“I didn’t fast on Yom Kippur, but I wish that I had. Should I begin fasting now?” he asked abruptly.
He certainly didn’t believe in God; it thus was irrelevant for him to fast, but logic had failed, and perhaps there were more ancient rabbinic dreams that might lessen the darkness. He knew that he did not know enough, and he was determined to answer honestly any of the rabbis’ questions.
“Who are you?” the younger rabbi asked curiously, with a hint of suspicion.
Expecting them to ask why he had not fasted on Yom Kippur, he was surprised by the very question that had frightened him earlier. Then he had been embarrassed, but now he was troubled; if he told them that he didn’t know his name, it would lead them far afield from his question. On the other hand, if he described himself and omitted his name, it would disingenuously suggest that as a sinner he was too embarrassed to reveal his identity.
“A Jew who has forgotten his own name,” he said honestly, but with some hesitation.
To his surprise, he received a direct reply from the older rabbi.
“First remember your name,” he ordered.
“I can’t.”
“You must be strong,” the old man urged.
“To survive this, we would need the strength of stones,” he replied, using the phrase from the Bible.
“Yes, you do.”
“I do?” the termite wondered.
“Yes, the midrash in discussing our trials teaches that if stones fall on a clay cooking pot, woe unto the pot: if the pot falls on stones, woe unto the pot. In any event, it is woe unto the pot. But the midrash continues and suggests that we are the stones, because in spite of all our sorrows, our holy nation will survive. Where is pharaoh? or Bilaam? or Balak? or Haman? Hitler, may his name be erased, he, too, will join them no matter what becomes of those here.”
The train lurched and began moving again.
CHAPTER TWENTY - SIX
THE JOLT WITH WHICH THE TRAIN OVERCAME ITS inertia flung the mass of captive bodies back into their original traveling positions. In an impersonal act of physical abuse, his fellow travelers simply collapsed silently upon him, thrusting him forcefully into the wall once more. His head banged into the slats, but on the rebound he managed to catch the wooden reinforcing bar in his teeth. Still damp from his own saliva, the wood was softer than it had been on original encounter; he was prepared to hold it patiently in his veteran bite until the next stop. He hoped, of course, they would stop soon. His ribs ached, piercing pains laced his back. Terrible cramps seized his legs. His bruised head seemed to buzz with a dull soreness. Resigned and stoic as he was, the pain was real. He desperately wanted his and everyone else’s torment to cease, but he had adjusted as well as he could to such slow torture.
But now he had another reason for wanting the train to stop, a positive one that he savored with a growing sense of excitement. When the train stopped, and they left the carriage—it no longer seemed like a cattle car, for it carried noble people in whose dreams the prophet Elijah appeared —then he would meet the rabbis, the mother, and her son. He would meet them, and see what they looked like. He would talk to them, and perhaps they would become friends. Perhaps he would serve the wise, older one as a disciple. Deep down, he understood that the older one would disapprove of him—and rightly so, for he had never gotten on very well with the Krimsker Rebbe or any other rabbinic authority figure. If the truth be told, he was quietly rebelling against the rabbi’s authority at this very moment. Although he still didn’t know his own name—was it really so important after all?—he was fasting. No longer a termite, he savored the cellular wooden bar in his teeth because it filled his ravenous mouth, making it impossible to eat the remaining scraps of bread, which he was determined to give to the boy.
The older rabbi would probably discern his rebellious ways at once. How could one fool a wise, suffering man like that? In spite of his contempt, the younger rabbi was likely to find him somewhat intriguing, and in spite of the senior’s disapproval, the latter would have a serious inquiring relationship with him. It had happened before. For all their disapproval and lack of tolerance, such scholars were fascinated by outsiders and had a strange need for them, with their erring ways, to validate the scholars’ orthodox view of the world. And if neither rabbi wanted his friendship, at least he could stand next to them. After all, they shared the same journey—and presumably the same fate, just as the Jews of Lod had. Yes, he could stand next to them when they prayed, sit next to them when they ate, and best of all, he could lie next to them when they dreamed. He could manage without their approval; their company would be enough, and of that he was assured, for they were fellow passengers on the train from Warsaw.
