George E Westinghouse High School - Sketch Book Yearbook (Pittsburgh, PA)

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.ini --ur in ? -' 'lr -'lsr that she might have an audience when the turn came for a recital of her adventures in surgery. Mrs. Blum scored a triumph with the details of her sudden attack of appen- dicitis and an operation at three o'clock in the morning. Ptu, ptu, ptu. spat Mrs. Rubenstein, Nit doh gedachtf' Amusement and fear of giving offense drove me from the room. Wl1y on earth did she spit three times ? I asked Riva. To spit the devil away. Wlieii one hears of misfortune to which she fears she may be subjected, she spits three times and repeats those words to ward off the evil spirit. Friday morning I encountered new magic. It was in a friend's kitchen. Spicy odors lilled the room: the steam which rose from the pots almost shut out the View of Masche, who was bent over the dough that was soon to be baked into large loaves of shining twisted bread. The sun is already high and the dough isn't in the oven yet! Judith, dear. please get the pans out of the cupboard and grease them for me. Oy, oy, Judith, look what you've done! Step back quickly. No, no-with the same foot! Schleniiel! Don't you know that if a person steps over a child's leg or arm he puts a curse on it unless he steps back again with the same foot? Be very careful not to do it again. To please her I stepped back againg but I smiled to myself as I recalled the many times I had been stepped over without crippling results. About dusk that evening I decided to write to Mother. Before I had written more than two lines my aunt entered the room, and with arms a-kimbo stood watching me. I honestly believe that you are a Shiksaf' she said. You seem to know nothing at all about our customs. The Sabbath started at sundown tonight and will last until sundown Saturday, you aren't allowed to work during these twenty- four hours. Even my six-year-old Rosie knows that. I'm not working, Auntieg I'm only writing a few lettersf, f'But that is considered work, she continued in Yiddish. Not now, Auntie. Long ago there were no fountain pens and fine paperg then if one wanted to write, he had to chisel the words out of stone. At that time writing was indeed very tedious labor, but it is no longer so.', Indeed! she rejoined scornfully. VVell, it breaks the Biblical injunction: 'The seventh day is a Sabbath unto the I.ord, thy God, in it thou shalt not do any manner of work.' We must keep it sacred and not let modern convenience destroy its original meaning. Oh, I would that there were a native land for the Jews-one that they could really call their own. Then, and I'm afraid not until then. shall we be able to teach and keep the truly beautiful things which compose the foundation of the Jewish religion. Here, in this great melting pot where all nations become one, the present generation takes little or no interest in the tra- ditions which were handed down to us by our forefathers. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I laid aside my pen, and she left the room. But long I sat alone and pondered. Was this really a little town in New .Ter- sey! Or had some magic carpet transported me to an old, old country in a bygone age! Elisabeth Lczwfin. Sixteefzt 'Alf ,Y--A' if 1 .1 A I 4ll'l' 'fl ,1 :fi , ini I int

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:ll - ,, l'-I, J L 1? J. lm Which one PU Match-making. Already some of the professional match-makers are looking me over. I'll choose my own husband. What do you mean ? Evidently you do not know that there are people whose sole occupation is finding suitable partners for marriageable young men and women. The custom was practiced in Europe and has now become profitable in orthodox settlements here. These match-makers travel IFOIU one group to another and sometimes make such complete arrangements for the marriage that the bride and groom do not meet until the ceremony. I should think much dissatisfaction would arise, I interposed. It does. Not very long ago two men met here who had not seen each other for over thirty years. While exchanging past experiences, they became enthusiastic over their children's merits and iinally decided that there would be nothing more pleasing than to arrange a marriage between the two families. Each returned to his home town where preparations for the great event were soon made. The men communicated by letters and were eagerly awaiting the marriage. But what a dis- appointment when the families met for the ceremony! Instead of a bride and groom, there were two grooms! Each father had neglected to tell the other the sex of his child! At this point a little chuckle escaped my uncle who had entered during the latter part of our conversation. Let me tell you of something which happened to me in Russia, he said. I was only nineteen when I took a job as a frmer's helper in a little town about a hundred miles from my home. I was pleased with the place except for one thing. Sybil, the youngest of the farmer's three daughters, often interrupted me while I worked. Before long her parents tried to persuade me to marry her. I informed them that I had no intention of marrying her. I was too young and wanted to see the world. Then Sybil became busy on her own account. She had been used to having her own way and my indifference troubled her. She went to a nearby gypsy camp, where the witch informed her that the only way to gain my love was to steal a lock of my hair and bring it to her. She would then burn it and put a spell over me. About that time Sybil's relatives came from near-by towns to help influence me to marry her. Disgusted with the situation, I decided to return home. Before I left she requested a lock of my hair, which I gave her. About three days after I reached home, I fell ill. Something kept drawing me to the girl. This was strange, for I did not love her. Nothing else would help meg so I returned to the farm, where I felt better. Two weeks later I came home a second time, only to become sick again. The best doctors were brought, but they could find nothing wrong with me. One day Mother told me that the gypsies were in town and if I conferred with the witch, she would be sure to tell me how to overcome the spell. At the camp the witch told me to get a lock of Sybil's hair, and she would break the spell by burning it. I accomplished my purpose and regained my health. I have neither seen nor heard from Sybil since. Uncle's evident belief in the gypsy's power and the Old World atmosphere in which he told the story were convincing. A few days later I had the good fortune to attend a meeting of the Mothers' Club. The conversation of the members had led to its usual climax, operations. Each woman thought hers the most interesting and listened to the others only Fifteen 3-1 lr'-f fi- ' it 'W '-' t

