A burden and a blessing (Alexandria, 1898)

AMY HIRSHBERG LEDERMAN
Special to the AJP

When Jamilla opened her eyes, the sun was already high in the sky. She sat up in bed and took in the savory, comforting aroma of Turkish coffee bubbling in a pot on the stove, combined with the smell of fresh bread. Her stomach growled. She looked into the kitchen and saw Mama, hovering over the cooking table as she skewered pieces of lamb and chunks of onion, tomato and red pepper onto wooden sticks. She stretched her arms wide, shook out her curls, and exhaled a long, deep sigh. How long had she been asleep?
Mama smiled as Jamilla entered the room.
“How are you today, mi alma?”
“Fine, Mama. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I thought you could use a good, long rest, after all of the excitement yesterday.”
With those words, Jamilla was thrown back into the memory of a day she wished she could erase. She shuddered slightly.
“Are you cold?”
“No, just a morning chill,” Jamilla answered, grabbing a handful of almonds and raisins.
“Where’s Papa?”
“Outside, working on the boat.”
“Do you need help, Mama, or can I go down to see him?”
Mama put down the knife, and shook off the onion skin sticking to her palm. She put her arms around her daughter and held her close, drinking in her morning smell. How much longer would she be able to hold her daughter like this before she would be gone?
“Go on now, and take some of this warm bread and goat cheese with you. Papa will love it.”
Jamilla took the food and headed toward the boat house. She saw her father at his workbench, head bent, shoulders hunched, his calloused fingers moved quickly as he untied the knots from the mound of fishing line on his lap. It was hard work to be a fisherman, and dangerous, too. Her Uncle Elisha had lost his left hand in an accident and Ari’s cousin had sailed with a crew that never came back. Papa was gone, sometimes for weeks at a time, and she sensed Mama’s fear, even though she never spoke about it. But at night, when Mama thought she and Benny were asleep, Jamilla would go outside and pray the evening Shema to the heavens for her father’s safety. 
She stood silently, waiting to be acknowledged, but grew impatient after a few minutes.
“Papa.”
Her father looked up and smiled.
“I’ve brought you some bread and cheese,” she said as she placed the basket on the ground next to him.
Papa patted the bench, motioning for Jamilla to sit down. Jamilla hesitated. For the first time in her life, she felt shy around her father. 
“Papa, can I to talk to you?”
“I’m listening, Jamilla.”
Jamilla cleared her throat. She had rehearsed what she would say, how she would plead her case in a clear and calm voice to make him understand. But when she opened her mouth, no words came out and she just stood there, twisting her hands.
“Jamilla?” he said gently.
The sound of her father’s voice speaking her name opened the floodgates of her heart.
“Please, Papa, I beg you, don’t send me away. I cannot leave you and Mama and Benny and go with Mr. Danino. He’s old, Papa, and his eyes and voice, they are not kind. I don’t like how he looks, how he smells, how he spoke to you when you were talking.  I’m afraid, Papa. Don’t make me marry him. I will do anything you ask, anything, but please don’t make me marry him!”
Papa said nothing, though her words pierced his heart like a thousand tiny needles. She viewed his silence as permission to continue.
“I do want to marry, Papa, to stand under the holy chuppah as a kallah. But not now and not with Mr. Danino. I want to marry someone you and Mama know and care about, Papa. I want to be Ari’s kallah.”
Her father stood up, the fishing lines falling from his lap in a pile at his feet. He stared out at the coastline below them. The tide was coming in, leaving an imprint of its ragged outline on the surface of the sand. Those waves would wash away the footsteps of the men who had dragged their nets to the boats that morning at dawn. They would wipe clean the beach, absorbing in the ebb and flow the shells and seaweed that decorated it. If only he knew how to erase what was bothering him, how to wash away the fears that burdened his heart. He had prayed but found no other answer than to learn to live with his decision, to give up the pearl of his heart and hope that with time, she would come to understand. 
His turned to Jamilla, who knew immediately from the sagging of his shoulders and the tone of his voice that she had lost.
“Jamilla, you have no choice. I have no choice. I can do no better for you than Albert Danino. He is a good man, a learned and wealthy man, a man who is respected by his community in the Holy Land. You will want for nothing and we know that you will have a good home. And in exchange, you will be an obedient wife and give him many children, God willing.”
Her father paused and exhaled a long, tired breath. “You are a woman now, Jamilla, and you must face your challenges as a woman.”
Jamilla bit her lower lip and tasted blood.
“Do you remember what the Holy One told our father, Abraham?”
She shook her head and stared mutely at her feet.
“Lech Lecha.  Go forth — from your land, from your relatives and from your father’s house, to a land that I will show you. And I will bless you and make your name great. And you shall be a blessing.”
Jamilla kicked her sandal in the dirt. “I don’t care, Papa. I am not as great as Abraham and I don’t want to leave my home and family.”
Her father laid his hand gently on her shoulder.  “Each one of us is tested by God, Jamilla. But God does not give us more than we can handle. You are strong and kind and wise. This is your test. The Holy One does not expect you to be as great as Abraham, only as great as Jamilla.”
He had never spoken like this to her before. She knew it was of no use to protest and was grateful, at least, for this time alone with him. He rinsed his hands with water, dried them on his pants, and placed a fisherman’s cap on his head. Lifting up both hands, fingers spread wide apart, he held them over her head and gave her his blessing. 
“May God make you like our foremothers, Sarah, Rivkah, Leah and Rachel. And may He bless you and watch over you, and make His face shine upon you and be favorable to you, and grant you peace.”
They stood together for a few moments, breathing in the salty air, until Papa broke the silence.
“I have to get back to work now, Jamilla.”
Jamilla nodded and slowly walked back to the house. It was the last time she would receive the priestly blessing from her father. By the following month, she would no longer be the child of Yakov and Sarah Aharoni, but the wife and property of Albert Danino.
Amy Hirshberg Lederman is an author, Jewish educator, public speaker and attorney who lives in Tucson. Her columns in the AJP have won awards from the American Jewish Press Association, the Arizona Newspapers Association and the Arizona Press Club for excellence in commentary. Visit her website at amyhirshberglederman.com.