War Torn Love

by Londo, Jay M.

  She talked in a very thunderous, commanding sort of voice-un-lady like, if you were to ask me. I was taught that women were supposed to be seen not heard – and she was the exact opposite to that of my mother. You can certainly appreciate when she communicated in this manner, to the class, it tended to frighten me every time she spoke - a voice that would normally be uncommon coming from a woman.

  If that was not bad enough, she carried, always within arm’s reach of her, her ‘punishment rod`. What I am speaking of is a three-foot long, three quarters of a one-inch thick, wooden round dowel. I discovered its dimensions and makeup was significant - it had to be flexible, with that snap back, to successfully achieve the snapping stinging effect that she searched for, yet did enough not to break when she struck it on the poor waiting pupil’s exposed open palm, or butt. She was proficient and lightening fast with it, - it was as if it was an extension of her own arm. She was skillful to accomplish a swishing whipping sound. Sort of a sound a bee makes while flying by your ear. And trust me, you didn’t want to be the one that she was producing the sound for.

  There was a female student in my class, which has started circulating an account spread fear around the classroom. The girl claimed that our teacher could pluck a fly out of mid-air. The story started when a girl named Anelie says she had personally witnessed the event, while showing up to class early one morning. She claimed that was coming out of the coat closet, located at the back end of the classroom, were the students stored their coats, and lunches. And she said she saw her do it, Everyone gained a new, quite awe for that rod and all of us grew to dread it. Mrs. Kaczmarek preferred number one body site to smack you with her lightning dowel rod, the spot to achieve the supreme cutting stinging power was to slash the open end of both of your palms at the same time. Her reasons for taking such actions is that when in her warped view of the world - you were out of line, like talking out of turn, or heaven forbid answering a question incorrectly. She thought that you were not paying attention. Alternatively another reason to be struck by her was, just if she was in a bad sort of disposition for any given day, or perhaps she wanted to make a point. Our classroom was set up as a small dictatorship for all intents and purposes. We all grew to fear her rod. We liked to walk up and down the line, taping it in her hands. It would send chills up and down my spine.

  Mrs. Kaczmarek, seeing Abram and I were acquaintances, immediately took a small pleasure and divided Abram and I up, in her new school year’s seating assignment. But our seats were at the back portion of the classroom, the two of us separated by three desks. She ended up seating the two of us and the other three Jewish kids in the very last back row of the classroom, purposely alienating us from the other children. Her actions towards us the rest of that first day would promptly made it abundantly clear to Abram and I, that this woman had it deliberately out for the kids that were Jewish in her classroom. I would even go as far as saying that she had pure distain for us. I have seen that sort of look before. I was taught not to hate other people, but this woman was making it extremely difficult to not hate her, though I did my best to find the best in her. Sadly - for all of us - on the first day I knew that it would prove evidence to be a very extendedly long, grueling, very trying and taxing school year on me, one that had gone from awful to most dreadful. As soon as she had gone over all her rules, and what she was expecting of us. To be honest I had already in my young life experience a bit of discrimination for simply being Jewish - like the part of town I lived in- was the Jewish quarters. However, up until that day, it never really tended to bother me. At eight years of age, I wasn’t able to fully able to grasp, or identify with the abhorrence some poured towards us. To those people, when one is Jewish, like it’s a dirty thing, or something. Even on that first day, I knew that my teacher was going to prove to be vindictive and cruel towards us five Jewish students in particular.

  By the end of that first day of school, I was an emotional wreck. I came home from school, completely devastated. No one ever had treated me so horribly until that day. I couldn’t comprehend why my new teacher could not like me - freckles and all. I was a likable enough girl; at least I thought I was. All my teachers have liked my sweet disposition, up until now; I had always been the teacher’s pet of sorts. When I arrived home, I slammed the screen door open, and ran straight up to my bedroom, buried my face into my pillow, and the dam of emotions let loose on me all at once. After holding them back all day, I really could not help myself. I began to bawl. Momma could hear me crying through the heat vent, after coming in through the back door that led into the kitchen. I could always count on her; maybe I purposely wanted Momma to hear me. My wish was granted, she in her characteristic sweet way came up to the room with a plate of hot freshly baked oatmeal cookies, and milk. The ones I could not resist.

  “Darling, what’s wrong - why on earth are you crying? What has my girl so saddened? Did something happen to you at school today - did someone hurt my baby girl?”

