DISOWNED by Gabriella Murray Page A

goes back into her office and shuts the door.
    Rivkah walks out onto the street and very, very slowly takes her usual route back home.
    The next morning Henry wakes Rivkah up early with a short blue skirt in his hands for her to wear.  She won't put it on.
       "We're going somewhere new today."
    "No."
    "You have no choice about it."
    "I won't put this on."
     "Then wear what you want to."
    After she has dressed, he comes and drags her by the hand to the big, brick public school, about half a mile away. What have I done, Rivkah wonders, for this to happen? Maybe already God has not found me worthy in his eyes.
     
    The public school is a huge, dark building with metal staircases and long banisters along the stairs. There is wrought iron grill work alongside of the stairways and monitors stationed on the landings. Just like a prison, Rivkah thinks, as she and her father slowly climb the stairs.
       "The principal is expecting us," Henry whispers as they climb higher and higher.
       "Where are we?" Rivkah can barely speak. It is dirty and noisy with all kinds of kids, boys and girls running around and yelling out to each other.
    "You'll get used to it. It's the real world here."
    At that moment Rivkah loathes him deeply.
       Then they stop at the third floor, at the principal's office. She is a tall, gaunt woman with thin blonde hair.
       "This is Miss O'Reilly," Henry introduces them, and MissO'Reilly smiles at Henry fondly. A little too fondly, Rivkah notices. Miss O'Reilly is wearing a strong perfume and Rivkah
    will not look her straight in the eye.
       "It's all right," Miss O'Reilly says sweetly to Henry, "some children are shy in the beginning. You can go now. Leave her with me. After all, she has to make an adjustment."
    "Bekkie," he holds his hand out for a moment, "I'm doing it for you. Someday you'll thank me." But then swiftly, he turns on his heel and walks away.  He doesn't look back and Rivkah doesn't look forward. She stands there frozen at Miss O'Reilly's side.
       "Give me your hand, dear," Miss O'Reilly offers, but Rivkah cannot extend her hand. She looks down and just follows this odd, tall, lanky woman down the corridor to her new classroom.
       Bells ring out as they walk down the hallway. They have a hard metallic sound like the bells of a prison. No sounds of praying here, no ancient, soothing melodies.
       Rivkah is taken to a classroom along the long, dark hallway.   It is Miss Morgan's room. Eighth grade.
    "There is a new child in our classroom," Miss Morgan announces in a high, official tone. "Her name is Bekkie. She has come to us from another school."
       Rivkah hears Miss Morgan call out the name Bekkie, and will not take it in. It is not my name, she thinks.  And this is the last thing she thinks before the great silence descends upon her. It descends from within and beyond, encompassing her completely, holding her, and with kindness, wrapping her up in its arms.
       When Miss Morgan calls upon her a little later, Rivkah does not respond. Now her language and name have been taken from her. For all intents and purposes, she is gone.
      Now Rivkah learns the great art of sitting in a room with others and disappearing inside herself. She disappears inside memories, prayers, and pages of Torah that have been left engraved upon her heart. They can't take these away from me, she realizes. No matter where I am.
     
    They say the sins of the fathers are visited upon the heads of the children for five generations. As the days and weeks go by and Rivkah sits in silence, it strikes her occasionally that she is sitting here in this public school now, in exile for every single Jew.
    "Tell us your name dear," Miss Morgan tries to speak with her from time to time.
    But only silence pours from her now. And as she sits in the classroom and looks through the windows, she realizes her grandfather is right. She is learning a lesson. That even if God is with her, at the same time