Part 23

What thoughts are now rushing through her head! How many tears she has shed since that day when the young man broke off his relations with her, and the uncouth man had become her husband, her breadgiver! How many wounds she has been carrying since then quietly and deeply buried in her Jewish heart, and has been tortured by her own thoughts which crowd upon her against her will, and which she has no strength to repel! And how she now implores God that He may extinguish the sinful fire from her sinful heart, that He may extinguish all that burns and boils within her, that she should forget all that had been, that she should not know how it ought to have been, that she should know but one thing, how to love her husband, who is and must remain her husband until her death! To love

er schlāgt sie, soll sie nor allēin wissen, Ssonim sollen nit derfrēut wer'en un' sie soll alle ihre Pein far Gut können ānnehmen, wie Der, wās thēilt dem Gōrel ein jeder Ischo, hāt a jüdischer Frau geboten....

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Un' es fliessen ihre Trähren auf dem ēigenem Ort, wu es hāben asölche Trähren gegossen mit dreissig Jāhr zurück vun a ganz ander Grund un' Quelle. Un' see fallen auf dieselbe Wörter vun Machser, wās jede jüdische Frau varstēht see andersch als die andere.

Nor dort in Mairew-seit, nit weit vun Thür', wēinen die āreme jüdische Frauen äuch heunt mit dem ēigenem Nigen, mit dem ēigenem betrübten Harzen wie mit dreissig Jāhr zurück.

Āremkeit, Hunger, Nōt un' Mangel hāben alle Māl ēin Ponim, ēin Tam un' ēin Ort bei der Thür. Asō sauer un' bitter dās Gewēin, wās kummt vun Niedergeschlāgene, is' a Māl gewesen, wet äuch ēbig sein. Alle Wünsche un' Gelüste vun Menschen wöllen sich überbeiten un' beiten sich, nor der Wunsch vun dem Hungerigen wet ēbig bleiben dās Stückele Brōt; die Gelüste vun dem Nōtbedürftigen wet äuch ēbig hēissen: Vun der Nōt befreit zu wer'en un' nit mehr zu wissen vun dem Tam, wās es hāt!...

Un' dort bei der Thür stēhn itzt äuch nit wēniger Finstere, Ausgetruckente un Schofele, nebech, hören oder hören nit die Sāgerke un' wēinen, wie see zum Harzen is',--es is' Jonkiper.

Nor in rechten mitten Misrach-wand, auf dem ēigenem Ort, wu die frumme Gütele hāt mit dreissig Jāhr zurück gedawent, seht män itzt äuch a choschewe Frau, korew zu fufzig Jāhr, sitzt still un' trauerig, wie a Derhargete, ihre Lippen varschlossen. Die Äugen kucken in offenem Korben-minche, nor see sehn die Wörter nit.

him with all his inhumanity, with all his uncouthness, and even when he beats her, she alone to know it, lest her enemies be not rejoiced, and that she may accept all her troubles in good spirits, just as He who gives each woman her lot, has bidden a Jewish woman to do....

And her tears flow on the same spot where just such tears have flowed thirty years before for another reason and from another source. And they fall on the same words of the Prayer-book, which every Jewish woman interprets in her own way.

Only at the Western wall, not far from the door, the poor women are weeping to-day with the same intonation, with the same burdened heart as thirty years ago.

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Poverty, hunger, misery, and want have always the same face, the same appearance, and the same place at the door. Just as oppressive and as bitter as the weeping that issues from the downtrodden has been before, it will eternally be. All desires and longings will change and are actually changing, but the want of the hungry will eternally remain a piece of bread; the longings of the needy will eternally be: To be freed from want and not to know the feeling thereof!...

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And there at the door there now stand just such gloomy, emaciated, and dispirited women, who listen or do not listen to the Reader and weep out of the fulness of their hearts,--it is the Atonement day.

In the very centre of the Eastern wall, in the same spot where the pious Gütele had been praying thirty years before, one may even now discern a woman, nigh unto fifty years, sitting quietly and sadly, like one struck dead, with closely pressed lips. Her eyes look into the open Prayer-book, but they do not see the words.

Farwās wēint sie nit?

