Shtetl Dreams

By Raaya Admoni

Sarka is only thirteen when her mother suddenly tells her one day, I dreamed that you got married . . . to the rabbi. These words inform the young girl that she will marry a sixty-five-year-old widower and her fate will be determined by her mothers dream. Sarkas parents remain adamant that she will marry the rabbi whereupon all her youthful dreams of eventually marrying for love are quashed.

Little Shaime is only ten when both his parents die, leaving him and his four siblings not only orphaned but penniless. While homes are found for his younger brothers and sisters, there is no family ready to adopt an older boy, and his grandparents have no room for him. So he is sent away to earn his keep as a saddlers apprentice in Lublin. The Krakowski family treat the orphan heartlessly, feeding him leftover scraps and making him sleep alone in a mouldy basement. Yet Shaime clings to his dream of one day having a childhood like any normal boy.

The Second World War arrives, and when the carnage is over at last, very few survive. But both Sheindel, Sarkas daughter, and Shaime are among them, and their paths cross. Will fate prove kinder to them than the nightmares of the tragic losses that haunt their sleepless nights?

Even before their fate was sealed by the Nazi invasion, the Jews in the little Polish town of Belzitz faced great adversity. Yet there were always dreams, some bringing consolation and others shaping their destinies.

In this sweeping historical novel, Admoni traces a riveting family saga through three generations. The personal stories of Sheindel and the orphaned Shaime are interwoven into a rich tapestry of a Jewish shtetlbreathing life into an entire world of language, culture, and customsa world of which hardly a trace has survived.

It is often said that reality surpasses imagination; hard as it may be to believe, everything described in Dreams really did take place. None of the names of the main characters have been changed, and their descendants are among us today.

Raaya Admonia veteran radio editor and presenter at Kol Israel, Israels Broadcasting Authorityhas written many radio plays and stories which have garnered considerable success. In Dreams, written after extensive research, Admonis vivid characters are lovingly infused with the breath of life. Raaya Admonis book for children, Mother Says Its Late was published in 2001.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Aug 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503509801

Raaya Admoni

In most novels, it is customary to say either at the beginning or at the end that any resemblance between the characters in the book and between living people, or people who once lived, is completely coincidental and that all events related in the story are merely the author’s imagination. In this case, the opposite is true. The central characters that are described in this novel did indeed live, and their names have also been kept unchanged. The whole novel started with a guided study tour, one of the many that the Israel Broadcasting Authority used regularly to offer its staff. During the long coach journey, my friend and colleague Menachem Peri told me of an incident from the life of Sarka, his maternal grandmother. He said that when she was only thirteen years old her family forced her to marry an elderly widower, the rabbi from the little town of Belzitz, where they lived. It had come about only because her mother had a dream in which her eldest daughter married the rabbi. This tale of the young girl’s plight gave me no rest. In my imagination I entered into this poor child’s thoughts and feelings, and I knew that there would be no peace for me until I had written the story. As I began to write, I was drawn to other stories from the Peri-Friedman family. I would grill Menachem again and again, wanting to know any details he could remember. This was how this narrative, written over the course of several years, took on its flesh and bones. I felt a moral obligation not to change the names of the main characters, and to make this book into a memorial for them for generations to come. I hope that my writing has not harmed them at all, but rather, how they have been described has done them the justice they surely deserve.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Raaya Admoni.

Translation from Hebrew: Aloma Halter

Original Hebrew Editing: Ziv Adaki

Jacket design: Tali Amit

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015914429

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-5035-0982-5

   Softcover   978-1-5035-0981-8

   eBook   978-1-5035-0980-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 02/16/2016

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

696185

Contents

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part II

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Part III

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Afterword

Appendix: Arie Leib's Story

Acknowledgments

End Notes

In loving memor

y of:

Mordechai, Noah, Tsadok, and Simha Friedman, and the children of the Federbusch-Press family, Chaya'leh, Wolf, and a toddler who was less than one and a half at his death, even whose name has been lost. I have called him Benjamin.

This book is written in memory of these pure souls -- all murdered in their youth.

Translator's note:

Instead of footnotes, many of the Hebrew and Yiddish terms and some other explanations have been marked by an asterisk* and can be found in alphabetical order at the back of the book under End Notes. AH.

Part I

Chapter 1

"I dreamed that you got married, b'sha'ah tova*, what wonderful news?"

Me -- married! Sarka exclaimed merrily, raising her eyes to her mother, as her hands momentarily ceased what they were doing. But, Mother, I'm still a child! she said, lowering her gaze to her willowy body, which only recently had started to show the first buds of womanliness.

