Boris Zubry - The Jewish Nation of Mongols

Galloping mad horses, so many exhausted people, the heavy razor-sharp dust, the bone penetrating heat, the humid, and the terrifying earsplitting screams. The screams and cries are everywhere coming from all directions. Screams of the wounded and dying horses. Cries of the people that may still be alive. Some are still fighting the shadows. Is that a shadow of the foe of the death? Death… Tears of blood. The last breath. The last sigh. What could be more frightening than people screaming in frustration, exhaustion, pain, submitting to fate? Dying people. The screaming horses… Dying horses. The silent scream in the wild eyes that filled with terror of animals in pain. Do they feel pain as we do? More? Less? The loud cry of dying animals again and again, and again. They are all around, searching for the way out. They are looking for survival, but only finding the slow torturous death. That’s the most terrifying scream of them all. The last scream. It is full of pain, fear, fatality, and finality. Yes, the finality. Was there anything else left? Was there tomorrow or the next week?

There is a screaming horse on fire. It’s running wild — to where? To its destiny? How far is it? In what direction? But, it’s dead already and does not know it yet. What was the destiny of the dead? What could be the goal, the aim, the result? The quicker death… Less agony… What could be more agonizing, terrifying, painful than burning alive? Burning alive eternally… There was no escape, no way out. Where to turn? No, there was no tomorrow or even today. Was it in the past already or just never existed? Did anyone know the answer? Was he still alive? Gone… There was no future, but the terrifying today and maybe a questionable past. Dead had no future, but did they have the past? Could they hold to anything tangible? Where was the escape, the alternative route, the survival? More of the galloping horses, more of the heavy all-penetrating dust, more of the terrifying screams (the human and the horses, the screaming wind), and the uncontrollable exhaustion making the heat more, and more unbearable. Heat… Death… Pain… Surrender… Destiny. The end. The nerve-stinging screeching sounds of metal over metal.

Sometimes you could hear the ringing of bells, but it was only the hardened steel breaking bones and the steel. Horses have lost their minds from the heat, exhaustion, dust, and the sickeningly dry, sweet coppery scent of the human and animal blood. Blood was flowing freely today and here. It has no value today, but it was so precious yesterday. War and blood were free. Blood of so many people comes together, mixing up and creating the stream of eternity where your origin or the believes do not matter, and there are no disagreements with anyone or anything anymore. Finally, everyone is equal and happy in one unified happiness of the dead. Is that what you wanted? Is that why you came here and brought all these weapons? Was that your aim and the accomplishment? Are you done?

That’s the time and the place for the nightmarish demons to collect their dues. They patiently waited for a while, and now, it was time. Now, they collect it in full. People were so fatigued in the struggle to kill and not to be killed. I do not want to die, not now, not today. I want to live another day, another life. I want to live my life. Live, and let die. What can I do not to die? Be better, be smarter, be faster wielding your weapon. Kill, kill, kill. How good is your weapon? Can you find a better one? There, he is not dead yet, but his sword… Kill, and take the sword or a shield or an ax. Is it better than yours? Let’s see. Kill to stay alive. Kill… That’s the only way to survive a battle, one more battle, one more day. Maybe this one is the last one. Perhaps you can pull it though. How lucky are you? The throbbing pain, the horror, blood, and the death reign this field of the surreal reality. One more battle. That was only one battle out of so many. The broken bodies were planted everywhere you looked, right where they felled. They did not go anywhere, not anymore. Where were they going to be buried? All of them together, in one colossal grave? The nameless bodies… The mindless minds… Individually, in their own graves? Possibly, but there were more dead than alive. Who could bury them that way? They died together so, why not to lay together for eternity. They were one of the same now. They were brothers now. They were dead brothers now. So many nameless members of the brotherhood of death. No, do not look. It may burn your eyes and empty your soul, but you looked, and you saw the friends, and the foes alike. They would not get up, they could not get up. They had no life left. No will, no power, no drive… Many were still too young. People, horses, death… Horses keep running even without mounts. The mounts have fallen failing to get up. They did not care any longer, but horses were still searching for an escape. Horses usually so couscous and careful did not stop, circling someone or something in the middle of this full of the fear valley. The valley of the sorrowfulness… There in the middle of the demise, were people, soldiers, fighters, dead, and still alive, more dead than alive. They were the defenders of the valley that belonged to them. It belonged to them the day before, just a few hours ago. The shields, swords, arrows, spears, knives, nails and teeth, and more pain, blood, and broken bodies. People and horses… Horses. The screams of pain and the sighs of dying. Whose blood was there? Who was dying? This shining, blinding, murdering sun. Dust… Hot wind… Why of all days… Why today? Death was enveloping it all; it was everywhere reigning the day. The day of death. That day of death. Was it something to celebrate? Was that the smell of death or of the living creatures dealing that death? What smell was worse? Even the smell was petrifying, but they wanted to live. War, rape, pillage, plunder, and the fire. Death to all living and slavery to all survived. Was slavery any better? Was slavery considered living? Quick death could be a valuable reward, but you did not know that and resisted. You should’ve listened, but you wanted to live and be free. Yet, you hit the dead end. Death was the dead end, the deadliest one. Was there a way out? Was there a choice?

That was a dream that Aaron Cohen had almost every week now, coming on any day with no apparent reason or a pattern. He had it forever, for as long as he could remember, but never that often. What was it? It could not be the “genetic memory” so much talked about lately. What was genetic memory anyway, and where it was mentioned in the Torah, Talmud or any other righteous book? He was twenty-eight years old religious Lubavitch Jew with five children, and these violent dreams were not appropriate for him. God forbid… Not for him, not for any other Jew. No one should have dreams like that. Never. Nothing good could come from that. Nothing good was in it either. What could be good in such violence? He never read this type of books and did not even have the TV, less watched it. It was not for the pious; it was not for the righteous. It was not for the Jews. All Rabbis said so. And, he was pious all the way through, to the smallest bone of his body. Torah was the light of his life. Torah was life. He never saw a movie like that dream, so violent. Come to think, he never saw a movie period. What for? Movies were not