pray in the garden. Victor took his prayer book and went outside. He stood between the plum and pomegranate trees under Jeff’s window and faced toward the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.

    Victor, Jenny’s mother saw Victor, opened the window of her ground floor apartment, Say a good prayer for Jeff.

    Okay, Mom. Victor said. He took three steps back, then three symbolic steps forward into the presence of God. He bowed and tried not to choke on the words. Happy are they who dwell in Thy house. They shall forever praise Thee . . .

    Jenny peeked in at Jeff sleeping. Maybelline looked back from under the blanket, but didn’t move. Jenny stepped closer to the double window and watched the beauty of the setting sun behind the hills of Galilee. Looking down at her husband praying in the garden, she hoped that he derived something from the prayers because she couldn’t thank God for the death sentence He imposed on her son. ALL Acute Lymphatic Leukemia was incurable.

    Jenny patted Maybelline’s head and went down the hall to Barbara’s empty room. She uncovered the Sears manual typewriter and wrote…:

    "Nov. 16, 1979. We have so many people to write and it’s hard to do. Victor and I decided I should write one letter, explain what has happened and make copies. This past year and a half has been difficult. Jeff was diagnosed with cancer of the lymph nodes while on his trip to the States. That was July 1978. We brought him home as soon as possible. He was treated in Haifa Hospital until the diagnosis became Acute Lymphatic Leukemia. We then took him to Hadassah Hospital in Jerusalem. That was January 1979. They tried everything to get him in remission, but it never happened. He took the treatments well, played basketball, and earned enough money from his ceramics to buy a used motorcycle. He has a girlfriend - Varda. God Bless Varda. She wouldn’t go on the motorcycle so we loaned him our car. On August 17th he developed an infection and we rushed him back to Jerusalem. It’s a hard three-hour drive through the Jordan Valley past hostile Arab villages. Jeff was hospitalized for 9 days of treatments. On September 2nd he needed another 7-day course of treatment. A minor infection hospitalized him for two days at the end of September. Victor saw me falling apart so he took Jeff. The road in the Jordan Valley is sometimes dangerous because of terrorists.

    On the third morning Victor got to the hospital and was surprised that Jeff met him at the entrance to the Hematology ward. He had his bag packed and asked if they could stop for breakfast. Victor was so happy that Jeff wanted to eat that he took him without questioning. Coming up the Jordan Valley, Jeff had to urinate several times. Victor didn’t think anything of it and was happy when Jeff asked to eat in the Chinese restaurant in Tiberias. (It’s the only Chinese restaurant in the country). Victor called me from there. I told him the doctors want Jeff back immediately. He ran away because his blood count was bad and he didn’t want to continue the treatments. Victor took him back to Hadassah Hospital. I don’t know how he convinced Jeff. On October 9th Jeff needed another seven-day course of treatment. He refused. The doctors told him he had to take this course of medication or his life would be in danger. Reluctantly our son agreed. Three days into the treatment, his heart was affected. They reduced the dosage. Victor, Barbara and I were tested for a bone marrow transplant, but no one was compatible. It wouldn’t have made any difference. He never went into remission. We had to keep him there two extra days. Again a big scene because he didn’t want to remain in hospital. We got him home and he appeared fine. On November 7th he drove the motorcycle down the mountain to Tiberias. When he got back he collapsed before he could get inside the house. We rushed him to Jerusalem. His white cell count went up from 5,000 to 90,000. They wanted to renew the treatment. He refused. Victor talked, begged and pleaded. Finally Victor told him how in the New York Veterans Hospital at the last moment his life was saved by one shot of Cortisone. Only when Victor gave his word that he would take Jeff out of the hospital, no matter what, if this medication didn’t work, did Jeff agree. The second day, with us standing at his bedside, Jeff went into anaphylactic shock - an allergic reaction to the medication. He was so miserable. He couldn’t look at food. He wanted to go home. The doctors had no more medicine to offer, but wouldn’t give up. Jeff told us he didn’t want to die like Danny with tubes running in and out of him. He wanted to die in his own bed. Danny was a friend with the same disease who suffered so much. We signed Jeff out. The doctors called the Safed Hospital where I work for the fundraising office and told our Doctor friends how best to make Jeff comfortable. On the way home Jeff wanted to see the Wailing Wall. We stopped in the Old City and for a minute or two at Jericho and the Sea of Galilee."

