Jaffa Beach: Historical Fiction (51 page)

Would they be finished in time
? He became impatient. Shlomi caught the stone carver’s glance and pointed to his watch. The
stone carver made an assuring gesture. From afar he saw Mazal holding Otto’s arm, both carrying flowers. Behind them Charlotte and her husband moved slowly to keep in step with Otto. More people were searching through graves, but too far away for Shlomi to recognize them.

When the workers left, Shlomi felt relieved.

He knew Amina intended to come, because she called Mazal for the address of the cemetery.
Was she alone
? He looked at his watch, ten minutes to eleven.
Why am I so nervous
?

Two women dressed in black who supported an old lady between them gave his heart a start. If he was not mistaken, they were Amina and Rama and between them, Samira. Yes, Jedati
Samira
,
his Morabia
, his old nurse, the nurse of his father and his aunts.

A large group was approaching including Chana, his mother’s old friend.
Mazal, must’ve called her. Who else was coming with her?
Protecting his eyes from the blinding sun, Shlomi saw his future in-laws, his bride walking in the middle.

He heard the whispers as they neared the grave. From a whisper, it grew, the way a sea wave swells closer to the shore.
What did they think? Were they surprised, upset, angry?
D’vora looked straight at him, a smile in her luminous gaze.

It was time to start. “We are here to honor the memory of my mother, Shifra. You read the headstone and probably wonder at the name Shifra Gal-Masri. My mother had been married to Musa Masri, my Palestinian father. This I was told only recently.”

A sob interrupted Shlomi’s speech. He raised his eyes and recognized Musa, who was standing back, behind everybody else, his eyes fixed on Shlomi, who went and gently pushed him forward. “I want to bring closure to two young people who loved each other very much, who were young, maybe too young, for the choices they had to make in critical times. It’s not for me to judge
them. As a sign of respect to both of them, I decided to change the words engraved on the old stone.”

HERE LIES SHIFRA GAL-MASRI, WHO DIED

ON DECEMBER 15, 1948

SHE WAS 20 YEARS OLD.

FOREVER MISSED BY HER HUSBAND, MUSA,

AND THEIR SON, SHLOMI.

AN ANGEL, MAY SHE REST IN PEACE IN THE

MIDST OF ANGELS.

“I also want to tell those who knew my mother that it took more than twenty years for my father and me to find each other. I hope that the blood that runs through us will be stronger than our differences.”

Shlomi lit the candle and carefully placed it in its niche. Nobody moved. It seemed to him that people even stopped breathing. Shlomi opened the booklet and started, “
El Maale Rachamim
, God full of compassion…”

To his surprise, Musa, his glasses on, took the booklet and in a wavering voice, uttered the next words, “
Shochen b’Meromim
, Dwelling in Heaven….” Together, they ended the ancient prayer for the dead. Musa shook Shlomi’s hand, and after a slight hesitation, hugged him and held him as if he would never let him go. “Thank you,” Musa whispered.

With tears in their eyes, people placed little stones on Shifra’s grave, as is the custom for visitors. D’vora said, “I’m proud of you both. I am happy we’ll all celebrate our wedding tomorrow—and Musa, promise me that you’ll dance your wildest
Debka
.”

Amina, Rama and Samira surrounded them. Samira was shaking, “Now I can die,” she said. “Allah Ackbar granted my wish, to see you together. It was the dream which kept me alive the last twenty years.”

D’vora embraced her. “You have to live for our little Shifra, who, in a few months will need you, a loving
morabia
, as every one of the Masri children had.”

Over D’vora’s and Samira’s heads, Musa and Shlomi’s eyes met. Shlomi hadn’t told his father that D’vora was pregnant. He could read his father’s thoughts now, his features reflecting the past and the present melting into one. Musa smiled at his son, the son who soon would become a father himself. It was the happy smile of a future grandfather.

Without words, yet with a song in his heart, Shlomi returned the smile.

L I S T  O F  M A I N  C H A R A C T E R S

Shifra (Suha)

Chana: Shifra’s friend

Fatima Masri: widow

Fatima’s children: Musa, Amina & Na’ima - twins,

Nur, Ahmed, Rama

Samira: The Masri’s family housekeeper

Selim (Shlomi): Musa and Suha’s child

Mahmood: Na’ima’s husband

Abdullah: Fatima’s cousin, banker

Uhm Zaide: a witch

George: English soldier wounded in the war, Amina’s husband

Otto Schroder: Violin teacher, Holocaust survivor

Gretchen: Otto’s wife, German pianist

Schroders’ neighbors in Tel-Aviv:

Charlotte (Lotte) and Hugo Gruber

Sigmund Hochmeister

Bruno Herbst and Mazal (girlfriend)

Nabiha: Schroders’ servant in Jaffa

Mr. Nathan: Watchmaker

Beatrice-D’vora Shlomi’s girlfriend

A C K N O W L E D G E M E N T S

F
irst and foremost I want to thank my husband, Avram, for believing in this book, for his dedication and continuous encouragement. I thank my daughter, Talya Kupin, and my son-in-law, Warren Kupin, for their thorough review of the manuscript. Thanks to my grandson, Aaron, who said, “You can do it,
Savta
,” in response to my encouraging him during his piano lessons, “You can do it Aaron.”

Thanks to the people in my first writing group, Alice Levine, Joseph Weisberg, Joyce Cash, Howard Gleichenhaus, Martha Moffet, Judith Slater, Bilha Ron, who had been very attentive listeners and objective critics every step of the way.

My thanks go to Harry Haika who introduced me to Arab customs and helped with the Arabic translation; also to my friend Ruth Guttman Ben Zvi, Israeli music critic and historian for the information about the Palestine Philharmonic concerts during the Mandate.

I am grateful to my friends, Rabbi Bruce Warshal, his wife Lynne and to the poet and mentor, Janice Indeck for their enthusiasm and support.

Historical facts are authentic. All main characters in the story are fictional.

G L O S S A R Y

A: Arabic G: German H: Hebrew Y: Yiddish