No, my daughter, you've already reached thirteen, quite the age for a bride-to-be. Aren't you going to ask me who the groom is?

Doubtless he's a handsome knight on a white charger, Sarka said amidst peals of laughter as she returned to the table, setting it with plates and forks.

No, in fact he's not. He's neither a prince nor a knight in shining armor. But he is an important man, a man of substance.

Someone important? Who could that be?

Someone you know!

Could he be the youngest son of the lord of the manor? Didn't you tell me that they celebrated his engagement this past week?

Yes, yes, it's true that the son of the lord of the manor has just been affianced, but your groom is free to marry.

Mother, I have no idea whom you've been dreaming of. But what does it matter? It is only a dream.

Ah, my child, sometimes our dreams foreshadow the future.

By now Sarka's curiosity was aroused. Really, Mother, aren't you going to tell me who you dreamed about?

Her mother lifted her head, leveled her gaze at Sarka, and paused with her answer for a few moments before saying, I dreamed that you got married . . . to Rabbi Federbusch.

Rav Federbusch! The girl was astonished, flabbergasted. But he must be a hundred years old!

What utter nonsense -- a hundred years old? When all's said and done, he's no more than sixty-five.

Rav Federbusch's age was a well-known secret in the small town of Belzitz.

But, Mother, he could be my grandfather!

He could, but he isn't. The rabbi is to be your husband!

Mother, really, you dreamed a dream. And didn't you say so yourself, 'Our dreams speak falsehoods?'

Yes, it's usually true. But I'm not used to dreaming, and if I have dreamed something, it's a sign that there is a basis of reality to the dream.

Sarka was agitated. How could that be? She, who had hardly turned thirteen, to marry the rabbi of their little town, an elderly widower who was older than her own mother by more than thirty years. That stumpy, elderly person, whom little Sarka had already surpassed in height, with his sparse grey beard, for whom every person in the town had been trying to find a decent widow for years, and no one had yet succeeded. Was it possible that such a crazy notion could have taken root in her mother's mind? Sarka found it hard to believe that Chana Leah would, in her right mind, actually consider tying her daughter to the old widower in marriage. Perhaps all this was nothing more than a nightmare, one of those terrifying nightmares that Sarka dreamed from time to time and one from which she would soon awaken to see that it was nothing but a dream. Sarka pinched her arm, and since she felt the pain, she knew that this time it could not be a dream. She sat down on the low chair, the one without the backrest that stood in the kitchen, hunched over, interlacing her fingers together, and tried again to find out if possibly her mother was talking in jest.

Mother, you don't seriously mean for me to marry that old man, she tried to say in a low, gentle voice, swallowing her saliva with every word and finding it difficult to come up with every single word.

I certainly do, Sarka. It's a matter of utter seriousness, and so don't take it lightly. It's hardly every day that the daughter of a humble shoemaker is given the opportunity to make a match with the rabbi of the town.

"Darling Mom, Ima'leh, I'm not yet a young woman, and there hasn't even been a matchmaker here. This is nothing but a dream and that's all."

Sarka, don't say that! It's the will of the Almighty. You should be happy that the Holy-One, Blessed-be-He, has chosen you from all the possible candidates to marry the rabbi.

Sarka sank lower into the chair that she was sitting on, her usually erect back even more hunched over than before, as if she was a snail which wanted to go inside itself and disappear from the world, her hands cradling her neck as if they could release the pressure she felt there, and dissipate the huge lump in her throat that threatened to suffocate her. She dearly wished to say something but her voice could not be heard. It was only after a moment of silence, which seemed like an eternity to her, that she managed at last to get these words out: But I don't want to--- And the choked wail that burst straight out of her young heart interrupted what she was saying.

You don't want to? These are words that must not pass your lips, said her mother sternly. It is none but the will of God that was revealed to me in the dream, and the will of God must be done, she said decisively.

Chana Leah did not have the shadow of a doubt. She was absolutely determined to carry out what her dream had directed her to do. She also found it impossible to comprehend how her daughter might not wish for the advantages of the celestial match that had been determined for her. It wasn't as if love had a place in determining a couple's shidduch*, so that would certainly not be the reason for the young girl's refusal. Chana Leah put her young daughter's resistance to her tender age. She did not yet understand, Chana Leah told herself, but the day would come when she would understand and be grateful. It could not be otherwise. And with time she would also be grateful to her mother for helping her rise up the social ladder, without any effort on her own part.