    Jenny stopped typing. She heard the front gate open, then close and her daughter’s footsteps on the porch. The living room door opened. Barbara, is that you?

    Her daughter entered the room wearing her army uniform. She leaned her Uzi against the wall and kissed Jenny.

    Is Jeff sleeping? Barbara whispered.

    Yes, but what are you doing home, and with that gun?

    Jeff will love to look at it. It’s an Uzi sub-machinegun.

    Do you know how to shoot that thing? Jenny asked.

    Of course. Everybody learns.

    You never carried a gun before.

    They transferred me to a base near here and since we’re so close to the border, every soldier must carry a weapon.

    With bullets too?

    Mommy, it doesn’t work without bullets. What’s to eat?

    Spaghetti and meatballs.

    Great. I want to shower and change, then eat.

    First say hello to Daddy. He’s praying in the garden.

    He’s just sitting and thinking, Barbara said. I didn’t want to disturb him.

    You know how he loves to see you in the uniform. And take the gun. He knows about them.

    Ma, he knows about the old days from the Korean War.

    Your father needs cheering up. And before we eat, read this letter and tell me what you think. Don’t forget Grandma Malka and Harriet. They’ll want to see you. Tell them to come up and eat with us.

    After dinner, Barbara, Jenny and Victor sat around the table and talked until Jeff called. Victor helped him to the bathroom and back. Jeff perked up when Barbara came in with the Uzi. They spoke in Hebrew about the Army, the weapon and their friends. Jeff’s girlfriend Varda came to visit and Barbara closed the bedroom door to leave them alone.

    Back in the kitchen, Barbara asked, How’s Jeff doing?

    Not too much pain, Victor said. Doctors Lou Shifrin and Muff Abramson said they’d be on stand-by if he needs help. Lou explained to Jeff about the coffee grounds in his stool.

    Jeff doesn’t drink coffee.

    It’s dried blood from the intestines and looks like coffee grounds in the toilet bowl.

    You mean he’s bleeding inside? Barbara asked.

    What did you think of my letter? Jenny asked.

    Good. But I would put in about the Palestinians throwing rocks at your car in the Jordan Valley, and about the bullet hole you found in the front fender.

    The point of the letter is to explain why we brought Jeff home.

    The letter makes it clear, Victor said.

    Got to get up at 5 A.M, Barbara said and catch the bus back to the base."

    I’ll leave cereal and tea with a sandwich to take, Jenny said.

    Barbara, Victor said, leave your door open. I’m going to sleep with your mother tonight. If Jeff needs help, call me.

    Where have you been sleeping?

    On the floor next to Jeff’s bed.

    They heard Jeff’s door open and close.

    Varda came into the living room and flashed a shy smile. He’s sleeping.

    Would you like something to eat? Jenny asked.

    No, thank you.

    Do you want a lift home? Victor asked.

    No, thank you. Goodnight.

    The three waved as Varda passed the kitchen window in the courtyard and went out the front gate.

    Thank God for Varda, Victor said.

    Why do you keep saying that? Barbara asked.

    Because there are things a boy won’t talk about with his parents or his sister or his friends that he’ll say to the girl he loves.

    Like what? Barbara asked.

    Like what your father said to me when he was in the Veterans Hospital in New York.

    What did you say, Dad?

    I said . . . time for bed.

    Dad, you never tell me anything. Barbara kissed both parents goodnight. Does Varda know about Jeff?

    Yes, Jenny said. Daddy told her when we brought him home from Jerusalem. He spoke to her mother too.

    Chapter 2

    Our Son

    Victor sensed someone in the room. For years after Korea, no one could enter his room as he slept without him sitting bolt upright and frantically grabbing for pistol and knife. More than once he had frightened his Mother and Jenny. What is it? he asked.

    Come quick! Barbara said. I helped Jeff to the bathroom. He’s sick!

