See Under, page 46
CHEMLA
MERCY
See under: COMPASSION
CHASHAD
SUSPICION
An instance of mistrusting something. The supposition of negative phenomena.
While Neigel was away on LEAVE [q.v.] in Munich, his adjutant, Sturmbannführer STAUKEH [q.v.] beset Wasserman in the garden. Slyly he interrogated him, “Is it true what they say about you, that you can’t die?” (Wasserman denied it), and then asked about the Jew’s relationship to Neigel. Wasserman: “This Staukeh, may he live a long life far away from me, amen, has a look about him, merciful heavens, as if his eyelashes have been plucked out one at a time! It seems he wanted to make use of me to test the atmosphere and find out whether Neigel and I have become bosom friends, like David and Jonathan in love and affection! Nu, well, even I was not hatched in Chelm, and I pretended to be a perfect simpleton, and told him humbly with lowered gaze that it is not seemly for a dreck Jude like me to gossip with an honorable German Offizier! He glowered at me then like a scorched pot and walked away. Toward evening he returned, stepping ganderlike this way and that, and again began to question me about things between me and Neigel. (That is, they had begun to suspect something about my officer!) He even removed his black cap and blinded me with his Sahara of a shaven skull shining in the light. No doubt he thought he would put a little fear into me. Only I remained loyal to Neigel. At length he smiled a smile that made me sweat between my teeth, and went his way. He was suspicious of me, which is not important, but it was plain as the midday sun that Herr Neigel was not clear of this Staukeh’s suspicions either!”
CHATUNA
WEDDING
The celebration of marriage. Nuptials.
When I married Ruthy, Aunt Idka showed up at our wedding with a Band-Aid on her arm. She had covered her number with a Band-Aid because she didn’t want to cast a pall on the happy occasion. I felt crushed with grief and compassion for her, for what she must have endured to do a thing like that. All evening I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her arm. I felt as if under that clean little Band-Aid lay a deep abyss that was sucking us all in: the hall, the guests, the happy occasion, me. I had to put that in here. Sorry.
TEVACH, KETZON LE
SLAUGHTER, LIKE SHEEP TO THE
Only once did Wasserman wonder why the camp prisoners were so passively resigned to suffering at the hands of their tormentors. Neigel had gone out to choose new workers from the latest transport, and again Wasserman observed the “blues,” the Jewish prisoners in charge of meeting the transports on the platform. They saw Neigel approach and knew what this meant for them. All the same, they continued to do what they were doing, just as their predecessors had when Neigel came to choose a new shift of workers two weeks before. Wasserman: “Dear Lord, even when we were being led ‘there,’ to the gas, that is, with a sole Ukrainian in the lead, we never thought to rise up against him! A decree from heaven! We knew what was in store, for we had lived in the camp these three months and our eyes were not dimmed nor our noses blunted by the smell of smoke, so why, pray, if not a real rebellion, then at least a slap on the Ukrainian’s face, may grass grow out of his cheeks, or at least one small stream of spit, a bubble of spit in all of Sodom? No? Ai, shame, I believe, flowed in our veins like a sleeping potion. And when shame is visited upon man, who was created in God’s image, it leaves nothing in the world worth rebelling for. Is this an answer, dear Lord? Have your beings betrayed themselves to such an extent that the one punishment they deserve by my own pitiable hand is that I should never again raise a finger to earn the doubtful privilege of being called a ‘human being’? Et, fine thoughts, as I delved and hoed in my garden. Only, I had no such thoughts when we were herded into the gas chamber. The same song, I believe, played inside us all, a lullaby tamed with anguish, to the dry, old tempo measured by the great metronome of Grandfather Death, the great jaws clicking in our honor, sucking us up and grinding us, tick tock, tick tock, as we all became part of this death machine, ai, we are not human beings going to our death here, no, but only what remains of them after being so shamed and depleted: the metal skeleton of human character, soulless mechanisms … Only these could we offer as a kind of poor, ironic challenge to our killers; indeed yes, we were their reflection, their own cruel likeness, for we were not dying here as Jews but as living mirrors reflecting an image of the world in our endless procession, and we decreed the fate of the world … ai, our mass death, our meaningless death, will be reflected forevermore in the arid wilderness of your lives …”
Wasserman’s words are recorded here in full. And yet, for the sake of balance, I have to ask: Not even a curse? Not even a slap on the face? Really? Like that? Like sheep to the slaughter?
