The Credit Draper Episode 9

Avram relaxed, for he knew he must possess the right answer. “God agreed.” “And why did God agree?” “Because Moses was such a great man. He led the Children of Israel out of Egypt. He gave them the Ten Commandments.”

Rabbi Lieberman wagged his finger. “Where did you learn such nonsense? Na, na, na, na. Moses was forbidden from entering the Promised Land.”

“But why?”

“As punishment for striking the rock in anger in The Wilderness of Zin.”

Avram was shocked. How could Moses not be allowed into the Land of Canaan?

How could that poor man be left sitting on top of Mount Pisgah watching the bedraggled Israelites crossing into the Promised Land, this land of rivers and palm trees after so many parched and dusty years in the desert?

How did Moses feel then in his 120 years? Was he bitter in the same way as Papa Kahn was bitter about quotas? Was he envious of his people? Did he still love his God?

Confirmation

The rabbi picked out another piece of strudel from the cake tin and continued. “But the real importance here with your bar mitzvah portion is in the reiteration of the Ten Commandments. And the confirmation of the oneness of God through the Shema prayer.

“Hear, O Israel. The Lord our God. The Lord is One.”

Again the rabbi pointed, but this time the finger was directed at Avram. “The Jews. We are a people of the law who both love and fear our God.”

The rabbi’s final words troubled Avram deeply. As did the plight of Moses.

The unfairness of God’s refusal to allow the great man into the Promised Land disrupted his burgeoning understanding about the rationality of the world around him.

The world of numbers, where everything was supposed to fit so neatly together. It also affected his relationship with his God, who up until now had been a watchful and protective one.

A God that would look after his mother as He had Joseph and Hagar. Now this God was also a God to be feared.

After all, what kind of God was this who could deny admission into the Holy Land to a stumbling, reluctant lawgiver who had taken on the might of the great Pharaoh, who had spent 40 years leading his people in the Wilderness, who had commanded plagues to descend, seas to open and bushes to burn?

If God treated His servant so harshly, what chance did Avram have in this world?

He had no history of great deeds behind him and in his 12 years, he was sure he had done much more to provoke God than merely striking a rock in anger.

Had he given his mother enough honour? Had he taken the Lord’s name in vain? Had

he observed the Sabbath day and kept it holy?

Had he coveted Celia and Nathan’s toys? Had he not wanted to steal some of the rabbi’s strudel? Had all his food been kosher enough?

Had he not wanted to lash out in anger? Not just at a stupid rock, but at another human being?

He promised himself from this day on he would never be angry with anyone again. Not with his mother. Not with Celia. Not even with Mary.

Tormented

For Mary still tormented him. She came to the household daily, slinking around in the shadows, scrubbing and dusting, helping Madame Kahn in the kitchen,

taking the dirty laundry down to the ‘steamie’.

He often found himself alone with her in the same room, his exit blocked. She would approach then, drawing her face up near to his own, as she had done on the night of his arrival, never touching him now, but bringing her fingers so close to his cheek that he could almost feel his skin being snatched and twisted between her knuckles.

He would back away from her until a wall, or the kitchen pulley or a piece of furniture gave him no escape and he was left to endure her muttering scrutiny of his features.

“Madame tells me ye’ll be thrown out by end of week,” she often told him. “Ye’ll have nowhere to go but the backlands. The backlands. Back to where ye belong.”

He wanted to fight back. To grab her scrawny neck, shake her, drag her across the kitchen by her red hair until she screamed surrender.

He was almost sure he had the strength to take her. But God might be watching him, monitoring his behaviour, waiting for that one moment of weakness, the flash of anger that would prevent him from entering the Promised Land, that would get him sent to the backlands instead.

For the backlands was Mary’s version of hell. And he knew what she was talking about.

He was aware the Kahn’s flat was a luxury compared to other places he had seen. Here there were three bedrooms, a large lounge room with a triple-bay window looking out on to the street, the kitchen was big enough to host a table around which the children could eat.

Crowded

He promised himself he wouldn’t be angry with anyone again. Not with his mother. Not with Celia. Not even with Mary

Papa Kahn even had a study. But Celia had shown him tenements at the end of the street where whole families were crowded into single rooms.

“Come, come,” she said, sneaking off in front of him into the dark close of one of these buildings.

“This place stinks,” he said, but followed her nevertheless.

They emerged into the rear yard of the tenement – the backlands. Celia crossed the drying green, entered the open door of a dilapidated outhouse. Again he followed her.

There was no window, the place stunk of urine, empty bottles littered the straw floor.

Poking out from under a blanket – it wasn’t even that, just a piece of rough sackcloth – he could make out the dirty faces of three children, much younger than himself.

More tomorrow.