My Home Just Before the Sabbath
The Sabbath is already on the threshold;
Yellow as wax-the floors washed and scoured. . .
The pump-drawn water is already in the household,
And deep within hot oven, the "cholent"* is stored.
White cloth o'er the table is spread,
The candlesticks, with flowers craftily engraved,
Are polished, again and again,
To enhance the brilliance of their sheen.
The aroma of heavily peppered fish tantalizingly persists....
The twisted "challeh"** for the blessing is readied....
The holiday napkin that covers it
Is so wonderfully sewn and embroidered.
Mama, in wig, stands like the presence divine-
In gray Sabbath apron that so alien appears....
There's papa, with shoes-blackened and shined. . .
And with neatly combed and parted beard.
Even the kitten in the corner washed as it played....
The children shampooed, their hair plaited in braids... Outside-the outdoors as
well, seemed to sense
The all-pervading holiness.
The Sabbath-that to our hearts brought such tranquility. . .
The Sabbath-always our greatest treasury;
For, from life, there was so little we demanded....
As hymns of praise, and Sabbath songs we chanted....
Who there now portrays those Sabbath scenes,
That still appear before my vision?
Over all-a brute, with bloodied hands,
Has drawn a bleak, black, dismal curtain!
* Cholent - potted meat and vegetables, prepared in
advance, to avoid lighting a fire on the Sabbath.
** Challeh - the white bread prepared especiallyfor the
Sabbath. ********************************* |
Nostalgia Winter
in Our Old Home
In my parents home, on a winter's night,
The window-panes hoary with frost-
The shutters fastened tight-
Within the stove-potatoes baking,
Mama has a herring sliced, ready for the eating.
"Draw closer, children, to the warmth," mama said.
"The tea in the kettle has already boiled, long past-
Then there's the ruddy corn-bread-
And herring and potatoes, for our repast. "
"Recite a blessing, dear children mine.
Give thanks for the fruits of the earth-so good. . .
Praise the creator of the world divine,
For his bounty to us destined. . . "
In the stove, the fire crackles aloud;
Embers fly-the coals, red-hot. . .
Potatoes in the embers browned,
Mama soon the delicacies will allot.
She, of life so little demanding-
Making a High Holiday feast for us,
Of potatoes and herring. . .
And "Thank you, G-d, our ever righteous. "
Oh, how pleasant was our life,
The Sabbath approacheth ere long,
With its saintliness-its Sabbath song,
The cholent* in the stove-
The Almighty up above....
"G-d of all the universe" we sing together. . .
While about our table, angels hover-
Of what avail can flowery rhymes or mere words be,
When my heart aches within me.
My heart overflows with yearning....
I wipe a tear from eyes that are brimming....
Cholent-Dish of meat and vegetables, kept warm overnight toforego making fire on the
Sabbath.
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The Broth
Upon the hearth-plate of clay
A broth simmers busily away.
Neck, gizzard and chickens' feet-
Making a delightful treat. . .
Plus onions and carrots, savory-
Pepper, salt, potatoes and barley....
Withal-an aroma of rendered cracklings,
The other delicious odors joining.
A feast-as if a High Holiday meal-
Indeed, where can be found its equal?
And nearby-bright eyes opened widely-
As children's teeth wait patiently.
With dishes already arrayed,
Bread sliced-and allotted,
Motyeh the Deaf starts a tale to unfold:
"There was once a bachelor old,
Who, throughout his life was hungry and cold
In old synagogue, stubbornly hanging on to his faith
While his thoughts wandering o'er the Diaspora,
did not abate.
"He possessed neither kith, nor kin, nor chattel,
No shelter, no land....
Nor sheep, nor cattle....
Only a large staff in hand,
To fend off dogs that menaced him,
As, on the road, oft would happen.
He would fast frequently- With never a taste of luxury. "
Thus Motyeh the Deaf drew out his tale
In interminable, exacting detail....
Relating in rapid sequence
The old bachelor's every virtue and experience.
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Meanwhile children's eyes,
With hearts contracted,
Towards the broth cast their gaze,
Constantly to the pot directed.
The mother feels children's anxiety now-
Wipes perspiration from her brow....
The broth, which is boiling hot,
Streams over the rim of the pot.
And Motyeh the Deaf-
Hands widely outspread-
Continues on ahead
With his story Of the zealous, pious bachelor, hoary,
Who studied Gemmorah-
And who dozed in freezing oratory,
On a bench, hard-worn, long ago.
"Motyeh, enough,
Give pause to your narrative! "
The mother said.
"The children cannot bear it any longer. . .
Their bellies call out in hunger
For a slice of bread.
They cannot still their urge
For the aromatic broth," she said.
Upon the hearth-plate of clay,
The broth has simmered busily away....
