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A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
A new addition
One afternoon Jacob returned from school earlier than usual. Laibl was still in school; Mayer and Moishele in cheder; Zysyl already finished with it, helping around the house, in her spare time plucking on the mandolin.
As soon as he opened the door, he realized that something was wrong. It was unusually quiet, just mute cries coming from the inside, his father in his tallis praying, Malkele and Faigele sobbing, tears streaming down their faces.
"What is it?" Jacob shouted, his father totally unaware of his presence. It was Malkele who blurted out: "Mama has a baby in her stomach – that’s what makes her sick."
"But where is she?"
"There." Malkele pointed to the alcove. "Zysyl and a big lady in white are there, too."
Jacob turned to his father and pulled at his tallis to get his attention.
"Pray my child, pray to the Almighty for your mother’s health," his father said. "Let Him save her."
Minutes later, a woman in white appeared, with drops of perspiration on her forehead and carrying a tub of reddish fluid, which she emptied into the sink. Suddenly the crying of an infant filled the room.
Shortly afterward the midwife reappeared and said, "Reb Fischel, for sure you must be a good man. For a long while I feared not only for the baby but also for your wife. Having a baby is no picnic. But with God’s help you have a big, healthy boy, and your courageous wife is doing well, too."
"Thank you," Jacob’s father said. "You are as brave as my wife – you are both "Aishes Chail" (valiant women), may God bless you, keep you in health and happiness.
By the end of the week, Jacob’s mother was on her feet, singlehandedly preparing for the "Sholom Zocher, B’rith Milah," welcoming another son into the world of Judaism. One more soul to meet bullies, Goliaths, appropriately enough to name him David.
A Jewish boy grew up faster than any other child, always having a younger brother, or sister, rocking the cradle while himself a baby still.
Although there was no "Parnosse," children were always in abundance; almost every family had a flock of little ones. The problem was to feed them, clothing was secondary. The oldest one had to be provided for, and after outgrowing, the next one fit into it.
Mayer Glatt was more fortunate. He, one of four brothers and a sister, shared a four-room apartment rent-free; his father an unemployed construction worker supported by his sons and brother, the landlord. Mayer and Jacob were inseparable, little daredevils, the best soccer players.
Occasionally Mayer’s oldest brother Oleg’s fiancee took them to a nearby brook where tiny tadpoles abounded, echoes of distant bells of cows grazing, never failing to surprise them with a story, cookie, or a piece of candy, her sisterly loving attention, for she did not have any younger brothers.
Directly over Jacob’s quarters lived an elderly couple and their daughter, an accomplished pianist, her playing lingering long after he cradled the baby to sleep.
To the left were the Herrings, their two statuesque young daughters and a son. To the right lived Itchy Krull the tailor, his wife, four daughters and two sons. Their abode consisted of a store divided by a colorful curtain; two sewing machines, one facing the only window and the other facing the adjoining wall; and a table used for multitudinous purposes.
Motel, at the age of 15, helped his father in his craft; David, nine, a year younger than Jacob, and the girls in their late teens and early twenties, quite good-looking.
Frequently young men would take them for long strolls, or stay behind the partition, hugging and kissing.
Over the Krulls’, occupying the greater part of the second floor and the only balcony, was the residence of the landlord, Pan Stempniewski, a tall man with enormous shoulders on a massive frame – a hog dealer – a drunk, his menacing voice causing panic to his wife, two daughters and a son.
His wife, although not young anymore, showed traces of great beauty. The oldest daughter, a gorgeous creation, was courted by the most eligible bachelors, young cavalry men. The landlord’s son, a handsome teenager, was always in the company of Gentiles his age. And the youngest – Halinka, the darling of the family, a small replica of her sister.
The landlady often visited the store, if not to collect the rent then simply to annoy Jacob’s father with gibberish. It was not easy to get rid of her. Only when her little daughter called would she know it was time to leave the handsome watchmaker.
One afternoon, while Jacob was dusting the faded showcases, Halinka came into the store looking for her mother, her pale blue eyes finding Jacob’s instead.
Days later, after an important game of football, all perspired trying the side entrance, and there was Halinka, inviting Jacob to her garden.
He had never been there, yet knew every inch of it: benches painted in white, fruit trees, flowers, a path sprinkled with white gravel, and a swing in the center … Shangri-la, enjoyed by the Stempniewskis and privileged guests.
Jacob stood on the steps hesitating, the temptation great. He entered the house, the young ones playing, mother busy, father with the magnifying glass pressed to his right eye like a scientist searching for a germ; so what was there to wait? The coast was clear.
He pretended to go to the latrine, at the last moment turning toward the garden. But before reaching it, he had to pass a long hall of a two-story enclosure separated by two apartments on each side. One belonged to the Rosen family, the elder Rosen busy in producing shoe polish, waxes, his five daughters of past-marriageable age spinning cotton, a boy in his teens operating a noisy old buttonhole machine, and his wife bedridden with a broken leg.
Next door resided another Jewish family, their mentally ill only daughter occasionally leaving the house to get water, having the pump to herself, her appearance causing the line to disappear, for fear not to get soaked.
On the other side of the hall resided Gentiles one had no knowledge of. As a rule it was not customary for a Jew to mix with them, or vice versa.
At last approaching the door, Jacob turned the knob and "voila!" there was Halinka on the swing, pumping. Her face flushed, her chestnut hair blown by the wind, her swaying dress revealing white undies.
Proud of her performance, with a mischievous smile, she said: "Go ahead, let me see you do it!"
At first Jacob sat down on the plank, that little imp giggling. Taking courage, he stood up and started the swing, at first his coordination sluggish, but slowly he caught on.
Her giggling stopped, and she said that for a beginner he was pretty good, and if he wanted to practice he was welcome.
It became a most pleasurable adventure. Whenever he had an opportunity he practiced, exceeding the mastery of Halinka, a secret not even known to Mayer Glatt.
One sunny afternoon he entered the garden, and there was Halinka, full of smiles.
"What’s so funny?" he asked.
"Nothing, but somehow I expected you. Let me see what you can do. You are dressed perfectly," she said.
Like a pro he checked the chains, the plank, dried his hands and began. At first pretending to have difficulty, acting clumsily. Annoyed, she giggled, first to herself and then louder -- to let him know in no uncertain terms who was the best; she gave him a chance, and he should not complain. He did not mind, let her have her fun. Switching one hand over the other, his footing firmly on the platform, he began.
From the corner of his eye he noticed a stirring in her body. Her cocky smile disappeared. She was inching toward the end of the garden, stifling a scream.
"Stop! Stop! That is enough! You’ll kill yourself!" Then, and only then, he slowed down to a complete stop.
Running toward him, she shouted, "That was just terrific, magnificent. You went so high, you almost got stuck in midair!" Then she said, "Let’s do it together."
That alone was a prize in itself.
Never before was Jacob that close to a girl, her tiny breasts causing his heart to beat faster. Her sweetness of breath, wicked smile dizzying, his head spinning. The more he tried to stop the more he pumped, thrusting forward, almost on top of him, her hair blurring his vision, and he retreating – finding himself on the ground; his elbows, legs scraped, knees bleeding.
Immediately she stopped the swing, ran toward him and kissed him on the lips. His eyes closed, and he felt no pain, only the beating of their hearts, trembling bodies. … When he opened them she was gone.
Later in the day, when his mother noticed the scrapes and bruises, he invented a lie. That ended his adventure.
Days, weeks followed one another. He attended school, dwelling on innocent romances. Thoughts of Halinka causing misgivings, pangs of guilt, praying more fervently, and as usual he accompanied his father to the Mikveh, showered, then walked toward the cool pool, took the first step, and froze.
An ugly sight of human excrement floated. A diabolical desecration of a most holy place had been committed. Sickness, nausea, tears of rage, disgust overcoming, thus marking the end of his pilgrimage to the Mikveh.
Not long afterwards his parents decided to move back to Warsaw, the city of their origin, reluctantly leaving his birthplace, childhood, friends, innocent love affairs.
But nothing could be changed. Zysyl was already there.
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