Sarka, meanwhile, could not understand how this calamity could have befallen her. Searing tears were flooding her large, limpid eyes, and with the hope of trying to revoke the terrible judgment, she said, Mother, it's just a dream, and repeated the words over and over again, as if intoning a prayer, as if perhaps these words might turn back the wheels of the decision, and she fixed her eyes -- two pools of pure water -- on her mother's face. But on the mother's face the determination was clear that she would merrily marry off her daughter. Then she knew that all her protests had fallen upon deaf ears, and she ceased speaking. Sarka resumed her work and simply hoped that her mother would forget the whole thing.

***

Sarka was a renowned dreamer. She would be visited nightly by several dreams. Up till the time her siblings awoke, Sarka usually managed to tell her mother, who had risen to start on her labors for the day while it was yet dark, revealing to her the riches of her dreams the previous night.

Sometimes the dreams were good and then she would awaken with a smile on her face, and with still filmy eyes, she would recount them to her mother. And her mother -- while prodding Sarka to get out of her bed -- would say, Oiy, Sarka, Sarka, my very own 'Joseph the Dreamer,' but our dreams speak falsehoods. We Jews don't have a king, and you are no king's daughter. Get up, there's a lot of work to be done. How very fortunate it is that you dream at night and not by day.

On other occasions the dreams were less good, and then Sarka would wake in dread, and the moment her eyes were open wide, she would cry out to her mother and tell her about the nightmare. And her mother? Usually her mother would urge her to hasten getting up as she said, Sarka, such dreams are demands for repentance. If you pray with more intention you will cease to dream such terrible dreams. Think no more of the dream. Get up, there's a lot of work to be done. And Sarka, the obedient and oldest child, would get up quickly from her bed to help her mother.

While picking up the mattresses and drawing the sheets over the beds which were standing right by the walls, in her heart of hearts she would tell herself that she would heed her mother's advice and mend her ways and pay more attention to her prayers. She would raise up her huge blue eyes, surrounded by their long black lashes, and the rabbis, who looked down upon her with kindly eyes from the pictures that hung upon the walls, would seem to her to be encouraging her. Within moments she would feel better and she would hurry to complete the chores she had been entrusted with.

There was no lack of work. The boys, Moshe and Ya'akov, had to be hurried to go to the small classrooms where they learned Torah. The mattresses had to be gathered up from the floor, in the room where the boys slept. Although the smallest baby was looked after by her mother, Sarka was the one who looked after her two-year-old sister. Every Sunday, she was the one who hung out the laundry which her mother had managed to wash even before the sun was up, and she was the one who took down the dry laundry from the washing line, folded it, and put it back in the large chest that served as the children's clothes cupboard. The errands to buy various food products were also among Sarka's duties. And who else was there to feed the rooster and the three nesting hens or their chicks that wandered about the yard? Sarka, of course. Neither she nor her mother trusted eight-year-old Esther'el with any of these tasks.

From the moment that her brother Moishe'leh was born, even before she was two, Sarka had become the big one at home, and she was expected to take care of her brothers and sisters. It would have never occurred to her to be bitter about it. In her innermost heart she was even proud that she was so trusted.

After the sons of the family left to go to where they would study Talmud, Sarka would hasten to the kitchen to have something light before going with her mother, Esther'el, and the two toddlers to the small haberdashery store on which the family's income was based. The store was located in a small room at the front of the house, whose door faced the street. The scant income provided by the store, together with the income made by the father, Shraga Feivel Sher, was barely enough to provide amply for the family, and Chana Leah tried not to be absent from the store for even a single hour. Even with the addition of a new baby to the family, Chana Leah was back at her work only two weeks after the birth, and the tender newborn babe was placed in a cradle at the side of the store. Sarka's job was to keep an eye on her small siblings.

The store was their second home. They spent so many hours there, and it was there that the girls also learned how to read, write, and do a little arithmetic from their mother. When no one came to the store to buy, Chana Leah would cook the midday meal on a small stove that stood in the kitchen, near the store, or she would patch and mend the children's clothes, darning stockings and lengthening or shortening the pants and skirts which were passed down from child to child. Sarka was a big help in the store as well. She was left to keep an eye on the customers when Chana Leah was cooking, and she was the one to bring food to and serve her father, Shraga Feivel, who sat in his small workshop, hunched over the shoes that he was making or repairing. Sarka brought him part of the cooked meal. She herself had been responsible for darning splendidly a not-negligible number of stockings, and when the baby cried, and when her mother had to go into the back room to feed it, little Sarka would be expected to deal with the customers by herself. There was no doubt that Sarka was her mother's right hand, and even Chana Leah was forced to admit that without the help of her firstborn she would have found it difficult to manage.

