by Shmuel David
Isaac’s house is not far from the Hashomer Hatzair youth movement meeting place, or ken as they call it, and he spends a lot of time there. I went with him a couple of times but didn’t tell Mother and Father about it. Father wouldn’t have let me go. He wants me to go to the Akiba3 youth movement, like Pauli, who has become more mature and responsible since he started going there, and talks a lot about Israel and Zionism. He even offered to be a counselor for younger boys at the ken. Father thinks that Akiba is more traditional and Zionist than Hashomer Hatzair. But personally, I feel closer in spirit to Hashomer Hatzair, because they discuss important issues like justice and equality. Father doesn’t understand that. Maybe he really is an oppressive rich man. Sometimes I think he abuses his employees. I’ve heard him shout at them a couple of times.
The leader of the Hashomer Hatzair ken is a young man called Itzko. For him, revolution and manifestation are not only words, they’re a call to action. I’m really starting to admire him for bringing a fresh new spirit from Israel. He makes us youngsters aware of the wrongs and injustices in daily life and talks a lot about the revolution necessary for us to create a better society. Thanks to him, I’m beginning to look at Father and his lifestyle in a more critical way; Mother, too, with her blind admiration of German culture. I understand now that the school curriculum is dictated by government authorities. We have a king, which means we have a dictatorship and not a democracy. That’s why my parents don’t like Hashomer Hatzair and their meetings. They don’t like anything with an ideological background that’s different from theirs. I’m afraid to tell Father I’ve already been there a couple of times, because he doesn’t like “provocateurs,” and that’s what he thinks they are.
Today, I went to Hashomer Hatzair again. This time, it was all about camping. Itzko taught us how to build a fence, a ladder, and a bridge with ropes and poles. At the end of the activity, we talked about the civil war in Spain. The stories coming from over there are different from those published in our newspapers here. Isaac told me his uncle is in Spain, helping the fighters for the republic. No one in our house talks about the Spanish civil war, certainly not about idealists going off with nothing but a backpack to help the freedom fighters. I’m excited by the idea of young people fighting for really important things, like freedom and equality.
In addition to my private lessons in French and German, I’m also studying the section of the Torah I’ll need to read for my bar mitzvah. Rabbi Menahem teaches me to read from the Torah like a parrot and explains what it means. Hebrew is such a strange and difficult language! It’s not like any other language I know.
Father says it’s very important I learn the section of the Torah and the blessings properly, otherwise I’ll shame him. But he hardly observes any of the laws and rituals of Judaism, even though his grandfather was a renowned Jewish scholar in Zemun, a town near Belgrade. My mother’s family also had a famous rabbi, Judah Chai Alkalai, a Zionist pioneer, who preached settling the land of Israel. At the beginning of the century, many Jews left the Ottoman Empire to resettle in Jaffa and Jerusalem. But our family doesn’t follow in Rabbi Alkalai’s footsteps. Father sometimes says we should emigrate to Israel, but I don’t think he really means it. “Nonetheless,” he says. “One mustn’t abandon tradition. In the same way a baby enters Judaism through circumcision, a boy should at least be familiar with the world of tradition when he turns thirteen and has his bar mitzvah.”
Today, like every Friday evening, the entire family gathered around the dining table, including Father, who was late from work, and Klarie, who came from the city with her husband.
Father said that if the situation in Europe continued to deteriorate, we’d have to think about emigrating to Israel. Mother, as usual, said the time wasn’t right yet and that we needed to wait until it was less dangerous there before we could actually consider it.
Klarie, who is busy with her career from dawn till dusk, says there’s no point in talking about emigrating to Israel. There’s no work there, no culture, nothing but pogroms and disease.
Because everyone was talking about Israel, I took advantage of the opportunity and told them I’d been to a few Hashomer Hatzair meetings with Isaac. As expected, Father got very upset. He doesn’t think Hashomer Hatzair is right for me; he thinks I should go to a youth movement closer in spirit to Jewish tradition. When I told him my opinions about the moral principles upheld by Hashomer Hatzair, he got even angrier and said that Ezra, Mr. Yosipovich’s son, had participated in a few Hashomer Hatzair meetings and got some strange ideas into his head. In the end, Mr. Yosipovich actually had to request the aid of the police. The police had wanted to lay their hands on that youth movement for a long time because it incited youths to support irresponsible ideas. Mr. Yosipovich said the police had saved his child.
At these words, I could no longer contain myself.
“What ideas are you talking about, Father? What irresponsible ideas?”
“Ideas about rebelling against society,” he said. “The war they’ve declared against the very society that nurtures them.”
“You think bourgeois-capitalist society nurtures anyone but the rich?” I asked, suddenly realizing I was opposing him.
“You’ve forgotten where you come from. Many boys in the youth movement come from bourgeois families,” Klarie intervened.
“Of course, because it burns more fiercely in the hearts of those who know bourgeois society from the inside.”
“Really, Hanne? You’re burning to destroy your own social class?” said Klarie incredulously.
“It just goes to show how different you grown-ups are. Even you’ve become a bourgeois.”
