FETCHKA

Another prominence of the roaming nuts was Feodor, better known as Fetchka. He was some aristocrat disappointed in love, on his way to perdition. He was always wrapped around with a fair-sized rope around his waist, talking to himself and yelled on top of his voice when children asked him: Is that you Fetchka? How--How--How, he would yell, echoing through space. He was very kind-hearted. If his benefactress served him with a plate of beet-soup too hot for him to drink, he would ask permission to spill it on the dog. It would take a lot of persuasion to change his mind. At one time he gave us the jitters when my sister lost favor with him and he pushed her down into a sort of Grand Canyon around which we lived. Thanks to her good developed lungs, her shrieks were heard in time and she was saved before reaching bottom.

SVETY, THE HOLY ONE

Every year, before Christmas, there appeared a figure on the bazaar, bare-footed in the deep of snow that covered the ground all winter and in zero cold. He was trotting around nonchalantly, while everybody was shivering with cold. Naturally he was commanding reverence and was considered a holy personage by the common populace. One conjecture at his cold resistance was that he swathed his feet with bear-grease; another one--and that from the pious ones--that he bathed in Dnieper River. Amongst the other nuts he was normal.

ADRIAN

He was a spook from the alleys cantering with a long stick on his shoulder and whispering to himself in a quiet tone. But how quick he would change when loafers would hurl at him such an innocent phrase like: Kehoo, Kehoo, brown nuts--that quiet man would turn into a demon. His cane, stones and other missiles were thrown in all directions and there was a general stampede. I pitied the subject of object that was in his way. And the more he vexed with rage the more the boys would tease him and give him chase, crying words that incited him like a red-scared bull.

ZEPKA

Zepka was a quiet sort, always smiling. Good nature was his craze and disadvantage. Always hanging out on the bazaar, every merchant used him as a coolie but most of all that exploited him was Beckie, the baker girl. With a chunk of bread and a cajoling smile she made him cart big sacks of flour from the stores, on his shoulders and then loads of weighty loaves from her home-bakery to the stand in the market. Never groaning, never grumbling, though he was not of strong build, he always trudged along patiently with an everlasting smile. A figure of perseverance.

JENKO

Jenko was the arch-criminal of the town and according to modern criminologists, a habitual felon is classed with the abnormal. He was in and out of prison periodically and whenever there was a pogrom--and there were several in Starodoub--he was one of the leaders. He had several vocations such as incendiary, thief and killer. Though he had both feet twisted inward and when he walked it looked like two cogged wheels turning, he was the terror of the town. I remember him by one little incident. Father was in this country and begged for a photograph of the family which we proceeded to take. We were all tugged out and on our way to the studio. Passing by a church which was on a steep hill, we confronted Jenka from nowhere in particular and he hurled sister off the walk into an adjacent valley and disappeared like a bird of prey. If the commotion did not portray on that picture, it was not Jenka's fault. He tried his very best to make a dirty impression.

REB SIMCHE

The last figure lingering impressively in my mind is the chimney-sweeper, a jolly, old soul with black face and long handle brushes and cleansing paraphernalia. He looked like a clown dressed up to amuse the town. Never grouchy, always joking, Reb Simche was a beloved figure well in grace with everyone especially the children.

10

EVENTS OF A BURG

Looking backwards I see "things" which are events in a child’s eye.--I see the sanitation tank on parade with its long, wooden ladle appended by its side, dutifully winding its way along the court lavatories doing double duty, cleansing the insides and decorating the tank on the outside, the poor mare swelling with aroma. This processional winds its way, once a year through byway and main street and the denizens of the burg relievingly bid adieu to the outgoing part and parcel of their veryselves.

Another event in a childhood was the coronation of the autocratic tzar, later to be beheaded by the Bolsheviks. What fuss, what pomp and glory! The bazaar was illuminated and turned into acrobatic field where all kinds of gymnastic stunts were performed, like--jumping through hoops with tied feet or roll in barrels long distance but not short of vodka. Half of the town frequenters were soused and the other half were working up ambition to fall in that same state. That was a hilarious period for weeks, rather forced but forgetful, a breaths long of the dreary depressing days.