    Victor ran barefoot from the master bedroom, through the kitchen and living room up the steps to the bathroom. The hall lights were on. He heard Jeff throwing up and saw the blood seeping out under the bathroom door. He opened the door. Jeff was on his knees puking blood into the tub. The walls, toilet and floor were splattered red. Barbara, Victor said, tell your mother to dress and start the car. Lou Shifrin’s phone number is on the kitchen table. Tell him we’ll be at the Emergency Room in five minutes.

    Can I come? Barbara asked.

    You can’t help now. Go to the base and call us later. If we’re not home, try Mommy’s office at the hospital.

    Victor entered the bathroom and slipped in the blood. He had a flashback of pulling four wounded Marines from a tank. What can I do? he asked his son.

    Glass of water, Jeff gasped.

    Victor turned on the bathtub tap and knelt by Jeff’s side. He cupped his hands and held the water to his son’s mouth. Jeff drank twice more. Enough, he said. I think it’s over.

    Victor? Jenny called.

    Don’t come in here, he shouted. Put the back seat down in the car and open the rear door. We’ll be there in a minute.

    Victor washed his son’s bloody face. Hold on, I’m getting a blanket.

    My pajamas are bloody.

    So are mine, Victor said. We’ll both change at the hospital.

    Dad, Barbara said, Lou Shifrin is operating. He’ll meet you in the Emergency Room.

    Don’t come in here, Victor said. Get the blanket from Jeff’s bed, his slippers and my shoes.

    Victor bundled Jeff in the blanket, lifted him in his arms and almost burst out crying. Jeff wasn’t much heavier than Maybelline. Barbara held the door and opened the gate in the outside wall. Jenny helped Victor climb in the rear of the station wagon with Jeff. Barbara closed the car door and Jenny drove off.

    At the entrance to the hospital, she blinked her high and low beams to signal a wounded person coming in. The soldiers removed the barricade and she went through to the Emergency Room. Lou Shifrin and a team of nurses were waiting. They inserted two IVs.

    We’re lucky you’re here, Victor said.

    Terrorist attack, Lou said. Mother and Father killed, only one of the three kids will make it. You and Jenny stay here. It’ll be a while.

    Jenny parked the car and watched the helicopter that had brought the wounded, lift off into the night. Victor met Jenny in the parking lot and they gazed at the golden path of moonlight across the Sea of Galilee below.

    It’s so peaceful, Jenny said. Do you think God knows all the shit that’s happening?

    I don’t know what God knows, Victor said. I only know that He is. Right now I wish I didn’t know that.

    Why?

    I can’t trust Him. I’ve tried to be good. Your Mother with her charity work, and you raising money for this hospital should count for something.

    God isn’t interested, Jenny said. He created whatever he created and left it for us to figure out.

    I haven’t figured it out, Victor said.

    Would it have been better for Jeff to die like Mikhal Amit? Her jeep turned over and she died instantly. No pain.

    Victor began to sob uncontrollably. His whole body shook and tears ran down his cheeks. Jenny hugged him. He said, Mikhal’s mother told me her only wish was that she could have said goodbye to her daughter. I need this time to say goodbye to Jeff. I want to tell him the stories about myself. I wasn’t praying this evening, I was thinking about what stories he could take with him to Heaven.

    Do you know there is a Heaven?

    Victor straightened up and squared his shoulders. If there isn’t a Heaven, he growled, I’ll tear God a new asshole when we meet.

    You really have faith?

    It’s not faith. I know that God is. I don’t know a damned thing about Him.

    Our daughter refused to tell me where her base is.

    It means she’s involved in Intelligence. You know she outranks me. She’s a Sergeant in the regular army and I’m only a Corporal in the reserves.

    Why can’t she tell me how far away she is?

    I’ll tell you. Victor pointed to his right. See the outline of that highest mountain. Look near the top and you’ll see the silhouettes of some buildings and antennas.

    How do you know she’s stationed there?

    Some former students are stationed there. That’s the only base nearby that has an Intelligence unit. She’s getting up at 5 to make six o’clock roll call.

    You should have been in Intelligence, Jenny said.

