The Jewish Nation of Mongols

by Boris Zubry

  “My boychik, my kaddishel (baby boy), Aaron, he is like a lion. Do you know that he is one inch taller than I am, and three inches taller than his mother, Miriam? May she live for one hundred and twenty years. He is so big and strong.” Yossel, Aaron’s father would tell it to anyone who listened and not sped away at the earliest convenience. People use any excuse and often, none to disappear. Well, Yossel liked to repeat himself when he told these stories, and that was okay but boring. “Aaron would fight anyone and win. He is so big and powerful. Look at his chest? A regular barrel. He could stop a train in its tracks, but where would he find one. He could’ve been a soldier, but why. We are peaceful people. But, if needed, he would’ve been one. Do you know what we did when he was a little boy? I fixed a horizontal piece of pipe in the hallway. That was my neighbor advice. The neighbor was as strong as a bull himself, and his chest was like a barrel as well, if not bigger. He was a butcher. He could kill a bull with the bare hands, but why. He was a good man and very strong, but he died. He drank like a Goy (non-Jew) and was hit by a car. What can you do? Sad, but it happens. God rest his soul. Anyway, every time the boychik would pass it, the horizontal bar in the hallway, he would jump up, and hang there by the pipe with his little hands. Just hang there, for as long as he could. That made him grow tall and strong, and his chest is like a barrel. Aaron is a CPA, you know. That’s a very responsible position. He was second in his class. It was the Baruch College here in New York. Great school, many Jews. What is your son doing? My kaddishel battles the IRS every single day, and he wins. He knows that stuff, the money, and the taxes. He knows many things and can argue his point. He is a protector of honest workers. It is almost like David and Goliath. My Aaron is like David, you know, and he fights for anyone, even the Goyem (non-Jews). The IRS is the ganef – the crook, the thief, the burglar, the swindler, the racketeer, the government, the Goliath. It takes from us, the hard-working people, and spends it mostly on the useless stuff. The politicians – the biggest of the thieves. They have an army of lawyers and even more crooks. And, all we have is my son, Aaron. That is not much, but he is a fighter and an honest man.”

  Yossel, or otherwise known as Yossele, was an even smaller man than his son was, but a spirit. He had a little shop of the religious artifacts located on the outskirts of Williamsburg. It was a small affair but just enough to feed the family. The rent was cheaper there, and people needed the religious artifacts no matter what. Some people say location, location, and location, but for the religious artifacts that were not true. You must have the right stuff. That’s it. Try to think like the person buying it, and you’ll know what you want to buy. That was very important for success. And, Yossele knew the religious artifacts and kept the prices fair. So, the shop was there and not on the main street. There were a few shops on the main street already anyway. Why would you need more? He was not affluent or well-educated, but he was a hardworking man and very honest. Honesty was the chief possession that the family had, and they were so proud of that.

  Yossele was a mentsh (a special man or person who was respected). People knew that and listened to what he had to say often, just out of respect. He came from a family of thirteen children, and his father was only a tailor. Most of the tailors could make children better and faster than to tailor. But, what else would you do on a cold night if not tailor? Work was scarce at times, and coal was expensive all the time. Being a good tailor, back then, did not equate to being rich or even having money. Every tailor was good back then; how could you survive otherwise. You could stitch and stitch well, and so what. You could not produce more customers and could not sew more money. Aaron’s grandfather, Menachem, had many interests, and even more children. More people owed him money than paid, but he was well respected and never ran out of favors. Even in difficult times, the butcher, the grosser, and the baker would not ask him for money. They would wait for Menachem to bring it in when he had something to bring in. In the end, he always paid when he could.

  After all, Menachem always waited for them, and none of them wanted to discuss money when other pressing issues were at hand. What was more important? Williamsburg was getting bigger, and stronger with every passing year. More people were moving in by the minute. A new high-rise apartment building (six stories) was just erected across the street from the butcher’s shop. That was something to talk about. That was huge. New people from Russia just moved in. Were they relatives? Where exactly are they from? We need to go and talk to them. They may need help. Brooklyn was becoming gigantic with all kinds of people moving in and out. It was becoming a metropolis of the international proportions. Rebbitzen (Rabbi’s wife) was expecting a new baby, and Menachem just had a new baby. And, the butcher had six, but he wanted more. And, the baker’s wife could not give birth at all. That was a tragedy, and they discussed it. That was something to discuss, to worry about. Money…not so much.