Sarka's father, Shraga Feivel Sher, was not at all involved in what went on at home. He would rise at dawn, say the morning prayers, and then turn to his work. Being a shoemaker was not a profession that carried abundant blessing. The busy season was between Pentecost and the New Year, Rosh Hashanah, excepting the period of the three Weeks of mourning. It was also between the festivals of Chanukah* and Passover, when people tended to order new shoes from him for the next festival.

The rest of the year, he found himself mainly occupied with mending shoes that had worn out. Only brides and grooms had the privilege of new shoes when it was not a religious festival. People's earnings were scant, and Shraga Feivel asked modest remuneration for his work, knowing as he did that his neighbors in the little town were also in difficult circumstances. From those who were really impoverished he did not ask any wages for his labors. He was fond of saying, Even a poor person deserves a pair of new shoes every few years for the festival. And if he doesn't have the wherewithal to pay, it's not so terrible. The Holy-One, Blessed-be-He will recompense for what we lack.

He was very busy on all the days of the week except the Sabbath, but every Sabbath Shraga Feivel would enquire of his sons about what they had learned that week. The girls would be taken very little notice of. Sometimes he might ask if they had said their prayers, but this was the limit of his attention to them. In any case it was understood that Sarka would not share her dreams with her father.

Sarka had another place where she could pour out her heart. It was to Goldie, her mother's youngest sister. Goldie had not come by her name by chance. When she was born, the youngest child of Chana Leah's parents, she was a plump and bonny baby bursting with health. She reminded everyone of her great-grandmother, may she rest in peace, whose own name had been Goldie. Her mother took one look at her and declared, This one is my little pot of gold! And that's how she got her name. Goldie was only four years older than Sarka, and ever since Sarka could remember, Goldie had always been there to share her games and to whisper sweet confidences together. Goldie was a laughing creature for whom overseriousness was anathema. Being around her was always pleasurable since her high spirits were truly contagious, and nothing seemed to put a dampener on them.

Sarka and Goldie met quite frequently. Sarka loved going to her grandfather and grandmother's home. At her grandparents' place, unlike her parents' house, she was never given chores to do; instead people seemed to have the leisure to ask how she was doing, and her grandmother would urge her to taste some of the cake left over from Sabbath, or to have some freshly baked cookies. And Goldie would be there.

When they were young, the two girls liked to be out in the yard behind the house, where, in the shade of the huge, spreading oak, they would play and share their secrets with one another. When Sarka would meet up with Goldie, the latter would command her, Come, let me comb out your hair. You look ever so serious in those two braids.

In no time at all her plump, deft fingers would be unraveling Sarka's black braids, making so many intricate hairstyles from the long, luxuriant tresses. Sarka would submit and abandon herself to the sensation of pleasure as she felt Goldie's hands smoothing her hair, and as her eyes fluttered shut, she would tell Goldie about her latest dream, which Goldie would punctuate from time to time with her questions, trying to clarify the dream, and she would always do this as her laughing voice rang out. What entertaining rubbish you've dreamed up, Sarka, she would say.

What she dreamed between Friday night and Sabbath, Sarka kept for Goldie alone. On the night between Thursday and Friday there was the weekly bath for all the children in the large pail, one after another, in honor of Sabbath. Then Sarka also would bathe and wash her long black hair, but when she woke up on Friday morning, the morning of the Sabbath eve, there was no one to whom she could tell her dreams. On Fridays the haberdashery store was not opened, for there was too much to do to have any truck with dreams whatsoever. Every Friday Chana Leah rose very early, and even earlier than the other days of the week she would already be on her feet busy with preparations for the Sabbath. Cooking pots were filled up with vegetables and a little meat, the luxury of Sabbath. A soup with chicken or beef bones was also put on the fire. The challot, the braided bread for the Sabbath, which Chana Leah had ensured to knead before the children awoke from their sleep, were taken to the baker by Sarka. The baking form with the big yeast cake, filled with cocoa and sugar, also was sent to the baker's oven. The house would be spic and span, and in the afternoon Sarka again went to the baker to put the precious Sabbath stew, the cholent, into his oven. On such a busy day dreams were the last thing on Chana Leah's mind. So it was these dreams that Sarka treasured up for the weekly encounter every Sabbath with Goldie at the home of her grandparents.

But the time came when Sarka's faithful friend, Goldie, was taken away from her, for when Goldie reached the age of sixteen, the meetings between the two of them greatly lessened. Goldie was married to Chaim, and from then she had her own household to run and her own hands were full of work.

Sarka would still meet up with Goldie from time to time, and during their rare meetings, they would pick up the thread of their talk as if they had met up only the day before. But when it came to telling Goldie her dreams, Sarka could hardly continue to do that. And so it was only her mother, Chana Leah, who was left to listen to any new dreams that her daughter had dreamed.