    No, too much new stuff around. Your daughter was teaching me about the Uzi. I’m better off as a medic in the reserves.

    Let’s go inside and wait.

    +++

    At seven in the morning, Lou Shifrin came to talk to them. We have Jeff stabilized. It was touch and go for a while. He lost a lot of blood. They’ll ask you to replace it.

    How many donors? Victor asked.

    At least eight. We gave him four liters now and he’ll probably need another four in the next day or two.

    It’s that bad? Jenny asked.

    We’ll put him on my ward, Lou said. He’s sleeping now. I’m going home to get some sleep. You guys need a lift?

    I’m staying, Victor said. If you’ll drop Jenny at the house, she’ll relieve me later.

    +++

    Where’s Daddy? Jeff asked.

    I sent him home, Jenny said. You slept a long time. How are you?

    Better.

    Do you want something to eat?

    No food. Mom, is Daddy really Jewish?

    What kind of question is that?

    His mother wasn’t Jewish.

    She converted before your father was born. Otherwise my parents wouldn’t have agreed to our marriage.

    But he had Christmas trees and colored Easter Eggs. On Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, Grandpa Charlie used to take him fishing.

    Did he tell you why?

    Because when the Jews fast, the fish eat.

    Jenny smiled. That was Grandpa Charlie’s reasoning. Your Father had a different childhood than most Jews. His twenty years as a Railroad conductor was not a Jewish boy’s job either. There were only fifteen Jews of the five thousand men working for the Railroad.

    Is it true his family was so poor?

    I don’t think my family had more money than his, Jenny said. But his parents were handicapped, not only physically but in some ways culturally. The first book he ever bought was ‘The Motor’s Manual for Auto Mechanics.’ It was the only hardcover book he owned until he was thirty-four and earned his high school diploma.

    I was already five years old, Jeff said. What made him go back to school?

    Your Father is the most interesting man I know. He also tells a story better than I do. Ask him.

    How did you meet him?

    Oy.

    Jeff smiled. Come on, Ma, I’m a sick kid. Tell me.

    You sound like your Father.

    Tell.

    An old girlfriend of your Father named Joan Brown gave me his address when he got back from Korea. Joan and I were working for the same insurance company. Her Mother didn’t want her going out with a Jew. I was the token Jew in that big company. I wrote him a letter.

    And he wrote back?

    Very quick. Now I’ll tell you a secret your Father admitted to me after we were married. He thought because I wrote a Marine, whom I didn’t know, I was an easy girl.

    What’s an easy girl?

    Think about it.

    Oh, Ma, you’re the toughest one in the family.

    Not so, but because of his poor background, Daddy used to embarrass me when we were first married. He told my friends and anyone who would listen that we had radiator heat and two sinks to wash in, and a tub and a shower.

    What did he have?

    One coal stove, one kitchen sink, a small tub, and the water heater were in the middle of the kitchen with the boiler.

    How did they heat the other rooms?

    With sweaters and blankets. I once sat with him in his bedroom and we blew smoke rings it was so cold.

    How come you married him?

    Jenny smiled. It almost didn’t happen a couple of times.

    But he was so different than you.

    It was those differences I liked, and some I wanted to change. He always told the truth. He doesn’t think he’s handsome, but I do.

    Dad thinks you’re beautiful.

    Jenny smiled again. Your Father always loved me and that love clouds his eyesight.

    Daddy’s right, Jeff said.

    Jenny leaned over and kissed her son’s forehead. And we love you.

    I know, Jeff said. I’m going to rest for awhile.

    Chapter 3

    Tell me about when you were a kid, Jeff said to his father.

    "Ven I vas a leettle boy," Victor said in a deep voice with a false Russian accent, my father told to me, ‘Kolya, my little Gypsy, it is time for you to go out in the vorld and learn the facts of life. So I pecked my little Karzinck and went. I vandered over hills and dales and small willages. Then I met my first woman.

    Jeff continued the well worn story. She was gorgeous and passionately beautiful, Jeff said, and that’s how you married Mommy.

    Right. Victor smiled into his son’s sparkling eyes.

    Wrong, Jeff said. That’s Danny Kaye’s record.