“I was young once too. I also rebelled against my father,” Father said angrily. “You think the generation struggle was invented by Hashomer Hatzair?”
“So you agree with me that it’s legitimate to criticize grown-up society, if it is unable to criticize itself?”
“Young man, I advise you to choose your words carefully. You are my son, and you’re a part of this society.”
“You don’t understand, Father. The revolution intends to correct things. On the ruins of the old, sick society, a new and better one will be founded.”
“I suggest we stop all these arguments right now and finish our meal in peace,” Mother ended the discussion and asked Sophie to serve the last course.
After our argument, I couldn’t sleep.
The next morning, when playing tennis with Klarie, she spoke to me about what had happened.
“I think Father was really offended. You shouldn’t have opposed him like that.”
“Look who’s talking. Three years ago, you thought exactly like me.”
“That’s right, but I’ve grown up since then. Perhaps because I got married. Perhaps because I wanted to be financially independent. But I ended up thinking my own personal interests are more important.”
“More important than your ideals? Aren’t you best friends with Olga, that communist?”
“Yes, but listen, Hanne, sooner or later you’ll leave home to start an independent life. Till then, you need to compromise. Go to Akiba like Pauli and don’t provoke Father.”
“You think I’m saying this just to provoke Father? What’s happened to you? You used to be so passionate about your beliefs.”
“Just so you know, Hanne, and this must stay between the two of us, Father’s financial situation is not as good as it used to be. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but his office no longer gets as many new clients. Perhaps this has to do with all the incitement against Jews. But it might be something else. And things may get even worse.”
***
I’m spending a lot of time studying for my bar mitzvah. Hebrew is simply an impossible language! But today, I heard Rabbi Menahem tell Mother that I’ve made real progress and he thinks I’ll be ready in time. I’m also going to Sunday school now, to improve
my knowledge of Hebrew and Judaism.
During my Sunday afternoon walk with Pauli in Kalemegdan Park, we met Telbi and had a chat. I know Telbi from Sunday school. He’s two years older than me. He’s very talented and knowledgeable about a lot of subjects, but he’s very modest and good-hearted. He was sitting drawing on the green, grassy hill overlooking the confluence of the rivers. He noticed us and invited us to see his drawing. Pauli, who also likes to draw, took a good look and said, “You’re talented. Where did you learn how to draw?”
“Nowhere. It just comes from my heart,” Telbi answered.
Pauli went off to meet some friends from his youth movement, and I stayed to watch Telbi drawing. I admired his patience and serenity.
“Why don’t you come with me to our Akiba ken this evening?” he said. “We dance the hora there every Sunday. Akiba probably won’t change the world, but we do know how to have a good time.”
I accepted his invitation and went along to see what was going on at the Akiba ken. The place looked like a gymnasium. Ropes with rings dangled from the ceiling. The mattresses and parallel bars had been placed against the wall next to the ladders to make room for the dancers. Telbi explained that it was all just camouflage. The law prohibited all gatherings with an ideological agenda, but having an afternoon sports class was acceptable. Even the name of the place, “youth,” was also meant to disguise the fact that it was used for movement meetings. Almost immediately, I noticed the big difference between Akiba and Hashomer Hatzair. In the Akiba ken, there was a far livelier atmosphere, youthful enthusiasm, and dancing. Hashomer Hatzair meetings were much more serious in nature. Their ideology made them take themselves very seriously. Embarrassed, I stood to one side. The boys and girls danced passionately, their faces flushed. Branka was there as well, happy and laughing, very much unlike the quiet Branka I remembered from her tea-time visits to our house with her mother. She had once told me about the Akiba youth movement, but back then I was determined to go to Hashomer Hatzair. Now, there she was, dancing, her face full of joy. She invited me to join the circle of dancers, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to do the dance steps and fit in.
Then I heard a familiar sound from a side room—the clatter of a ping pong ball.
There, in the side room, I finally found my place and earned some respect at the ping pong table. In our garden at home in Dedinje, everyone was afraid to play against me, even Father. The first time I beat him, he threw his bat on the table, ran over to hug me, and immediately asked for a rematch. Now, in that small room at the ken, I became a table-tennis champion for an evening. Everyone wanted to play against me, and word of the new champion quickly spread. I hadn’t felt so happy in a very long time.
***
At the Akiba ken, we have Bible study and discussions about the weekly chapter of the Torah—the parashah. As I listened to Dr. Kaufman’s lectures, I began to get a better understanding of what it means to be Jewish. He reads us a chapter from the Torah and then interprets it. After we read about Abraham and the covenant with God, he compared the story with events in our own time and said that God is now telling us, “Rise up! Go to the land that I will show you!” Of course, he’s actually talking about Israel. No matter how difficult and dangerous it is over there, we must rise, leave our native land, and emigrate to our real homeland. We were enthralled by his words but actually acting on them seemed almost impossible. When we asked him why he didn’t go to Israel, he said he had to complete his educational mission first.