***

That morning was different from all other mornings. Sarka opened her eyes, closed them, and opened them again, yet no dream came to mind. Not even the wisp of a dream was there, not even the merest wisp of a dream flickered in her mind. While she was still wondering how it could be, she performed her ritual hand-washing, washed her face, put on her clothes, rapidly braided her two braids, said her prayers, and started, as if from habit, on her day-to-day preoccupations, which never changed during all the days of the week. When her silence continued, Chana Leah adjusted the kerchief that she was wearing around her head and turned to her daughter with a wide smile. Well, Sarka, what have you dreamed this time?

How strange, said the girl. Last night I didn't have any dreams.

Perhaps you don't remember, but you still did dream, her mother tried, slicing bread for sandwiches for a meal. When no reaction came from her daughter, she went on. Anyway, I have a surprise, she said, putting jam and cheese on the table. Last night I dreamed.

You dreamed? Sarka asked and fixed a pair of huge blue eyes on her mother, as if seeing her for the first time in her life. And her mother, who was only in her thirties, seemed to her suddenly so grown up, the way her figure had filled out with the eight births, in her black kerchief and the apron that was always tied around her waist. And do you remember what you dreamed?

I dreamed about you was the answer.

About me?

Yes, I dreamed that you were getting married.

Who with?

Someone important.

Who could it be? Sarka searched her memory to try to think which of the young men in their little town, Belzitz, might fulfill the role of her groom in her mother's dream. If the truth were told, there were not so many young men whom she knew. Good Jewish girls stayed at home and did not wander around the streets of the little town. Sometimes Sarka would be sent out on her mother's errands to buy or to deliver something to one of the neighbors, and she might linger a few minutes to talk with a girlfriend. And then her eyes might catch the glances that were thrown toward her by the young men of the neighbors. There was one that she quite liked -- Yankel'eh Polachek. He was a fine-looking lad of fifteen, the son of their neighbors. Whenever she ran into him, Sarka would lower her head and her eyes' blue pools would steal sideways to see Yankel'eh's eyes fixed upon her. Then, she would blush to the roots of her hair and rapidly turn aside her gaze. And again her gaze would steal toward Yankel'eh, who was looking at her without blinking an eyelash, his blue eyes sparkling between his black side locks and his laughing mouth flashing with its bright white teeth. And again Sarka would hasten to lower her gaze, and her red cheeks were more than evidence of the storm in her soul. Inside her she wondered whether, in another three years, when she would reach the age of sixteen, she would be old enough to marry Yankel'eh, and if so, how this match would be arranged. For after all, it was not possible that a young girl would choose her own partner for herself! Everything was done through Reb* Calman, the matchmaker, who arranged the deal between the two pairs of parents. And although it crossed her mind, these were not things that lay heavy on Sarka's heart for she still had lots of time. Three years was a long time, and in the meanwhile she was but thirteen years old.

It was obvious that Sarka had not told another soul about the exchange of stolen glances between Yankel'eh and herself, even her mother. For it was something that was completely and utterly forbidden.

And that was when, like thunder out of a clear blue sky, her mother's dream came crashing down upon her.

Chapter 2

Sarka's mother did not waste time. First she hurried to speak with her husband, Shraga Feivel, whom she wanted to catch first thing in the morning before his steps turned toward his work. He was somewhat astonished that his firstborn daughter had already reached the age when she could stand beneath the wedding canopy. He had not been at all aware of the years slipping by, but he did not argue with his wife. In everything related to household duties and their livelihood, he had a blind trust in Chana Leah, for this was also convenient for him. When Chana Leah raised the matter of the match with him, he harnessed himself to the mission. That very day Sarka's parents went to visit Reb Calman, the matchmaker, to ask him to make a match between their firstborn daughter and the widower rabbi.

Even Reb Calman, who had been witness to no negligible number of unlikely matches in his lifetime, was taken aback by the idea. Sarka was the youngest girl whose parents had ever come to him asking for a wedding match. Thanks to him, many young girls of fourteen had already stood beneath the wedding canopy. But they had usually been matched up with boys between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. Seated as he was by the large dining table, with a glass of tea in front of him and a cube of sugar between his slender fingers, he did not even attempt to mask his amazement. Not only was it a match for a simple girl, from a home that carried no yichus -- no nobility, ancestry, or pedigree -- but it was to a learned rabbi, which in itself was no every day event.

Don't you think that it would be worth holding off for another year, until Sarka grows up a bit more? He tried cooling the heat of Chana Leah's enthusiasm.