Neck, gizzard and chickens' feet-
That should have made such a delightful treat.
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First Day of
Passover-1919-By the Stream (Dedicated to my devoted friend, Paula
Stromberg)
Mild and warm is the morning,
So I go astrolling
In holiday dress, new and neat-
Shining new slippers encasing my feet.
Then I hasten to the stream, running-
So as to greet its loveliness rare.
How bright is my spring morning. . .
Free am I from every care. .
The spring air has an unusual freshness,
As if to honor this festive day-
I've come with such joyousness
To meet you, little river, on your way!
I've not come to launder,
I've not brought wash, dripping wet. . .
I've just come to gaze and wonder
At every dancing, foaming wavelet. . .
Watching how they race and whirl. . .
Then I pause, lost in thought-
In the world of a little girl.
** Shu/-synagogue
*********************************** |
By the
Stream-1975-Just as it was long ago.
(Dedicated to my devotediriend, Paula Stromberg)
Little stream, crystal clear-how you shine!
Your moss-covered stones all aglow-
The little hillock all agreen-
Just as it once was, years ago! . . .
Yellow flowerers, by man never sown-
Amidst the trees, in the shadow-
O'er the fresh earth strewn,
Precisely as they were, years ago!
Waters constantly coursing,-
Sunny, radiant, onward they go-
Frothing and shimmering-
As breezes caress, and banks overflow. .
Young grasses by the stream, make all about bright- Thrive, sprout-and to this day
abound....
But alas-a Jew within sight
Can rarely be found.
No Jewish fathers or mothers
Throng the streets within call....
No Jewish lad with "khumosh"* in hand-
No little girl playing with her ball.
My burning hot tear in swift race
Makes its way down my wet furrowed face.
I stay deep in reverie, my thoughts committed
To my distant childhood years-
I mourn the seeds of love, long planted-
My utmost heartfelt desires.
On that ancient street of worship,
Shone the daily house of prayer. . .
Facing it, in holy kinship,
The larger "Shul"** stood there,-
Reserved only for High Holiday use-
Always crowded with throngs of Jews.
Stirring melodies so sweet-
Hallowed in the "Song of Songs,"
The hymns of the singers re-echo in the street. . .
And my cheeks grow moist again, ere long.
Outdoors 'tis warm and mild
At early morn, as once long ago-
A breeze quickly leaves fresh earth cooled-
Stirring up longings, dormant hitherto. . .
Call for new hope, now deeply buried. . .
Quickly wipe the tear from your eye,
Take heart, press forward-
New-spun thoughts, new paths before you lie.
Once more strongly bind your fate
To that old-new land, for which we yearned-
Reach out for peace and justice great-
Blessed with friendship amongst the peoples of the world!
* Khumosh-Penfateuch - Five books of Moses
*********************************** |
Memories of
Youth
The candle still flickers. . .
The wick has begun to smolder-
The holy, restful Sabbath wanes-
And the thin flame grows duller.
The candle in its flickering,
Signals-the week has already begun. .
And my heart suppresses a yearning
For the years-long gone. . .
Before my eyes there flashes
A Sabbath, after the blessing of the "Havdoleh"1
When my father pats and blesses
Us children, so warmly endearing:-
"Have a good week, dear children!"
While taking off his Sabbath garb and hat of fur.
Recalling this, within my heart
My blood in me begins to stir. . .
My "chaverim"2 start to
gather-
Once the work-a-day lamp is lit. . .
On the Sabbath night, the occasion of waiting
To play a game of "Sixty-Six!"3
And here again, with my youthful friends,
On a Sabbath winter stroll we go-
And under our padded rubber galoshes,
We feel the squeaking of frozen snow.
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Winter Sabbath-unforgettable. . .
Your youthful spark is unextinguishable. . .
Cheeks are red, youth's aglow- Nostrils-icy air inhale,
And in the silvery, frosty sunshine,
You feel as if in a fairy tale!
And there appears before my vision,
My dear old Auntie, Basha-Riva,
Busily knitting me a pair of mittens,
And a shawl of soft sheep's wool. . .
Oh, happy memories, that defy recounting.
How can one still heart's knotted pain-
And that hot flaming gnawing?. . .
How can words express my deep yearning?. . .
You flicker, my candle, so restless and pale. . .
Adjust the wick . . . all to no avail. . .
I want to perpetuate-engrave in my mind,
The loved ones that I left behind. . .
And to correct my possible neglect. . .
Because the dearest ones for whom I yearn
Will never return.1 Havdoleh-the closing blessing Saturday
night.
2 Chaverim-closefriends.
3 Sixty-Six-a card game.
****************************** |
My Dream
A dresser, a small bed-
A table and bench-
All have surfaced,
That memory has long held entrenched.
An apron-a frock-
A jacket-a shawl-
Dancing, interlocked....