Is' ihr asō gut zu Muth, as selbst Jonkiper känn sie ihr Harz nit zuthun, zu dermāhnen, as kēin Gut's is' nit ēbig un' der lebediger Mensch wēiss nit, wās morgen känn sein?

Oder is' sie nit a jüdische Frau, a Frau vun a Mann un' Kinder, un' welche jüdische Frau hāt nit ergez ēine oder mehrere Ursachen, wegen wās Jonkiper zu betten un' a hēissen Trähr lāsen fallen?

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Is' sie efscher asō hart un' asō schlecht, asō stolz un' vornehm bei sich, as ihr passt nit zu wēinen, Leut' sollen ihre Trähren nit sehn un' nit klähren, sie is gleich zu Allemen?

Nēin! Chanele, "die Gute, die Kluge" is' ihr Namen,--ihre jetzt truckene Äugen sāgen noch Eedes, as see hāben in sejer Zeit viel, viel gewēeint; sie is' nit stolz un' schämt sich nit zu wēinen, bifrat Jonkiper, wās wēint sich memeele!

Farwās-e wēint sie nit?

Es kucken auf ihr viel Äugen un' wundern sich: Wās is' heunt mit ihr der Mähr mehr als alle Jāhr? Nor sie kuckt trucken, wie varstēinert, in ihr Ssider; nit sie wēint, nit sie dawent. A Pāar Māl hāt sie dās Vorhangel varbōgen, a Kuck gethun in männerscher Schul, sich bald zurück aweggesetzt un' jeder Māl alls traueriger un' beklemmter wie früher.

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As der Chasen hāt āngehōben dawnen Mussaf, hāt sie noch a Māl a Kuck gethun durch dās Fensterl, die Äugen senen unruhig umgeloffen über der ganzer Schul,--sie hāt sich zurück aweggesetzt.

"Er is' noch alls nitdā!" hāt ihr Harz geredt innerlich, "Zu Mussaf afile hāt er nit gekönnt kummen?

Why does she not weep?

Is she so happy that even on the day of Atonement she cannot prevail over her heart to consider that no good is eternal, and mortal man does not know what to-morrow may be?

Or is she not a Jewish woman, a woman having husband and children? and where is there a Jewish woman that has not some one or more reasons for weeping on the Atonement day, and shedding hot tears?

Is she, perhaps, so hard of heart and so bad, so haughty and conceited, that she does not think it proper to weep, lest people should see her tears and deem her equal with the others?

No! Chanele,--they call her the good, the wise Chanele,--her very dry eyes are witness that she has wept much, very much in her time; she is not proud and is not ashamed to weep, especially on the Atonement day, when tears come of their own accord!

Why, then, does she not weep?

Many eyes are looking at her and wondering why she is so different from other years, why she looks stolidly, like one turned to stone, into the Prayer-book, why she is neither weeping nor praying. A few times she pushed aside the curtain, looked down into the men's division, seated herself again in her place and looked each time sadder and more oppressed than before.

When the Precentor began to read the Mussaf-prayer, she once more peeped through the window, her eyes ran restlessly over the whole synagogue, and she went back to her seat.

"He has not come yet!" her heart spoke to her inwardly. "Even to the Mussaf he could not come?

Och, un' dās is' mein Kind, mein Bchor! Vun ihm hāb' ich dās asō viel Jessurim un' Schmerzen arübergetrāgen, bis ich hāb' ihm auf die Füss' gestellt!

"Jā, mein Kind, mein Wund'! Ein ander Mutter wollt' ihm sein Gebēin varscholten, sie wollt' gesāgt: Nit du bist mein Suhn, nit ich bin dein Mutter,--ich känn es āber nit,--sei mir mōchel, Gott in Himmel, wās ich ruf' ihm noch "mein Kind, mein Suhn!"... O, ich känn bei Dir auf sich betten a Tōdt, āber nit auf mein Kind!--Strāf' mich, Ribōne-schel-ōlem, mich, sein sündige Mutter, efscher bin ich schuldig in dem, wās er is' vun rechten Weg arāb un' hāt Dich, lebediger Gott, vargessen un' hāt dein Tōre varlāsen un' thut dein Gebot nit? Jā, ich bin schuldig, ich hāb' ihm zu viel lieb geha't; wās er hāt gebeten, hāb' ich gethun; ich hāb' sich mit sein frummen Vāter ständig arumgekriegt, as er flegt ihm bestrāfen wöllen. Ich hāb' ihm ausgehodewet, wie er is', un' mich strāf' far ihm!"...

