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

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The other Max Frankel She stood still for a minute, her eyes staring without seeing at the fertile plain, her hair streaming in the breeze, her hands hanging limply at her sides. She stood there -L a Jewish woman. In one of her ha.nds, those strong hands which had done more than their share in building the Yishuv, in creating a healthy, thriving community, she clutched the little yellow slip of paper, a postal card from a former neighbor in the little Polish town in which she had spent the major part of her life. This morning, as on eve-ry o-ther morning of the last few years, she had gone out with the other women of the settlement to work on the fields. As she laid her bundles of grain on the wagon a warm feeling had surged through her toiling body. Oh, it felt good to ga.ther the fruits of the yearis hard la-bor in the land of the fathers. It gratified her to know that, per- haps cenituries ago, on the same spot on which she was standing Father Abraham might have pitched his tent, or Isaac have gazed over the rolling plain to the mountains hidden in a blue haze far to the north. Or perhaps here Jacob had assembled his twelve sons to instruct them to obey the laws of the living G -'d. She had felt joy in working in the invigorating, fresh air under the smiling, clear blue sky. She had thought that she had at long last found happiness - enduring happiness, free from worries, free from troubles . . . true contentment . . . until a few minutes ago. A few minutes ago . . . S-hmuel had come in with the mail from the nearest town, some miles away. She had seen him striding across the fields, a hulk of a man, his fiery beard and barrel chest strongly contrasted by his gentle face and quiet demeanor. Shmuel, she had signalled to him from a distance, is there anything for me? In reply he had only waved the little yellow slip of paper in the air, a smile hovering a.round his lips. I hope itis good newsf' he cried, as she, driven by curiosity, ran to meet him. I hope it's good news. But it was bad news . . . As she read all color slowly left her cheeks, a pallor spread over her face, the joy faded from her eyes. Leah, he cried in alarm, what is it? What's wrong?,' She did not answer. Instead she handed him the cardre He understood. Her neighbor had informed her that out of the 400 Jewish inhabitants of their little town some thirty were left to eke out a meager existence, the rest had' been killed by the Nazis Not one menrber of her numerous family had lived to see the downfall of the brutal enemy. Not one - not even her Yankeleh . . . Her Yankeleh . . . apple of her eye . . . her pride and joy. Oh G - dl, G - df' the voice sounded hollow in her deep anguish, oh G - d how could you let this happen? Why . . why, oh Lord?,' But not a tear dripped from the fountains of her eyes. She was beyond tears. Staring without seeing at the beautiful plain, she felt neither the warmth of the dancing sunbeams nor the beauties of the rolling wheatland or the smiling skies. -Only deep within the recesses of her heart she felt al steady throbbing, 10

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The Great Expertnratinn SCHMEIL - ZEv1 was only 18, but he had earned for himself the reputa- tion of being the village jokester. And so, when Schmeil's wedding to Shari was announced, every soul in the entire village turned out in antici- pation of an hilarious and joyous time. To add to the great .s-itmcha, it was also rumored that the Emperor was nearby and that he might come and give the young couple some sort of a gift. Amidst the frolicking' gaiety, Yosef, Shari's former suitor, stepped up with a mug brimming over with wine. Come, Schmeil, drink! Show everybody you're a man. Empty the mug. Yosef's eyes gleamed mischievously and Schmeil unsuspectingly lifted the mug and drank it down in long groughts. Now for some toasts. Chosan Schmeil, welll drink some toasts. Here's to your bea.utiful wifef' Schmeil downed the wine as vigorously as before. Here's to your in-laws. May they .... And down poured the intoxicating drink. To your beloved parents. Again Schmeil drank. He was gay and laughing loudly. Shari tugged at his shirtsleeve. Look! , cried Yosef. She is trying to show who of the two will wear the plants. Come, Schmeil, yo-uire a man. Aren't you?. Here's to our wonderful villagef' Yes, I'm a man. Yes, to our village. The brimming mug was soon empty. To our country. Yes, to our country, Schmeil shouted thickly as he drank once more. To the Emperor. No, not to the Emperor. I'm a m-an. I spit on the Emperor. And Schmeil spat with gusto. You don't mean that? Why! you're just a little ...... i' I do mean it. I'm a man and I spit on the Emperorf' And again he spat. A hush fell on the assemblage. The villagers slowly drifted away. The wedding was over. -X' -X' 91- Two days later, the Emperor sent his guards to take Sc-hmeil away. Somehow he had found out. There was great mourning in the village. Many tried to console Schmeil's parents and' Shari, but in vain. Then someone spied ai lonely figure approaching the village. Schmeil had returned. He was uncombed and dissheveledg his fa.ce was drawn and his eyes were staring. The crowd opened to let the man pass. Slowly they followed him to his house. There was a deadly silence. No one spoke. Then Shari, unable to stand it any longer, whispered hoarse-ly, Schr11eil, what did he do to you? Two large tears rolled down his face. He - - he - - he spat back at me! by Harry Pinvh 9