YOMAN
DIARY
A record of events, activities, thoughts, observations, etc., kept daily or at frequent intervals.
Dr. Fried’s diary of the Warsaw zoo is our only available record of the vast changes that took place in the running of the zoo during the early thirties. At first Fried noted only purely professional facts pertaining to the condition and purchase of animals (here, for example, is an excerpt from his diary for 8/3/37: “1. X-ray of the leopard cub, Max—pelvic region and hindquarters. No indication of spinal injury. 2. Pelvic bones intact. Lines of epiphysis indicating deficient calcification in the epiphyseal line of the femur and tibia. Amadea the baboon is urinating blood. That is, estrus has begun … Requests for two pairs of Nando-conor birds brought offers from Rabbitsden Garden, England; Boros, Sweden; the de Branfère Zoological Gardens, France; and the Wildlife Company, Redding Center, Hampstead, England”). But when the zoo had been coerced into joining Otto’s war and changing its “interests,” reports and information about the newly arrived ARTISTS [q.v.] filled the diary instead. So, for instance: “11/2/42: ILYA GINZBURG [q.v.] arrived at the zoo. Physical state: Severely deteriorated. Mortal danger. Physical and emotional trauma resulting from electric shock. All ten fingernails removed … sixteen teeth extracted … burns around genital area and nipples … 2/5/43: MALKIEL ZEIDMAN [q.v.]: Abscesses under the arms like two open wounds that do not respond to treatment. Recommendation: Reassign him immediately, far from the young flamingos, who are just beginning to fledge … 9/6/43: RICHTER [q.v.]: His blindness is total now. Both cataracts covered with a white, phosphorescent dust—source unknown. When wiped away, it reappears …” etc., etc.
YALDUT
CHILDHOOD
The period from infancy to the end of adolescence.
Kazik’s childhood lasted six hours, from 2100 hours, when the white butterfly hovered over his face, till approximately 0300, when he woke from ADOLESCENT DORMANCY [q.v.]. He was a lively, wild, and curious child. He climbed up on the chairs and tables, and jumped fearlessly down. Every so often the doctor would ask him nicely to stop, but—Fried: “I could sense it was wrong of me to restrict this child who had so little TIME [q.v.], and, in fact, his stubbornness even gave me pleasure—I liked the way he picked himself up each time he fell and threw himself back with all his might, with so much courage, so unswervingly, and, if I may boast a little, this courage and confidence was, I believe, the product of the EDUCATION [q.v.] I gave him. Yes.” Fried also noticed that Kazik used to blink every few moments, as though he were being whisked away somewhere. He hoped this was not a quirk of the disease, and later realized that it was merely Kazik’s way of snatching sleep, because one second of Kazik’s life corresponded to eight hours in the life of a normal person, and these intervals were the boy’s nights, which left him strong and vigorous again, to push chairs all over the room, throw thick books up in the air and tear out their dusty pages, rummage shamelessly through the drawers (Fried: “Touching my most personal things! Where did I get such a child?!”), and to scream with all his might just for the pleasure of screaming and delight in the sound of his own voice. Fried: “And asking questions all the time, why this, and why that, and what and how, little questions and big questions, never waiting for the answer!” Indeed, sounding out the words with their special interrogative inflection is what seemed to stimulate the child most, like a painful spring coiled up inside him in the shape of a question mark that popped out every moment and gave him temporary relief. With the same graphic movements—if one may say so—salmon leap the falls. Otto: “Poor Fried! At first he tried earnestly to answer all Kazik’s questions, and sometimes he would run to his books to make sure he had not misled the child.” Paula: “This was exactly the kind of thing that made me afraid to ask Fried questions, even the simplest ones, because right away he would start lecturing …” At first the doctor was infuriated by the child’s superficiality, but he controlled himself and began to wonder about Kazik’s compulsive, wormlike way of thinking, because the questions reminded him of the contractions of a certain organism he had seen under the microscope in his student days, the type that completes a single life throb with every contraction and leaps on to the next. Marcus: “And you must admit, dear Fried, that his questions were always interesting and imaginative and full of hope, and far richer than the answers you were able to offer him …” Soon after, the old doctor sank into a depression, because the child was so strange to him [see under: STRANGENESS]. Fried: “It lasted only a short while. Really. I managed to get over it right away, and stopped thinking about myself. I thought only of how to make him happy, as every normal child deserves to be.”