Rabbi Calman, said Chana Leah, it is hardly every day that the Master of the Universe sends such an explicit dream, a dream where He reveals His will for a specific match. And the Holy-One, Blessed-be-He has entrusted you with this mission. You are His agent. And as for my Sarka, have no fear, she is already grown, there have already been signs. Emotionally, not to mention how she acts and her demeanor, Sarka is mature. It is over a year that she's been taking care of the babies and helping with all the household duties. Now she enumerated her daughter's sterling qualities. She will make an outstanding housekeeper. Reb Calman, she added decisively. I never ever dream. And if I just had this dream, it can be nothing but the will of the Holy-One, Blessed-be-He that has been revealed to me in this dream. Is it your opinion, Reb Calman, that the will of God can be deferred? she pressed Reb Calman.

All this is true. The matchmaker raked through his tangled beard, then took another sip of the glass of tea, dipping the sugar cube inside it and sucking at it with a sound that testified to his pleasure. Yet, still, Rav Federbusch, for all his fine points, is somewhat advanced in years.

What are you saying? Chana Leah cried out, fearing that the match with the important and well-connected rabbi might be slipping through her fingers. "Who are we to defy the will of God? And apart from that, there is no doubt in my heart that life will be good for my Sarka with the Rav. All of us know what a fine disposition our rabbi has and how amiable and well liked he is. A common language between a married couple derives from one simple fact -- the fact they have been intended for one another by heaven. If they are beshert -- if the match is divinely ordained, said Chana Leah passionately, can there be any greater beshert than this, since it was revealed to me in a dream at night?" And with these words Chana Leah rounded off what she was saying, leaving Reb Calman speechless, though it was usually he who had to prod others along.

All this time, Shraga Feivel had not opened his mouth. He agreed with his wife in everything. He had never contradicted her and now, too, that would not have occurred to him.

The matchmaker made one last attempt. And what is Sarka's opinion? he asked weakly. For doesn't our Bible say, 'We will call the damsel, and ask what she says?'

Let this not be a concern to you, said the mother. "Sarka will consent. And if is not exactly her will, then she will come to terms with it. Our Sarka is a wise girl. It will not be long before she realizes the wonderful advantages to this shidduch." Chana Leah was completely and utterly self-righteous, convinced of her own words.

I will ask Rav Federbusch and I will bring you his response as soon as possible, said the matchmaker, and with that the conversation was concluded.

***

With anxious hearts the parents awaited what the Rav would have to say.

Reb Calman did his work faithfully. He wasted no time. That very evening he brought the parents' suggestion to the rabbi. Rav Federbusch was also astonished by the proposal.

"The daughter of Shraga Feivel, the simple shoemaker? Die Schumacher? the rabbi said archly as he mentioned the father's profession. Well, much noble pedigree, he sighed, will not come from that quarter."

No, no noble pedigree, Reb Calman consented. "But there is beauty and health and obedience. Their Sarka is skilled in all the work of a household. She will look after you. Moreover, she'll also be able to give birth to some little kaddishel'hs*. Think upon it. This maiden has excellent qualities and advantages."

How old is the virgin?

She's thirteen.

Thirteen? The rabbi almost choked. That's a real child.

Her mother says that she's already grown up.

The matchmaker repeated what he had heard from Chana Leah herself. "Not only that, she had a dream at night where she was told about this shidduch, and she insists that it was the will of God, Blessed-be-He."

The rabbi scratched his chin and smoothed down his straggly beard. There were many advantages in marrying a girl who was so young and so beautiful. In his heart of hearts, what elderly man does not dream of taking as a wife a young woman in the place of the wife who is worn out after so many years? And as for yichus -- his first wife, may her resting place be in the Garden of Eden, had come from a line of rabbis, but what had he got out of it? Not even one kaddishel'h had she left behind for him when she departed from him forever. For a moment he pondered Sarka's good qualities: a homemaker, comely appearance, robust health. Her beauty, despite her youth, was already evident and people were remarking upon it. She had inherited her height from her father as well as her long oval face and the color of her eyes; her tiny, upturned nose was her mother's contribution to her appearance, along with small ears and luscious lips. There was no mistaking it -- the young woman was an absolute beauty. And as for the bride's family, though simple, it was a good, God-fearing family. In short, the advantages of the match outweighed its disadvantages. He therefore decided on the spot to give Reb Calman an affirmative response. He also took into account his own situation; he was no longer young. Would he die without an heir? So the shidduch was thus rapidly concluded, and it was settled that the betrothal ceremony would take place in another two weeks, on Tu b'Shevat*.

***

Sarka was beside herself, confounded and deeply upset. To whom could she turn to annul the harsh decree? In her overwhelming sadness she decided to go to the one soul who really understood her: Goldie.

