“You must not become ill with concern. You have enough to worry about with your mother. Just remember that we can handle anything.” He lifted her chin gently so her eyes met his. “Do you believe that, my dear?”
“I will try to, Stephen.” She leaned forward and kissed his lips. “Sometimes I think the only thing that gives me courage is loving you. But the thought of Mama’s dying feels like a knife turning inside me.” She got to her feet. “I will have to go home now.”
He stood at once. “I’ll walk back with you.” He stayed her for a moment. “Will you promise me something?”
“I will promise you anything,” she said simply.
“I want you to know that I’ll take care of everything. So don’t worry. Will you believe that?”
She nodded her head, a smile of devotion crossing her lips. “I know you will, my dear.”
He walked her directly to the door and waited until she went inside.
Motlie went into a coma two days later. Even while passing in and out of unconsciousness, the pain stayed with her until it so exhausted her body that it snapped her will, the driving force that had withstood so many adversities of her life. Jakob was by her side frequently, praying for her life, wanting so badly to lift her head to sip water when she begged thirst, or to hold her hand when her fingers groped at the bed for relief from the excruciating torment. But in his belief, he could touch only mother, sister, wife, and, if the Lord so decided, his daughter.
At dusk on the second day, as Hanna lit the lantern in the kitchen, Jakob walked to the open door of the house, his tallis, his long praying shawl, around his shoulders. He rocked back and forth in prayer. Then he said in a loud voice, “Lord, all here suffer. We are too unworthy to know the cause, but in Thy exalted name, help us comprehend that we suffer for Your sake. Rebecca Glassman lies here, Lord, ill to the point of death. Help us, Lord. Tell your Angel of Death that Rebecca Glassman, who lies here in agony, is praying for your intervention.”
He stepped backwards towards the door leading to Motlie’s room, always bowing to the entrance of the house. “Angel of Death,” he cried. “Please help Rebecca Glassman, who lies stricken in this room behind me. The mercy of God over her, Angel of Death.”
Reba sat wide-eyed at the table with the others. She nudged Hanna. “Why is he mixing up Mama with that Rebecca Glassman?” she whispered.
Hershel leaned forward towards her. “He is trying to deceive the Angel so it may pass by.”
Suddenly, Jakob stiffened, and his body stood up straight as a ramrod. In a flash, he spun round and ran into Motlie’s room. He bent over her.
“Shma Yisrael,” he said softly. “Motlie Barlak, say Shma Yisrael.”
From her pain racked lips came the words, her eyes rolling in their sockets as she recited the Shema Yisrael, the confession of faith of the Jews, the last words they should hear.
“Adonai Elohanu,” he went on. She did not respond, so he bent closer and raised his voice. “Adonai Elohanu,” he repeated urgently. Motlie did not respond, just lay there sucking in air hoarsely.
Israel came to the open door and looked at his wife. He turned to the door jamb, tears rushing from his eyes and began bowing and striking his chest with a clenched fist. “Shma Yisrael,” he said in a quavering voice.
“Adonai Elohanu,” said Jakob more loudly. “Say it, Motlie Barlak!”
Her lips moved.
“Adonai Ehud,” whispered Jakob. Motlie’s face began to fall slack. “Motlie Barlak,” he said gently. “Please say it. Adonai Ehud.”
As the rattle began in her throat, her lips formed the phrase.
Then she died.
Jakob rose from his bent position and turned towards the door. All were standing there. “Hear, O Israel,” he said softly, almost in a whisper. “The Lord Our God. The Lord is One.”
And just as softly, amid the tears streaming down their faces, the family repeated his words.
Jakob stepped forward and embraced Israel. “Blessed is the name of the Lord,” he said. “Forever and forever.”
Death rides on wings, and within half an hour, alerted by signs or sounds, or the lack of them, two of the four women of the village Chevra Kadisah, the burial society, were at the door to perform the tohorah, the preparation of the body for burial. One was the tiny Mrs. Feldman. With whispered condolences, they went straight to the bedroom, laid fresh straw on the floor, and placed Motlie’s body on it. One of them covered her with a blanket while the other began to heat a pot of water. Hanna stepped forward and told Mrs. Feldman where her mother stored the linen shroud she had made at the onset of her illness.
In short time, the other two women came, one carrying a long, smooth board. In the bedroom, they placed the board atop two chairs, laid Motlie upon it, and washed her body. They slipped on the shroud’s pants, sewn at the ends so her feet would not show, then the upper portion, also sewn at the ends to conceal her hands. On her head they placed a white bonnet to hide her hair. When all was done, they put the blanket on top of the straw, laid Motlie back upon it, and folded it around her. All was covered by a black blanket with a golden Star of David in the center. They lit candles at her head and feet. Two of the women volunteered for the shemirah, the continuous watching of the corpse, and sat on chairs in the corner of the room while the others quietly left.
Soon the mourners came. They kissed the family, then went into the bedroom and said prayers from the psalms of David, reciting those which started with the initials of Motlie’s name. Others brought in stools for the family to sit on, so they would remember how mortal they are, and that at this point of time for the one who died, there is only God. The single mirror of the house was draped with black cloth, and the family had changed to clothing of the same color.
The women of the village prepared a hot meal for the family, since that was also custom, then they all left except for the two volunteers standing watch in the death room. After eating, Jakob took Zelek upstairs to sleep with him, Hanna and Hershel moved the cot from the bedroom into the kitchen for Israel, then she stretched out in her own room. There was little sleep for her that night. The loss of her mother was finally sinking in. Her mind did not dwell on the many problems she must face, replacing Motlie. Instead, for hour after hour, she saw her mother’s smile, the way she walked, the sound of her voice, the motions of her hands as she gave the Sabbath prayer, the tender, loving care the children and she had gotten during the chicken pox and measles, and the various ailments that came to all families. She wondered how one, slight woman could find so much love for a household of people, for each of them felt that Motlie loved her or him the most.
Poor Papa, she thought, her teeth clenched to hold back the sobs that filled her throat. What will he do without Mama? Thank God there are young children for him to occupy himself with. She knew that when he came back from the cemetery, he would wipe away the tears and start taking over Mama’s duties. She knew that as surely as her own name. He will walk around with half a heart, but he will not give up. He will do what must be done while he is waiting to join her, and he will look forward to that day as eagerly as a child looks forward to a special gift. But when he goes, he will take the report that he did the job, that all the children were raised as Motlie would want them raised.
The funeral took place the following day. Four men of the village came with a stretcher and lifted Motlie’s body by the blanket enfolding her. The family, and a gathering of friends and relatives followed them as they carried her through the streets towards the small cemetery outside of town. George Wilson was there, his nose red from blowing it into a handkerchief, and Mrs. Merkys, and everyone they knew from Slabodka.
Stephen walked at the end of the procession with his sister, Larisa, amid half a dozen gentiles who had grown to admire the gentle, hard working woman.
The grave was already open, the earth piled high and raw, a yellow base atop