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A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
Wednesday night movies
The Jutrznia (Morningstar) was a Jewish club, open every night except Friday, where scores of young men and women exercised, did calisthenics, developed their muscles, strengthened their bodies – Mr. Neuman, the instructor, relentlessly driving them with work.
For an hour they practiced, jumped the trampoline, soaring high in the air, in time mastering the parallel bars, the horse, high wire, even the rings.
They were like gazelles in motion, their faces flushed, bodies trim, eyes fiery. In the luxury of the showers they sang, laughed, discussed the latest events, a gathering of the finest, full of hope and anticipation.
Despite the harsh reality, they reached out believing in the ultimate victory of freedom, universal justice.
The more they were pushed into a corner, the more they clung together, standing tall, an exalted spirit uniting them. Notwithstanding, ominous times were ahead, evil winds blowing in their direction, an avalanche stirring, its feeble echoes closing in, but nature ran its course. … Life goes on.
Jacob got a job at the shop where his sister had worked, two blocks from home, a young lady taking an interest in him, her infatuation more pronounced than to her husband who picked her up every night except Wednesday, the comments causing him to blush.
"Let’s go to the cinema tonight," one of the operators suggested. "There is a Garbo movie in the Amor theater," then turning to Jacob, "Come along," winking.
Inside the theater the others dispersed, more on purpose than by accident, leaving Jacob and the young lady alone.
It was a romantic, passionate movie, a great performance by the heavenly Garbo, his companion trying to emulate. At first Jacob felt awkward, but nature took the better of it.
It became a ritual; every Wednesday evening Jacob and Miriam were doing their interpretation of romance, a trip of ecstatic thrills, Miriam like an addict pursuing her conquest, disregarding the consequences.
One evening they were in the theater minding their own business, when Jacob noticed her husband walking the aisles. That was a sign, a somber warning of its futility. That love affair, brief moments of guarded infatuation, could not last. It started with a whim, and ended with a whimper.
Thus, Miriam returned to her man, where she belonged in the first place. Soon afterwards Jacob quit the job and joined his former boss, Levi Erder, who had returned from Australia. He attended Sunday afternoon concerts at the Philharmonia, a repetition of the previous Friday night performance, solely for the less affluent audience, poor students, the barometer of the success and invariably to the great satisfaction of the performers and conductors alike.
Soon it was spring again, birds filling the air with music; like bees, man feverishly pursuing happiness, the nectar of life.
How good it is to be young, to dream, to have romance, to love. Yet one cannot dream forever.
People, governments, drifted into a void and disarray, total disorder, economic failure. Surrounded by sinister individuals, vampires thirsty for blood, vicious animals lurking for prey, poised for the kill.
The Fuhrer of the Aryan race, that cursed myth, searched for solutions, unfulfilled promises for the German people, only to find a scapegoat, the Jew.
Thus, the little tailors and shoemakers became the enemy, the dreaded competitors, spoilers of monopolies, cartels, industries they were not allowed to work in, and as in times immemorial to be blamed for others, their cowardly blunders and inadequacies.
They therefore must be punished. Yet the children of Abraham faced East and prayed to the Almighty, waiting patiently for the day of reckoning, for the Messiah.
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