Yeshiva University - Masmid Yearbook (New York, NY)

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18 M A S M I D was an opportunity to view the schtiebel. The place was small, dark, and ill-ventilated. It was a typical European schtiebel . There were a few tables and benches in the room, a large reading desk in the center, a small one in front of the Ark, and book-closets all along the length of one wall of the room. The atmosphere was European: that is, it was not American. Chassidim are essentially emotional, and soon they started singing again. This time their mood was philosophical, sentimental; not the joyous chassidic tone of the dance. Again tliey sang the Chassal Sidur Pesach , but this time they sang it slowly. They did not look dreary; they still smiled, but now their song was really a prayer. O hasten to lead the established plant to Zion with joyful song. L ' shanah habah b ' yirusha- lyim - lem. ' Next year we shall be in Jerusa- The group song soon ended. Single ren- ditions followed. Chassid after Chassid stepped up to the small bimah and ren- dered his prayer-song . Meditatively the Chassidim hummed along with the singer. I felt far. far away from America. I was in a Polischc schtiebel in Poland... Even Chassidim can not live in the schtie- bel forever. They too have homes and families. At last the service was over. I stepped out of the schtiebel . The street was dark and deserted. The charm of the schtiebel was still upon me. I came to a busy avenue. Automobiles sped by, honking their horns. The spell was broken. I was in America... -J. K. AGED OAK. A broken thing lies dead upon the earth, A thing that breathed of beauty at its birth; For fashioned by the hands of the Divine It towered proudly stretching towards its shrine. Its trunk has seen the countless ages go To dusty death in Mother Earth below. It, too, has felt the trembling knife of youth That struck the heart with Cupid ' s swift-gone truth. But deep in dust it humbly lies forlorn. Of life and beauty now forever shorn. Oh, that it could its gathered wisdom speak And tell the ancient tales I still would seek. While I, wan lover of the forest shade, Forget the glory of the world ' s parade; A kindly friend of every fallen leaf — I walk the silent woods in silent grief. And still 1 turn old foot-worn paths to tread Among the stately memories of the dead. Louis Bacishnikoff

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M A S M I D 17 In the dim gloom stands an old two-story building remodeled after the fashion of my- thological theatre-fronts of yore. It is set in from a row of houses, thus forming a little fenced-in courtyard where an eager crowd awaits the opening of the theatre doors. The glass-panel doors are diversely decorated with amateurishly printed signs: Next week — ' The School for Scandal. ' Today — ' The Affected Young Ladies, ' which names are a fine example of the spirit and purpose of the Free Theatre. The crowd is a motley one of lively youth and drama-thirsty age, most of them with more time than money. All are exuberant, light-spirited, exuding warm and buoyant companionship. One is caught in the swing of mutual good-feeling as one is jostled mer- rily about. These people are kind, well-wish- ing brothers in the search for amusement where money and rank are of no account. And so one ' s thought wander in a world filled with sentiment and healthy optimism when the doors open. A hurly-burly rush for the limited number of choice seats starts, and soon one is seated breathlessly and forcibly. The theatre is very small and quaint in- side. It reminds one of the old French theatre with the crude footlights and the low bal- cony. The curtain is a drab dusty one, in harmony with the dry, cracked appearance of the stage. The lone usher, a huge Cossack- like fellow who answers to the name of Grischa, hands out litrle programs to the ac- companiment of an English that sounds like water bubbling out of a bottle. He is kind and very solicitous of the comfort of the audi- ence, continually doing little favors for some- one. Above is a crowded balcony with a noisy audience filling every available seat. The jocose mood still prevails, characterized by chatting argument and hearty laughter. Well-meaning Grischa can still be seen bob- bing up and down. Suddenly the lights dim, faker and fade. Everybody waits in the hushed darkness. Then the curtain rises on the eternal, iron- fast and superb truths of Moliere C. H. NEW EUROPE Brownsville, the oldest Jewish pale of Brooklyn, is yielding its fame to newer com- munities. Nevertheless there are still some picturesque old synagogues in Brownsville. There are still small Chassidic synagogues. Newer fashions have not effaced the places of worship established years ago by sincere Jews who had come to America in order to live and worship in freedom. In a narrow, obscure street of Brownsville there is one of these schtieblich, the Poli- sche Schtiebel . This schtiebel is an ordi- nary red-brick house. Nothing but a small sign betrays its real identity. It was the last day of Passover. The ma- jority of the Chassidim were celebrating the departure of the holiday in true chassidic fashion. They had formed a circle, their hands interclasped, and were dancing and singing. The majority may have been Poles, but among them I saw all types of Jews dancing around the bimah. I saw the genuine Chassid with his payis , kapota , and gartel . I saw, also, the red-faced, heavily bearded Russian Jew with only a gartel , the stout German Jew with the Van Dyke beard, the dark-eyed, black- bearded Palestinian Jew, and the American, or rather Americanized Jew. Though out- wardly they were so different, inwardly they were all Chassidim. In their dance and song I was aware that these Chassidim were much more energetic — not physically, but spiritually — than the Chassidim I had seen before. I listened more attentively to their song. They were singing the Chassal sidur Pesach — The Comme- moration of the Passover is now accom- plished, according to its order... O, may we also merit the actual observance thereof.... O, hasten to lead the established plant to Zion with joyful song. Over and over again they sang it; on and on they danced... Energy of the spirit cannot support frail bodies too long, however: and reluctantly the Chassidim stopped their dance. Fatigued in body they sat down to rest a while. Now