Spinning 'round in a reel.
'Mid them musicians play merrily-
With Sender on the Bass....
Pouring forth a melody-
Improvising to suit the whirling pace.
Indeed, I, too, join the flock. . .
And away, dancing I go. . .
In long flowing frock,
White as the driven snow....
I leaped as I danced-
Till all breath was gone,-
Finally to be awakened
By the chill of the morn.
Oh what a pity, what a pity. . .
I wished the dance ever onward to go-
In my frock, so lengthy,
White as the driven snow.
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My Mother's Admonition
Memories of the Second Day of Rosh Hashanah
"Make note, daughter mine,
Of your feelings grievous. . .
What do you see in thy Young soul's deepness?"
My father, the pious one,
Standing white-robed,
In anointed, chanting orison,
In his holy entreaty absorbed! . .
Resounding to heaven
His blessed lyrical trilling. . .
Causing within me my heart to melt
At my father's constant endeavor
A deep Yiddish belief to implant.
My mother whispers, so intimately
So softly into my ear:
"Chaya Rochel, do not go out!
Listen to your father's sweet prayer,
Singing so enchantingly,
On this great holiday-for every Jew!
He is praying to God for you,
For your sisters, for your brother....
For all the people of Israel.
Dear God, let his plea be heard!
All despotic edicts and persecutions avert!"
I hear the youth outside our door,
Great is their clamor....
I'm drawn to their play,
Reluctant this moment
To weep and to pray;
When because of holiday there's so much glee,
What antics, what laughter sweet
There can be On our Jewish synagogue street.
I see now, I feel now,
That impetuous rush to the street-
Leaving the house
Joyous youths to meet....
Crushed, depressed am I now-
In these weighted moments-
My spirits, my yearning,
Is turning
To what is gone,
To my youth....
To what was beyond my comprehension. .
To all that once was so dear to me....
To my beloved Jewish home-my good Jewish home-
Forever a beautiful memory!. . . .
****************************** |
| Rosh Hashana at "Tashlech "
Time Jews of the town left their quarters. . .
And to the wooden bridge wended their way
For "Tashlech"1-where the foaming waters
Would give them hope and joy.
The stream, silvery and humming. . .
A sign of year-round sin forgiving;
And Jews from pockets filled amply,
Shake out their transgressions expertly.
To a Jewish child 'twas a holiday-
Silvery waters o'er bright pebbles shining;
'Twould bring gladness even now-
Once more its friendship renewing. . .
The stream now asks in wonder:
Have the Jews stopped sinning,
That they're no longer here?
Unknowing of the disaster that came like
thunder. And ponders, in despair.
By the foaming waters of the stream,
There are no longer Jews to be seen,
At "Tashlech,"' with sins in each pocket,
To complain of their bitter lot.
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From nostalgia the stream grows turbulent-
Yearning for the awesome, prayerful days;
For muttered transgressions, pale secrets given
vent. . .
When it forgave Jews, as it went its way.
To feel on its waters Jewish tears. . .
The stream now would desire once more,
And whispered transgressions to hear. . .
The pardoning? Oh how light the chore!
'Neath hill, where crystal waters ran undulated,
Was a town-by Jews heavily populated...
Now none are left
To be blessed
With forgiveness!
Thanks for the years of sins forgiven,
Accept our gratitude, clear little stream!
From now on, our younger generation
Will themselves inscribe the fate of life's dream!
1Tashlech - Symbolic ritual of washing sins away by emptying pockets
into waters.
****************************** |
My Father's Bequest
A legacy that cannot be wind-blown,
Is the one my father left to me. . .
On my cheek, a salty tear ran down,
Pent-up, hot_from my father's desire and
anxiety.
Father! You observe, I speak wordlessly_
Through a silence you understand and heed_
In my youth you were to me
A saviour that appeared, whenever there was a
need!
Tell me, father, tell me, from whence was
derived
Your great knowledge? Your schooling was
short-lived.
Relying on your wife's mother for "kest" and
bed;1
Even helping her in the baking of bread.
On a bench in a tiny synagogue_or silently
near lectern,
You sought and gained knowledge_and used it
in turn. . .
Reading the fine print wasn't alien to you_
You savored "essen tea, "2 whole years
through.
Deep in my heart you planted your "nigun"3. .
The tone I hear clearly, as well as your voice_
I bear them within me, as if in folds sewn....
With love I guard them, gather them to me,
and rejoice!
"Come, Chaya Rachel, hearken to me!
You are familiar with Reb Jacob's wise
Commentary4. .
Your mind is as sharp as lightning, flashing
free. . .
Learn, learn my child. . . of great use 'twill
always be. "
My father taught me the source of Jacob's
wisdom,4
And I with worldly questions would ply him,
Which my father bore with infinite patience,
Wisely endeavoring reply which made sense.