  The shochet (the kosher butcher) thought that she, the baker’s wife, had too narrow hips to give the birth, but a druker (a printer) from the shop on the corner said that it could be him, the baker. But, the baker did not want to hear any of that and was planning to adopt an orphan from Eretz Israel. Was it possible? Some said yes, but some said no. Did the Rabbi know? What did he say? What do they say in Israel? Israel was not a big country, but they had way too many orphans. The world acted as it always was the hunting season on Jews. Still, some children survived and needed help. That was something to talk about. Why talk about the money when no one had it or really cared about? Money was not everything, but being a good Jew and the health of the community was. Help others, and they will help you. Was it done in any other community? They did not know, but it was not that important anyway.

  Lately, many Hasidic youngsters had moved from their own shtetl - Williamsburg of New York, to the outside world. Was it wise? Some of them, Got zol ophiten! (God forbids!), took the black kaftans and the hats off, and got the haircuts where payos were not included. They looked like any Gentile on the street and not really chosen. What was wrong with them? Was the world going crazy? What was next – no kosher? Driving a car on Sabbath? TV? Ballet? Opera? Short skirts? Dancing with women? Praying in the same hall, together, men and women?

  We had these privileges from God since forever, and now what. To uncover your head… No beard… No payos… No prescribed clothes… What a shame! What a failure. Naked among the wolves. Some, many, kept wearing the yarmulke (the skull-cap), and they went to the synagogue on the Sabbath and the high holidays, and that was that. Did they follow all the regulations? Kosher? Who can say? Who would really know? Did they keep kosher, really keep it to the letter of the law? What if they did not? What’s then? The Hasidim were getting born, but the total numbers of the righteous were getting fewer and fewer, and that was painful. This was the genuine article. This was the major blow. Has God intended that? Why would God do that? Was it a rejection of the chosen? Why would God reject so many people he had chosen before? Why? That was something to talk about, and not the money. Money! What is there to talk about? One either had it or not, and nothing could be done about.

  Menachem was afraid that the shift up in the general education created the shift down in the religious beliefs. Many Jews were turning away from God. Got tsu danken (Thank God), none of them dropped the traditions. Something was better than nothing. Traditions tended to stay longer, often forever. Matzo was on the tables during the Passover and not the bread. That was good, that was something already. Nevertheless, the foundation of Jewish life, as he knew it, was shaking, and Menachem was scared. Why was it happening? Who needed that? It was again the revolution and in its ugliest form. There was so much danger there. He resisted accepting life without Hasidic beliefs and Hasidic customs. He wanted everything to remain as it was for the last two hundred years. It was fine. Why fix if it was not broken? Mitten derinnen? (All over sudden?) Meshuga! So, high education was not in the book for Menachem and his children.

  Study the Torah, and that is more than enough for a go
od Jew to be a good Jew. Torah has everything you may need, and it would make you good. That was the rule of law, and they followed it. So, the girls were married off to good and honest men; two sons had joined the father in the tailor’s extravaganza. One son became the baker’s apprentice, and later, a partner and a little Yossele had a small Jewish artifacts shop. Naturally, Yossel, being in a new business, needed more help than the others, and they all helped. The family had to stay together and support each other. Who else was there to think of you? So, drop the squabbles and help each other as much as you can if not more. Thus, they all came whether he needed it or not. The whole arrangement looked to everyone involved entirely fair. Each one was married, had children, and was equally poor, and often, happy.