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pounding, of all-consuming pain, of indescribable agony . . . The women gathered around her. What is wrong, Leah? Why don't you cry? . . . Do cry. It will do you goodf' Come Leah, let us go from the fields . . Go home and lie down and have a good cry. She was insensible to all that was happening around her. She heard neither the advice of her co-workers, nor their heart-rending sobs. With- out realizing that she was moving she was slowly led by her friends to her cabin, the card still clutched in her hand . . . She was completely si- lent. Not a groan, not a sob, not a sigh, not a single sound passed over her lips, her sensitive lips, so strongly etched in the marble of her face . . . Her mind was racing. Yankeleh. Yankeleh . . . Yankelehl' she thought over and over again. Yankeleh, darling of my heart, more precious than my life, why were you taken from me? The mother's mind spanned countries and oceans, it skipped back over the intervening years to that day when she had last seen her Yankeleh, her sturdy, strap-ping son . . . She had planned for a long time to emigrate to Palestine and had wanted him to come with her. He, however, refused to leave his friends and neighbors and finally convinced her that it was his duty to stay in Poland where he could in his small way help to undermine the Nazi structure from within. Besides,'l he told her in his hearty voice there are other people who need the immigration certificates in-ore than I do. Let them have my certificate, ni-other, I'll manage somehow. She gave in to Yankeleh, admiring without end his generosity and intrepidity . . . And so the day of their parting had arrived. Yankeleh had refused to come to the Railway station with his mother. Parting at a station where one could see the train rolling away into the world to be swallowed hy the horizon was too final and decisive for him. He said good-bye to her at the door of their little house, reassuring her that it would not be long when, G - d willing, they would be together again. She had leit him comforted and full of hope. Wlhen she stopped a few paces from the house to take a last look at the home in which she had spent so many happy hours, she saw Yankeleh leaning out of the window, waving to her, and shouting i'L'hit- raoth B'eretz Israelf' 9 She drove the thought from her mind. It was too painful. ller mind, in painting the scene with such precision and accuracy, had only given her heart an additional stab . . . But the th-oughts would not be banished. Over and over, faster and faster. the thoughts took hold of her wandering ntind. Her brain teemed with half-baked, inco-mplete ideas . . . lf only she knew where his body found eternal rest . . . If only she could have an idea of how the end came . . . And her family! What of her family? . . , G - d, the pain is too great, how can one mourn for a whole family at a time? . . She would have to sit shivah. How does one sit shivah for a. whole mishp-aeha? . . . The thoughts came and went. One. however, took strong hold of her mind. VVhere did Yankeleh find his eternal resting place? iYhere was his grave? And perhaps it was better that she should not know. for the knowledge would always keep the wound fresh .... 5 Ks if she could ever forget him! . . But then, how was she to place the matzewa, the tombstone Il