When some of the boys confided their fear of an unfamiliar country, he told us the story of the spies in the Book of Numbers. He spoke of the contradiction between those who said the Promised Land flowed with milk and honey and those who spoke against it and chose to talk about the dreaded giants that ruled the land. He said the people in our own time are very much the same. There are those who are afraid to emigrate to Israel, think only of the dangers they would have to face there, while others think Israel is truly the land of milk and honey. They don’t care if there are giants there, or what their current incarnation is—Arabs—which is what he called the nations populating Jaffa, Haifa, and Tel Aviv.
He knows a lot about many subjects. Sometimes he even teaches us physics and astronomy and takes us outside to show us the heavenly bodies.
***
Today, I went home with Isaac after school. He asked me rather offhandedly why I wasn’t coming with him to the Hashomer Hatzair ken anymore. I looked for excuses and told him about Rabbi Menahem and my bar mitzvah studies. But Isaac said his friend had seen me at the Akiba ken. He asked me what I was doing there. I told him Telbi had persuaded me to come to a meeting to see what it was like. I knew that Isaac would be angry, but didn’t realize how much; when I made excuses, referring to my father’s objections, Isaac turned red all over. When his face goes red and he spits out his words with fury, it can be really scary to be near him. He said he had known all along that I was “like that.” That my entire family was “like that,” that we don’t care about anyone except ourselves and our expensive house and that he would never set foot in our house again.
It was very hard to hear such words from him. He’s my only friend in class, and now he’s turned his back on me. I thought about the harsh things he’d said to me all the way home. He’s my best friend, after all.
* * *
3Akiba (not to be confused with the Bnei Akiva youth movement) was the largest youth movement in Poland before the rise of Nazism. It was founded in Krakow, and then spread to various other cities in Europe.
October 1937
I’ve never seen Rabbi Menahem as upset as he was today.
“Your bar mitzvah is only two weeks away, and you’re nowhere near ready for your reading!”
I didn’t say anything, just lowered my head and accepted his scolding.
I arrived late at the Akiba ken, my head still spinning from the lesson and Rabbi Menahem’s reproaches. Today’s meeting was all about the coming August summer camp. We were going to spend three nights in Žirovnica in the Slovenian mountains. I’ve never gone camping without my parents, so I’m very excited about it. Telbi, who had already been there, told me about the special town situated next to a lake surrounded by forests. We’ll build tents and dance the hora by the campfire till the small hours. Even though it was still a few weeks away, I could already picture the bus ride. Perhaps I’d sit next to Branka. She’d grown so beautiful and looks very mature for her age. She’s no longer shy like she used to be when she and her mother came to our house for tea. Now she constantly smiles at me. I’d forgotten all about her embarrassing visits, when she’d play Schubert for my mother and I was forced to sit quietly and listen. Now I wanted to get closer to her but was afraid she wouldn’t want me to, so I was waiting for an opportunity to present itself. Perhaps if I sat next to her on the bus we would get a little closer.
“Tomorrow is your big day,” Mother whispered to me in the morning and gave me two wet kisses on my cheek.
Father’s three aunts arrived from Budapest on the afternoon train. Soon, I’d be eating Aunt Emilia’s delicious gomboti;4 I’d been waiting all year for this! As soon as she’d freshened up in her room, Aunt Emilia put on Mother’s special apron, tied her hair back, and began the wonderful ceremony of preparing gomboti. I thought Sabina, the cook, who stood by the sink and peeled one potato after another, looked a little insulted by the fact she’d been robbed of her control over the kitchen. Under the hands of Aunt Emilia, the sweet balls of dough came out like an army of marching soldiers, incredibly precise and similarly sized. Her face was flushed and red and her hands fluttered over the dough. I stole my way into the kitchen, tore off a little piece of dough, as small as an olive, and placed it in my mouth. Aunt Emilia said I was lucky it was my bar mitzvah, otherwise she’d have smacked me. I offered to help spreading breadcrumbs, sugar, and cinnamon, and Emilia, much to my surprise, agreed. She said I was a big
boy now and needed to learn how to do practical things and not only how to read the Torah. I carefully placed them on the trays, which already contained piles of gomboti. When Emilia had finished, Mother and Sabina began to prepare Mother’s famous homemade Viennese apple strudel. The fresh apples, picked that very day, were gently cut into thin slices, then spread like fans over the jam-coated dough. The apfelstrudel trays were carefully arranged in rows next to the gomboti trays. The whipped cream would simply have to wait for tomorrow…
***
The big day finally came. The brown suit specially tailored for the event made me sweat. I walked to the pulpit in front of the Holy Ark like a groom marching to the wedding canopy, Father on my right and Rabbi Menahem on my left. Father was just as excited as I was. My heart was pounding like a train engine. I didn’t think I would ever be able to read the section of the Torah or the speech in front of such a large crowd of people. But as soon as I opened my mouth to say the Barechu call to prayer and everyone answered in unison, I gained confidence and felt relieved. After I finished, everyone came to hug and congratulate me, and I felt big and important.
I promised myself I’d put on tefillin every morning and observe the religious commandments. Well, perhaps not all of them. Even Rabbi Menahem said only the righteous of the righteous can uphold all the commandments, but from now on, I’d strive to be a better son to my parents and listen to them without arguing.