Jewish Children Part 17

"Get out of this. Are you here again, foolish goats? Get off."

The devil knows how they found out we had green fir-boughs. It seems they told one another, because there gathered around us all the goats of the town. And I, all alone, had to do battle with them.

The Lord helped us, and we had all the fir-boughs on the roof. The goats remained standing around us like fools. They looked up with foolish eyes, and stupidly chewed the cud. I had my revenge of them, and I said to them:

"Why don't you take the fir-boughs now, foolish goats?"

They must have understood me, for they began to go off, one by one, in search of something to eat. And we began to decorate the Tabernacle from the inside. First of all, we strewed the floor with sand; then we hung on the walls all the wadded quilts belonging to the neighbours. Where there was no wadded quilt, there hung a shawl, and where there was no shawl, there was a sheet or a table-cloth. Then we brought out all the chairs and tables, the candle-sticks and candles, the plates and knives and forks and spoons. And each of the three women of the house made the blessing over her own candles for the Feast of Tabernacles.

My mother--peace be unto her!--was a woman who loved to weep. The Days of Mourning were her Days of Rejoicing. And since we had lost our own house, her eyes were not dry for a single minute. My father, though he was also fretted, did not like this. He told her to fear the Lord, and not sin. There were worse circ.u.mstances than ours, thank G.o.d. But now, in the Tabernacle, when she was blessing the Festival candles, she could cover her face with her hands and weep in silence without any one knowing it. But I was not to be fooled. I could see her shoulders heaving, and the tears trickling through her thin white fingers. And I even knew what she was weeping for.... It was well for her that father was getting ready to go to synagogue, putting on his Sabbath coat that was tattered, but was still made of silk, and his plaited silk girdle.

He thrust his hands into his girdle, and said to me, sighing deeply:

"Come, let us go. It is time we went to synagogue to pray."

I took the prayer-books, and we went off. Mother remained at home to pray. I knew what she would do--weep. She might weep as much as she liked, for she would be alone. And it was so. When we came back, and entered the Tabernacle, and father started to make the blessing over the wine, I looked into her eyes, and they were red, and had swollen lids.

Her nose was s.h.i.+ning. Nevertheless, she was to me beautiful as Rachel or Abigail, or the Queen of Sheba, or Queen Esther. Looking at her, I was reminded of all our beautiful Jewish women with whom I had just become acquainted at "_Cheder_." And looking at my mother, with her lovely face that looked lovelier above the lovely silk shawl she wore, with her large, beautiful, careworn eyes, my heart was filled with pain that such lovely eyes should be tear-stained always--that such lovely white hands should have to bake and cook. And I was angry with the Lord because He did not give us a lot of money. And I prayed to the Lord to destine me to find a treasure of gold and diamonds and brilliants. Or let the Messiah come, and we would go back to the Land of Israel, where we should all be happy.

This was what I thought. And my imagination carried me far, far away, to my golden dreams that I would not exchange for all the money in the world. And the beautiful Festival prayers, sung by my father in his softest and most melodious voice, rang in my ears.

"Thou hast chosen us above all peoples, Us hast Thou chosen Of all the nations."

Is it a trifle to be G.o.d's chosen people? To be G.o.d's only child? My heart was glad for the happy chosen people. And I imagined I was a prince. Yes, a prince. And the Tabernacle was a palace. The Divine Holiness rested on it. My mother was the beautiful daughter of Jerusalem, the Queen of Sheba. And on the morrow we would make the blessing over the most beautiful fruit in the world--the citron. Ah, who could compare with me? Who could compare with me?

After father, Moshe-for-once p.r.o.nounced the blessing over the wine. It was not the same blessing as my father's--but, really not. After him, the landlord, Hershke Mamtzes p.r.o.nounced the blessing over the wine. He was a commonplace man, and it was a commonplace blessing. We went to wash our hands, and we p.r.o.nounced the blessing over the bread. And each of the three women brought out the food for her family--fine, fresh, seasoned, pleasant, fragrant fish. And each family sat around its own table. There were many dishes; a lot of people had soup; a lot of mouths were eating. A little wind blew into the Tabernacle, through the frail thin walls, and the thin roof of fir-boughs. The candles spluttered.

Every one was eating heartily the delicious Festival supper. And I imagined it was not a Tabernacle but a palace--a great, big, brilliantly lit-up palace. And we Jews, the chosen people, the princes, were sitting in the palace and enjoying the pleasures of life. "It is well for you, little Jews," thought I. "No one is so well-off as you. No one else is privileged to sit in such a beautiful palace, covered with green fir-boughs, strewn with yellow sand, decorated with the most beautiful tapestries in the world, on the tables the finest suppers, and real Festival fish which is the daintiest of all dainties. And who speaks of----" Suddenly, cras.h.!.+ The whole roof and the fir-boughs are on our heads. One wall after the other is falling in. A goat fell from on high, right on top of us. It suddenly grew pitch dark. All the candles were extinguished. All the tables were over-turned. And we all, with the suppers and the crockery and the goat, were stretched out on the sand.

The moon shone, and the stars peeped out, and the goat jumped up, frightened, and stood on its thin legs, stock-still, while it stared at us with foolish eyes. It soon marched off, like an insolent creature, over the tables and chairs, and over our heads, bleating "Meh-eh-eh-eh!"

The candles were extinguished; the crockery smashed; the supper in the sand; and we were all frightened to death. The women were shrieking, the children crying. It was a destruction of everything--a real destruction.