J. DIENESOHN.

XVII. AUF'N BUSEN VUN JAM

('Songs from the Ghetto,'[120] pp. 70-76)

Der schrecklicher Wind, der gefährlicher Sturem, Er rangelt sich dort mit a Schiff auf 'n Meer; Er will sie zubrechen, un' sie mit Jessurim Schneid't durch alle Tiefeniss, krächzendig schwer.

Es treschtschet der Mastbaum, der Segel, er zittert, Der rauschender Wasser is' mōredig tief;-- Es kämpfen mit Zoren, es streiten varbittert Auf Tōdt un' auf Leben der Wind mit der Schiff.

Oh, and that is my child, my first-born! For his sake I have borne so many privations and pains, that I might be able to place him on his feet!

"Yes, my child, my sore vexation! Another mother would have cursed his bones; she would have said: 'You are not my son, I am not your mother,'--But I cannot do that,--forgive me, O Lord, that I still call him 'my child, my son'!... Oh, I can ask for my death of You, but not for the death of my child! Punish me, Lord of the Universe, me, his sinful mother! Maybe I am to be blamed that he has departed from the road of righteousness, and has forgotten You, O living God, and has abandoned Your Law and does not do Your commandments! Yes, I am to be blamed for it, I have loved him too much; I always did what he wanted me to do; I have always quarrelled with his pious father when he wanted to punish him. I have raised him such as he is, and do punish me for him!"...

XVII. ON THE BOSOM OF THE OCEAN

The terrible wind, the dangerous storm, is wrestling with a ship on the ocean; it is trying to break her, but she in distress cuts through the deep, groaning heavily.

The mast cracks, the sail trembles, frightful is the depth of the roaring waters; the wind struggles desperately with the ship in a life and death combat.

Ot mus sie sich lēgen, ot mus sie sich stellen, Ot treibt es zurück ihr, ot treibt es varaus,-- A Spielchel is' itzter die Schiff bei die Wellen, See schlingen sie ein un' see speien sie aus.

Es laremt der Jam, un' es hēben sich Chwales; Es huzet, es pildert mit Schreck un' mit Graul;-- Der Sturem, der Gaslen, will umbrengen Alles, Der Thom öffent auf sein varschlossene Maul.

Es hören sich Süfzen, es hört sich ēin Beten, 's is' grōss die Ssakone, 's is' schrecklich die Nōt, Un' Jederer bet't bei sein Gott, er soll retten, Befreien die Menschen vun sicheren Tōdt.

Dās wēinen die Kinder, es klāgen die Weiber, Män schreit un' män is' sich miswade azünd: Es flatteren Sēelen, es zitteren Leiber Var Schreck var dem boesen, varnichtenden Wind.

Doch unten, in Zwischendeck, sitzen zwēi Männer Ganz ruhig, see rührt nit der mindester Wēh; See suchen kēin Rettung, see klären kēin Pläner, Wie Alls wollt' sein sicher un' still arum see.

Es laremt dās Wasser, die Wellen, see schäumen, Es wojet, es mojet meschune der Wind; Es ssappet der Kessel, es hužet der Kōmen; Doch unten die Zwēi, seht, see schweigen azünd.

See kucken mit Kaltkeit dem Tōdt in die Äugen, See rührt nit dem Sturem's gefährliche Macht; Es scheint, as der Tōdt hāt allēin nor erzōgen See Bēiden, in Schreck un' in finsterer Nacht.

Now she must lie down, now again she must rise, now she is driven back, now forward;--the ship is a plaything of the waves that swallow her up and spit her out again.

The ocean roars, the billows rise, and lash, and thunder in awful terror, the murderous storm wants to destroy everything,--the abyss opens up its closed jaws.

There are heard sighs and prayers. Great is the danger and dreadful the calamity,--and everybody prays to his God that He may save and liberate the people from sure death.