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M A S M I D 19 Mongrel By ' H. A. S. E was just a stray mongrel before Jim took him in. Jim saw him kicked out of a saloon, tail twisted between his legs in cowardly fear. Jim pitied the poor wretch and brought him to his room, fed him and then tried to put him out. But a full stomach and a kindly hand had done wonders for the dog. His tail stood erect and his head was held high and he romped around the room like a colt at pasture, stretching its legs for the first time. After that Jim could not put him out: and he finally had to take him along up-State where in a wild moun- tain forest he owned a sh ack. Jim called him Mongie. Jim had a young son, Robert. Jim was a widower and his son was the light of his father ' s eyes. Jim would often watch Rob- ert and the dog playing together, and the emptiness of the shack would ssem to fill out. Once, while Jim was away, and Robert and Mongie were alone in the cabin, a starved wolf crept in through the open door. Mon- gie was snoozing in a corner and Robert was playing on the floor. The hungry wolf leaped at Robert and bit deep into the boy ' s ar.n. Robert cried out Mongie and fainted. The dog bounded up and bowled the weakened wolf over. Frightened, the wolf slipped out through the door, and loped for the woods. When Jim returned, he found Robert ly- ing on the floor unconscious and Mongie lick- ing the boy ' s punctured arm. Jim saw red. It looked certain that Mongie had bitten the boy; but, Jim reasoned, there was only Mongie who could call a doctor. If you ' re too late, you damned mon- grel, I ' ll shoot you! Off v.-ith you, now, and get Doc. Mongie understood. The way to the doc- tor was through the woods. Mongie was running a blue streak when he came upon the starved wolf. It ' s hard to say what came into the dog ' s mind. Perhaps a vision of Robert dying on the floor danced before his bloodshot eyes and dispelled all his master ' s care to hasten the errand. It was a mongrel ' s vengeance that urged the animal, not the orders of his reasoning master. Mongie fixed his teeth in the wolf ' s throat, and to-gether they rolled through the underbush. The Vv o ' .f was able to take a slice out of Mongie ' s shoulder before Mon- gie reached his jugular. Then the tussle was all over, and Mongie limped off for the doc- tor. The doctor might have come in time if Mongie had been a reasonable creature. As it was Doc hurried into the cabin just as the breath, of life rattled out of Ro- bert ' s throat. Jim ' s lips were a thin line. He took his gun and shot a bullet through Mongie. A low whin; and the dog lay still. Jim threw Mongie outside where the wolves would feast on him. When Jim entered the cabin Doc began explaining the difference between a dog-bite and a wolf-bite. Doc didn ' t understand, at first, why Jim whitened and then clumped over to the water basin to wash his hands clean. Jim felt, he afterwards said, like a darned mongrel. There have come suggestions that more vegetables be put in our vegetable soup. By way of furthering the cause we suggest they put more horse in the horseradish. Now stop that! If you eat another piece of cake you ' ll bust! Well, pass that cake and get out of the way.