He felt differently about the mother and her son. He desperately wanted to be involved with them and to be liked by them. Right now he was fasting for the boy. As mad as it seemed, he had the strange presentiment that he was about to become a father. He would comfort, feed, protect the boy. The law decreed that one must not surrender one soul of Israel! Just as the boy’s mother had accepted that decree, so, too, he would not surrender his love, nurture, concern, protection, for this child, his child, even until death. He had no intimation that the death that would terminate such paternal aspirations would be not his but that of the boy, and that it was only minutes away.
For the moment, in spite of the discomfort, he had a deep sense of satisfaction at participating in the great drama unfolding behind his back. He took pride in being one of the group of Jews traveling along who would not surrender one soul of Israel. He took comfort in the fact that his immediate fellow passengers were crushing him against the wall; might this not provide the boy with more space and more air? Might this not dissipate the poisonous cloud above his head? He even discovered hope, not so much for himself as for the boy. They were traveling to the East, toward Babylonia and toward Jerusalem. Yes, he was hopeful that he would even remember his name, but he was not stone; he himself could not imagine the strength of stones. In this he remained himself, a heretic, for he could not appreciate the wisdom of the rabbis.
He also failed to appreciate just how disastrously one of the carriage wheels was not cooperating in the journey, and how it was giving rise to a more noxious cloud below.
With paternal sacrifice and collegial hope, he suffered his face to be pressed so far into the cattle car slats that while he was biting the support bar, his nose was pushed practically outside the car. Ironically, this painful, sacrificial disjointment of his facial features saved his life.
CHAPTER TWENTY - SEVEN
THE IMPRISONED GROUP OF JEWS IN THE DAMAGED carriage jolted eastward in bone-crushing weariness. Somewhere in the East lay Babylonia and Jerusalem, but their track led only into the deeper shadow of Polish darkness. The uneven wheel produced a bumping, rising and falling effect, as if a cripple were trying to run—as unnatural and destructive as though through some mad suspension of nature’s laws, a sailing ship could sail on land until it thrashed itself to pieces upon the firm, solid earth.
The gyrating of the wheel grew louder until it was their entire world. It was as if they had stuck their simple heads into the center of the earth, and the whole imperfect planet was spinning lopsidedly through their ears. As the train increased its speed, the wheel ceased to revolve altogether, locked into position like a crude metal runner. The pulsating vertical pounding immediately ceased and gave way to a mad horizontal swerving as the carriage careened along the track at forty miles an hour. Inside, the travelers were slammed from side to side with such force that it seemed they might be crushed by the battering walls before the carriage jumped the rails. This unexpected mayhem was accompanied by the metallic screech of the frozen wheel grinding against the never-ending track. Had they not been previously stunned by the earlier thrashing, the higherdecibel shearing stress of steel would have proved deafening. It felt as if the devil had reached into their brains to stimulate the greatest pain that sound alone could produce.
Anyt
hing that terminated the sound would have been a relief, including leaving the rails with only the flimsy frame of the cattle car for protection. The flange of the broken wheel, however, remained sufficiently intact to keep the car on the rails, and the intense friction increased until the inky darkness in the east was dispelled by a false dawn. A bouquet of sparks burst forth from the impossible encounter, and following the headlong dash of the train, they arched, cascading outward and upward in a luminous arc that, had it been on the distant horizon or in the sky, would have suggested astral origins and eternal voyages. For those immediately above, the flashing streaks of light meant the sharp, bitter sting of sparking metal in their nostrils.
On the opposite side of the car, he was far enough back in the carriage that the earsplitting screech lost its deafening intensity. With his nose between the slats, however, he suffered the sharp, choking bite of the ozone and reflexively began to draw his head inside. But there was no space, and he no longer had the strength to move anyone behind him.
