Disobedience by Naomi Alderman

Author:Naomi Alderman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2006-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

The shameful suspicion unrolled, binding them together silently and firmly. Each looked at the other two to ensure that they had fully understood the significance of the remarks. They looked around. The clamor of the customers demanding half pounds of cheesecake and savory rolls continued unabated. None of the three wanted to speak first and perhaps reveal herself ignorant or naive.

“It can’t be true, surely,” said Mrs. Abramson at last.

Mrs. Berditcher, despite the nagging of that quiet voice reminding her patiently that she could not be sure, declared that she was. Absolutely. Ronit had always been wayward, even as a girl. There had been half-stated rumors about improper behavior even then, Mrs. Abramson could surely confirm. Mrs. Abramson nodded thoughtfully.

“What is the halachic status of that, actually?” she asked.

There was a moment of silence.

“It must be forbidden, surely,” said Mrs. Berditcher.

The women nodded.

“It’s not in the Torah,” Mrs. Abramson said. “It only says about men lying with other men.”

“I think it was forbidden by the Rabbis,” said Mrs. Stone. “It’s called the ‘practices of Egyptian women.’ I think it’s in the Gemarah.”

Then Mrs. Abramson, who perhaps of the three had heard the small and tranquil voice most clearly, said:

“What if it is forbidden? Hinda Rochel, your brother-in-law’s children eat treif meat and don’t keep Shabbos. You still invite them to visit you. How is it different?”

Mrs. Berditcher looked at first ashamed, and then angry. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then, decisive, opened it.

“This is a completely different thing. You know it is. Especially forcing yourself on someone like that.”

“And you’re sure that’s what you saw?” asked Mrs. Abramson.

There was another momentary pause. The bread-slicing machine hummed.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Berditcher. “I told you. Ronit was holding her. She had to struggle to break free. She had been crying. I could tell.”

She adjusted her hat, to ensure that no stray locks had fallen into view.

The shop assistant, feeding the last of three black bread loaves into the bread slicer, felt its teeth brush her fingers and pulled back, stung and frightened. A red bead welled from the tip of her middle finger.

Mrs. Abramson spoke. “If this is true, we must act. Esti may be in danger. We must do something.”

The three women blinked simultaneously. This story, which only moments ago had seemed so full of innocent interest, had now become filled with difficulty. Action was called for, but what? In another time, one of them might have consulted the Rav with this dilemma. But to whom were they now to turn?

“One of us should speak to Dovid,” said Mrs. Berditcher.

There was another silence.

“Or to Esti?” asked Mrs. Stone.

The other two women shook their heads. It was understood that Esti Kuperman could not be spoken to in such a way or about such matters.

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Abramson, “perhaps I could ask Pinchas his opinion? That would not be lashon hara, surely. To ask my husband for his view?”

The women nodded and smiled. A marvelous solution. Pinchas Abramson had completed two years’ study at a men’s seminary and learned Torah five times a week.

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