    I’m glad you’re feeling better.

    Brahms me, Dad.

    What does that mean? Victor asked.

    Tell me a story and put me to sleep.

    You just got up. I brought some stuff from home. You want to eat?

    Mom gave me ice-cream. Come on. Tell stories.

    You know that when I tell one story, I often think of another and I don’t know when to stop.

    I like ‘em that way, Jeff said. Can I have some ice water?"

    Victor held the straw to his son’s lips and said, Sometimes things happen and I think maybe an angel is around. Like God sends someone to save me.

    Dad. Jeff rolled his eyes.

    "Well. I was thirteen and used to deliver meat on a bicycle for a kosher butcher on Wilson Avenue. The big orders came on Friday before the Sabbath. The owner was religious and wanted me to hold the money until I could bring it to his house on Sunday. It was a Friday just before a holiday. I made eight bucks in tips and had collected all the butcher’s money - a hundred and twenty dollars.

    On the way home, I passed Pop’s Pool Room. A guy from the neighborhood, Big Nino Puglisi, was hitting on the first table. Mr. Hanson, Limey Jones and Chew Tobacco Miller were laying it.

    Dad, you have to explain names and what hitting and laying mean.

    "Sorry, I get carried away. Chew Tobacco Miller was a truck driver. You didn’t want to stand on the left side of him. That’s the side he’d spit on when he got excited. Limey Jones was a merchant marine born in England and Mr. Hanson a Swede always wore a suit, tie and bowler hat. Those three were called The Smart Money. They were the big layers. That means they were betting against the guy who was breaking the balls. We called him the hitter. The odds were against the hitter, who usually lost.

    "Don’t ask me how I got in the poolroom. I found myself at the table betting with Big Nino hitting against the Smart Money. Nino’s friend, Vito the Iceman, a big-eared jerk with muscles in his hair, handled the money. Before I knew it, I lost fifty bucks of the butcher’s money. You have to understand that my Father, your Grandpa, didn’t even have a bank account. We barely made each month’s rent even with my job. I figured I was going to jail or my Father would break his crutches over my head if I lost. Probably he would have done both.

    Big Nino dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table and shouted, ‘Ace ball in the side pocket!’ He looked over and winked at me.

    What did that mean? Jeff asked.

    When you’re betting on the breaks, the ace or number one ball is always on the point of the rack. Normally the odds are three to one to sink any ball. If you call the ace and sink it in the side pocket, you get seven to one odds. So I dropped what I thought was a ten dollar bill on the table.

    And?

    "It was a fifty. I thought I would make in my pants! And before I could grab it back, the Smart Money covered it with $350. Nino looked across at me and said, ‘Thanks for the confidence, Kid.’

    Why didn’t you just admit your mistake and take it back?

    I was stupid and thought I had to show how tough I was or something like that. Losing the butcher’s money was inconceivable. We were so poor that when I got a nickel I squeezed it so hard the buffalo peed.

    Do nickels have buffaloes on them? Jeff asked.

    This was the old days. That’s why they stopped making them. People were so poor there was buffalo pee all around.

    Come on, Dad. Jeff laughed.

    It’s the truth. When times really got hard, we had to wear high water boots.

    Stop, it hurts my sides when I laugh.

    Okay. So I looked at the three hundred and fifty bucks on the table and told Big Nino, ‘Break the shit out of them.’ Chew Tobacco was spittin’, Limey Jones’ cheeks were puffed like a grounded blowfish and Mr. Hanson lit a new cigar. Nino took a last drag on his cigarette, flicked it away and winked at me again. ‘Don’t worry, Kid, you just bet on a winner.’ His eyes narrowed, his shoulders bunched and I always remember a drop of sweat running down his big nose just as he rammed the cue ball with his stick. The cue ball smashed the pack. The ace ball shot out like a bullet and slammed home in the side pocket. ‘Perfect hit!’ I yelled, and I grabbed the money with both hands. I jabbed thumbs up to Nino and I was thinking what to do with all that money when I saw his smile turn sour. The three and eight ball rolled on either side of the cue ball, herding it down the table to the corner pocket. The three and eight balls stopped, but the cue ball kept going. It teetered on the edge of the pocket. I saw Vito and Nino’s faces. The cue ball dropped, the guys roared and the money was pulled from my hands. Victor nodded to Jeff. If the cue ball drops, you lose everything.