The false dawn continued as spark after spark—thousands, myriads of them—dashed into the dry wooden floor. Initially the Jews sniffed the clean, warm, robust aroma of singed wood instead of the corrosive metal. This proved a momentary respite as the first bitter vapors rose from the floorboards and billowed into the carriage behind the damaged wheel. Slowly the acrid smoke gathered in the lowest areas like a cloud of mist. Thick, warm, and suffocating, it ascended in humble, silent splendor. The paralyzed wheel shrieked below in metallic agony. The Jews above strained to breathe the sweet, phantom vapors that had seemed to sustain them earlier and now represented their only hope. Unrelenting, the fiercely real, thick, dark, stifling smoke rose to envelop the phantom vapors. The passengers fought for breath in paroxysms of choking coughs that managed to expel the hideous poison that had replaced the fetid air. Once they had expelled the smoke, however, there remained no choice but to inhale more of it—thicker, warmer, and even more deadly.
His face buried in the latticed wall, he, too, gagged on the smoke behind him, but he was sustained by the onrush of cool, sweet air. Only when the train began to brake and the slipstream eased did he think that he might be overcome; but even then enough oxygen reached him that he felt the train slowing, at last stopping in a final, wrenching bump.
He could hear the hurried steps of hobnailed boots along the tracks, then anxious calls: “Here it is! This carriage! Water! Get water over here!”
So much activity surrounded the car that he didn’t hear the water hissing on the smoldering boards. He did hear the orders directing the boots. “Under the carriage; the board there. That’s it!” When the fire had apparently been extinguished, he heard the arrival of more booted troopers and the barking of guard dogs surrounding the car. Aroused by the smoke and the late-night excitement, the dogs snapped in as loud a chorus as had those back at Dzika and Stawki Streets. Yet he didn’t think of the ghetto; that seemed so impossibly distant. He thought that finally they would have to open the damaged car.
The commander instructed his men to be alert and make certain that no one escaped, for they were responsible for “all the vermin,” and they would have to deliver them all. As exhausted as he was, he felt a sense of thanksgiving at having survived.
After they pried open the door on the other side of the car, the commandant called, asking what the situation was. The inspecting soldier met a black cloud and gagged. “Smoke,” he coughed. He was ordered to step back and let it clear. After what seemed like a very long time, the soldier stirred in the doorway. “They suffocated! Dead!” he called in revulsion at the vomit-stained corpses. “All of them?” his commandant inquired anxiously. “I don’t know. I think so.” This statement was greeted with curses and then the order to have the dead vermin thrown off the carriage and counted. This last order was accompanied by the urgent plea to unload and detach the damaged carriage and get the train moving again as soon as possible; it was already late, and they had to clear the line for other traffic.
Others clambered into the car and began prying the bodies loose one from the other and then tossing them down to the ground. He wanted to announce that he was alive, but he stood exhausted, listening over his shoulder to pulling, scraping, and the dull thuds of the falling bodies hitting the ground, all punctuated by the occasional grunts and heavy breathing of the slave laborers as they strained at their arduous task. On the wall near him they discovered someone alive and promptly reported it to the officer. “That would only complicate matters,” the officer said, but he ordered the man to hand the live ones down carefully, since as a transfer point they had orders only to expedite whatever they received.
CHAPTER TWENTY - EIGHT
WHEN THE ASPHYXIATED BODIES BEHIND HIM WERE removed, he fell. Before he crumpled completely onto the floor, two bloody teeth landed at his feet. When he saw them, he put his hand to his mouth and felt the sticky ooze of his own blood. He realized that the crossbar had knocked his teeth out while the swerving car bashed about the tracks. As sore as he was, he felt no additional pain at the discovery. It was irrelevant.
As they reached for his legs to drag him from the car, he raised his hand to signify that he was alive. With no facial response whatsoever, the Jewish slaves simply released his feet, reached for his arms, and mechanically hoisted him to a standing position. They guided him across the car to another worker, who sat him down in the doorway. Saying, “Easy now,” the man pushed him forward, and he stumbled out of the car and onto the ground.
