Read The End of Days Online

Authors: Helen Sendyk

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Historical, #History, #Holocaust, #test

The End of Days (4 page)

 
Page 13
mates in Bielsko, a large industrial city several hours away from home.
Mama felt neglected and lonely having them so far from home. She'd be ecstatic when they came home for holidays and occasionally for Sabbath. She would cook them their favorite dishes, preparing extra for them to take back home with them, and spending hours just looking at her grown-up sons with tearful admiration.
Our weekday routine of work, school, and chores was broken on Friday. From early morning on, this day was the busy herald of the Sabbath Queen. Everybody rose earlier on Friday. Mama and Papa would splash water over their fingers with a cup and basin, and we'd all follow suit with the morning ritual that preceded our prayer, thanking the Lord for letting us wake up this day. Papa was in shul early, never failing to give the Creator his due in prayer and service. Mama would attend to Goldzia's needs, while Sholek eagerly watched his brothers put on their
tefillin
, their phylacteries, anxious to have a pair of his own.
Nachcia would wake me and help me get ready for school. She was plain-looking but she wore her dark brown hair pinned to her head like a crown, and she had lovely soft gray-blue eyes. Modestly dressed for her own kitchen work, Nachcia would dress me and say the morning prayers with me. I was Nachcia's personal possession, responding with affection to her love and care. I would hang on to her neck, and she would carry me in a mutual embrace into the kitchen. I was very aware of Mama's constant caring for Goldzia but was more than satisfied with the lavish attention I was getting from Nachcia. I didn't hesitate to turn to her for all my needs.
Nachcia would look over my homework and go to openschool night to see my teachers. With great pleasure she would report to Mama the progress I was making in school.
"The teacher says," Nachcia recounted, "that Helcia raises her hand too often and even answers without permission, not allowing anyone else in school to excel."
Nachcia was talented in many areas. She not only mended the family clothes but embroidered tablecloths, knitted woolen
 
Page 14
hats and gloves, and crocheted fashionable clothes for me. With all her energy and skills, Nachcia did not think well of herself. Nearsightedness compounded her inferiority complex. She wore thick glasses, and she wasn't very shapely; she thought of herself as fat and always wore dark, simple clothes. While she lacked self-confidence and pride in her accomplishments, Papa loved her for her religious devotion and her dedication to the family.
''She will make some young man a fine wife one day," Papa would say with pride in his voice.
On Fridays there was no afternoon Hebrew school for the girls or
cheder
for the boys, so when we came home from morning public school we would run errands. Sholek would impatiently wait for me at lunch while I dallied over my plate. Meanwhile, he would settle the pots that Mama handed him into a big basket. There was one big pot of
cholent
, the special Sabbath dish, to be brought to the bakery, and there were several small pots with meals that Mama prepared for the needy. One went to Miriam, a woman bedridden with arthritis who had two young children; how she coped all week long I do not know, but for the Sabbath she was included on Mama's cooking list. Every Friday for years Heshek, Vrumek, and then Sholek brought pots of hot soup, kugel, and
tsimmes
, a carrot stew, to Miriam's house. As Sholek was soon to graduate to other chores, he was grooming me for this task. There was also dinner to be brought to Grandma Chaya whenever she wasn't coming to our house, and to assorted widowers or ailing people who couldn't cook for themselves. Mama always had enough for everybody.
Blimcia was the last to rise on Friday. Papa did not travel on Friday, so he would open the store and let Blimcia arrive late.
"How long are you going to let her sleep?" the boys would ask Mama. "You would not let any of us sleep late on Friday," they would complain to no avail.
"Blimcia works hard," Mama would answer apologetically. "And besides, she came home quite late last night. She is so active in her organization, God bless her, and is such a smart and intelligent girl."
 
Page 15
Indeed, Blimcia was a highly regarded, popular girl. She had plenty of girlfriends and a coterie of boys who gravitated to her. There was a fellow named Shmuel who was always around her; he lent her a record player so she could listen to records. Shmuel had a radio repair shop, and one day he brought a radio to Blimcia as a gift. Blimcia loved music and played the mandolin, but she could not accept something so extravagant. He tried convincing her how nice it would be for me, her little sister, for he marveled at the joy with which I would jump onto his lap and sing all the songs I heard on Blimcia's records. But Shmuel seemed to be only a friend, a good fellow and a fine neighbor. The fellows Papa had in mind for Blimcia had to be sharp in Torah learning. They had to be what Papa called
zu got und zu leit
, to God and man. Blimcia was already twenty-five years old, and Papa and Mama wanted to see some
naches
(pride and fulfillment in a family tradition, especially in the accomplishments of children).
An hour before sundown on Friday all activity in the store would cease. Shlamek would pull the iron gate down over the front of the store. It was time to get ready for the Sabbath, which would serenely reign over the workweek until the appearance of three stars in the sky on Saturday night. Papa gathered his sons and marched with them to the
mikvah
, the ritual bath, each one carrying his towel, soap, and fresh change of underwear. They entered the steaming bathhouse, where they greeted friends and neighbors. Sholek would bring home entertaining tidbits, especially regarding Papa's own tales and jokes, which usually made a big splash.
All cleansed, dried, and relaxed, they returned home and changed into their Sabbath garb to go to shul. Papa looked like a nobleman in his shining long silk
kapota
, (caftan) a
gartel
(belt) wound around his waist, and his seven-tailed fur
streimel
sitting proudly on his head. His face shone with pleasure at the sight of his entourage of sons, all in their long black coats and the small, round black caps of unmarried men. After services they would always come home with a stranger for the Sabbath table.
Back home in the brightly lit house, Mama was ready with
 