  She went ahead and set the plate and cup of milk down on my dresser, and came and sat beside me. I sat up and she - warmly hugged me, I melted into her arms. Momma had a very gentle soul. Just as Momma put her arms around me, Sissy walked in through the bedroom door, saw that I was weeping on Momma’s shoulder. I could say a lot about my sister, which was not always so flattering, but when someone was hurting, she had a huge heart just like Momma, and was always there for me when it really counted. Every little sister would be glad to have her as a big sister. Sissy and Mom both put their arms around me. It felt so good to be between then after all of what I had been through. They both asked me what was so wrong. I tried my best to discontinue my crying. I was so upset it was difficult to talk.

  I wiped the tears away from my eyes and pulled away from Momma’s chest, so that I could look at her face, and talk with her.

  “Momma what’s wrong with being Jewish?”

  This time when I asked Momma she did not struggle with the answer, or endeavor to sugar coat it when I asked the thorny question. I was watched her reactions after I was asking and she had not even squirmed when I had asked her. She completely understood what it was that I was talking about, and currently going through. She told me later she was upset that I to was now having to experience the darker side in people who are anti-Semitic. She looked over at my sister, who also perfectly understood what I was experiencing. The look they gave each other was curious to me. Momma got up,

  “Excuse me a moment. Hana” Leaving the room for a moment. She returned a minute later, bringing back with her the scriptures’ from the Torah. Mom sat between Sissy and me on the bed, then read a few passages, thinking the God’s own words would help shed some light, put me at ease, and God willing, answer some of what I was wondering. They both knew that finding out this answer would rob me of a small piece of my adolescence, and innocence, which I did not deserve to lose, not just yet anyways. I had pretty much been sheltered living as we did in the Jewish section of town.

  Marym told me a story I had not heard before, sharing with me her own experience. From what I had learned my people have been experiencing this sort of harsh treatment from Christians, Arabs, Muslims, Egyptians and many other races over the course of thousands of years, since the time before Moses. And when Momma and sister were both finished up explaining themselves to me, I understood I was not much happier - in fact, I was not sure exactly how I was feeling. I guess Momma did not like when I had said, because I guess I was just so frustrated with things in general, I was like the tea pot. I blew my top, shouting at the top of my lungs, “I wish that we weren’t Jewish!”

  You should have seen it. I wish I could have taken it back before the words left my lips. I stopped and waited for a very negative response from Momma. Momma’s face turned went ashen but surprising to me and Marym, she remained perfectly calm, her hands neatly on her knees, and then calmly tried explaining to me, “My daughter, you should be proud of our heritage, never ashamed, it is God’s will.”

  I began
weeping once again, this time ashamed for what I had just said; I wanted so to take it back. “I didn’t mean it Momma, I m so sorry.”

  She said, “I understood,” but that she was going to have the Rabbi talk with me at next Sabbath.” She continued “And that if you had needed to, you can talk to Poppa this evening.”

  Which meant another talking by Poppa, I knew I was not in any kind of trouble - in fact; Poppa was like a big old teddy bear. I loved sitting on his lap. I was his little buttercup.

  “Thanks Momma, and Marym I love you both.” Marym was crying, as she left, so was Momma.

  Later on that very afternoon, after I was finished with, my daily chores. Momma said, “Honey why don’t you go ahead, and go out and get some fresh air - sitting inside is not going to make me feel any better. Go on go out and play!”

  Thinking perhaps, she was right; I ran over and met Abram up in our clubhouse. Even back then just seeing him warm smile, hearing his soft, even-pitched voice, somehow cheered me up when I was down. I decided to try to explain to him what my Momma and sister had been kind enough to share with me. That day I felt like I grew a bit closer to them all, and learned how important it was that I remain proud of being Jewish, how important it was that we stick together.

  I was surprised that young Mr. Abram, too had been as naive as I had on what exactly it had meant to be Jewish - not the scriptural part, no both had studied the last couple of years, but how non-Jewish people really viewed us. Oh, we knew our prayers etcetera, but we had no idea how some non- Jewish people hatred Jewish people. I discovered later that this was why our family had moved and settled in Poland. Our people had been considered second-class citizens of the world since the Romans banished us from the Holy lands. Our temple destroyed, we were forced to scatter to all four corners of the world. But our people never gave up their faith through all this.

  Everyday in Mrs. Kaczmarek classroom, we were tortured of sorts - by her shrill will to purposely have it out for us Jews. I would have cried most of the time- in class, if it wasn’t for Abram sheer ability to somehow cheer me up just when I needed. He always knew exactly how to make me laugh at just the right times - with his funny faces, which he snuck in when teacher wasn’t looking. It did not bother him as it did me. Of course, I have always been over-emotional. I let things get to me. Mrs. Kaczmarek would make one of the five Jewish children in her class room answer her questions each day at least twice as often as any times of the other twenty other children in the classroom.