"You built a fine Tabernacle," said Hershke Mamtzes to us in such a voice, as if we had had from him for building the Tabernacle goodness knows how much money. "It was a fine Tabernacle, when one goat could overthrow it."

"It was a Tabernacle for once," replied Moshe-for-once. He stood like one beaten, looking upwards, to see whence the destruction had come. "It was a Tabernacle for once."

"Yes, a Tabernacle for once," repeated Hershke Mamtzes, in a voice full of deadly venom. And every one echoed his words, all in one voice:

"A Tabernacle for once."

The Dead Citron

My name is Leib. When I am called up to read the portion of the Law it is by the name of Yehudah-Leib. At home, I sign myself Lyef Moishevitch.

Amongst the Germans I am known as Herr Leon. Here in England, I am Mr.

Leon. When I was a child I was called Leibel. At "_Cheder_" I was Lieb-Dreib-Obderick. You must know that at our "_Cheder_" every boy has a nickname. For instance--"Mottel-Kappotel," "Meyer-Dreyer,"

"Mendel-Fendel," "Chayim-Clayim," "Itzig-Shpitzig," "Berel-Tzap." Did you ever hear such rhymes? That Itzig rhymes with Shpitzig, and Mendel with Fendel, and Chayim with Clayim is correct. But what has Berel to do with Tzap, or how does Leib rhyme with Obderick? I did not like my nickname. And I fought about it. I got blows and thumps and smacks and whacks and pinches and kicks from all sides. I was black and blue.

Because I was the smallest in the "_Cheder_"--the smallest and the weakest and the poorest, no one defended me. On the contrary, the two rich boys tortured me. One got on top of me, and the other pulled me by the ear. Whilst the third--a poor boy--sang a song to tease me--

"Just so! Just so!

Give it to him.

Punch him.

Bang him.

His little limbs, His little limbs.

Just so! Just so!

At such times I lay quiet as a kitten. And when they let me go I went into a corner and wept silently. I wiped my eyes, went back to my comrades, and was all right again.

Just a word--whenever you meet the name Leibel in this story, you will know it refers to me.

I am soft as down, short and fat. In reality, I am not so fat as I look.

On the contrary, I am rather bony, but I wear thick, wadded little trousers, a thick, wadded vest, and a thick wadded coat. You see my mother wants me to be warm. She is afraid I might catch cold, G.o.d forbid! And she wraps me in cotton-wool from head to foot. She believes that cotton-wool is very good to wrap a boy in, but must not be used for making b.a.l.l.s. I provided all the boys with cotton-wool I pulled it out of my trousers and coat until she caught me. She beat me, and whacked me, and thumped me and pinched me. But Leibel went on doing what he liked--distributing cotton-wool.

My face is red, my cheeks rather blue, and my nose always running. "Such a nose!" cries my mother. "If he had no nose, he would be all right. He would have nothing to freeze in the cold weather." I often try to picture to myself what would happen if I had no nose at all. If people had no noses, what would they look like? Then the question is--? But I was going to tell you the story of a dead citron, and I have wandered off to goodness knows where. I will break off in the middle of what I was saying, and go back to the story of the dead citron.

My father, Moshe-Yankel, has been a clerk at an insurance company's office for many years. He gets five and a half "_roubles_" a week. He is waiting for a rise in wages. He says that if he gets his rise this year, please G.o.d, he will buy a citron. But my mother, Ba.s.se-Beila, has no faith in this. She says the barracks will fall down before father will get a rise.

One day, shortly before the New Year, Leibel overheard the following conversation between his father and his mother.

He: "Though the world turn upside down, I must have a citron this year!"

She: "The world will not turn upside down, and you will have no citron."

He: "That's what you say. But supposing I have already been promised something towards a citron?"

She: "It will have to be written into the books of Jests. In the month called after the town of Kreminitz a miracle happened--a bear died in the forest. But what then? If I do not believe it, I shall not be a great heretic either."

He: "You may believe or not. I tell you that this Feast of Tabernacles, we shall have a citron of our own."

She: "Amen! May it be so! From your mouth into G.o.d's ears!"

"Amen, amen," repeated Leibel in his heart. And he pictured to himself his father coming into the synagogue, like a respectable householder, with his own citron and his own palm-branch. And though Moshe-Yankel is only a clerk, still when the men walk around the Ark with their palms and their citrons, he will follow them with his palm and citron. And Leibel's heart was full of joy. When he came to "_Cheder_," he at once told every one that this year his father would have his own palm and citron. But no one believed him.

"What do you say to his father?" asked the young scamps of one another.

"Such a man--such a beggar amongst beggars desires to have a citron of his own. He must imagine it is a lemon, or a '_groschen_' apple."

That was what the young scamps said. And they gave Leibel a few good smacks and thumps, and punches and digs and pushes. And Leibel began to believe that his father was a beggar amongst beggars. And a beggar must have no desires. But how great was his surprise when he came home and found "_Reb_" Henzel sitting at the table, in his Napoleonic cap, facing his father. In front of them stood a box full of citrons, the beautiful perfume of which reached the furthest corners of the house.

The cap which "_Reb_" Henzel wore was the sort of cap worn in the time of Napoleon the First. Over there in France, these caps were long out of fas.h.i.+on. But in our village there was still one to be found--only one, and it belonged to "_Reb_" Henzel. The cap was long and narrow. It had a slit and a b.u.t.ton in front, and at the back two ta.s.sels. I always wanted these ta.s.sels. If the cap had fallen into my hands for two minutes--only two, the ta.s.sels would have been mine.