Page 16
the festive meal. The girls were in their Sabbath dresses, their hair neatly combed, and their cheeks rosy with anticipation. After Papa sang his
shalom aleichem
(peace unto you) and chanted
Kiddush
, the benediction said over the wine, the atmosphere would shift from solemnity to gaiety. While Mama served the meal, Papa would engage the guest in conversation, eager to listen to new
zmiros
(Sabbath songs). Papa would often give Shlamek a nudge as a reminder to sing along rather than dream.
After a round of song, Papa would tell some funny stories for the benefit of the guest. One began with him humming, "
Ya, ba, ba, ba, ya
...
"I sit me in the train on the way home from Katowice," he would go on, "and since it happened that I got no time to
daven minchah
[recite the afternoon service] before boarding, I turned to the east in front of the window and prayed, disguising my prayer with the little
nigun
[tune] '
Ya, ba, ba, ba, ya
...' Just when I'm in the middle of
shemona esray
, the silent prayer which can't be disturbed or disrupted, in walks a goy. He turns to me immediately and says, '
Zydku
, Jew, move your suitcase!'
"When he gets no reaction from me, a strange, humming Jew, he becomes furious. 'Take your suitcase away!' he screamed.
"My situation was impossible. So what could I do? I kept humming, '
Ya, ba, ba, bai
.'
" 'You stinking Jew!' I heard him screech. 'I will throw your suitcase out of the window.'
"When even this threat goes for nothing, the angry goy opens the window and he flings the suitcase out. Then he slams the window shut and sits down on the seat like a king from the cossacks, spreading his legs wide and swearing through his clenched teeth, 'You stubborn idiot. You don't talk; now you don't have your suitcase.'
"I had just finished
shemona esray
, and with the
nigun
still on my lips, I tried to explain: '
Ya, ba, ba, ba
, the suitcase was not mine at all.
Ya, ba, ba, bai
, it belongs to
him
,' I say, pointing
 
Page 17
to a great big fellow standing at the entrance to our car hands on his hips and a face beet red from anger.
"You see, it just so happened that the owner of the suitcase, a giant of a man, was returning from the toiletjust in time to see his possessions being thrown out the window.
"The big one grabs the ill-tempered goy by the shoulders, picks him up out of his seat like he was a sack of potatoes, and smashes him against the door. He puts his face an inch from the fellow's. 'You bastard!' he growls. 'You son of a bitch! You go and get my suitcase back or I'll throw
you
out the window.' "
Some other Sabbath table tales of Papa's were about previous guests: "We once had a guest from the town of Tarnow, and I happen to know some people in Tarnow. So while the fish was being served I asked him, 'Tell me, how is my old friend Berish?'
" 'Dead,' was the simple reply.
"I was very upset and did not talk until the soup was served. Somewhat recovered from my sorrow, I asked, 'And how is Shulim the egg man?'
" 'Dead,' came the answer from the guest.
"My heart was sinking from grief; I couldn't eat anymore. At least our guest was able to enjoy his portion of chicken. I finally gathered enough courage to ask one more question. 'How is Moishe the shoemaker?'
"This was getting bizzare, but from his lips came the same answer: 'Dead.'
"I was devastated. I became gloomy; my Sabbath evening was ruined. I couldn't, I was afraid to say another word.
"When the guest finished eating he suddenly got talkative and began to urge me, '
Nu
, Reb Symche, let's hear a nice
nigun
.'
" 'I cannot,' I complained. 'I know it's Shabbes, but I can't stop thinking about all those Tarnower that I knew such a short while ago. To think that they are all no longer with us.
" 'Oh, that,' the guest said with a wave of the hand. 'Don't give it a moment's concern. None of them is really dead. In the middle of such a delicious meal I can't have anything or any-
 
Page 18
body on my mind. When I eat, everything and everybody is dead.' "
And so Friday evenings would melt away, with my older brothers and sisters disappearing to join friends in their respective organizations. Only Sholek and I were left to stay with Mama and Papa.
On short winter days, when the Friday night meal would be finished early, Mama would bundle up the children and sent them along with Papa to her sister, Esther. We would tramp through the crisp snow, its whiteness glowing in the moonlight. We arrived at Aunt Esther's with noses nipped red by the biting frost. In the brightly lit kitchen, Aunt Esther would unwrap our outer clothes so we could quickly join our cousins in play. Papa would settle down near the hot potbellied stove and warm his hands on a glass of steaming tea.
Uncle Pinchas Bromberger, Aunt Esther's husband, was in the middle of narrating his narrow escape from army service. Papa soon launched into a war story of his own, and the cousins would interrupt hide-and-seek to gather round and hear.
"It was in 1914 when I served in the kaiser's army against the Russian barbarians. We had no stake in the Austrian Empire, but we fought to keep from falling prisoner to the Russians, God forbid. We fought like lions, as if it were our own land we were defending."
As usual, Papa's story soon turned into a joke, a funny anecdote that captivated everyone.
"This Austrian soldier stands guard on a dark, treacherous night, watching over a field of cannons. He keeps imagining that things are moving around in the darkness. Suddenly, he hears a strange noise. It doesn't sound like the howling of the wind or the crackling of branches. No, it sounds like dry leaves being crushed under heavy boots. It sounds like footsteps."
The children on the floor hugged each other, sitting close to Papa, their mouths open with suspense.
"Suddenly, the Austrian soldier makes out a form approaching in the darkness. 'Stop or I'll shoot!' the soldier calls out. Putting his finger to the trigger, he thinks he hears a

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