Malka Adler - The Brothers of Auschwitz

The rabbi would think and think, and in the meantime a woman with an enormous belly pushed two Jews with beards and hats who stood in the aisle, and approach the rabbi from the side, punching him, boom! in the middle of his back and the rabbi jumped and the two Jews with beards and hats fell on the woman and she rolled about like a full barrel, shouting, hooligans, leave me alone, and they wouldn’t leave her alone, but rolled her out of the synagogue, and three old women with covered heads would call out in unison, she’s crazy, she’s from a goy family and she’s crazy, and the rabbi would arrange his hat, pull his coat and bend down to us with raised eyebrows, asking the nearest man, tell me, Jew, do you light candles at home?

Yes, we light candles, and you, tell me, have you checked your Mezuzahs?

I’ve checked them, and you, Jew, do you remember to put on tefillin , we remember rabbi, we don’t forget a single day.

And then the rabbi would say, nu, good. There’s a God in the heavens, open the Siddur , say Shema Israel and the Messiah will come.

The village people said, very well, and looked down at the ground. The rabbi requested a chair. The rabbi took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. The rabbi put his hand in his pocket and played with coins. Chink. Chink. Chink. People stole glances at one another but refused to buy the rabbi’s medications. A few minutes later they continued to badger, what should we do, rabbi. Should we run away, answer us, rabbi. They had the voice of a hungry chick. Many chicks that weep and weep.

The rabbi would frown, saying: Certainly not, Jews. Forbidden! Forbidden to leave the village!

People said, very well, but immediately longed for Eretz-Israel, rabbi, Palestine, you know, the Jews are studying Torah there, maybe we’ll escape to Palestine?

The rabbi shouted: Forbidden! A boycott on anyone who goes to Palestine. Boycott! Boycott! Boycott! We must wait for the Messiah!

The people said very well, but until he comes, rabbi, what must we do?

We have a strong God, He will help, shouted the rabbi banging his hand on the Ark.

The people said very well. Men and heavy coats, and women with head coverings and handkerchiefs in their hands, crowded in front of the synagogue Ark, weeping and shouting in unison, help us, our Lord. Save us from Hitler, damn him, bring the Messiah, and then they went home. On the way, if they saw a priest or a white horse, or a chimney cleaner in black clothes and a black hat, they’d grab a button on their clothing, against the evil eye, not letting go until they reached home, believing that this would help them get through Hitler. Some kissed the Torah morning, noon and night, some wept. Small children rushed around the synagogue yard with sticks in their hands. They cursed Hitler and beat the ground.

The rabbi wanted to go back to his city. They lined up the children to say goodbye and shake his hand.

I didn’t like the rabbi and didn’t want him to ask me a question about the Torah or about Jews. I didn’t want him to speak to me about anything. I was ashamed when people laughed because I didn’t understand a thing about what I studied in cheder. I was most ashamed at farting in my trousers from the stress, because in cheder we read Hebrew letters that looked to me like sticks with a lot of mosquitoes, the rabbi translated the sticks with mosquitoes into Yiddish, and I knew Yiddish from home, but I couldn’t remember the Hebrew letters, not even one. I had no head for letters. My brother Yitzhak had even less of a head for letters. Yitzhak escaped from life in cheder . I suffered more. Every day I farted on the way to cheder. I squeezed tight but they got out, phut. Phut. Phut. I’d often whistle so my friends wouldn’t hear and, hopefully, wouldn’t smell before I had time to reach the hole in the shithouse. I’d sit above the hole in the plank to pass the time, I’d whistle melodies quietly. I’d play my harmonica in my mind, or draw on the wall with a piece of chalky stone I had in my pocket. I was an expert on butterflies with huge wings. I made enough room on the wings for me and my brother Yitzhak in case we decided to fly far away.

One day I was sitting in the shithouse and saw one of our boys approaching. I think it was Menachem, the shoemaker’s son. The boy pulled down his pants and sat down next to my ass. He and I begin to shove asses. Shove, shove, bursting with laughter. In the meantime the rabbi the melamed – teacher – arrived with a scarf around his neck and a smell of cigarettes. The rabbi, the melamed had a belt in his hand. The belt was five centimeters wide and at the tips of his fingers was orange colored fire. And then he threw back his hand and thwack, he brought the strap down on us. And thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The boy and I race away from the shithouse with our trousers down. On the way we step on our trousers and boom, we fall to the floor. The rabbi didn’t stop yelling and each time thwack on the ass. On the back. On the head. Left us in pain for a week with red stripes on the skin, each stripe five centimeters wide.

Our rabbi the melamed had another arrangement.

He would start the week with a game. He’d stand in front of us, one hand on his hip, the other scratching his head. Soon I’d see a shower of dandruff falling to his shoulders. He’d frown and ask, who knows which tree we can break on the Sabbath, eh? And I was an expert on trees. I was a professor on trees. There wasn’t a boy in the village who knew the forest like I did. I said to myself, I’ll find him a tree and impress him. I forgot it’s forbidden to break trees on the Sabbath. Nu! He broke my bones and I ran away from the cheder and sat in a ditch by the road. For two weeks I lived in the ditch. I brought planks to the ditch and I made myself a room without a roof. I brought a large stone and a blanket and water to drink, and cookies, and a catapult and I was content. I saw boys and girls walking along the road together, arms around each other’s waists, whispering into each other’s ears, laughing. As if they had no Hitler on the radio.

I frequently counted wagons of hay returning from the field. Wagons with humps of hay. Sitting on top were the farmers. They were usually tired and sleepy. Sometimes I’d flick a stone at them with my catapult. They’d jump in fright, raising their whip and looking behind. Then they’d fall asleep. I saw women on the road, dragging heavy baskets of apples. At noon, they’d return with baskets, cursing the bad day and bad luck brought by black cats.

One day my rabbi the melamed came to my room in the ditch. The rabbi held a hat in his hand. He stood above me, calling me. I didn’t answer.

What are you doing here?

Looking.

Aren’t you bored?

Interested, actually.

Children in cheder are asking about you.

What do they care?

They don’t understand where you disappeared to.

I like living next to the road.

I want you to return to cheder .

Not coming back.

Your parents want you to return.

I caught sand falling from the wall of the ditch.

Come back to chede r and you can have this hat as a gift, want it?

I went back, did I have a choice?

I put on a woolen hat with a small peak, a new hat.

Are you coming?

Coming.

I go into the room. See three children turn to the wall making a sound like chah. Chah. Quietly. As if they had a pile of mucus to throw up. The rabbi puts his handkerchief into his pocket and sticks his thumb under the belt of his trousers. He towers over me, tells me, read a verse from the book, and my throat constricts.

The children all look at me. At least two make faces at me from behind the book. I look down. The book is open in front of me, a salad of letters on the page. Silence in the room. I keep half an eye on the rabbi. His cheeks flush pinkish blue up to his neck, most of all at the ends of his ears. His hand rises and I go cold. Smack. He hits me with his belt. Smack. Smack. Smack. Tired, he left the room to smoke a cigarette. The children in the room jump on their chairs, call, na. Na. Na. Na. Na. Na. Some make vomiting noises, only one sits quietly, sticks his finger in his nose and then in his mouth, one slaps two next to him on the head, as if they were drums, they grab him by the trousers and pull hard, he shouts, stop, stop, bending forward, the two pay him back with a fast drumming on his back, he grabs their legs and bang. A heap of children rolling on the floor, the boy with his finger in his nose at the bottom.