Rumah

Having risen from behind the Judean hills late at night, the moon illuminated the Yemenite neighborhood and the nearby bushland; it played a magical game there between the trees. It hid behind them, peeking out from the branches and painting pictures: a glowing web between one eucalyptus’s boughs, sapphires and diamonds sparkling amid a second’s leaves, and suddenly the canopy of a third was infused with wondrous light, because the magician climbed it and floated upwards, dipping its circle’s radiance in the surroundings—and it smiled.

The heavens, seeded with pale stars, in their dark blue depths; far beyond the woods, thin silvering clouds with purple crowns gathered, momentarily tarried, and began to scatter.

The croaking of frogs and the chirping of crickets carried through the grove and disturbed the silence of the quiet neighborhood falling into a sweet slumber following the day’s toil. Only Rumah was not yet asleep. A cough assailed her. It bothered her and would not let her lie down in peace. She tried to sit by her small window. It seemed as if her cough had eased up. Her breathing was not labored; it appeared that the stabbing pains in her chest were gone. She whispered a blessing to God: “Thank God! Thank God!”

Rumah raised her dark virtuous eyes to the heavens, and a sort of childish tenderness dripped from them as she pondered consolation: Was God really showing her His mercy? Would she live? Would she? . . . Could it be that Sa‘id had consciously cursed her? Did he really want her dead? No! It was impossible! Impossible! He only spoke to her harshly out of great love, love and nothing more! . . .

A strong breeze caressed her face. It penetrated through the opening of her dressing gown and caressed her gaunt chest. It passed under the black kerchiefs pressing down on her head. It entered stealthily and felt like a razor running through her dark curls.

Rumah’s eyes focused on giant diagonal shadows spreading across the ground in the woods and images from the recent past emerged in succession.

She beheld their home next to the store there, in Ḥadan. It was stocked with the best of everything: a large bag of flour, containers of kutaḥ [soured milk], cheese, butter, and a full pot of meat.

For Shabbat, Sa‘id would bring different fruits from the market, as well as raisins and fragrant plants for Kiddush. The meat simmered in a boiling pot and they greeted the Sabbath with great abundance.

During Shabbat, many guests visited them! Sa‘id, may his soul rest in heaven, really loved hosting guests! She remembered when he slaughtered a large bull for the circumcision of her unfortunate infant Yaḥya and all of the Jews in Ḥadan celebrated with them for two nights and two days, even though times had become bad for them in Yemen and one sensed the gentiles’ hatred of the Jews everywhere. It pushed them to leave Ḥadan and travel wherever the wind would carry them . . .

Exodus . . . a huge camp was moved! Two hundred and thirteen people left their homes and their land in their gentile enemies’ hands! All of them traveled to the Land of Israel, the Holy Land seeped with God’s divine presence.

Alas, what a difficult journey! Every day the sun’s rays blazed, burning them until they lay like corpses on the desert sands; they only occasionally came upon a palm tree in whose shadow they could rest and regain their strength. They walked only at night. Her Yaḥya lay hungry on her shoulder, squirming and crying ceaselessly—the tribulations of the journey had shriveled her breasts and the milk in them had dried up! Pouncing on her black nipple, her wretched infant sucked, bit, and let forth heart-rending cries. And her? She wished for her own death and her infant’s death, cursing herself and the whole world. [ . . . ]

They were hungry and thirsty . . . a single barrel at the edge of the ship . . . from which they gave each passenger a single cup of water in the morning and a single cup in the evening. The water quickly became unpotable and many of the passengers became sick from it . . . her wretched infant would press his lips to the cup, suck, and angrily swallow the fatal poison . . . his stomach swelled . . . he screamed ceaselessly day and night, and then one morning, he went silent forever.

Rumah became distressed and she recalled with anguish the bitter hours after that terrible moment. The evil gentile sailor wanted to throw her infant’s corpse into the water and she would not allow it; she covered the corpse with her whole body and she screamed that they should just throw the two of them into the water, just the two of them.

Se‘adya¹ began to rebuke her and then he tried repeatedly to coax her with tender words: “Waladah [little girl], did God not cause this to happen? He gave [an infant] and he took away. Blessed is the true judge!” A tear glistened in his eye and he averted his gaze from her . . .

She could not keep quiet when she saw how they placed her dead child into a bag and attached a water container to the bag so that it would sink into the depths. She wanted to jump into the water after him and drown with him amidst the foaming waves. Yet many hands grasped her and held her back. She struggled against them, struggled and fainted [ . . . ]

Rumah then recalled the desolate coast by Aden that followed. They unloaded them onto that shore for fourteen days. “Quarantine” is what the gentiles called that place. [ . . . ]

Yet God had mercy, and he sent aid via his loyal messenger, a rich Jew from Aden who sent them two sacks of bread and a sack of dates daily to aid their recovery. They also lowered the price of water at his command . . . “Jews are merciful and charitable!” Rumah quietly whispered and her memory led her onward.

She beheld Aden!—In that large beautiful city they were met by another convoy that was also ascending to the Land of Israel . . . their benefactor worked hard to have the price of their tickets lowered and told his employees to generously supply all those immigrating to the Land of Israel with provisions for their trip. “May he be blessed with a long life!”—Was he not a benevolent angel sent to them by God?

Rumah also remembered their great astonishment when they boarded the ship that sailed from Aden—how beautiful and large it was—it was like a whole city! . . . their tired souls rested there from their great troubles and tribulations. Two poets, David ben Pinḥas and Solomon Kursan, began to compose their long poems about the wondrous Holy Land that the two Jewish groups were steadily approaching! There the poets sang!