“Tell her, or I will!”
And that night her mother told her.
“This is so hard,” Esther Brockman began when she was seated next to Lisa on the white-canopied bed. Her face was pallid, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“Is it money, Ima?” Lisa asked softly. “Because if the wedding is too expensive, if you can’t afford it…”
Her mother placed her hands on Lisa’s head and began to weep so bitterly that Lisa knew this wasn’t about money, that her father was gravely ill. Her heart felt pinched, and she tried to banish the thought from her mind, because it was bad luck to contemplate misfortune. “Don’t put words in the mouth of Satan,” her father had often warned her.
“Don’t cry, ma,” Lisa whispered, “please don’t cry.” And that was when her mother told her she was adopted.
At first she was sure she hadn’t heard right, but her mother was saying something about “only three days old… the happiest day of our life, after so many years of trying.” So she sat on the white eyelet comforter and stared at her mother, who was looking down at her hands.
They had searched for a child for years, her mother said. And when the lawyer phoned them and told them about Aliza, they rushed to the hospital and picked her up that same day.
“You were the most beautiful baby,” her mother said, glancing up. “Like an angel, with wisps of blond hair for a halo.” She reached her hand toward Lisa and touched her hair. “We named you Aliza for your father’s grandmother.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lisa asked, feeling as
though this were happening to someone else, as though this were a dream.
“Your father said it was wrong not to tell you. But I wanted you to feel secure, loved. I didn’t want you to think. Why didn’t my birth mother love me enough to keep me? How can those thoughts be good for a child?”
A lie. Lisa thought. My entire life has been a lie. “I worried that if you knew, one day you would search for her and love me less.” Esther wiped her eyes “I worried that if people knew, your chances of making a good marriage would be limited. I’ve seen it happen,” she said softly. “It’s not right, but it happens. So I convinced your father.”
They had been living in Detroit at the time. But Esther had worried even then about keeping the adoption a secret, and she’d persuaded her husband, Nathan, to move to New York and open a new retail clothing store. Not even the family had known the truth. Esther later explained that after trying for so many years to conceive, she hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about the pregnancy until after the baby was born. She’d worried about an ayin ham, she’d told them—the evil eye. And they’d believed her. Only Esther’s parents had known, and they had gone to the grave with the secret.
“But all those pictures you showed me.” Her mother in a denim skirt and a royal blue-and-black plaid shirt ballooning over her huge midriff, her father’s arm around her. Her mother in a gray flannel jumper and a white blouse. Lisa at five had crayoned a red “Me!” in the center of the jumper.
“I used a pillow.” Her eyes were focused over Lisa’s head.
“Very clever,” Lisa said and saw her mother flush. She felt a thrill of satisfaction, then went hot with stinging shame. “Why are you telling me now?” she asked, surprised by her calm.
Her mother twisted the simple gold band on her wedding finger. “Your father gave me no choice. He’s angry I waited till now.” She sighed. “You’re getting married in two weeks. Under the chuppah, a rabbi will perform
the ceremony, and another rabbi will read the ketubah, the marriage contract with your Hebrew name and Daddy’s. But he won’t be reading the complete truth.”
“I don’t understand,” Lisa said, but suddenly she knew. “My birth mother isn’t Jewish, is she?” she asked and saw from her mother’s face that she was right.
“It’s not a problem,” Esther
And that night her mother told her.
“This is so hard,” Esther Brockman began when she was seated next to Lisa on the white-canopied bed. Her face was pallid, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“Is it money, Ima?” Lisa asked softly. “Because if the wedding is too expensive, if you can’t afford it…”
Her mother placed her hands on Lisa’s head and began to weep so bitterly that Lisa knew this wasn’t about money, that her father was gravely ill. Her heart felt pinched, and she tried to banish the thought from her mind, because it was bad luck to contemplate misfortune. “Don’t put words in the mouth of Satan,” her father had often warned her.
“Don’t cry, ma,” Lisa whispered, “please don’t cry.” And that was when her mother told her she was adopted.
At first she was sure she hadn’t heard right, but her mother was saying something about “only three days old… the happiest day of our life, after so many years of trying.” So she sat on the white eyelet comforter and stared at her mother, who was looking down at her hands.
They had searched for a child for years, her mother said. And when the lawyer phoned them and told them about Aliza, they rushed to the hospital and picked her up that same day.
“You were the most beautiful baby,” her mother said, glancing up. “Like an angel, with wisps of blond hair for a halo.” She reached her hand toward Lisa and touched her hair. “We named you Aliza for your father’s grandmother.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lisa asked, feeling as
though this were happening to someone else, as though this were a dream.
“Your father said it was wrong not to tell you. But I wanted you to feel secure, loved. I didn’t want you to think. Why didn’t my birth mother love me enough to keep me? How can those thoughts be good for a child?”
A lie. Lisa thought. My entire life has been a lie. “I worried that if you knew, one day you would search for her and love me less.” Esther wiped her eyes “I worried that if people knew, your chances of making a good marriage would be limited. I’ve seen it happen,” she said softly. “It’s not right, but it happens. So I convinced your father.”
They had been living in Detroit at the time. But Esther had worried even then about keeping the adoption a secret, and she’d persuaded her husband, Nathan, to move to New York and open a new retail clothing store. Not even the family had known the truth. Esther later explained that after trying for so many years to conceive, she hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about the pregnancy until after the baby was born. She’d worried about an ayin ham, she’d told them—the evil eye. And they’d believed her. Only Esther’s parents had known, and they had gone to the grave with the secret.
“But all those pictures you showed me.” Her mother in a denim skirt and a royal blue-and-black plaid shirt ballooning over her huge midriff, her father’s arm around her. Her mother in a gray flannel jumper and a white blouse. Lisa at five had crayoned a red “Me!” in the center of the jumper.
“I used a pillow.” Her eyes were focused over Lisa’s head.
“Very clever,” Lisa said and saw her mother flush. She felt a thrill of satisfaction, then went hot with stinging shame. “Why are you telling me now?” she asked, surprised by her calm.
Her mother twisted the simple gold band on her wedding finger. “Your father gave me no choice. He’s angry I waited till now.” She sighed. “You’re getting married in two weeks. Under the chuppah, a rabbi will perform
the ceremony, and another rabbi will read the ketubah, the marriage contract with your Hebrew name and Daddy’s. But he won’t be reading the complete truth.”
“I don’t understand,” Lisa said, but suddenly she knew. “My birth mother isn’t Jewish, is she?” she asked and saw from her mother’s face that she was right.
“It’s not a problem,” Esther
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