Sarka's desperate knocking at the door of Goldie and Chaim's home came the day after the date for the betrothal ceremony had been set. Sarka's opportunity came when she was sent out to fetch milk for the evening meal's porridge. There was very little time at her disposal. She had to return home within the half hour. The weather was particularly cold, and snow blanketed the little town. Goldie opened the door with an apron tied around her waist and over her huge belly, which at the best of times had never been flat. Now, in the eight month of her first pregnancy, that stomach was of the kind that preceded her. When she saw Sarka on the doorstep she hastily wiped her hands on the edges of her apron and drew her inside the warm, rather stuffy house, where the rich aroma of hot root vegetable soup completely permeated. The soup was simmering for the evening meal. She shook off the snow from Sarka's coat and clasped her with a fierce hug which threatened to suffocate her niece. It was only after Sarka begged for a little air did Goldie release her from her loving embrace and, holding her at arm's length, said, So, let's take a look at you.

Sarka's red eyes left no room for doubt. Goldie was filled with dread. She was not used to seeing her niece awash with tears. What's happened? Come in, take off your coat and sit down and tell me.

Sarka sat on the edge of the chair in a kitchen in which various pots and pans and utensils were scattered about. Goldie served Sarka a glass of water and, faced with the girl's silence, when she failed to come up with any words to start the conversation, entreated her to tell her what was going on with her.

And so, barely sitting, scarcely standing, Sarka revealed Chana Leah's strange dream to the listening Goldie, the dream which had sealed her future. This time Goldie did not laugh at what she was hearing. She found it hard to believe. How can this be? she cried out and kept repeating it with ever increasing astonishment. And after the third or the fourth time, she took off her apron, held out her hand to Sarka, and said, Come, I'm going to knock some sense into my sister's skull.

Sarka felt the stirrings of a faint hope, but despite that she said quickly, No, not just now. She's busy with the little ones. Now's not possible.

In that case, decided Goldie, I'll come after the evening meal. Again she embraced Sarka. Don't worry, she said, We'll find a way out. She kissed her lovingly, and Sarka, her spirits raised, went swiftly on her way to complete her errands.

***

True to her word, like an angel who had come to save her, Goldie appeared at Sarka's home. When Goldie's determined knocks could be heard at the door, the children had long been tucked up and were asleep in their beds, but Sarka had found it hard to fall asleep.

Chana Leah was glad to see her little sister. She was holding the shirt on which she had been busy sewing buttons just then, and she put it down, hugged Goldie, and drew her inside into the warmth of the kitchen. "You look wonderful, Goldie. Being pregnant really suits you. And I have wonderful news to tell you. Wish us Mazel tov*. Our Sarka is about to be betrothed, it's a felicitous hour!"

I heard, Goldie said in a chilly tone as she seated herself.

The frigid tone in which Goldie uttered those two words hardly went unnoticed by Chana Leah, but she mistakenly attributed it to the fact that the news had reached her sister indirectly.

Goldie'leh, she said gently, we haven't yet had time to tell anyone the good news. It was only yesterday that we heard that our proposal for this match had been accepted. How do you know about it?

Sarka told me, Goldie said in the same tone.

Sarka? When did she find the time for that?

Today, at noon. Suddenly Goldie raised her voice accusingly. How could you?

I don't understand what you're talking about.

You don't understand? I also don't understand. God Almighty, how can a mother take her tender daughter, a girl who has only barely reached the age of thirteen and marry her off to an old widower of sixty-five?

That same old widower whom you're talking about, said Chana Leah, her anger flaring up, happens to be the rabbi of the town where you live. Don't you see the advantage of such a match?

Rabbi or not, a child of thirteen is not yet of age.

Our Sarka is no longer a child, Chana Leah repeated what she had already said to the matchmaker. "Has it not occurred to you that it is only her own good that we are seeking? Where else could such a shidduch be found for her?"

Oh, good God. Goldie cradled her face in her hands. What are you doing to your daughter?

"It's the good Lord himself that decided on this shidduch."

In a dream? Intense mockery almost dripped from Goldie's voice.

Yes, in a dream. The seriousness in Chana Leah's voice was in stark contrast to Goldie's scorn.

But, God in heaven, don't you know that 'vain dreams speak?'

Yes? Is that what you're thinking? This time a scornful tone accompanied Chana Leah's own words. So what would you say to the dream of our patriarch Jacob? Or the dreams of Joseph or those of Pharaoh's chief butler and chief baker or those of Pharaoh himself? So there was nothing to them?