Also see under: CHILDHOOD DELIGHTS
YALDUT, MACHALOT
CHILDHOOD DISEASES
Besides his other complaints, Kazik suffered chills and fevers all through the night. He whimpered like a puppy and the doctor’s heart melted. Fried surmised that the child was passing through a series of childhood diseases in rapid succession, the inception of the double file of cudgelers [see under: BIOGRAPHY]. Fried could see the arabesques of chicken pox, the strawberry fields of measles, and the scarred moon face of mumps, and so on and so forth, and he kissed the moist little brow and let Kazik drink from a tablespoon, and spent long nights at his bedside—nights which lasted however no more than the twinkling of an eye, though anxiety knows a time of its own, and it was through the sufferings of the child—more than through his joys and smiles—that Fried could feel his strong attachment to Kazik and how much he loved him.
YALDUT, MENAAMEI HA
CHILDHOOD DELIGHTS
Even when Kazik was being impossible [see under: CHILDHOOD], the old doctor tried his best to make his life more pleasant. He racked his brains to remember what he had enjoyed as a child, especially the things connected with his father, who was less harsh during Fried’s early years, and did more than merely try to prepare him for life. And so, at 2101, when Kazik was about three years and three months old, Fried put on a little shaving lotion and quickly shaved his face, just so Kazik could smell his smoothly pleasant and frightening cheeks; but the doctor was not content with this: he turned the lights out and threw a few silver coins on the floor. Fried: “That really was a little foolish, and I’m ashamed to admit it, but I had reason for doing this. You see, when my father came home from work at night and took off his trousers, the coins would spill out of his pockets and roll on the floor, and I would wait for the jingling sound every night.” Marcus: “And our much admired Fried put up a tender and affectionate struggle against his ferocious little cub on the carpet, and very gently pinned his arm behind his back and forced him to surrender according to the family formula.” Fried: “I declare my total and unconditional surrender to my father, sir, family physician to the archduke …” and then finally he marched the boy on his enormous feet up and down the room singing—Fried: “Shefi malenki/Zamakni ocheh tiuva … Sleep my child/Close your sweet eyes …” and when Kazik gave a throaty giggle of delight in response, Fried felt he was a real doctor for the first time in his life.
YETZIRA
CREATION
The act of creating the world. The formation of something new. The work of the artist.
During the big argument between Wasserman and Neigel [see under: TRAP], when the German asked Wasserman to change the story and get rid of those “anti-German parts,” Wasserman admitted to the editorial staff that he does not fully understand most of the clues he scatters for himself through various stages of his writing. He swore, in fact, that for a long time he had no idea why the Children of the Heart had banded together again and whom they were going to fight. He only knew, he says, that he had to “risk his life” (he’s so melodramatic!) in order to “remember the story from its beginning, a story forever slipping away from memory.” Wasserman: “Ai, I do not yet know the story’s ending, but now there is a spark in me, a kind of passion that knows before I do … a spark that flies from letter to letter and word to word inside me, and lights up the story like a Hanukkah menorah … and at first I knew not the real art of writing; indeed, the spark did not exist in me … the passion was hidden … and now—see! A precious light! Now I know that even a shlimazel such as I, who performed no daring deeds nor ever set the world afire, who was not a duke or minister or intriguer, and never lusted after houris or explored the world; in short, even a simple Jew like me has the dough to bake a bagel for Neigel to choke on, heaven forbid. Beware, Neigel, beware! I said to him in my heart. Beware, for I am a writer!”