Children weep, women wail; the people cry and confess their sins; souls flutter, bodies tremble in terror of the angry, destructive wind.

But below, in the steerage, two men sit quietly; no pain assails them; they seek no salvation, they make no plans, just as if all were safe and calm about them.

The water roars, the billows foam; the wind whines and howls insanely; the boiler gasps, the chimney buzzes,--but the men below, behold, they are silent now!

They look coolly into the eyes of Death; the dangerous might of the storm touches them not; it seems as though Death had reared the two in terror and dark night.

"Wer seid ihr, Unglückliche,--lässt es doch hören,-- Wās können varschweigen die gwaldigste Nōt, Wās hāben kēin Süfzen, un' hāben kēin Trähren, Afile bei'm schrecklichen Thōer vun Tōdt?

"Sāgt, hāben euch take nor Kworim geboren? Ihr lāsst gār kēin Elteren, Weib oder Kind, Zu wēinen auf euch, wenn ihr werd't dā varloren In tiefen, in schrecklichen Ābgrund azünd?

"Wie? Lāsst ihr nit Kēinem, wās ihm soll vardriessen, Wās er soll wenn baenken, zu lāsen a Trähr, Wenn euch wet der nasser Bessōlem vargiessen, Wenn ihr wet dā kēin Māl zurückkehren mehr?

"Wie? Hā't ihr kēin Vāterland gār, kēin Medine, Kēin Hēim, wu zu kummen, kēin freundliche Stub', Wās ihr hā't behalten in sich asa Ssine Zum Leben un' wart't auf der finsterer Grub'?

"Ihr hā't gār nit Kēinem in Himmel dort ōben, Zu wemen zu schreien, wenn ihr seid in Zar? Ihr hā't gār kēin Volk nit, ihr hā't gār kēin Gläuben? Varlorene, wās is' mit euch far a Gsar?"

Es gänezt der Ābgrund, es brausen die Inden, Es krachen die Leiters vun Schiff, un' es trāgt, Es hulet der Sturem, es pfeifen die Winden, Un' Ēiner hāt endlich mit Trähren gesāgt:

"Der schwarzer Bessōlem is' nit unser Mutter, Nit is' unser Wiegel der Keewer gewe'n;-- Es hāt uns geboren a Malach a guter, A teuere Mutter, mit Liebe varsehn.

"Who are you, wretched ones, tell me, that you can suppress the most terrible sufferings, that you have no sighs and no tears even at the awful gates of Death?

"Say, have, indeed, graves brought you forth? Do you leave behind you no parents, no wife, no child who will lament you when you are lost here in the deep and dreadful abyss?

"How? Have you no one to be sorry for you, to long for you, or shed a tear, when the wet cemetery will cover you, when you will no more return to this earth?

"How? Have you no fatherland, no country, no home where to go to, no friendly house, that you bear such a contempt for life, and are waiting for the dark grave?

"Have you no one in heaven above to whom to cry when you are in trouble? Have you no nation, have you no faith? Miserable ones, what is your fate?"

The abyss yawns, the waves bellow, the shipladders crack, the storm rages madly, the winds whistle,--and finally one says in tears:

"The black cemetery is not our mother, the grave has not been our cradle; a good angel has borne us, a dear mother, endowed with love.

"Es hāt uns gepjestet a Mame, erzōgen A zärtliche, wareme, freundliche Brust; Gekichelt un' ständig gekuckt in die Äugen Hāt uns äuch a Vāter, un' lieblich gekusst.

"Mir hāben a Haus, nor män hāt sie zubrochen, Un' unsere hēiligste Sachen varbrennt, Die Liebste un' Beste varwandelt in Knochen, Die Letzte varjāgt mit gebundene Händ'.

"Män kenn' unser Land, o, sie lāsst sich derkennen: Durch Jāgen, durch Schlāgen nit werendig müd', Durch wilde Pogromen, durch Brechen, durch Brennen, Durch Suchen dem Tōdt far dem elenden Jüd.