The cool, fresh night air had a bracing effect, and to his surprise, he staggered without falling. A guard motioned him toward a railroad tie, where several other survivors sat huddled in exhaustion. Although none was bleeding, they were completely dazed, slumped over, staring vacantly at the ground. He dropped down, joining them on their low perch. He took several tentative breaths and, discovering that he could breathe the air, several deep ones. He quickly slowed down because of the soreness in his chest, but he had never known air to taste so light and sweet. In and out, he slowly continued to consume the precious treat. He purposely did so quietly so that his captors would take no notice of his enjoying their air.
Somewhat revived, he looked around. A powerful floodlamp bathed the open area around the damaged carriage in bright light. Behind him were several buildings, but they squatted quietly in the dark, surrounded by the ubiquitous barbed wire. Beyond the train he had been on, he could see lines of freight cars and a number of tracks. It seemed to be a transfer point along the main line. Apparently Warsaw trains stopped here only when there were problems. The military personnel in the transport unit certainly seemed to have had experience with previous Warsaw trains. The agitated commander, a middle-aged captain, hopped about as if he were standing over the hotbox in the smoldering car. Well, now it was his problem. Let him solve it.
When the final bodies were tossed out onto the ground, the two laborers jumped down from the carriage and were sent away under guard. He was surprised that the pile of corpses by the track did not increase, in spite of the plentiful number that had been flung from the car. Then he noticed why. A great quiet hulk of a Jew was picking them up with such lumbering ease that they appeared doll-like as he carried them away and stacked them in the shadows under a roofed area. The steady, diligent giant had been removing them as fast as the two in the carriage dropped them out of the car. Suddenly he wondered where “they” were. Since they had all been behind him, he knew they could not have survived the smoke. Only seven or eight hapless souls sat next to him on their makeshift bench; clean-shaven, not one appeared to be either of the rabbis. No, they were all dead. He stared at the dwindling pile of bodies to try to identify the boy’s small frame, but all he could see were the bodies of adults.
The mother had been right; the boy would have been better off remaining behind in the ghetto. But he couldn’t help believing that the rabbi had been right, too. Sometimes there was no choice. From their drama only he remained; they were only phantoms, if that. O
nly he and the prophet Elijah knew what had happened. He would have preferred more reliable witnesses. Shmuel Zigelboym was a reliable witness, but he couldn’t testify as to what had happened on the train. Poor Zigelboym, he had enough testimony to give without this. Strong Zigelboym, blessed Comrade Artur, knew without the dream; he had refused to lift a hand to help the band of goyim. Perhaps Elijah was appearing in Zigelboym’s dreams in London right now. He wondered whether Elijah would appear in the dreams of a Bundist; probably he could, but not in the same form that he did for Rabbi Yehoshua Ben-Levi in Lod. He had an inexplicable faith that the vision would be communicated.
A sharp, commanding voice interrupted his reverie.
“They must all drink. This is a transport unit, not a ghetto. We forward exactly what we receive, no more, no less. They come in alive; they go out alive. Those who arrived dead will present no problem. Neither will these,” the officer commanded.
“Yes, Herr Captain,” answered a dull voice.
The great large man had left his work with the dead for the time being and was working with the living. With a bucket and ladle, he was making his way down the line, doling out water. Some who sat were too stunned to drink. The man shook someone’s shoulder not unkindly.
“You heard the captain. You must drink.”
He put down the bucket and with one hand pried open the man’s mouth while slowly spooning in the water. At first the recipient gagged, but then, surprisingly, he drained the entire ladle and then another two. The surplus liquid dribbled down his chin. Watching the man’s animal reflex, he realized how thirsty he himself was and wished the hulking giant would hurry. As the bucket approached and his fellow passengers drank greedily, he had the panicky feeling that there wouldn’t be any water left for him. His eyes were riveted on the bucket; it was all he could do to keep from pouncing upon it and swallowing it all.
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