Goldie found it hard to come up with a suitable riposte. She paused a little before she said quietly, All those were thousands of years ago. When the prophets were alive. Now they're no longer with us. We live in a different era, Chana Leah.

No one has yet proved that a dream which heralds good tidings cannot take place in our own day and time, said the older sister.

Goldie, who saw that her mission would meet with no success, was almost distraught with distress. That's it? You've decided? she said almost in a whisper.

"B'sha'ah tova. At a felicitous hour."

And how are you yourself going to manage without Sarka? Goldie put down the last bargaining chip that she held in her hand. Won't you collapse under the burden of all your work?

Do you really think me so selfish as to prefer my own personal good to my daughter's happiness? I'll manage. Esther'el will have to do a lot more. But she'll learn.

Goldie could think of nothing further to say. Every argument of hers had been blocked. Downcast, and muttering a hasty "Good-bye, Shalom," she left the house. She had no idea how she would ever face Sarka.

All this time Sarka lay in her bed, hearing yet not quite hearing what was said. The hope that had stirred in her after the talk with Goldie was extinguished at Goldie's mute exit from the house and nothing remained of it but ashes.

Sarka was left to her despair, all alone, with no one to rescue her and none to comfort her.

Chapter 3

From that day forth, Sarka no longer dreamed at night. She tossed and turned in a troubled, delirious sleep. Terrible, empty nights now supplanted the tranquil nights of her childhood that had been filled with dreams. And like the empty nights, now Sarka's soul was also empty -- empty and hollow, completely laid waste, as if the invisible hand that had emptied out her nights from dreams had emptied out her heart as well.

***

As agreed, the betrothal ceremony was held on Tu B'shevat, the new year for trees in midwinter, at the home of Chana Leah and Shraga Feivel Sher. Outside, the winds howled and a troublesome snow swathed the little town in white, but all was black in Sarka's heart. The windowpanes were all steamed up, preventing those in the room from seeing the storm that was raging outside, while it also prevented the few passersby from peering into the room which Chana Leah had taken pains to illuminate with more paraffin lamps than usual. The guests crowded around a table on which modest refreshments had been laid out, where two lanterns provided the sole ornamentation. The daughters of the family crowded into the kitchen, and only Chana Leah and Sarka sat in the large room. Goldie did not set foot in the house; the sight of Sarka's face would have been unbearable to her. It was her friend whom she had been unable to rescue, so she excused her absence by pleading sickness on account of her confinement. Sarka sat by her mother's side, her face completely sealed. As if all this had nothing to do with her. As if she had wandered by mistake into the betrothal ceremony of another girl. Even when the gifts were being exchanged and she received a necklace of gold from the rabbi, she neither moved nor flinched. She did not even glance at this piece of jewelry. She did not so much as look at the gift that her parents gave the rabbi, a pocket watch which had been handed down from her grandfather on her mother's side. She did not hear what the two sides were saying. She did not hear what was decided, who would give what to the couple, and she did not listen to the calls of Mazel tov! or the blessings after the bride's mother broke the plate, as was the custom -- in the name of good luck and in remembrance of the destruction of Jerusalem. The date of the wedding was set for late summer, for the start of the month of Elul*, about half a year after the betrothal.

***

Even if Sarka ignored the betrothal ceremony, the day came when her mother made it clear to her that it might be fitting to begin preparations for the wedding.

You have to go to the seamstress, she told her. It's not good to leave everything for the last moment.

I'm not going to the seamstress, Sarka shrugged, not today, not tomorrow, and not at all.

And what of the wedding dress?

As far as I'm concerned, there won't be one.

Chana Leah sighed. Sarka, she then said suddenly, Dov Baer won't play at your wedding, instead we'll invite a real orchestra from Lublin."

I don't need any orchestra.

We'll have two, one orchestra for the men and another one for the women.

I don't want an orchestra and I don't want to get married. I'd rather be an old spinster than marry the rabbi.

***

The rumor that Sarka was betrothed to the rabbi spread rapidly. Very soon all the townsfolk knew about the approaching wedding. And every man and woman wanted to offer their congratulations to those who would partake of this happy event. They also wanted to judge for themselves how the young bride was taking the match, or even to try to save Sarka from her fate.

There was no doubt that this match was the talk of the town. It hardly went unnoticed that the young bride-to-be was not

Reviews for Shtetl Dreams

[Dahlia · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is the family history of a good friend. I knew the general story of his family, but this filled me in with details I hadn’t known about. Intriguing and sad… some things so unbelievable it’s hard to fathom.
Such gumption and bravery. Those of us who didn’t experience these horrors will never quite understand, even though we learned about it in history class.
Again I say, bravery to no end.
The English translation is excellent.