Saturday, November 10, 2012

Who am I?

B"H


O R 
My Summer Vacation

It is an old story, I suppose.  An old rabbi is sitting in his study in the middle of the night learning with Eliyahu HaNavi.  What an amazing study partner!  Or perhaps it is the peach brandy.  They read, they argue, they question, they challenge.  They finally come to the point.  ...  Who is the greatest general of all the generations of their people?  Eliyahu knows.  And he will show the old rabbi this amazing soul just after morning prayers when the market place comes to life.   The old rabbi is overcome with honor that the greatest general ever lives in their midst.  


After the schnapps and kichel that followed morning prayers the study partners head out to the market.  No one else can see Eliyahu, he is there nonetheless.  All they see is their old rabbi tottering along the road.  The sellers and buyers are getting ready for the new day.  Eliyahu says to the old rabbi, "look over there, straight ahead, there he is."  The old rabbi squints his old bloodshot eyes and replies, "I see no general... only Dovid the shoemaker."  Eliyahu laughs gently, "yes, yes, it is Dovid.  You see only a shoemaker.  But in another place, with other circumstances --heaven forbid the difficult times-- only he possesses the skills of the greatest general of all."

Every June we celebrated the end of the school year and the beginning of summer.  We ran home, took off our shoes, changed clothes, ate a snack, and began the season of being outdoors.  But three months pass quickly.  Soon we found ourselves together again, now in the classroom.  Our first writing assignment of the school year was always titled "My Summer Vacation".  We were filed alphabetically by our teacher so that meant someone with a last name beginning with "A" would be the first to read his or her essay.  There was only one "A" in our class so Miriam Arnowcki would read first.  We fidgeted in our seats.  This opening ritual was tedious.  After a summer of running around with no bells to tell us the time of day, sitting quietly and respectfully was a true challenge.

Miriam stood up and walked to the front of the classroom.  It was going to be a long morning.  I can still remember her sweet and delicate voice.  It was almost fragile.  She looked at all of us and began to read...

"My summer vacation, by Miriam Arnowcki.  Summer time began as it always did.  I came home and took off my shoes.    Mama was glad that I did not need my shoes except for shabbos.  They would last longer.  We waited for my sister.  Then the three of us sat down to a snack of fougasse, hard cooked eggs, and pickled turnips.  This was our favorite.  For a few minutes we taught Mama a new word in English, "delight".  We were all delighted to begin the summer.  

After a little rest we joined Mama to walk down the block to see Tante Minna.  We would be travelling to South Haven, Michigan with them.
It was a lovely place on the other side of Lake Michigan.  A refreshing breeze cleansed the dust of indoors and gave our summer the best start.  

Mama would let us play after we finished chores.  You know, the regular daily chores, straighten up the beds, dust the apartment, prepare the food for the day, or most exciting of all, go shopping at the grocery store.

The July 4th holiday was a holy day for us and our Landsleute, the people from my parents' town in Eastern Europe.  Everyone was an Aunt or Uncle.  The older folks were the Bubbes and the Zaydes.  We made a big barbecue of lamb and potatoes and beets.  We always celebrated at lunch time.  That way we were safe in our homes when the bombs, the fireworks, began to explode.  

August arrived quietly.  Our Landsleute made a big clothing exchange for the kids to be ready for school.  The grownups were begging forgiveness of each other for any transgressions during the year.  The older kids were being taught to do this too.  The last week in August my sister and I went to bed earlier to get ready for our new schedule.  We live in a one bedroom apartment and my sister and I share the bedroom.  My parents sleep in a bed that comes out of the living room wall... imagine that.  We slept peacefully until an awful racket woke us.  My father spoke firmly to my mom to go to us and lock the door.  The noise got worse.  Glass was breaking.  Wood was cracking.  Furniture must have been flying.  Suddenly three bullet shots rang out loud.  We saw blood flowing on the floor into our bedroom.  It was so quiet but I did not cry.  What would happen next?  We had to be ready.  Tears do not make you ready.  Silence... and more silence.  

Finally my father's voice calling to mama to open the door.  Oy.  He walked into the room looking a little taller and a little younger.  "Well, that schlemiel will not be bothering us any more," he said.  "Marta, call the doctor.  He will know what to do."

And that is how my summer vacation ended."

The classroom was silent.  No one could speak.  Who was this man who protected and saved his family?  Most of us knew him as just a janitor.  He never learned to speak English.  At the time we did not know that he spoke eight languages.  English was perhaps one too many for him.  

What does it mean to be just a janitor?  This middle aged man and his wife wore their perfect plumpness with the blessing and grace that only one who knew starvation could understand.  Miriam's parents were cousins.  They were survivors of concentration camps.  Her father escaped the camps to join the partisans.  This life of a janitor was an honor and privilege in his mind.

No one is just anything.  There is so much more.


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