"My child, you do not comprehend the Torah's
depth....
Questions come lightly. . . answers_not
always at hand.
We must study_not question_to understand
Who is who, and what is what. "
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And these very words dear father
remained,
For me a gift. . . your legacy. . .
Your answers that mildly explained,_
I hold dear, in eternal memory.
I remember how we said our good-byes
You cried. . . your tears ran in a flood. . .
I felt, dear father, those hot tears from your eyes,
And I understood__I understood. . .
"I'm not leaving you for always_
Do not worry . . . again we'll see each other . . .
Take care of yourself . . . you may even count the
days
'Til I'll come to stay with you on Purim and
Passover."
His beloved daughter never did appear_
'Though my good father would wait and wait. . .
He wrote me, deceiving me about his vigor_
Then_the end_at ninety-eight....
His salty tears were left me as a legacy. . I feel
that they never dried....
Often, when my heart grows heavy,
Dear father, in my memory you abide.
A legacy that cannot be wind-blown,
Is the one my father left to me_
On my cheek a salty tear ran down_
Pent-up_hot_from my father's anxiety.
1 Living on "kest "_a practice whereby the
mother-in-law provided free bed and board so that the son-in-law could continue to carry
on with his studies.
2 Essen tea_townspeople took turnsfeeding poorstudents one day a week
(or more if they could afford to do so). This was considered a "mitzvah " or
good deed.
3 Nigun_a sacred melody, usedforsingingoutcertainprayers. The
4 Commentaries of Jacob.
********************************* |
Once There Was a Town
Across the Sea
My thoughts. . . in constant reverie. . .
About the years when I was young_
When life was warmed for me
By springtime's soft wind's song
When across thresholds of each tiny abode
Raced Yiddish children with great elan_
Sparkling dark eyes under lashes rode;
Black tousled tresses flying, as they ran.
Baked potato clutched in child's hand, midst
laughter_
Another tot grasps chunk of course black
bread....
My mother fetching a jug of clear, cold water
From the well, 'neath tiny wooden shed.
While the bright sun, shining unabated,
Enlivens the children to the marrow of their
bones_
So happy and so sated.....
Playing with marbles and bits of stones. . .
In their zeal, all wants foregoing_ Usual
demands are cast aside
By children growing, growing. . .
In the town where they reside.
In the "cheder,"1 under rabbi's prompting_
Small voices ring out_
And the "Aleph-Beis"2 they're chanting Makes
a universal shout.
There is a steady refrain
Of "Kometz-Aleph-Au"
"Kometz-Beis-Bo"3_
Life was lovely then.
We knew of nothing better_
Demands were few at that age....
Accompanying the rabbi with his pointer
Along the alphabet page.
The rabbi held forth to his flock,
Scanning each young tousled head
With an approving look
At how beautifully they read.
Already learning the "Khumosh"4
Already interpreting "Tanach. "5
The children, in sing-song fashion,
Memorize_as they repeat the "Rashi"6_
With so much passion. . .
The rabbi commends them heartily.
"Such sharp minds in such small children_
Blessed are the parents of my Talmidim'."7
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However, a vengeful foe within our
"goles"8
thrives_
Begrudging even the humblest of our lives;
And deep within, their hearts never cease To
harbor deep-rooted hatreds,
Give vent to deep-seated jealousies....
Heap ever new calumnies on our heads.
So Jews scatter to flee the scourge_
To the earth's four corners....'most every land;
Seeking a new life to forge_
Bearing the "wanderer's staff" in hand.
There was once a Jewish town_
As were many others....
With children growing. . . and grown. . .
With grandfathers and grandmothers.
With fathers and mothers_
Families as old as the ages....
With sisters and brothers_
All deeply rooted in the soil of their villages....
Breathing deeply the air of home.
Where are so many lives? . . . Where? . . .
Vanished like dew in the morn. . .
Sparing those Jews from care.....
Leaving those who remained_forlorn.
There once was a Jewish town....
Far across the sea_
What anguish every thought
Stirs within me_ At all the havoc wrought.
What did I miss
In that which I defined?
Not only this_
Did I have in mind......
Our Jewish town_
Long since gone_
Far across the sea.
1 Cheder_Elementary religious Hebrew school. 2 Aleph-Beis_Hebrew
or Yiddish "A-B-C's. " 3Kometz-Aleph-Au_ Vocalized with
pronunciation mark: ''Awe"; "Baw"_as in Kometz-Beis-Bo_law_First 2 letters
of Hebrew- Yiddish alphabet.
4Khumosh_ThePentateuch s
5Tanach_The Bible
6 Rashi_The Commentaries on the Bible ' 7Talmidim_pupils
8Goles_In exile (not in the homeland of Israel).
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