Yeshiva University High School For Boys - Elchanite Yearbook (New York, NY)

Page 29 text:

A G A l N By lsrael Scheffler A clear sky illuminaTed The rough gravel road. The sTars pierced The earfh wiTh Their brighf icy rays. Briffle pebbles crunched under his sTiff soles as he sTreTched his sTrides Toward The quainf European village. He pumped in The fresh, spring-TinTed air in a deep, sTeady rhyThm of saTisfacTion. His Thoughfs sfumbled in all direcfions: Here he was, seTTing forTh on The greaTesT advenfure of his life. He, FriTz Dubois, Togefher with many more youThs of his age, would parTicipaTe in The noblesT work which lay in his abilify To perform. He would give his life for his counTry, He, who had iusT finished secondary school aT eighfeen, and had prepared To enTer a universify, he, innocenT, who had never before been beyond a Thirfy-mile radius of his birfhplace. he, Frifz Dubois, was To be given his opporTuniTy To ioin The immorTals, The founders of his counTry, iTs defenders and iTs heroes. As soon as he reached The recruiTing office in The village, he would be given a uniform and a rifle, and would be senT ouT on The glorious quesf for everlasTing honor and fame. His courage wilfed slighfly as he approached The looming wall Thaf en- circled The forbidding whiTe sfones of The graveyard. He remembered The Tales his granclmofher used To Tell. IT is one Thing To be brave in conTending wiTh live, known forces, buT guife anoTher To reTain courage upon encounfering mysfery and The unknown. He had To pass This place of deafh in order To reach his desTinaTion, else he mighT have defoured around iT. He sTepped briskly wiThin The squeaking gaTe, furTively Tossing swiff, chopped glances To every side of him, while eeriness edged inTo his ThoughTs. As he sprinfed pasT an especially impressive mausoleum, Topped by a high sfone dome, a crunching sound caused him To sTarT - a sound as if someone were Tipfoeing sTealThily Toward him. He was now in The Thick of The foresT of gravesTones and saw before him no means of escape. Were The sounds made by a mischievous wind or had The Time come for The dead To rise? His peasanf mind became filled wiTh supersTiTious Terror. He looked abouT him fearfully. A gnarled Twisfed sycamore near him afforded some refuge. He sprang behind iT and waTched exciTedly. The door of The Tomb swung open smoofhly. From iTs depfhs issued calmly a wifhered, brown one-legged, nude man, - a corpse whose sere eyeballs proiecfed Themselves from his desiccafed forehead. The dried fingers of his dead hands quivered as he ToTTered falferingly Toward The concealing Tree. Suddenly, as if by one impulse uniTed, The heavy, ausfere gravesTones all around The Tree moved aside as if swung on hinges and from Their black recesses emerged waddling corpses ELCHANITE Twenfy-seven

Page 28 text:

Now is seen The blazing TaceT OT love of lvlan, of l'lumaniTy BroTherly love, love of Those Who in common bond do EaT, sleep, sTudy and Toil 'NeaTh The same slcy. same sun On The selfsame EarTh as we, DiTTerenT, perhaps, in color or creed YeT all possesed of The common link- Living and leTTing live. Akin To love of Man Sparkles love of Life And of l-lim who besTowed iT, God. Love oT l-lim who Fashioned our bodies Then imbued us wiTh a soul, A soul and a hearT WiTh an innaTe desire To indefaligably pump on Driving LiTe's blood Through our veins IV Today, pagan, impure loves Are being liT upon our alTars. ln place of love of Man, bro+herIy love We see abouT us love oT Self, individually AbouT us chauvinisTic love, collecTively. ln place of love oT God We see love oT beasTly Mars, God peers from The sTars Upon The war-Torn World ol ours. God is disTurbed. TwenTy-six ELCHANITE

Page 30 text:

oT all kinds: squaT corpses, lanky corpses, corpulenT corpses, all oT whom had some conspicuous physical deTecT. , ' A conTender Tor place in The army, where only physical Torce is undersTood, he now remained hypnoTized by The absTracTness oT menTal paralysis and awe. The Ten bodies approached him Trom Tour TronTs, Triple Tile, making a Tarce OT his conceal- menT. When his dead visiTors had come wiThin a Tew yards oT him on all sides, They halTed, and The TirsT brown cadaver Trom The mausoleum, evidenTly Their general, opened his TooThless mouTh. A bubbling purlinq sound rose up ouT oT Thar TwisTed caviTy as a warning ThaT he was preparing To speak. Boy , he said, Ie+ us inTroduce ourselves. We are humaniTy's mosT ludicrous riddle. Oue hands have been Torn oTT Tor noughT. OuT eyes have been gouged ouT in vain. Our skins have been ripped away To saTisTy a whim. Our heads have been bashed in Tor silver, our hair pulled ouT Tor money, our Tlesh sliced up Tor gold, AT The heighT oT our days we were cold-bloodedly murdered beTore we had a chance To live, To see, To love, To read, To work, To Think, To creaTe. We were gladly killed so ThaT - so ThaT you could again be called upon only Two decades laTer To repeaT our performance, and To become like us. We heeded and believed The Trenzied war-cries oT our poliTicians and - we died. We are The paradox. We are The soldiers oT The lasT war. Don'T go, boy: donT live Through our experience and die Through iT. Don'T! Don'T! The dread and revulsion The body TelT Toward his sTinking advisers were choked down by his hoT, paTrioTic impulses. l-le knew Their argumenTs well. l-le had Tiercely debaTed The maTTer wiTh cerTain social ouTcasTs who had spoken Those selTsame words. BUT , he Tlung back aT Them savagely, buT The glory oT my naTion, iTs. powers, iTs presTige, iTs honor - whaT oT Them? Shall They perish meanly only because l am a dasTardly coward - aTraid To risk my liTe Tor my counTry. The dead men sTepped back as if They were aTraid of The TruTh in his words. They Tell back as if They were Tired, Tired, - and quickly he leaped Through Their weary ranks, dodging roTTing Tingers, avoiding The sick scraTch oT nails and nerveless hands aTTempTing To deTain him. BreaThless, heaving, The soTT Thump oT dead TeeT pursuing him, he ran all The way To The recruiTing sTaTion in The village. He sTopped ouTside a while pouring ouT his exciTemenT in gurgling gulps oT breaTh. When his agiTaTion had abaTed, he sTepped proudly inTo The oTTice and answered The surly voice which challenged his enTrance: Name? 'il:riTz Dubois. Age'? EighTeen. TwenTy-eighT ELCHANITE