  “So, your son is a doctor? A gynecologist? Just for the Jews? Oh, for anyone. Do they need it too? I see. Do you think they look different down there? I mean the Goyem. I suppose not. So, he makes a good living, your son? Of course, he does. Why do I ask? He has to. Otherwise, why would he spend all his time looking in there? All the way down there. Under the skirt... You saw it once you saw it a thousand times. Am I right? Maybe he likes it and gets good money at the same time. That should be it. Could that create a problem at home? I mean, you see so many of them; do you want to see one more. Dentist investigates one end of your body; proctologist - at the opposite end of the same body, and your son gets to enjoy himself right in the middle of it. Smart boy. Very smart boy. You should be so proud of him. Are you? Can all three doctors check one patient at the same time? It could save so much time, but they could charge the same. That could be interesting. Progress. New development in medicine. I would like to see that. Would you? Does your son need an accountant? Of course, he does. Here is my son’s, Aaron, card. Call him and use my name. I am his father and a good reference. Tell him that you are a good friend. It does not matter if we just met. We could’ve known each other for ages. We could’ve been related for all I know. He’ll take care of you. Gai gezunterhait! (Go in good health!). Talk to your son. Lucky boy. A doctor. A Gynecologist of them all. He looks under the skirt all day long. Interesting profession.” Yossel was so happy to spread the word of his son. That was such a joy. His son, Aaron, was the first university-educated Cohen in the family, and that was not something to sneeze at. He got the education and stayed with the community. After all, one does not move out and change a life just to get an education and a good profession. One could remain a Jew and be anyone. Anyone. That’s a fact. A CPA could wear the yarmulke and the kaftan of the faithful, and so is a doctor or a scientist. Why is it not? Who said that one cancels out the other? It is all in your mind and in the heart. Follow the ancient customs and be righteous. Be respectful and respected. How difficult is that? Follow your ancestors. They were a great lot. Oh, they suffered. They suffered so much. And we suffer. We suffer so much. Be a good Jew, and God will never leave you. God be always with you. Aaron was a righteous Jew, and Yossele was so proud of him.

  “My Aaron? What a kop (head) he has.” Miriam - Aaron’s mother - loved to be the center of attention at the Borsht Circuit (the resort hotels in the Catskill Mountains of New York area with an almost entirely Jewish clientele, who were fond of borsht). “He saved last year two thousand dollars for his cousin in taxes. His cousin is not rich, and that helped so much. And children… They are regular geniuses. He has five, you know. He could have more, but he married late, at twenty. But, he will. I know he will. They are still so young. He is so smart. What a kop he has. Do you have children? Good. Grandchildren? Oh, they will come soon enough, Mirtseshem (God willing!). The sooner - the better. Children are such a blessing, and grandchildren are even more. Now, do you have an accountant? You always need one. My son, Aaron, can help you with anything. Even with the grandchildren. Ha, ha… It’s a joke, of course. Do you love your children? Of course, you do. I love my Aaron and his kids. What a blessing, what a blessing. God did not give Yossele and I more happiness with children, but Aaron is such a reward. So, here is his card. Call him and use my name. Tell him that you are my good friend even if we met just now. We could’ve been, you know. He’ll take care of you. Gai gezunterhait! (Go in good health!).” She smiled. She always smiled like no one else, as smiles reflected her soul.

  “So, you have only one son, and he is a god in your eyes. Mazel Tov (congratulations)! I have three sons. So, I have three gods. It’s the entire Mount of Olympus. I guess one son should be counted too. After all, he is your son, and you love him.” That was an ample lady in the red wig sitting just across the table from Mrs. Cohen. They were playing cards. She had three sons against the one Mrs. Cohen had, but she was at least five times larger than Aaron’s mother was. There goes the ratio. Go figure. “My sons are so educated. They make good money and take care of us at our old age. Yes, they have accountants working for them. After all, someone has to count the money they make. They make so much of it. They are good boys, you know. My husband and I tried so hard, and they came out alright. I say they are even better than we thought they’ll be. They studied so hard, and it was quite expensive. But it was worth it. It all runs in the family, you know. Everyone in our families is so educated. So smart… We have the Rabbis, doctors, writers, teachers, scholars, and even the CPAs. We have them all. Yes, my husband, and I came from very educated families, and we are so proud of that.” Now she looked even bigger than before. Pride, in her case, was acting as an air pump working overtime. “Here is my oldest son’s business card. You see, he is a doctor. Give it to your son. He can use my name. Who knows, my sons may need one more accountant. Good luck to your son, dear. It happens sometimes. Even a poor accountant deserves better.”