    ‘Tap City,’ Nino said, and flung the cue stick away. He was broke. I had twenty dollars left. That’s when my angel showed up., Guess who it was? Victor didn’t wait for an answer. Jackie Gleason! You know the guy who was a star on TV. He wasn’t a star then. He was skinny, tall with a pockmarked face. He picked up a cue stick and said, ‘I’m hitting. Who’s laying it against me?’

    "The Smart Money hurried back to the table. Gleason looked across at me. ‘Hey, Kid, you want to handle my money?’

    "I must have nodded. He shoved two hundred bucks into my hand and said, ‘Bet with me.’

    I did, two bucks on each break. He must have hit for about ten minutes. We were even when he whispered to me, ‘Now’s the time to get your money back. Ace in the side pocket,’ he shouted. So I doubled my bet. Gleason dropped the number one ball faster than I could collect the money. The Smart Money guys disappeared, and it was all over. Gleason made twelve hundred bucks and he gave me a ten-dollar tip. With what I made betting on him, I was short my pay but I had the butcher’s money back. I was so scared, I couldn’t move. Nino and Vito dragged me outside. I leaned up against the window and slid down to the ground. ‘Kid, you got a big pair of culyones betting fifty bucks on me,’ Nino said.

    They must have been good guys, Jeff said.

    They were bums. At least Vito was. Big Nino had some good in him.

    But they helped you.

    They wanted a loan.

    ‘I’m still short 18 bucks,’ I told them. ‘That’s the rent money.’

    ‘Okay, so you need the rent money,’ Vito said. "That leaves the chronometers. ‘We’re gonna steal chronometers from the Army freight cars on Palmetto Street.’

    ‘Shut up!’ Nino said.

    ‘Cheap Louie, the Fence on Eldert Street will buy them,’ Vito said. ‘Victor, you wanna come with us?’

    That was one of my biggest faults, Jeff, and maybe still is. Anyone challenged me, I jumped in.

    ‘How much you going to get for them?’ I asked.

    ‘We don’t know what the hell a chronometer is,’ Nino said. ‘But tonight, Friday night, the Army guards go into the Circus Bar at about ten.’

    ‘I’ll go to the library before it closes,’ I said. ‘Find out what a chronometer is and maybe find a price in the Sears Roebuck catalogue.’

    "Nino patted my shoulder. ‘We got us a Jew genius. Be at the Railroad siding at nine thirty.’

    Did you go? Jeff asked.

    Yep, I got there before them and read the bills of lading on the Railroad cars. Nino and Vito each had a shopping cart hidden in a burnt-out building across from the Railroad siding. An Army truck pulled up, two guards got out and two got in. The new guards walked around the three freight cars checking the metal seals on each of the big iron doors. They stopped to smoke.

    ‘There goes one now,’ Nino said.

    The soldier walked around the corner to the side entrance of the bar. We could hear music and laughing until the door slammed shut. The second soldier lit another cigarette.

    ‘Oh shit,’ Vito said. ‘Look at him fartin’ around. He ain’t drinkin’ tonight.’

    "I felt relieved. I never stole anything before. On the street, if someone does you a favor, and this was considered a big favor to me, you owe. I didn’t want to owe Puglisi, and especially not that jerk Vito.

    "The soldier threw the cigarette away, went to the side door and opened it. His partner appeared in the doorway, cap tucked into his belt, a girl in one hand, a beer in the other. Vito’s eyes almost popped from his head; his big ears turned beet red. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ he shouted, ‘get the hell in there!’

    I thought the soldier heard Vito. But he tucked his cap in his belt and went into the bar.

    ‘Come on,’ Nino said, and we ran across the street. ‘Victor, you watch that side door. Those soldiers come out, you holler!’

    "He and Vito ran to the middle freight car, broke the seal with wire cutters and rolled back the big door. They had forgotten the shopping carts and ran back across the street to get them. I heard Vito cursing from inside the freight car. ‘There’s only friggin’ toilet bowls in here!’

