perhaps this was true. She was ambitious and often wished she had been born a boy and could do as she pleased. Her mother had taught her to keep her eyes downcast, unless someone addressed her directly. Then she could not stop herself from speaking bluntly and honestly. She had a heart-shaped face and a lovely body, but no one was bold enough to court her, although many considered doing so. Young men her age feared her contempt, which flared easily when she thought someone was a fool. She could always tell when a caller was desperate, as this visitor certainly was, for people in need often came to this house in search of help. Wanderers, widows, those without family or food, all begged for what they needed. Whenever possible and practical, Ettie’s mother did what she could to help, not out of the goodness of her heart, but because it was her duty. If she’d ever had a tender heart it had been locked away long ago. She had too many children and too many responsibilities to be tender, a quality that was weakness in her eyes.
Now the rabbi’s wife had been awoken by the murmur of voices. She came into the kitchen in her nightgown, her shorn hair covered with a kerchief called a tichel, her face worried and drawn. There was danger everywhere, but it wasn’t her place to speak about such things. She had given birth to ten children and five of them had lived. Among the five, Ettie was her favorite, not that the rabbi’s wife let it show. What good did it do to have a favorite in a world that was so cruel?
“What have you done?” she asked Ettie when she spied a stranger in her kitchen. She was not so foolish that she didn’t see that her favorite child had her flaws. The girl was too open and modern and much too smart, all qualities that led to nothing but trouble. “It’s too late to invite anyone in. The children are sleeping.” She gave Ettie a dark look that conveyed what was really meant: Your father cannot be disturbed.
Ettie loved and respected her mother, and was wise enough to defer to her. They both had strong characters, but Ettie’s mother could be won over when she was convinced that God’s will was being upheld. “I thought the Almighty would want me to offer kindness to a neighbor,” Ettie said in a solemn voice.
“She’s not my neighbor,” Ettie’s mother told her daughter. “I’ve never seen her before.”
“We are all neighbors in God’s eyes,” Ettie responded.
Her mother nodded, a smile on her lips despite herself. Truly, she had never seen a more intelligent girl, one she loved beyond all reason.
Mother and daughter were so focused on one another, they seemed to have forgotten Hanni entirely. Without waiting any longer, she went directly to the rabbi’s wife and sank to her knees. What she wanted, she must ask for now.
“I have no one else to ask for help, so I am here. I beg of you, please don’t turn me away.”
Embarrassed, the rabbi’s wife pulled Hanni to her feet. “I am nothing more than a woman. Get up!”
But it was precisely because she was a woman that she took pity on Hanni. What would make a woman venture out when breaking the curfew could mean prison or death? There was only one cause. This woman was someone’s mother. The rabbi’s wife understood this. Her gaze lingered on her own daughter, who was watching her with shining eyes. For no reason other than her fierce love for her own child, she gave in and signaled Hanni to join her at an old table that was riddled with indentations left in the wood by cleavers and knives used for preparing meals. Women came here when it was time to give birth, and it was here that life came into the world. Countless children had been born on her table, while the rabbi slept or studied in his chambers. Afterward, the wood was always cleaned with salt and prayers were said. No child was safe during the eight days after birth, and circumcision and naming could not occur before that time. Birth was the ultimate gift and the ultimate sacrifice, the time when malevolent forces in the natural and supernatural worlds conspired to claim both the baby’s life and the mother’s. To suffer so for another, from the moment of existence, marked a person forever. In The Book