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Y' I1 EZ -' g' If lim - 1,7 Y -If im The Mystery of an Old Italian Villa BOUT an old Italian villa clings a mysterious legend. I shall not attempt to dissipate its mystery by turning upon it the cold light of reason nor sophisti- cate it with an invented plot. I shall write it down just as it has been told to me many times by one who vouches for its truth. A very rich man named Don Felipe decided to make his home near Vesuviana. a little town in southwestern Italy. Here he had a very beautiful villa built on the top of a hill facing Pompeii. Painted pictures of flowers and dark-eyed girls decorated the walls of its eight spacious roomsg a winding marble stairway with marble statues at the base led from gorgeously painted halls to the floor above. Highly polished doors invited entrance to each room. At night the villa was lighted by candles, except for an old lamp at the front entrance. The kitchen was lighted by a large eastern window. In the slanting rays of the sun a multi-colored cloth glistened on a long table in the center. The fire place with its sturdy copper pots and pans hanging in a row completed the old- time picture. A pair of winding stone steps led from the kitchen to the cantine, or wine cellar, below. Far back against the wall stood a row of gigantic barrels, whose wooden spigots afforded egress to rich red Italian wine. Adjoining was the store- room, where cheese, preserved meats, fruit, vegetables, nuts, Wheat, and corn were stored for the winter. The interior resembled an old Spanish castle. A small pathway led from the door into a perfume-laden garden, from which rose vines crept stealthily to meet thexflower-balcony at the windows above. Under a weeping willow tree at the opposite end stood a charming bench of marble-just the place for lovers to meet. A fountain sprinkled close byg doves cooedg and a peacock strutted proudly among the flowers. Above arched the gold and opal sky. In the large verdant pastures beyond grazed the cattle, horses, and sheep. Adjoining the garden were the vineyards and the orchards. This spot became paradise to Don Felipe. Here he sat and dreamed of Donna Carolina. Here often she walked with him while her mother, Donna Vittoria, sat discreetly near-by sewing on fine wedding garments. None were more happy than they in those days of love. Then came war in Africa. Heavy in heart, but valiant in spirit, he answered his country's summons. I'll meet you in the garden when your regiment returns, whispered Donna Carolina as she tearfully bade him farewell. But the war dragged long yearsg and when Don Felipe returned, he found his betrothed married. Never shall I love or trust a woman again, he swore. That vow was kept. Don Felipe became a recluse with the church and his young friend, Don Eduardo, his only consolers. He loved Don Eduardo as a son. They shared their imnost secrets, trusting each other to keep them. Time passed, and Don Felipe became confined to bed with a melancholy sick- ness. Calling Don Eduardo he said: Friend, my days are almost ended. As I have no heir to my vast estate. I shall leave it to you--however, there is one con- dition. I You must not talk like this. Felipe. replied Don Eduardo. Wl1at you say is foolishness. ' Not foolishness. I was foolish once, but I learned wisdom with experience. I tell you I am dying, and no doctor can cure me. You are my only friendg here. .S'e2'01zteen 'I L T I in if'-' -funi -T 1-4: