A Cobbler's Tale

by Neil Perry Gordon

  As the sun set in the late afternoon, they arrived at the town of Hoort. Jakob suggested they find a place to spend the night. A large sign with a carved image of an eagle, its wings spread wide, advertised the Black Eagle Inn.

  “I’ll go and inquire,” Jakob said.

  Pincus looked down the quiet street. A few shopkeepers were closing up for the evening. He knew it was unlikely they’d make the seven-day journey without troubles, but at least the first day had been uneventful.

  “We have a room for the night and a barn for the horses,” Jakob said. “Why don’t you go up to the room, and I’ll take care of the horses. I’ll be up soon,” he added and handed Pincus the room key.

  The way to the rooms was through the restaurant and bar. A small gathering of people sat around the tables. A few of them glanced up without interest at the unassuming man walking up the stairs, his key at the ready.

  Once inside, Pincus closed and locked the door. The accommodations were certainly a letdown from the first-class cabin and feather bed on the SS Amerika, but this wasn’t too bad. Sharing a bed with Jakob would probably be something he should expect for a while.

  He sat on the edge of the bed next to his open valise, picked up the small, carved shoe his father made for him as a child, and rubbed his fingers across its polished surface. He thought of his father and hoped he would look down upon him and give him strength for his journey to rescue his family. But what if he was too late? The newspapers he’d read on the ship told of fierce fighting taking place from Krakow all the way to Lemberg, and Krzywcza was right in the middle. It was possible that his village could have been wiped out, its civilian population shot dead.

  A knock at the door shook him out of his stupor. “Pincus, unlock the door,” shouted Jakob over the noise from the crowd below, which had become loud and rowdy.

  “Come, let’s get something to eat downstairs,” Jakob said.

  They sat at a table toward the back of the room. A barmaid approached carrying a tray. She placed a tureen of soup on the table, two bowls with spoons already resting inside, and a piece of brown meat simmering on a clay plate with a knife stabbed into it. “I’ll be back with your beer,” she said.

  Pincus looked with disgust at the food and then at Jakob.

  “You’ve been spoiled, Pincus,” Jakob said with a laugh. “You’d better get used to this and worse.”

  As Pincus cautiously scooped out edible pieces of potatoes and vegetables, Jakob carelessly shoveled a spoonful into his mouth.

  “You know, Pincus,” he said loudly, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “We should keep a watch on the cargo.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Pincus pleaded looking around at the men sitting at the tables surrounding them.

  “Since I’m not tired, I’ll take the first watch. I’ll come and wake you in a few hours,” Jakob said, taking a swig of his beer.

  “Are you sure? This beer tastes stronger than the beer we’re used to,” Pincus said pointing to the pint.

  “Nonsense, I’m fine. Go on upstairs. I’ll grab a blanket and find a spot in the barn. We don’t want anyone taking off with our cargo.”

  Pincus opened his eyes to see the sun shining in through the un-shuttered windows. Disoriented, he sat up and could hear a commotion of conversations through the door. Wasn’t Jakob supposed to have woken me hours ago?

  He quickly dressed and ran down the stairs. He looked about the tables, but Jakob was not among the patrons eating breakfast. Forgetting his coat, he ran out into the street, so enraged that the frigid winds had no effect on him. He opened the barn doors and, to his horror, found nothing there. No wagon, no horses, and no Jakob.

  CHAPTER 52

  MOSHE’S BAR MITZVAH

  Clara said little in the days after Captain Berbecki’s assault on her and on her village. She talked to no one about it. The rebbetzin cautiously approached, but Clara evaded her. “I just need time,” she said, as a way not to offend.

  After the dead had been properly buried, life in the village resumed, though under a dark and sinister cloud. People went about their daily lives, but hopelessness spread throughout the village like a contagious virus.

  “Mama, please don’t be sad,” Moshe said, standing next to her as she washed potatoes at the basin.

  “Moshe, I am not sad. What matters is that you are okay. My children are the most important thing in my life,” she said patting his cheek.

  “What about Papa? Is he not important?”

  She put down the potato and looked at him. “Your Papa is very important. Wherever he is, we must not forget him and pray for our reunion one day.”

  “I won’t forget him, Mama,” Moshe reassured her.

  A knock at the door startled Clara, “Who can that be?”

  “It’s the rabbi,” said Jennie as she opened the door.

  “Hello, Jennie,” he said, giving her a hug and a kiss on her cheek. “You are looking more like your mother every day. So lovely.”

  “Hello, Clara,” he greeted her as he removed his coat. “Come, Hymie and Anna, and give me a hug.”

  Thanks to Hashem, it’s only the rabbi, Clara thought, as she watched her children run over and wrap their arms around his skinny legs.

  The rabbi sat down at the table and motioned for Clara and Moshe to join him.

  “I’ve come to discuss the plans for Moshe’s bar mitzvah. His thirteenth birthday is only a week away, Clara.”

  “You must be joking, Rabbi. A bar mitzvah celebration now, while we are in the midst of all this madness?”

  “A bar mitzvah is no joke,” the rabbi said with a smile. “We must acknowledge Moshe’s achievements and his rite of passage into manhood.”

  He placed his hand on Moshe’s shoulder and said “I know it’s hard to imagine any kind of celebration right now. There is so much pain, especially for you. But it’s important that Moshe perform the bar mitzvah ceremony when his thirteenth birthday comes.”

  Bar mitzvahs are typically planned months in advance. So, when the rabbi insisted that it should proceed, she needed to prepare quickly with only days to organize the big event.

  When the morning of the bar mitzvah finally arrived, Clara stood before the mirror. Adversity had not been kind to her, she observed, but she would try to look her best. As she fussed over her appearance, she shivered as thoughts of Berbecki flashed through her mind. I did what any mother would do, she insisted to herself. But there was nothing that would ever erase the shame of having given herself to that monster.

  She imagined the countless women who had no doubt been attacked in the same animalistic manner. The way he had spun her around to face his desk and pushed her down, forcing her to grab the back of a chair; then lifting her skirt and pulling down her undergarments. Seconds later, he had thrust himself into her, sending a screeching pain vibrating throughout her body. The act had taken only seconds, but she knew it would dominate her memories for a lifetime.

  “Mother, the children are ready,” Jennie called out.

  Clara stood up, took a deep breath and walked out into the front room. “Children, let’s go to your brother’s bar mitzvah,” she said with her best forced smile.

  Every seat at the Krzywcza synagogue was taken. The men who couldn’t find a seat stood in the back. Up in the balcony overlooking the sanctuary, the women squeezed in where they could. The entire Jewish population of Krzywcza had come to celebrate Moshe Potasznik’s bar mitzvah.

  The stories of Moshe’s episodes, his healing powers, and his confrontation with the Russian captain had spread like a virus throughout the shtetl. The opportunity of seeing him become a bar mitzvah was the event of the year.

  Friends stood up to greet and congratulate Clara as she and her children climbed the stairs to the women’s section in the balcony. At the outpouring of love and support, she fought back tears. Save your crying for the ceremony, she admonished herself.

  The men crowding below on the sanctuary floor all turned and looked
up at Clara. They greeted her enthusiastically. She responded by placing her hands crisscrossed over her heart, her head slightly bowed, her eyes briefly closed.

  The door to the rabbi’s study opened, and out walked the rabbi, wearing his best tallit, followed closely by Moshe. The congregation fell silent at the sight of them.

  Clara gasped at her son’s appearance. He looked different. A beautiful embroidered white tallit draped around his shoulders. His blue eyes looked up and found her, and he smiled. She couldn’t stop the tears any longer as they flooded down her cheeks.

  Moshe stood next to the rabbi on the bimah as the ceremony began. The familiar prayers and songs filled the shul with joy. Clara watched her son, now a man, and felt her heart was bursting with pride.

  The religious ceremony ended, and the rabbi stood on the bimah facing the congregation. Moshe sat in a chair next to him.

  “Today is a wonderful day. I think it has been a while since I said those words. Let me say them again and cherish each one.” The rabbi closed his eyes, spread his arms wide in front of him, and said slowly, briefly pausing between each word, “Today is a wonderful day.”

  The congregation nodded in approval.

  “In all my many years as your rabbi, I have seen many things, both good and bad. I am sure you all can say the same.”

  Heads nodded in agreement.

  “But why do we simplify our memories into these distinct categories of good or bad? How can our complicated lives be boiled down to these two opposites?”

  He paused, allowing the question to linger.

  “This is how our minds work. Our memories are born of moments that are etched into our consciousness. We store these memories in the rooms in our mind,” the rabbi said, pointing his long, crooked finger to his forehead.

  “When we are young, these rooms are very large and filled with wonderful, simple memories such as birthday parties. Or maybe something sad like losing a pet,” he said for the benefit of a few children poking their young faces through the balcony railing. “As we get older, our experiences, our lives, our moments create new rooms both good and bad. The good moments we store in the rooms that we keep open and easily accessible for times to share with our family and friends. This is healthy and makes us happy.”

  The rabbi turned briefly to look at Moshe, smiling. “Today will be a happy day that will create a room in your mind, a good memory that you can visit from time to time.”

  He paused and his expression changed from light and carefree to serious. He clasped his hands together and shook them back and forth.

  “We also have bad memories. Dark moments of our lives we don’t want to remember. Where do we put these? We tend to lock them up in rooms, wrap them in heavy chains, and hide them in the deepest, darkest corners of our mind.”

  Clara sat up at this remark. Is the rabbi speaking directly to me? She knew any mother would have done the same to save her child, but giving herself to Berbecki was just too hideous a memory, one that she needed to find a deep, dark corner in which to bury.

  “This is what our minds like to do. It is our way of coping with tragic events in our lives. It’s how we move on.” He stopped and glanced up to the balcony where Clara stared back at him.

  “While it feels good to bury the bad moments, the bad memories, it is not healthy. We think these rooms are locked up, safe from affecting our well-being. But they are not. These memories have ways of sneaking out through the cracks and poisoning the deepest parts of our minds. What happens next? We start behaving in ways that take us farther and farther away from Hashem.”

  The rabbi hesitated and looked out over his congregation, now silent and waiting for his next words.

  “What is the result as we lose our way? We lock up more bad memories. Our minds become warehouses of dark secrets.

  “Each of us must fight the battle every day between good and bad. Between the light and the dark. You may say to me, ‘Rabbi I cannot deal with the bad. The darkness haunts my dreams.’ I have news for you; the darkness haunts my dreams too.”

  The congregation gave a collective gasp.

  “How do we cope when we have experienced such darkness? Where can we store these memories if we cannot lock them up and throw away the key?”

  He paused as if waiting for an answer.

  “We accept them, we embrace them. We use them as fuel to move forward. We will not succumb to the darkness. We will move toward the light,” he said, raising his arms to the heavens.

  “We have, indeed, suffered a great deal. Let us not forget what has happened. Instead let us use this dark moment in our lives to make us stronger, to give us the resolve to move forward as Jews and to follow the teachings of Hashem.”

  The rabbi summoned Moshe to stand next to him and wrapped his long lanky arm around Moshe’s shoulder.

  “Today is the day the light takes over the darkness. Today is when we open all the doors in our minds to both the good and the bad. We are no longer afraid. Our village of Krzywcza may be small and inconsequential in this world at war, but we will continue to carry forth the light—a beacon of hope for those who still believe in the power of Hashem.”

  The congregation waited silently as the rabbi turned Moshe to look at him.

  “Today, Moshe Potasznik, you are a man. But you are so much more. You are our beacon of hope. You are our light drowning out the darkness. You inspire us. You inspire me.” The rabbi paused to wipe away his tears.

  “Not all great men are old men. Some great men are only thirteen years old.”

  The rabbi hugged Moshe, and then he turned and looked up to Clara in the balcony. He held his clasped hands out to her and said “Mazel tov, Clara.”

  “Mazel tov,” the congregation replied in unison.

  CHAPTER 53

  THE ESCAPE

  Jakob awoke to find himself bouncing up and down in the back of the wagon next to the wooden crate of guns. He reached for the back of his head and felt his hair stuck together in clumps. Someone must have hit him from behind. The pain he felt and the dried blood on his fingers confirmed that.

  He remembered leaving the Black Eagle Inn and walking to the barn. Whoever hit him must have done so then. Did his hijackers know what was hidden in the crate? He parted the canvas flaps and saw they were moving quickly over some unpaved road. The morning light shone through some patches of trees that lined the road.

  The wagon slowed and came to a stop. Jakob could now hear two men speaking.

  “You go inside and tell Uncle what we have. I’ll take care of our passenger and cargo,” said the first.

  “All right, be careful,” replied the other.

  “Not to worry. If he gives me any trouble, I’ll shoot him,” he said with a sharp guffaw.

  “Shoot him in the leg. We don’t want to kill him. At least not yet,” said the second man.

  Jakob heard footsteps approaching. The end of a shotgun appeared though the flaps of the canvas panels. Quickly they were pulled aside and Jakob saw the man aiming a shotgun at him.

  Jakob noticed the man’s dark, deep-set eyes trained on him. His hands seemed steady and sure. He knew that any quick move would result in being shot at close range. He raised his hands slowly.

  “Get out,” the man ordered.

  Jakob got to his feet, walked to the edge of the wagon, and, with survival instincts honed on the rough streets of Warsaw, swiftly kicked the gun aside. The man instinctively fired off a round of shot that splattered across the wooden crate. Jakob leaped off the wagon leading with his fists and pounded the man’s face as his landed. The man fell to the ground still clutching the shotgun. With nothing to break his fall, he slammed to the earth hard, knocking the breath out of him.

  Jakob swooped down and grabbed the shotgun, cocked it, and pointed it at the man lying motionless at his feet.

  “Get up,” Jakob ordered.

  The man staggered up.

  “Walk to the front of the wagon.”

  Jakob kept the gun point
ing at the man’s chest as he backed up. The horses were agitated from the gunshot and commotion.

  “Get down on the ground,” he ordered.

  The man obliged.

  Jakob grabbed the horsewhip with his left hand and gave a sharp snap to the rear of one of the horses. The horses budged slightly and moved forward at a snail’s pace.

  The second man burst out the front door, fired at Jakob but missed him. Jakob fired back, hitting his target. The man fell backwards with such force that he split some of the wallboard covering the outside of the building.

  Jakob steadied the horses. Eventually with momentum on their side, their pace quickened. He had escaped alive with the cargo intact. Now he faced two new problems. Where was he, and where was Pincus?

  Jakob kept the horses moving steadily for several hours until he came to a village. A young boy walked by, carrying what looked like schoolbooks.

  “Can you tell me where we are?” Jakob asked the boy.

  “This is Rastow.”

  “Can you tell me in which direction is Hoort?”

  “It’s about three miles this way,” he said, pointing to a road that veered off to Jakob’s left.

  “That’s great, thank you.”

  Fortunately, his abductors hadn’t taken him too far. With some luck, he could make it back to the Black Eagle Inn, grab Pincus, and be on his way.

  He arrived at the Black Eagle Inn just in time for lunch. He thought he would walk in and find Pincus sitting at a table, eating and fuming in anger at being abandoned. Jakob tied up the horses and entered the inn. Several tables were occupied by patrons, none of them Pincus.

  He asked the innkeeper at the front desk if he knew what had happened to his friend. “He’s gone. He thought you left without him,” said the man.