"Yisca, come into the kitchen. I need your help preparing for
Shabbos!" Ima Shimony called out to her youngest daughter.
It was pouring rain; the wind blew fiercely, sweeping
everything away, banging the rusty shutters. The noise and
the chill spread all around. In the tiny kitchen, it was warm
and cozy, a pleasant haven from the hostile elements
outdoors. To Yisca, this call for help in the kitchen was
very inviting.
She entered and looked around. In one corner, upon a little
wooden table, stood two kerosene burners, ptiliyot,
they were called. In the center, between the burners stood
the primus, a noisy burner. A pot of pea soup was simmering
on one burner while a pot of potatoes stood on the other. On
the primus, a large samovar was bubbling. Though everything
looked black and unpleasant, the aroma and the warmth made
the tiny kitchen a cozy and inviting place to be.
All the Shimony girls wished to be in the kitchen, but it was
only big enough for one at a time. It was considered a great
honor to be asked to help. Yisca knew that some of the chores
would be unpleasant, but she couldn't be choosy. If she
wanted to enjoy the warmth, she would have to do as
bidden.
"What do I have to do?" she asked, hoping Ima wouldn't ask
her to wash dishes in the freezing water. Just thinking about
it made her put up her hands close to the warm
ptiliyot.
"I'd like you to grind the fish," said Ima. She knew this was
a difficult task, since the iron hand grinder was missing its
screw and throughout the grinding, the handle kept slipping
out of place.
"I tried to get a screw at the Tambour store (the hardware
store was called this because it sold Tambour paints and had
a red and blue Tambour sign outside) but they didn't have the
right size. But I tucked a piece of rolled cardboard into the
hole so that if you grind fast, it will keep the handle in
place."
Yisca sighed. She looked at the pile of fish fillets and
quickly calculated that, difficult and unpleasant as it was,
the job would be worth staying in the warm kitchen, and so
she began turning the handle very quickly. The pile of ground
fish became bigger and bigger, while the pile of pieces
shrank. The job was becoming increasingly difficult since the
cardboard had become wet and the handle kept slipping out of
place. Yisca put in a fresh piece of cardboard, an expensive
commodity in those days, and sighed. "What a tedious job!"
When all the fish had been ground, Yisca looked to her mother
for further instructions. Ima was removing chicken quarters
from a pail of water. Yisca held her hands up to the primus
and suddenly, her attention was drawn to strange sounds. She
looked out of the window. "It's hailing!" she exclaimed.
Ima nodded, too busy to look out the window. "Come, help me.
Rinse those pieces and put them on the kashering board. Now
that they've finished soaking, we must salt them." She handed
them to Yisca to run them under the freezing tap water. Yisca
rushed through the motions and placed the pieces on the
wooden slatted board. Ima pulled out a box of coarse salt
from a shelf and gathered a fistful, which she began
showering over the chicken, one piece at a time, holding it
up and turning it on all sides as she liberally shook on the
salt. "Just like the hail," thought Yisca.
Ima talked as she worked, explaining, "There are six sides to
each piece: top side and bottom side, right and left, front
and back. All six sides must be salted in order to be
kashered." Her hands worked fast and soon all the salted
pieces rested upon the board which leaned at an angle upon a
treife metal kashering pail.
When it was all done, there were carrots to peel for the
tzimmes, and the fish to be spiced for cooking, and
mixed with onions, eggs and carrots. Sifting flour was next,
for the challos and homontaschen. The trays
would be sent to be baked in a nearby bakery oven. Purim was
on Sunday, and Ima intended to bake a large quantity so she
could separate challa. The kitchen was now filled with
the warmth and the yeasty aroma of rising dough.
The hardest task, saved for last, was the mixing of mustard
powder and vinegar, which brought many tears to Yisca's eyes.
Then there were the many dishes to be washed in freezing
water, but the sound of the hail reminded Yisca to be happy
where she was, in the warm and cozy kitchen. It was Tzila who
was given the task to brave the elements and deliver the
trays to the bakery. All the tasks now finished, it was time
to go back to the cold rooms.
Yisca shuddered. She buttoned up her sweater and even put on
her coat and scarf, tucking her hands into her pockets as she
dashed out of the kitchen. Mother was right behind her,
bearing the hot ptiliya, which she placed in a safe
corner. She poured some more kerosene into the small fuel cup
at the bottom and went back for the second one. Then she
brought the samovar for one, and the pot of cholent
for the other.
The girls gathered around them and the cold was slowly
forgotten. Abba brought in some of that outside world with
him -- snowflakes on his hat and coat. Ima laid his wet
clothes on a chair to dry and served him a steaming cup of
tea.
Yisca looked at Abba and suddenly remembered, "How are we
going to get to shul tomorrow for Parshas Zochor? It
might snow all night!"
"How wonderful!" exclaimed Tzila, who had not been daunted by
her foray to the bakery. "Then it will last until Sunday and
we can make a huge snowlady and dress her up for Purim!"
"Everything will be so clean and beautiful!" cried Chedva
dreamily. "All covered with a white blanket."
Only Yisca was sad. "How are we going to get to shul?"
she repeated. "With frozen, aching feet, tearing red eyes and
runny red noses?" Who could think of enjoying this awful
thing?
Before they went to bed that night, Ima pulled out three
glass bottles from under the quilt covering the samovar and
handed them to the girls. This was to warm their beds before
they crept in.
"Is it safe?" asked Yisca, recalling one time, not too long
ago, when the bottle had not been corked well, and she had
gotten her bed wet.
*
Shabbos Zochor dawned white, with snow still drifting down
steadily. Everyone was happy except Yisca. Chedva and Tzila
jumped out of bed and rushed to get dressed in the chilly
room. Yisca buried her head under the feather quilt to shut
out the joyous cries and the sight of the snow from the
window.
Tzila pulled the cover off Yisca's head. The cold air hit her
directly. "It's getting late. We have to get to shul
on time." Yisca quickly got dressed and put on an extra layer
of everything. She would have put on a third pair of
stockings but there were none. They were all still wet from
yesterday. A hot cup of tea perked her up somewhat and they
set out bravely to shul.
Yisca stepped into the white snow. "It's not so bad," she
murmured in surprise. Actually, she had to admit it was
beautiful. "I'm still alive and not at all frozen yet."
As they turned the corner, they saw women coming out of
shul. "We'll have to try another one," said Ima. They
trudged from one shul to another until they finally
came to a late minyon and heard the reading of Parshas
Zochor.
Their feet froze, their faces were red and hurting, but as
they came back home and rushed to huddle by the
ptiliyot, they all -- even Yisca -- felt happy at
having performed this annual mitzva through mesiras
neffesh.