A wedding in town was an occasion in the dreary monotonous life. Friday, before sundown, generally was the day of ceremony when the bridal pair were led all over town accompanied by the towns to the synagogual court where the nuptials were tied in the open and the grooms power was measured by the strength with which he broke the wine-glass--a custom in commemoration of the destruction of the Holy Temple. Then the couple were led homeward under the strains of Jovial tunes and the next day the festivities continued with visitors, dancing and so on for a full week--a period befitting to lock two persons securely into wedded stagnancy or bliss for a lifetime, with the whole township participating. On the reverse side of my memory I see another negative of a snap-shot. Its the eve of atonement. We just finished our supper in a sad air, that is to take us across the fast day until the following evening. Father takes me by my hand and we come to the synagogue. All are stern and devout in prayer and the atmosphere is loaded with piety. In a very corner there stands a gaunt long figure dressed in a white shroud and engaged in supplication. That was my great-uncle, Reb Solomon. Father approaches him and asks for his benediction. A man over eighty with protruding eyes and skeleton face he outstretches his hands, lays it in turn upon our head and mumbles some words heaven only knows the essence of. But it gave us a sense of satisfaction and a picture I cannot forget.

Lastly, there lingers in my mind the funeral of a prominent Rabbi. The bazaar is black with people. Small folk from the Charity Hebrew School are following the cortege, chanting psalms while the women folk are sobbing high and bending low, casting gloom about town. O, what joy to depart in the knowing that you are mourned and missed.

11

MY TUTORS OR RABBIS

My beginning teacher was Reb Alter, a middle aged man with small round beard and a stiff, flat-topped hat on his head, changing it to a prayer-cap in the improvised class-room. He was a persevering tutor. His lot was to teach well. Bliss and the first rudiments of religious lore. Under his guidance I learned the first five Books of the Bible. That was his limit, the Prophets were not in his jurisdiction. After learning the Pentateuch, his scholars go on promotion, would have to look for a more advanced teacher. The "Prophets" was the next logical subject to learn but this was a matter of choice. Those eager for a Rabbinical career (and for that matter all parents, especially the mothers, wished to leave a holy one behind them to insure themselves, after they are gone, of a seat in paradise) so those wishing to study for Rabbi would be launched into the talmudic ocean and encounter all problems of life. A boy of eight would quibble in matters of sex though ignorant of its definitions; or else he'd mount in the higher spheres of abstract righteousness and law befitting for a Chief Justice Cordoza. Into this realm of sharp wits.

REB NOHIM MOISHE

was the proper inductor. A stern figure, without a smile in the offing, hands--if not fingering a book or cajoling his beard-always folded on the back. Long ear-locks folded under his pail-like sheepskin hat. He was my second tutor, lording over a selected set of pupils whom he deemed deserving of his erudition. Reb N. M. was highly conciencious in his work. A pupil had to be open-minded to take in his instruction. If for any reason it was clogged up and impervious he would open up the trousers and try to clear the mind with a strap lashing that would brighten the wits of the dullest. Thanks to my good fortune, I wasn't in that category.

NAHMEN, THE SHOCHET

As a changing wind in the pedagogic sphere, Nahman, the Shochet, arrived from the great wide world with new ideas and a store of knowledge eager to instill in the deserving. He picked a selected set of pupils, my humble self amongst them and taught us the same subjects but with more modern interpretation. He taught Hebrew grammar and historic facts. That was a bit novel and away from the traditional. He was lame foot, so tried to make up his deformity by exerting extra power in his speech. His voice was of a roaring lion convincing its prey. But somehow his teaching was not promising towards the final goal and along

GERSHEN, THE BLACK ONE

A distant cousin of ours. He could well pose for a colored person if not for his thin lips. He was well learned in that same old Talmud which is an Encyclopedia or a world of knowledge, the more penetrated, the more to be explored. He was an orthodox student of the law and his hands, my further advancement was to be molded. His son, Simon, was my steady mate until he wound up into a clerk of a herring stand. There he was a perfect success--making trade and bargains with the moujiks. Whenever he started a new term he would cry like a beaver for weeks and that into his ripe age of fourteen when he was graduated into a merchant.

THE VILLAGER

The last Rabbi lingering in my memory is the Villager--a tall lanky personage, a slaughterer (which is a revered profession) but somehow couldn't be placed. He came from the province and took to teaching. His pupils were well advanced and fit candidates for higher learning. Under his tuition I received my confirmation and prepared a learned sermon expecting to deliver it on father's return from America but was disappointed. What I remember mostly this lanky individual by, with a grayish goatee under his lip, is by the one and only lashing I received from his hands--I happened to make up a little ditty, paraphrasing a sentence from the psalms which was considered blasphemous by the pious ones. Some pupil tattled on me to the Rabbi and he in turn chastised me for the unholy rendition of a holy phrase.