  It came to be that we were deathly afraid to answer her incorrectly. It created a constant state of fear for the five of us; we always walked on eggshells while in her presence. The five of us were assigned added addition homework every day, and she would by never award us an A-grade - even when we had all our answers right on. For example, the weekly spelling test, if an I was not dotted; the spelling word was counted as wrong. It would seem that one of the five students was being sent to stand in the corner, on falsely trumped up charges at least once a day. What was worse was that in Mrs. Kaczmarek classroom, she was creating a proliferate atmosphere of abhorrence towards the Jewish kids that had not existed before her arrival at the school. Kids that I had attended school with ever since the first-grade were now mean. They never seem to have a problem with the fact that we were Jewish, suddenly learned to appreciate our teacher-warped views. They would laugh at us when the teacher took her vengeance on one or all of us at once. That was the only time she would not yell for the entire classroom to be quiet.

  None of the five set of parents of these Jewish children I speak of in my class - which included my own parents and all attended the same Synagogue - would take any sort of action on our behalf. The parents all knew it would not do any good to stir up trouble; in fact, it could make matters worse. It was a hatred that would not go away it ran deep in some. There was no way to change that.

  I was so mad that Poppa would not go down to the school and punch Mrs. Kaczmarek in the nose. What I did not or could possibly comprehend at the time, just how bad the non-Jewish community - people that were supposed to be his friends, treated Poppa himself - he could not risk making waves. He needed to do business with some of these people. I was not sure if he was ashamed to tell this to me, or not. Frankly, I was just too young. I never thought it could even be possible that anyone could hurt my Poppa - to me he was like my superman. I had thought he was invincible. I guess at some point in life I had to let him off his pedestal, to realize he is only human, just like me. It was regrettable - my own lesson would come for me, highlighting this subject some years later. I realize now, we all had a test of our faith, and just how far humanity could fall, so fast. My own people came close to being wiped off the face of this earth forever.

  The five of us began hanging out – there was safety in numbers. Simultaneously, that made the five us become good friends. At school, soon Abram and I had invited them to become new members of our clubhouse. We could use a few more members.

  After a month of this impetuous behavior from my teacher. I needed to meddle. I took it upon myself to make an intervention, a legitimate effort to win our teacher over once and for all. If I was successful then I could change her line of thinking about Jewish people – to win her over, show her were not so bad people that were just like them, then perhaps things would be easier. I am a person who cares it’s my nature, I like to meddle in people’s life. I had to uncover out more information about her - she became my case study, and I volunteered this services. Therefore, Abram and I played sleuth, just like Sherlock Homes, which I had just finished reading. We two budding detectives proceeded to track her movements, and pursue her after she left the schoolyard on a Wednesday afternoon. We were being awfully careful not to be seen by her. We hid behind trees or anything else that we could find, as cover along the way. If she was to spot either of us, I could only imagine what sort of trouble we would get into.

  She had walked about a mile from school, in the exact opposite section of town; it was a poorer section, a down rotten section, on the other side of the tracks. She finally stopped, and went into a rundown brick stone three-story apartment building. It was not much to look at. We could see that she had gone into a second floor apartment. We could make her out through the open apartment windows. The drapes were wide open from and we could see she had four children. They were all so glad to see her as she walked in through the front door. It had struck me as odd. I had not expected that. Mrs. Kaczmarek showed such a loving side - she kissed each and every one of them, showed such tenderness. She made each one feel special. We sat and watched on, as she made dinner, she then quickly ate herself, and then she changed her clothes, talked to her oldest daughter for a moment. And as quickly as she had stayed, she left them behind once more. It was just after she shut the door behind her, that she waved goodbye to each of them through the window. They all waved to her as she rushed off, and then we witnessed something firsthand that we thought we would have never have seen in a million years. She began to cry as she strolled down the street, out of her children’s sight. She looked nothing like the women I had thought I had known. We had created her into something she was not. I realized what I had been doing was not right - rather I should go out of my way to find out more about her, before I form any more options about her.

  “Wait - did you just see what I saw?” As Abram had been tapping me on my shoulder.

  “Yes. I can’t believe it.”

  I was so taken aback by the recent development; I was moved, fighting to hold back the tears. I didn’t want to cry in front of Abram, I knew he might have just teased me. The only time I had cried in front of him up until that point was when I had fallen and skinned my knee. I guess I should not have worried; he would end up seeing my cry quite a bit, never once was he nothing but comforting.

  Mrs. Kaczmarek finally ended up arriving at the textile plant, which was owed by a rich and quite mean Jewish family - the largest employer of the town. This family had distanced themselves from
the poorer Jew’s.

  Near as the two of us could figure it out, she must have had to take on a second job, probably in order to feed her four kids. Suddenly we both felt bad for her that we should not have been judging her.