Boris Zubry - The Jewish Nation of Mongols

“My Aaron? What a kop (head) he has.” Miriam — Aaron’s mother — loved to be the center of attention at the Borsht Circuit (the resort hotels in the Catskill Mountains of New York area with an almost entirely Jewish clientele, who were fond of borsht). “He saved last year two thousand dollars for his cousin in taxes. His cousin is not rich, and that helped so much. And children… They are regular geniuses. He has five, you know. He could have more, but he married late, at twenty. But, he will. I know he will. They are still so young. He is so smart. What a kop he has. Do you have children? Good. Grandchildren? Oh, they will come soon enough, Mirtseshem (God willing!). The sooner — the better. Children are such a blessing, and grandchildren are even more. Now, do you have an accountant? You always need one. My son, Aaron, can help you with anything. Even with the grandchildren. Ha, ha… It’s a joke, of course. Do you love your children? Of course, you do. I love my Aaron and his kids. What a blessing, what a blessing. God did not give Yossele and I more happiness with children, but Aaron is such a reward. So, here is his card. Call him and use my name. Tell him that you are my good friend even if we met just now. We could’ve been, you know. He’ll take care of you. Gai gezunterhait! (Go in good health!).” She smiled. She always smiled like no one else, as smiles reflected her soul.

“So, you have only one son, and he is a god in your eyes. Mazel Tov (congratulations) ! I have three sons. So, I have three gods. It’s the entire Mount of Olympus. I guess one son should be counted too. After all, he is your son, and you love him.” That was an ample lady in the red wig sitting just across the table from Mrs. Cohen. They were playing cards. She had three sons against the one Mrs. Cohen had, but she was at least five times larger than Aaron’s mother was. There goes the ratio. Go figure. “My sons are so educated. They make good money and take care of us at our old age. Yes, they have accountants working for them. After all, someone has to count the money they make. They make so much of it. They are good boys, you know. My husband and I tried so hard, and they came out alright. I say they are even better than we thought they’ll be. They studied so hard, and it was quite expensive. But it was worth it. It all runs in the family, you know. Everyone in our families is so educated. So smart… We have the Rabbis, doctors, writers, teachers, scholars, and even the CPAs. We have them all. Yes, my husband, and I came from very educated families, and we are so proud of that.” Now she looked even bigger than before. Pride, in her case, was acting as an air pump working overtime. “Here is my oldest son’s business card. You see, he is a doctor. Give it to your son. He can use my name. Who knows, my sons may need one more accountant. Good luck to your son, dear. It happens sometimes. Even a poor accountant deserves better.”

Mrs. Cohen never took anything like that close to the heart. What’s the big deal? She considered it a marketing expense. She firmly believed that she had to do anything, well almost anything, for her son’s future. And, this was just one of the things. Yes, she and her husband always wanted many children, but she had a weak heart and a small, fragile constitution. Who could say where it all came from, but the history of the Jews was full of cute and memorable examples. Tears, hunger, repression, physical abuse, death, and the constant scare — pick any or all of them. Then, when you made your pick multiply it by thousands of years and hundreds of generations, and you would come up with a weak heart and small, fragile constitution. You may even come up with the sicknesses the other people did not have, something unique for the Jews. This was not a nation of giants, but this was a nation of geniuses. Brains had to take over the weak bodies compressed by the weight of two thousand years of the sorrow and create what we see now — the brainy nation of Jews. And, now you know what you know. Yet, there were some exemptions.

So, Aaron, thanks to his family and friends, was a popular man, who honestly earned his right to work for as many hours as he could stand and making enough to survive. Many could work long hours, but the survival often required a second job or an extracurricular activity. Some had fallen for that, and the religious Jews, even the Rabbis, were making news in the courts. That was not good no matter how you slice it. The constant need for money and the painstaking desire for a break from the financial chokehold did it to them. The weak had often reserved to crime. Did they know that it was a crime? Was it a crime in their minds to lie and to steal from a Goy ? They tried not to take from a Jew.

Did it make any difference? Who can tell what was in their minds, but they committed a crime. A Hasidic Jew — a criminal. Impossible. Unthinkable. Aaron took it for a personal insult and could pray the whole night for the soul of the offender, not believing, deep inside, that forgiveness should be granted. He was a tolerant man with an open mind, and he could not find an excuse for a crime committed by a Goy and, especially, by a Jew . Crime is a crime is a crime. If he, Aaron Cohen, could not understand or forgive it, how could God do that?

No, Aaron was sure of that. God would never forgive crime and, no matter what crime one had committed, crime was always a crime. Crime did not pay. Crime had no excuse. The crime was never justified and must be punished. A Jew should not commit a crime, no matter what. How could a chosen one commit something unlawful? The chosen did not do that. That separated us from the others. No, a Jew, the chosen one should be judged harsher than anyone else. We were the chosen ones. A Jew should follow God, and God would never lead anyone to a crime. Crime, no matter how small it is, was evil and should be treated as such. That’s what Aaron believed, and that’s what was the center of every lesson his children had to learn.

The burning town. Another… The broken-down walls. The broken-down people. The dead and the wounded. Animals… People and animals… Stench… Revulsion. The war machines keep spurting the projectiles of rock and clay jars bursting with burning oil. Fire… Death and distraction. Screams of the soldiers scaling the walls. Cries of the soldiers defending the walls. Laud. Cries of the children and women being raped, dying, or taken into slavery. The rare men, only the best craftsmen, were awarded the privilege of becoming a slave, but then, the luck was on the side of the dead. Dead… Dying… Wounded and injured. Slavery was the never-ending death, never-ending torture, and boundless dismay. Horses, men, blood, smell. Death and the mutilation. The horror of life and the terror of death. What is more powerful? The hungry fire sweeps over the town devouring it piece by piece, morsel by morsel. Heat. Unbearable heat. Houses, homes, and people. Tragedy. Pain, blood, violence, injustice. Death, death, death. Cries for help. Screams. The hill was littered with the bodies of the attackers. The town… The town was littered with the bodies of the defenders. He could not see much there. That was too far away. Was it still standing? Any of it? He was looking from the outside; he was outside with the attackers. Why? Who was he? Why was he there?

Another dream. Leah woke him up, crying. She was crying much lately. Was it because of him? Where was he? Where was the burning town? Bodies, screams… Animals, the stench… He was in the house. His house. Why was it so hot in the house? It was never that hot. They did not like hot. The cold sweat was pouring down in streams. Even the pillow and the bed sheets were soaked with his sweat. No, it was hot. Why the cold sweat? Oh, the children. Two were sick with the flu, two at the same time. Poor Leah. It has been for a while already. A few days for sure. He needs to pray for them more. They were children and needed all the help they could get. Praying could help. It always helped in the end. In the end, sickness would go away, but you needed to pray. You needed God on your side.