And shortly thereafter, when Neigel accused Wasserman of “ruining the story! I don’t understand why you can’t write like a human being. Think of your reader, Wasserman!” the writer replied, a light blush of pride in his voice, “I am telling the story for no one but myself … Yes, this is the important lesson I have learned here, Herr Neigel, as I never learned it before in all my days, for now I know that there is no other way once you have set your heart on creating a work of art. A work of truth, that is. Yes, so it is: for no one but myself!”
COACH
FORCE
See under: JUSTICE
LEV, TECHIAT YALDEI HA
HEART, REVIVAL OF THE CHILDREN OF THE
OTTO BRIG [q.v.] was responsible for banding the Children of the Heart together again after fifty years of idleness. The events leading up to this are unclear at times for lack of proper DOCUMENTATION [q.v.], due to Otto’s lamentable and even sinful ignorance of the tremendous importance of historical records and the chronicling of individual actions. It is nevertheless possible to reconstruct a (hypothetical!) picture of the days that preceded the band’s revival: when the world turned “topsy-turvy” (Wasserman), Otto began to wander the streets of the Jewish ghetto looking for workers to replace the drafted zoo employees who did not return when the fighting was over. Polish patrols checked Otto’s permits and sent him to search among the slave laborers lined up on Gezibowska Street, where Jewish work brigades were organized—builders, cobblers, professors, violin teachers, etc.—to clean the streets and latrines of Warsaw. But Otto wasn’t just looking for volunteers. He had no intention of forcing anything on anybody. On Carmelitzka Street, by the last linden tree in the ghetto (the Jews were drawn to it like bees to nectar, and gazed with longing at its golden, life-filled flowers), an old Jew explained to him that Jews have an inborn aversion to working with animals, “and it’s a little late to change us now.” Other Jews recoiled from him without any explanation. They suspected a trap. A man Otto remembered from the old days who used to sell him meat scraps for the zoo (he was a hotel supplier) advised him to go over to Delizhneh Street, to the Paviak, and bribe the man in charge of prisoners to give him volunteers for one day’s work. The word “prisoners” moved Otto, for some reason, and he rushed to the prison, feeling more and more oppressed by the sense of doom emanating from everyone in the street. Otto: “Things were really bad, heartrending. All these Jews looking like hunted animals, and I didn’t have the strength to run away. Yes. Then I understood that I had to do something. I had to help. Yes, to fight. And on those first days when I looked for workers in the ghetto, I thought to myself, Here, Otto, you’ll help these poor people, you’ll give them a good meal and treat them like human beings. But a few days later I knew that wouldn’t be enough, that a whole lot more had to be done. Because in the store windows on Krakowska and Pashdmishzche and on Yarozolimska Street, too, the Germans had put up giant pictures of the poor Jews made out to be fiendish murderers, with a sign saying THE JEWISH-BOLSHEVIK MENACE, as if we were all idiotic enough to believe such things, and at every intersection they stationed barkers, that’s what we used to call them, who read the OKV news all morning and announced the latest victories and blamed Jewish traitors for the fact that ten thousand Polish officers had been taken prisoner in battle with the Russians near Smolensk, and this was such a pack of vicious lies that I said to myself, Otto Brig, I said, fifty years ago you had a lot more gumption, you weren’t afraid of anything, there was no corner of the world you couldn’t reach when someone needed help—Armenia, the Ganges after the floods, even the moon with the Indians, and what about that old man Beethoven, who lost his hearing, and Galileo, with all his problems, you flew everywhere with the band, and suddenly, as I thought about the band, bozhe shivante! The blood ran through my veins again, like Jesse Owens at the Olympics, vroom! And quietly I said to myself, We have to do something, because who else but the Children of the Heart can save the world when the world starts going crazy, and who else has so much experience on the job, eh? Because if we don’t start doing something at a time like this, then I say we’re not worth a whole lot more than the paper we’re written on, we’re nothing but a bunch of pathetic literary characters, weaklings that go wherever you take us. No, Otto Brig! (that’s what I said to myself), no no no! We have to do something! We will band together again and fight the most important war of all! And though at the time I didn’t know what kind of war it would be yet, I burst out with: ‘Is the heart willing?’ And I answered, ‘The heart is willing!’ ‘Come what may?’ and I answered, ‘Come what may!’ This had been our rallying cry fifty years ago, and back in those days when I wanted to call the band together for a new mission I would start drawing chalk hearts on all the trees and fences to let everyone know, and now the time had come to draw new hearts, and so, with this in mind, I arrived at the Paviak just when they opened the front gate and kicked out an old Jew who rolled all the way over to me, smiled a calm, nearly toothless smile, and asked me if I had a cigarette for him.” (About Otto’s first encounter with YEDIDYA MUNIN [q.v.].) Fried: “While we’re on the subject of those early days, to tell the truth, Otto went through some pretty awful changes. It was hard to look at him. He seemed to be running a high fever. His face glowed. He was always busy and talking to himself, always running. Always. He left me in charge of the zoo while he spent the day combing the ghetto, in and out with his special permits, searching the streets, the jails, the insane asylums, the Juvenile Criminal Institute …” Otto: “You probably thought I was a little sick in the head, eh, Fried?” Fried: “I sure did. You should have seen yourself then! And once we woke up in the morning and saw”—Paula: “a huge heart drawn in chalk on the oak tree in our yard.” Fried: “And on all the benches in the Lane of Eternal youth, and on the wrinkled body of the baby elephant.” Paula: “Fried was terribly dejected, and so was I, sure. It broke my heart to see our Otto acting so strangely. And the worst part was that he wouldn’t tell us what was bothering him. He just kept saying that he intended to fight, and mama droga, was I scared!” Otto: “You probably thought I meant to fight with guns, eh?” Paula: “What else was there to think? Sure that’s what I thought! How could I know? And afterward the zoo started to fill up with this bunch of loonies, it got pretty scary with things going on like that poor woman, the one who had to wander naked at night near the cages of the carnivores [see under: ZEITRIN, HANNAH], or the little biograph with the stinky briefcase, who was kind of a curie, only he kept getting under my skin and becoming more and more like me [see under: ZEIDMAN, MALKIEL], and even you, begging your pardon, Mr. Marcus [see under: FEELINGS], analyzing our emotions and what we felt all day, not to mention that poor thing, the one who had such a strange smell [see under: MUNIN, YEDIDYA] you couldn’t stand to be anywhere near him!” Fried: “Ach, it was disgusting! I decided to put an end to it, and went up and asked him, as a doctor, of course, what that smell was, and why he walked in that peculiar way, and the old rascal shamelessly dropped his trousers in the middle of the zoo and showed me a kind of cloth pouch with belts and buckles and the devil knows what.” Munin: “I have balls like ostrich eggs, Pan Doctor, all because of my ART [q.v.], about which Pan Otto has probably told you, and it hurts, sir, but then of course it has to hurt! One must always suffer for art. And we must endure great affliction for the ‘Lord’s redemption in the twinkling of an eye,’ it’s always like that with us Jews; for us there are no miraculous shortcuts, our prophets had none either, and just as Hosea the prophet was forced to live his life with, forgive me, a whore, and have three children by her in order to fulfill his divine destiny, his ‘art,’ so I, your honor, tirelessly rub my little ram’s horn, rub it but never blow it! God help me if I blew it! For then all would be lost! All my travail will have been in vain! And if you say to me, Ashes in your mouth, worm, how dare you compare yourself to the prophet Hosea, I will tell you this, that the Baal Shem Tov bequeathed unto us his teaching that the Lord, blessed be He, wants us to worship Him in many ways, sometimes in this way and sometimes in that, and we find in the Cabala that gluttony is but the divine spark in us seeking to couple with the divine spark found in food, meaning that down in the pricker stick, begging your pardon, is that same passion, so even in a lesser one than I, a spark may spark off another spark and cleave to the sparks from on high, ah, oh, may it be …” Fried, who understood little but sensed that something disgusting was being alluded to by the foul-smelling old man, stormed off in the middle of his