  Mrs. Cohen never took anything like that close to the heart. What’s the big deal? She considered it a marketing expense. She firmly believed that she had to do anything, well almost anything, for her son’s future. And, this was just one of the things. Yes, she and her husband always wanted many children, but she had a weak heart and a small, fragile constitution. Who could say where it all came from, but the history of the Jews was full of cute and memorable examples. Tears, hunger, repression, physical abuse, death, and the constant scare – pick any or all of them. Then, when you made your pick multiply it by thousands of years and hundreds of generations, and you would come up with a weak heart and small, fragile constitution. You may even come up with the sicknesses the other people did not have, something unique for the Jews. This was not a nation of giants, but this was a nation of geniuses. Brains had to take over the weak bodies compressed by the weight of two thousand years of the sorrow and create what we see now - the brainy nation of Jews. And, now you know what you know. Yet, there were some exemptions.

  So, Aaron, thanks to his family and friends, was a popular man, who honestly earned his right to work for as many hours as he could stand and making enough to survive. Many could work long hours, but the survival often required a second job or an extracurricular activity. Some had fallen for that, and the religious Jews, even the Rabbis, were making news in the courts. That was not good no matter how you slice it. The constant need for money and the painstaking desire for a break from the financial chokehold did it to them. The weak had often reserved to crime. Did they know that it was a crime? Was it a crime in their minds to lie and to steal from a Goy? They tried not to take from a Jew.

  Did it make any difference? Who can tell what was in their minds, but they committed a crime. A Hasidic Jew - a criminal. Impossible. Unthinkable. Aaron took it for a personal insult and could pray the whole night for the soul of the offender, not believing, deep inside, that forgiveness should be granted. He was a tolerant man with an open mind, and he could not find an excuse for a crime committed by a Goy and, especially, by a Jew. Crime is a crime is a crime. If he, Aaron Cohen, could not understand or forgive it, how could God do that?

  No, Aaron was sure of that. God would never forgive crime and, no matter what crime one had committed, crime was always a crime. Crime did not pay. Crime had no excuse
. The crime was never justified and must be punished. A Jew should not commit a crime, no matter what. How could a chosen one commit something unlawful? The chosen did not do that. That separated us from the others. No, a Jew, the chosen one should be judged harsher than anyone else. We were the chosen ones. A Jew should follow God, and God would never lead anyone to a crime. Crime, no matter how small it is, was evil and should be treated as such. That’s what Aaron believed, and that’s what was the center of every lesson his children had to learn.

  The burning town. Another… The broken-down walls. The broken-down people. The dead and the wounded. Animals… People and animals… Stench… Revulsion. The war machines keep spurting the projectiles of rock and clay jars bursting with burning oil. Fire… Death and distraction. Screams of the soldiers scaling the walls. Cries of the soldiers defending the walls. Laud. Cries of the children and women being raped, dying, or taken into slavery. The rare men, only the best craftsmen, were awarded the privilege of becoming a slave, but then, the luck was on the side of the dead. Dead… Dying… Wounded and injured. Slavery was the never-ending death, never-ending torture, and boundless dismay. Horses, men, blood, smell. Death and the mutilation. The horror of life and the terror of death. What is more powerful? The hungry fire sweeps over the town devouring it piece by piece, morsel by morsel. Heat. Unbearable heat. Houses, homes, and people. Tragedy. Pain, blood, violence, injustice. Death, death, death. Cries for help. Screams. The hill was littered with the bodies of the attackers. The town… The town was littered with the bodies of the defenders. He could not see much there. That was too far away. Was it still standing? Any of it? He was looking from the outside; he was outside with the attackers. Why? Who was he? Why was he there?