As Livi watches Chaim Weizmann’s coffin being carried through the house and outside to await the thousands gathered at the gates to pay their respects, she bows her head and whispers a prayer of thanks for the man who had given the sisters a safe place to heal, and to create a new family of their own. His coffin is laid on the heavy framework of a catafalque in the rear garden within a canopy of heavy white drapes, beside his beloved rose garden. From the foyer of the Weizmann household, Livi watches as his wife, Vera, on the arm of Prime Minister Ben-Gurion, is escorted outside to sit with her husband one final time.
Livi is still in the foyer with the other staff when the first lady returns. They haven’t exchanged a single word from the moment the coffin was taken into the garden.
‘Why don’t you go now and pay your respects to Chaim before the public is allowed in?’ Mrs Weizmann suggests. ‘I know you all loved him and I hope you know he loved you.’
‘I did love him,’ says Livi, fervently. She realises she must have been scratching her tattoo when Vera takes her hand and presses it to her heart.
‘It meant so much to him to have you here, young Livi,’ she says. ‘You have no idea.’
When Mrs Weizmann leaves, the prime minister steps forward. ‘And it means so much to me,’ says David Ben-Gurion, with a short bow to Livi. ‘Please, all of you, go and say goodbye to your president.’
Soldiers stand to attention at each corner of the catafalque in the dazzling sunshine. Livi’s knees almost buckle as she approaches the president’s coffin, but fortunately the gardener is there to catch her as she stumbles.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Livi croaks.
‘You don’t have to say anything, Livi,’ the gardener says. ‘All you need to do is stand here and feel the love Chaim Weizmann had for this land.’
Livi tries to recall the many conversations, the small talk, the funny jokes she had shared with the great man. What she remembers, instead, is the last time she saw her mother and grandfather in Vranov in their little cottage; they come to her with such clarity now that she may as well have only said goodbye to them that morning. Livi closes her eyes, feels the intense love Chaim Weizmann had for Israel and its people, and asks that Mumma looks after her friend in heaven.
‘We’re about to open the front gates,’ a soldier informs the staff. Livi looks towards the crowds waiting to come inside and bid a final farewell before she slowly makes her way back to the house, which will never feel the same again.
*
Livi and Ziggy collapse onto Magda’s sofa; they’re exhausted after a weekend of walking the streets in their hunt for a place to live. They have spent every weekend for months looking for an apartment. The problem is money: Ziggy, a specialist technician for El Al, a growing – but still small – airline, isn’t earning very much, and Livi’s hours have been cut in the Weizmann house since the president’s death.
‘We can’t afford any of them,’ Livi tells Magda, exasperated. ‘And don’t get me wrong, it’s not like they’re expensive.’
‘And there are so many people in Israel now; it’s like everyone wants to live in Rehovot,’ Ziggy complains.
‘You have time, you’ll find something,’ comforts Magda.
‘I want to find the perfect place for your sister,’ Ziggy tells her.
Livi leans in, turning her face to receive his kisses. ‘I don’t care where we live, as long as we’re together,’ she says.
‘You might eat those words if we don’t find something soon.’
‘Wherever it is,’ Livi says, wisely, ‘you can bet your life we’ve all lived in worse places.’ Magda and Livi laugh, but Ziggy remains solemn.
‘You’re the only person I know, Livi Meller, who jokes about living in a concentration camp.’
‘She’s not joking, Ziggy,’ says Magda, and he cracks a small smile.
‘Anyway, as a last resort, I have a friend, Saadiya Masoud, who has a small farm with a few dwellings on his property, just outside town.’ Ziggy sighs. ‘I could ask him if he has an empty hut we can have.’
‘An empty hut would have been a dream come true at Birkenau,’ says Livi, a twinkle in her eye.
*
A week before the wedding, Livi and Ziggy are shown into the only vacant building on Saadiya’s farm. ‘I used to keep my goats in here on cold nights,’ he says, with a grin.
Livi doesn’t care that he’s an Arab. She came to Israel with hope in her heart, and this man has given them a home. To Livi, he is a friend.