RUSSIAN

Sister got her bit of knowledge from a Russian tutor and hearing of my "open mind" offered me free lessons as a sort of scholarship and that gave me a smattering of Russian understanding which I cannot digest nor forget to this day. One consolation of being is that a Russian cannot send me to hell prematurely--I'll detour.

12

MY CHUMMIES

MUTTLE

The son of the club supervisor was my first crony. Like myself, he was the only male child in the family but instead of having one sister he was coddled by six maidens, all eager to yield to his whim and caprices. A chum of that sort is always in possession of things which we cherish to share and willy-nilly partake of his belongings. We went together to the first cheider and shared together the first belly-ache precipitated by the premature sour apples plucked from the trees in the orchard behind the club house where I had privileged admittance. From him I heard of such a thing as moving pictures which I marveled but could not grasp and didn't have the chance to see. Before the lapse of a few years our ways were parted. He took to the Russian courseaway from the traditional while I trodded on the old orthodox path to find grace with the powers above.

PINNIE

A little shrimp under a caracule hat that belonged once to his father; sprightly like a squirrel and mischievous like a fox was my little chum Pinnie, the son of Ezekiel Zishes, a six-foot fanatic, yelling and stamping with his feet and banging his fist against the wall when praying as if to call special attention and make a more favorable impression with the ruling powers. His mother and the other members of the family were also near-giants and he seemed to be the last scraping or leaving of a fertile crop.

As tame and backward as I was, he was arrogant and forward and put a pinch of mischief in my decorous being. Unwillingly I was a partner to the buttons he plucked from the overcoats of the synagogue frequenters and many a blame I shared for his pranks, like placing sticky-berries in patriarchal beards or teasing a Rabbi's dumb daughter for being an old-maid. More than one dog would chase us madly because he hit with a stick but mostly for spitting in the wells that supplied us with fresh water. Heaven only knows how we parted and departed but his rabbitty little form is jumping all over my memory.

AVRAM JONAH

Was the son of a prosperous miller. Of mannish stature and staunch build he was a contrast to his lean and rather underfed mate. But as to his mental capacities he was a bit behind par and we, of the brighter set earned more than one cigarette or other favor for giving him a boost or a helping. I was a welcome comrade by his mother and often showed about the inner workings of the water-mill which pleased me immensely especially when it was accompanied by a big piece of delicious home-made and well baked, still-unforgettable cake. I loved to munch on it and watch the water fall on the large wooden wheels that set the grinding stones to work and supplied the town with grit and meal.

SIMON

Of whom I made mention before was a child without a childhood--a born adult designed for a herring merchant. Upon a stroll to the river where we'd see fishermen pull in long nets with fishes, I could plainly see his palms etc. with salt eager to convert those fresh gilled water game into salt herrings. His father's erudition did not stick to him. At every commencement, he would cry, producing salt water as if for his very aim of life. He loved to mingle with the peasant folk and study the ways of the bazaar mongers and into that set he eventually fitted himself in and stayed put. As an early colleague my childish memory cherishes his mention.

GERSHEN THE COOPERS

Down a hill, near the river, Peyshe, the lame one had his coppersmith establishment consisting of scores of hooples, old-barrels and a household of kids including some of the goat family. As poor and toilsome as he was, he tried to pull his children above his sphere. And so he engaged the best tutors for his eldest son, Gershon, who would be of great help to him in the shop but Peyshe tried to make an ecclesiastic from his son instead, as a sort of escape from his own hard plight. Gershon was short and chubby with red face emanating health, with a very slow grasp of the things he learned but caught up tenfold by his immense will-power to absorb knowledge. And so I vision his square form in later years in the yeshiva, leaning over a book-stand, a large Talmud open before him, in the light of a tallow candle, creasing his forehead and chanting monotonously in the deep of night while I was lounging on a hard bench and dreaming of the Golden Land. He had will-power steadfastness and an aim which made up for his tardy brain. With due credit, I'm sure he must be somewhere, some personality of intelligence and fame.

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To be continued