Our teacher, "_Reb_" Nissel the small one--so called on account of his
size--allowed himself to be led by the nose by his assistants. Whatever
they wanted they got. When the first assistant said the children were to
be sent home early that day, he sent them home early. The second
assistant said that the boys would turn the world upside down, and ought
to be kept at school, and he kept them at school. He could never decide
anything for himself. That was why his assistants controlled the school,
and not he. At other schools the assistants teach the children to wash
their hands and say the blessing. At our school, the assistants would
not do this for us, nor fetch us our meals, nor take us to school on
their shoulders. No, they liked to go for our meals. They ate them
themselves on the road. We did not dare to tell the master of this. The
assistants kept us in fear and trembling. If a boy whispered a word of
their doings to the teacher, he would be flogged, his skin would be cut.
Once, a daring boy told the master something; and the assistant beat him
so terribly that he was laid up in bed for months. He warned the boys
never to tell the master anything, no matter what the assistants did.
This period of our schooldays might be called the Tyranny of the
Assistants.
* * *
And it came to pass that we were under the yoke of the assistants. One
year, we had a cold "_L'ag Beomer_." It was a cold, wet May, such as we
sometimes had in our town, Mazapevka. The sun barely showed itself. A
sharp wind blew, brought us clouds, tore open our coats, and threw us
off our feet. It was not pleasant out of doors.
Just then the assistants took it into their heads to take us for a walk
outside the town, so that we might play at wars, with swords and
pop-guns and bows and arrows.
It is an old custom amongst Jewish children, to become war-like on the
"_L'ag Beomer_." They arm themselves from head to foot with wooden
swords, pop-guns and bows and arrows. They take food with them, and go
off to wage war. Jewish children who are the whole year round closed up
in small "_Chedorim_," oppressed by fears of the master, and trembling
under the whips of the assistants, when "_L'ag Beomer_" comes round, and
they may go out into the open, armed from head to foot, imagine that
they are giants who can overcome the strongest foe and reduce the world
to ruins. All at once they grow brave. They step forward eagerly,
singing songs that are a curious mixture of Yiddish and Russian.
"One, two, three, four!
Jewish children
Learn the '_Torah_,'
Believe in miracles,
Are not afraid.
Hear, O Israel! Nothing matters.
We are not afraid of any one,
Excepting God."
And we carried out the old custom. We took down our swords of last year
from the attic, and we made bows from the hoops of old wine barrels.
Pop-guns the assistants provided us with, for money, of course--fine
guns with which one could shoot flies if they only stood still long
enough. In a word, we had all the Jewish weapons to frighten tiny
infants to death. And we provided ourselves with food in good earnest,
each boy as much as the Lord had blessed him with, and his mother would
give him, out of her generosity. We arrived at "_Cheder_" armed from
head to foot, and our pockets bulging out with good things--rolls,
cakes, boiled eggs, goose-fat, cherry-wine, fruit, fowls, livers, tea
and sugar, and preserves and jam, and also many "_groschens_" in money.
Each boy tried to show off by bringing the best and the largest
quantity. And we wished to please the assistants. They praised us, and
said we were very good boys. They took our food and put it into their
bags. They placed us in rows, like soldiers, and commanded us.
"Jewish children, take hands, and march across the bridge, straight for
Mezritzer fields. There you will meet the sea-cats, and do battle with
them."
"Hurrah for the sea-cats!" we shouted in one voice. We took hands and
went forward, like giants, strong and courageous.
* * *
We called the Free School boys sea-cats because they were short little
children in the A B C class. They appeared to us "_Chumash_" boys like
flies, ants. We imagined that with one blow--phew! we would make an end
of them. We were certain that when they saw us, how we were armed from
head to foot with swords and bows and arrows and pop-guns, they would
surely fly away. It was no trifle to encounter such giants. You play
with "_Chumash_" boys, warriors with long legs!
We had never fought the sea-cats before. But we had every reason to
believe, we were convinced, we would conquer these squirrels with a
glance, destroy them, make an end of them. Along with giving them a good
licking, we would take spoil from them, that is to say, their food, and
let them go hungry.
We were so full of our own courage, and so enthusiastic about the brave
deeds we were going to do that we pushed each other forward, clapped
each other on the shoulder. Then, too, the assistants urged us forward.
"Why do you crawl like insects?" they asked us. They themselves stopped
frequently, opened the bags, and tasted our food and cherry-wine, which
they praised highly.
"Excellent cherry-wine," they said, passing round the bottles, and
letting the liquid gurgle down their throats. "Splendid liquor. The best
I ever tasted."