"Un' mir seinen Jüden, varwogelte Jüden, Ohn' Freund un' ohn' Frēuden, ohn' Hoffnung auf Glück.-- Nit frägt mehr, o, frägt nit, o, seht, lāsst zufrieden! Amerika treibt uns nāch Russland zurück,

"Nāch Russland, vun wannen mir seinen antloffen, Nāch Russland derfar, wās mir hāben kēin Geld; Auf wās bleibt uns itzter zu warten, zu hoffen? Wās täug' uns dās Leben, die finstere Welt?

"Ihr hā't wās zu wēinen, ihr hā't wās zu brummen, Ihr hā't wās zu schrecken sich itzt far dem Tōdt, Ihr hā't gewiss Alle a Hēim, wu zu kummen, Un' fāhrt vun Amerika äuch nit aus Nōt.

"Doch mir seinen Elende, gleich zu die Stēiner: Die Erd' is' zu schlecht, uns zu schenken an Ort-- Mir fāhren, doch leider, es wart't auf uns Kēiner, Erklärt mir, ich bet' euch, wu reisen mir fort!

"A mother has fondled us, a tender, warm, friendly breast has nurtured us; a father, too, has stroked us and looked into our eyes, and kissed us tenderly.

"We have a house, but it has been destroyed, and our holy things have been burned; our dearest and best have been turned into bones, and those who survive have been driven away with fettered hands.

"You know our country; it is easily recognized by its unceasing baiting and beating, by its cruel riots, its ruthless destruction, and dealing death to the wretched Jew.

"Yes, we are Jews, miserable Jews, without friends or joys, without hopes or happiness. Oh, ask us no more, ask no more, oh, leave us in peace! America drives us back to Russia,

"To Russia, whence we have run away, to Russia, because we have no money. What is there left for us to expect, to hope for? Of what good is life, and the gloomy world to us?

"You have something to weep for; you have reason to murmur and to be afraid of Death! You have, no doubt, a home where to go to, and you have left America not from necessity.

"But we are forlorn and alone like a rock. Earth is too mean to give us a resting-place; we are voyaging, but, unfortunately, no one waits for us. Explain to me, pray, whither we are bound!

"Soll sturmen der Wind, soll er brummen mit Zoren, Soll sieden, soll kochen, soll rauschen der Grund! Denn 's sei wie 's sei seinen mir Jüden varloren, Der Jam nor varlöscht unser brennende Wund'...." M. ROSENFELD.

XVIII. BONZJE SCHWEIG'

(_Literatur un' Leben_, pp. 11-22)

Dā, auf der Welt, hāt Bonzje Schweig's Tōdt gār kēin Rōschem nischt gemacht! Frägt Emizen becheerem, wer Bonzje is' gewesen, wie asō er hāt gelebt, auf wās er is' gestorben! Zu hāt in ihm dās Harz geplatzt, zu die Kōches senen ihm ausgegangen, oder der Marchbēin hāt sich übergebrochen unter a schwerer Last ... wer wēisst? Efscher is' er gār var Hunger gestorben!

A Ferd in Tramwaj soll fallen, wollt' män sich mehr interessirt, es wollten Zeitungen geschrieben, hunderter Menschen wollten vun alle Gassen geloffen un' die Neweele bekuckt, betracht't afile dem Ort, wu die Mapole is' gewe'n....

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Nor dās Ferd in Tramwaj wollt' äuch die S-chie nischt geha't, es soll sein tausend Milljon Ferd' wie Menschen!

Bonzje hāt still gelebt un' is' still gestorben; wie a Schatten is' er durch durch unser Welt.

Auf Bonzje's Bris hāt man kēin Wein nischt getrunken, es hāben kēin Kōsses geklungen. Zu Barmizwe hāt er kēin klingendige Drosche nischt gesāgt ... gelebt hāt er wie a gro, klēin Kerndel Samd beim Breg vun'm Jam, zwischen Milljonen seins Gleichen; un' as der Wind hāt ihm aufgehōben un' auf der anderer Seit Jam arüber gejāgt, hāt es Kēiner nischt bemerkt.

Beim Leben hāt die nasse Blote kēin Schlad vun sein

"Let storm the wind, let it howl in anger: let the deep seethe, and boil, and roar! However it be, we Jews are lost, the ocean alone can allay our burning wound...."