    "I ran over to them. ‘The last car!’

    ‘What are you talkin’ about, you Kike bastard?’ Vito asked.

    ‘You got the wrong friggin’ car,’ I whispered. "It’s the next one.’

    ‘I told you this Sheeny’s got a pair of culyones,’ Nino said.

    "I shoved him and warned him to cut the Sheeny and Kike stuff. Vito jumped down from the car and pinned my arms from behind. Nino shoved a fist in my face. ‘Kid, you want to fight or make money?’

    I was so scared of being with those jerks; I only wanted to get away. They filled up the two carts with three boxes each. They ran one way and I ran the other.

    You didn’t . . .

    No.

    Why not, Dad?

    I never stole anything.

    What about the rent money?

    I told my parents the truth that I lost it in the pool hall. Just not the whole story. I wasn’t allowed out for a week, and I had to write three compositions. It wasn’t bad.

    Jeff tried to change his position in the bed and winced.

    Are you okay? Victor asked. I’ll tell you more another time.

    No, go on. What about this Father Klein? How did you get involved with a Catholic Priest?

    Parker F. Wessels came first. He was from the Salvation Army. It was 1946, a year after World War II. Some of the fathers were killed in the war, some wounded. Most were away from home for years and the mothers went to work in the defense plants. The kids were alone and went down to the streets. They formed gangs. The Commanches was the biggest gang in the Bedford, Bushwick section of Brooklyn. All the gangs were recruiting. There were even girl gangs. I tried to stay clear, but they were in the schools, and even the teachers were afraid.

    Victor didn’t tell his son that he had seen Small Change, the Commanche leader, walk up to a teacher in front of the class and squeeze her breast until she wrote down a passing mark for him. That teacher quit soon after. Victor didn’t tell about the gang rapes in the classroom clothes closets or the shakedowns in the halls.

    There were guns and knives in our classroom, he said. That’s when Parker F. Wessels and his Salvation Army crew came onto the streets and challenged us kids to race a real Marine Raider obstacle course he had set up in the Bushwick Salvation Army Boys Club. I told you about challenges and me. About half the kids on the street went to the Boys Club. None of us became famous, but all are solid citizens. The other half is in jail, out on parole or dead.

    Dad, do you remember a Tommy Barnes?

    He was my brother’s friend and a first class bum.

    When I was visiting the States, Uncle Dan showed me a newspaper article. Barnes was killed in a Brooklyn bar. Two guys walked in and shot him in the back of the head.

    The bastard deserved worse. Did my brother tell you about him?

    He said something about the Umbrella Man and Tommy Barnes getting away with murder.

    On television, you see the cops Mirandize the bad guys by telling them their rights. Well Miranda was called the Umbrella Man because he carried an umbrella with a sharpened point. He stabbed a guy through the heart with it. He admitted to the murder, but wasn’t told his rights and got away with it after the case went to the U.S. Supreme Court. Tommy Barnes was the first guy after the Supreme Court ruling that got away with murder because he wasn’t told his rights.

    Uncle Dan said Barnes and some girl were walking on Central Avenue –

    They were going to the Piccadilly Bar. Barnes didn’t have much money and wanted to impress the girl. A seventy-two year old man was walking in front of them. Tommy hit him from behind and killed him. Seventy-two cents was all the old man had. Tommy took it and went on to the Piccadilly with the girl. The Daily News headline read, ‘Age 72, killed for 72 cents.’ Barnes admitted that murder and got away with it because the cop forgot to Mirandize him.

    That doesn’t seem right, Jeff said.

    It isn’t. The law changed in America. Schooling in the United States is free and compulsory. Until Miranda, ignorance of the law was no excuse. The Miranda Law made ignorance an excuse and compulsory education irrelevant.

    What did you do in the Salvation Army Boys Club? Jeff asked.

    The first best thing was we played in the gym. The second best was we got to take hot showers free. Some of the apartments around us didn’t have showers or bathtubs.

    Then where did they wash?

    "The Public Bath House on Wilson Ave.

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