Comforted by this thought, Cibi closes her eyes, and remembers happier days.
‘We’ll look at your sleeping arrangements tomorrow, once we know how many of you are willing to stay and do the training, to become part of Hachshara. Meanwhile, find a space and try to get some sleep. I promise you will all get beds, mattresses, blankets and pillows tomorrow.’
‘Where are all the boys?’ one of the girls calls out. Cibi notes her cheeky grin, her shining eyes.
‘In another part of the camp. And before you go looking, it’s a long way from here.’
‘I’m Cibi, what’s your name?’ Cibi asks the cheeky girl. They are lying side by side on the wooden floorboards, pulling their coats tight around their bodies to ward off the wind blowing through the large gaps in the walls.
‘Aliza. Nice to meet you, Cibi. Where are you from?’
‘Vranov. You?’
‘Bardejov, but not for much longer. I can’t wait to get to Palestine.’
‘I know what you mean. I can’t believe I’m actually here,’ Cibi says, giggling nervously.
‘Do you think we will train with the boys?’ Aliza asks no one in particular.
‘Is that the only reason you’re here, to meet boys?’ The girl lying beside them sits up.
‘No, I want to go to Palestine,’ Aliza tells her.
‘Well, I’m only here for the boys,’ a voice from the back of the room calls out.
‘Hands up those who are here because they want to go to Palestine,’ says Cibi, so that the whole room can hear her.
All the girls in the room sit up, and everyone raises their hands.
‘Now hands up all those who are here because they want to meet boys?’ Cibi asks.
The girls all exchange glances, more giggles and once again, every hand is raised.
Instead of sleeping, as instructed, the girls talk and joke, exchanging names, towns of origin, ambitions.
Cibi feels an intense sense of pride in her decision to be there amongst these strangers, united in their purpose. Her sacrifice to leave her family and follow her dream of becoming a pioneer in a new and promised land will be worth it. She will work hard to reach Palestine, and then she will send for her sisters, for Mumma and Grandfather. In this small room, devoid of bedding but replete with a sense of adventure, the camaraderie amongst the women underpins Cibi’s fervent wish to begin Hachshara as soon as possible.
She is one of the girls who will have a bed tomorrow night.
Aliza stands up. ‘Why do we think the boys are here?’ she yells.
In unison the girls shout back: ‘To go to Palestine, AND TO MEET GIRLS.’
*
Cibi wakes with a start.
‘I want my mumma! I want my mumma!’ A girl’s plaintive wail echoes into the room.
Livi stirs, softly moaning in her sleep. Cibi whispers soothing words and Livi settles once more.
As the early spring sunshine sneaks through the high windows, the girls wake, stand, and stretch. Again, they ask of one another: Where are we going? What will be asked of us? There are no answers and soon the room falls silent, the girls sinking back to the floor to wait. Some eat from the rations in their cases. At least the room feels less bleak in sunshine, and more reminiscent of the days of old.
‘Wake up, Livi. It’s time to wake up.’ Cibi gently nudges her sister, whose slumbering head rests in Cibi’s lap.
Sitting up, Livi looks dazed, staring around the room, confusion in her eyes.
‘Would you like something to eat, Livi?’ Cibi prompts.
‘I’m not hungry,’ says Livi, her eyes taking in the girls, some of whom are crying.
‘You have to eat something. We don’t know how long we’ll be here.’
Cibi opens her suitcase, looking for the food buried under and around her clothes. She takes the cake her mother had made for Shabbat dinner. Unwrapping it from the achingly familiar tea towel, Cibi inhales the aroma of Mumma’s cooking. She breaks off a small piece and hands it to Livi.
‘I don’t want any, you know I hate this cake,’ Livi complains, brushing Cibi’s hand aside.
‘All the same, we need to eat it. It won’t last and we need to save the tins. Doesn’t it mean anything to you that Mumma made it with her own hands?’ Cibi grins and holds out the cake to Livi once more.
Begrudgingly, Livi takes it and begins to nibble, rolling her eyes at each morsel, pretend-gagging as she swallows. Cibi forces her own portion down – her mouth is dry and the cake tastes of ashes.
‘I’m thirsty, I need something to get rid of the taste.’ Livi is beginning to whine and Cibi suddenly feels exhausted. She would like to whine too.