XVIII. BONTSIE SILENT

Here, in this world, the death of Bontsie Silent produced no impression. You will ask in vain who Bontsie was, how he lived, and what caused his death. Did his heart burst, did his strength give out, or were his bones crushed under a heavy load ... who knows? Maybe, after all, he died of starvation!

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There would have been displayed more interest if it had been a street-car horse that had fallen dead. Newspapers would have reported about it, hundreds of people would have congregated from all the streets to look at the carcass and even to survey the spot where the accident had occurred!

But even the street-car horse would not be honored in such a distinguished way if there were as many millions of them in existence as there are men.

Bontsie had lived quietly, and he died quietly. He passed through the world like a shadow.

No wine was drunk on the day of Bontsie's circumcision; no cups were clinked. At his confirmation he made no flowery speech ... he lived like a small, yellow grain of sand on the seashore, among millions of its kind, and no one noticed how the wind lifted it up and carried it on the other side of the Ocean.

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In his lifetime the wet mud kept no impression of his

Fuss nischt behalten; nāch'n Tōdt hāt der Wind dās klēine Brettel vun sein Keewer umgeworfen, un' dem Kabren's Weib hāt es gefun'en weit vun Keewer un' derbei a Töppel Kartoffles ābgekocht.... Es is' drei Täg' nāch Bonzje's Tōdt, frägt dem Kabren becheerem, wu er hāt ihm gelēgt!

Wollt' Bonzje chotsch a Mazeewe geha't, wollt' efscher über hundert Jāhr sie an Alterthumsforscher gefun'en un' Bonzje Schweig wollt' noch a Māl übergeklungen in unser Luft.

A Schātten, sein Photographje is' nischt geblieben bei Kēinem in Harz; es is' vun ihm kēin Seecher in Kēinem's Mōach nischt geblieben!

"Kēin Kind, kēin Rind,"--elend gelebt, elend gestorben!

Wenn nischt dās menschliche Geruder, wollt' efscher Emizer a Māl gehört, wie Bonzje's Marchbein hāt unter der Masse geknackt: wollt' die Welt mehr Zeit geha't, wollt' Emizer efscher a Māl bemerkt, as Bonzje (äuch a Mensch) hāt lebedigerhēit zwēi ausgeloschene Äugen un' schrecklich eingefallene Backen; as afile wenn er hāt gār schōn kēin Masse nit auf die Pleezes, is' ihm äuch der Kopp zu der Erd' gebōgen, gleich er wollt' lebedigerhēit sein Keewer gesucht! Wollten asō wēnig Menschen wie Ferd in Tramwaj gewesen, wollt' efscher a Māl Emizer gefrägt: Wu is' Bonzje ahin gekummen?

Wenn män hāt Bonzjen in Spital areingeführt, is' sein Winkel in Suterine nischt lēdig geblieben,--es hāben derauf zehn Seins-gleichen gewart't, un' zwischen sich dem Winkel "In-pljum" lizitirt; wenn män hāt'n vun Spitalbett in Tōtenstübel arein getrāgen, hāben auf'n Bett zwanzig āreme Chaluim gewart't.... Wenn er is' araus vun Tōtenstübel, hāt män zwanzig Harugim vun unter ēin eingefallen Haus gebrengt,--wer

footsteps; after his death the wind threw down the small board over his grave, and the grave-digger's wife found it far away from the mound and made a fire with it over which she boiled a pot of potatoes.... It is but three days since Bontsie's death, but you will ask in vain of the grave-digger where he has laid him at rest!

If Bontsie had had a tombstone, an archæologist might have found it a hundred years later, and Bontsie's name would have resounded again in our atmosphere.

He was but a shadow: his picture does not live in anybody's heart; his memory does not exist in anybody's mind!

He left no child, no possessions! He had lived in misery, and he died in misery.

Had it not been for the noise of the crowd, some one might have heard the snapping of Bontsie's bones under a heavy burden; if the world had had more time, some one might have noticed that Bontsie's eyes were dim and his eyes frightfully sunken for one alive; that even when he carried no load on his shoulders, his head was bent to the ground as if he were looking for the grave! If there were as few people as there are horses in the street cars, some one might, perhaps, have asked: What has become of Bontsie?

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