monologue, to Otto’s office, where he demanded an explanation. Paula was there, and she agreed with Fried. Otto felt their fury and fear, considered a moment, and decided to disclose his secret. He told them that he intended to fight the Nazis. Fried stifled a groan and told Otto through clenched teeth that if Otto really wanted to fight, let him bring rifles and real fighters and Fried would join up, too. Otto listened and then explained gently that they lacked the power. “You’ve got to be realistic,” said Otto, and Fried stared at him and shook his head in shock and rage and helplessness. Where, he wanted to know, had Otto found this latest zoo burn “fighter” Zeidman, and Otto replied that the Nazis had released all the inmates from the insane asylum on Krochmalna Street, and they were standing naked in the street, shivering in the cold and utterly bewildered, Fried: “Nu, and out of all of them you chose yourself this winner!” Otto, happily: “Right! Ah … you laugh. Listen, Fried, a man like that on his own, perhaps not, but three like him, ten like him, might save something. Might make a difference.” Fried asked what Zeidman knew how to do, and Otto in grave wonder told them that Zeidman was a biographer who stole across the frontiers that separated people and understood them from the inside. Fried, with loathing: “And maybe he has something to use against the Germans, too?” Otto: “But ‘this’ is what he has to use against the Germans, don’t you see?” And Fried thought about it, and with painful irony said: “You’ve got to be realistic, hey?” By the way, at this point Neigel ordered Wasserman to refrain from “anti-German propaganda” and to get on with the story. Neigel was about to depart on his forty-eight-hour LEAVE [q.v.] that night to his family in Munich, and he pressed Wasserman to tell him something about Kazik’s life. Only, Wasserman stubbornly insisted on telling Neigel about the early days of the Children of the Heart instead. There was no logical reason for this, outside of his desire to annoy the German. And when Neigel asked him to stop his provocations and get on with the story, Wasserman said, “Forbear, Herr Neigel,” and promised that if Neigel allowed him to continue weaving the thread of the tale, he would soon tell him about Kazik. Neigel glanced with annoyance at his watch and agreed with an angry nod. Wasserman thanked him. He told the German that a long silence fell upon the three. That Fried and Paula understood for the first time how deeply the war had infiltrated their lives, and how it chilled the subtle intimacy that had been formed between them over the years and made them icy strangers to one another. Wasserman: “This I experienced in my own flesh, Herr Neigel, when Sarah, my soul, sewed the yellow star on our Tirzaleh’s birthday dress … ai, the child wept so bitterly! You see, Herr Neigel: the star spoiled her pretty dress …” Neigel: “Damn you, Wasserman, I’m losing patience! My driver will be here in half an hour and you’re just avoiding the story of Kazik!” [see under: TRAP]. Wasserman, who had not yet realized why Neigel wanted so badly to know what happened to Kazik, and why he was so adamant about it, perspired with fear. But he could tell that Neigel’s eagerness was a good sign, and that he must not under any circumstances give in now. Consequently, Otto whispered, “Noah’s ark.” That is, he didn’t whisper, he said it with deep reluctance, as though he had decided to yield a small portion of his secret so they would let him keep the more important part. Neigel stared at Wasserman. Fried and Paula stared at Otto. Otto explained to all three: “It’s like the Bible story, only the other way around. Here the animals will save the people, you understand? It’s so simple, don’t you see?” Neigel: “What’s simple?” Otto: “We’ll band together again and take in new members. We’ll need a lot of fighters this time. It won’t be easy. That much is clear. And after our victory over this flood, we can go back to normal life, all right?” Fried and Paula looked at him and felt their hearts break. Otto’s eyes shone infinitely blue. Fried stood up, pale and exhausted, by the window of their pavilion, just in time to notice the mythological beast outside, its forequarters sheep, its hindquarters man, crossing the path with loathsome bleats and groans. Despairingly, feeling the whole world had gone mad and collapsed on his shoulders, Fried hurried out after the ravished animal. It was only as he ran that he finally grasped Otto’s meaning, and was even more distressed. He had no doubt that the age of children’s stories was past.