That was what the assistants said. They actually licked their fingers.
They remained in the distance, but indicated with their hands that we
must go forward, forward.
We went on and on, over the wide Mezritzer field, though the wind blew
stronger and stronger. The sky grew black with clouds, and a cold, thick
rain beat into our faces. Our hands were blue with the cold. Our boots
squelched in the mud. We had long given up singing songs. We were tired
and hungry, very hungry. We decided to sit down and rest, and have
something to eat.
"Where are the assistants? Where is the food--where is it?"
The boys began to murmur against the assistants.
"It is a dirty trick to take all our food from us, and our cherry-wine
and our few '_groschens_,' and to leave us here in the desert, cold and
hungry. May the devil take them!"
"May a bad end come to the assistants!"
"May the cholera strike down all the assistants in the world!"
"May they be the sacrifices for our tiniest nails!"
"Hush. Let there be silence. Here come our foes, our enemies."
"Little squirrels with big sticks."
"The sea-cats--the sea-cats!"
"Hurrah for the sea-cats!"
The moment we saw them, we rushed towards them, like fierce starving
wolves. We were ready to tear them to pieces. But there happened to us a
misfortune, a great misfortune which no one could possibly have
foreseen.
If it is not destined, neither wisdom nor strength nor smartness are of
any avail. Listen to what can happen.
* * *
The sea-cats, though they were small, short little squirrels, were
evidently no fools. Before going to do battle on the broad Mezritzer
field, they had prepared themselves well at home, gone through their
drill. Afterwards, they fed up. They also took with them warm clothing
and rubber goloshes. They were armed from head to foot no worse than we
were, with swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows. They would not wait
until we had taken the offensive. They attacked us first, and began to
break our bones. And how, do you think? From all sides at once, and so
suddenly that we had no time to look about us. Before we realized it,
they were upon us. They were not alone, but had their assistants to urge
them on and encourage them.
"Pay out the '_Chumash_' boys. Beat them, the boys with the long legs."
Naturally we were not silent either. We stood up against the squirrels,
like giants, beat them with our swords, aimed our arrows at them, and
shot at them with our pop-guns. But, alas! our swords were dull as
wood; and before we could set our bows, they had thrashed us. I say
nothing of the guns. What can you do with a pop-gun if the foe will not
wait until you have taken aim at him? They rushed forward and knocked
the guns out of our hands. What could we do?
We had to throw away our weapons, our swords and pop-guns and bows and
arrows, and fight as the Lord has ordained. That is to say, we fought
with our fists. But we were hungry and tired and cold, and fought
without a plan, because our assistants had remained behind. They let us
fight whilst they ate our food and drank our cherry-wine--the devil take
them! And they, the little squirrels, well-fed and well-clad, had crept
upon us from three sides at once, each moment growing stronger and
stronger. They rained down on us blows and thumps and digs. The same
blows that we had reckoned on giving them they gave us. And their
assistants went in front of them, and never ceased from urging them on.
"Pay back the '_Chumash_' boys. Beat them, beat them, the boys with the
long legs."
Who was the first to turn his back on the enemy? It would be hard to
say. I only know we ran quickly, helter-skelter, back home, back to
Mazapevka. And they, the little squirrels--may they burn!--ran after us,
shouting and yelling and laughing at us, right on top of us.
"Hurrah! '_Chumash_' boys! Hurrah! Big boys!"
* * *
We arrived home exhausted, ragged, bruised, beaten. And we giants
imagined that our parents would pity us, give us cakes because of the
blows we got. But it turned out we were mistaken. No one thought of us.
We thanked God we were so fortunate as to escape without beatings from
our parents for our torn clothes and twisted boots. But next morning we
got a good whipping from our teacher, Nissel the small one, for the
bruises we had on our foreheads and the blue marks around our eyes. It
is shameful to tell it--we were each whipped in the true style. This was
a mere addition, as if we had not had enough.
We were not sorry for anything but that the assistants gave us another
share. When a father or a mother beats one, it is out of kindness. When
a teacher beats one it is because he is a teacher. And what is his rod
for, anyway? But the assistants! Our curses upon them! As if it were not
enough that they had eaten all our food, and drunk our cherry-wine--may
they suffer for it, Father of the Universe!--as if it were not enough
that they had left us to fight alone, in the middle of the field, but
when they were whipping us they held our feet, so that we might not kick
either.
* * *
And that was how our holiday ended up. It was a dark, dreary, lost
"_L'ag Beomer_."