To make a long story short -- that's what's wrong with this
book.
Each of the stories in this book could have made a book on
its own fascinating merits and just as one has sunk one's
`eye-teeth' into the story and its characters, it's already
finished.
The best examples of this are the two longer stories in this
book, one dealing with Jewish pioneering in Alaska, and the
other, "Westward, Ho, Yankel" -- describing pioneering in
the southwest. There is a long essay on the history of
Jewish life in Brazil, as well, sufficiently long to avoid
gripes from this reviewer, but technically not a story. What
sets these three apart from the rest of the book is the rich
detail and historical data that authenticates them. Mrs.
Krohn has invested tremendous research time, work and skill
in rounding out information on very little known subjects
and making it come alive.
For those who enjoyed her first book, "The Way it Was," and
whoever read it, certainly did, the quality of this one goes
without saying. How about this for a sample, where she
writes about Jews in Alaska:
"When Hashem finished creating the world, He looked at it
and was pleased with His handiwork. As a finishing touch,
perhaps, He threw a snowball on top of it, and suddenly rows
and rows of towering mountains, clad in glittering white
snow, crossed and crisscrossed the top of His world. `Even
here,' He mused, `someday, My children will come to settle
and sing My praises. My Klal Yisroel will build a
home for Me even in this glistening world of white'."
She then invites us to gather close for warmth and learn
about a land where "there were more moose than men, more
space than security -- where whoever marked the boundaries
sold land for two cents an acre."
Who can pass up such a literary invitation, excitement from
your armchair, or from wherever you happened to pick up this
book, even standing up. Indeed, a standing ovation for a
gripping, thrilling book.
We find Jewish warmth in Alaska and in every one of her very
human stories. One was particularly fascinating in the
circumstances of my reading it. We had had two guests from
Yeshivas Ohr Somayach for our Friday night seuda, one
a returnee of a few years from Chicago, called Green, and
the other, a black convert. At first, the grandchildren
stared with round eyes; some of the youngsters may have
never seen a Cushi from their sequestered chareidi
neighborhood. But the strangeness wore off quickly when they
looked past the face to our guest's suit and tie and big
black kipa, and heard Torah talk flow from his mouth. His
story was particularly fascinating, since he came from a
religious family in Philadelphia -- churchgoing Baptists. In
fact, it was his interest in the Bible that had made him
take up Hebrew in high school, to read the original Book in
its original language.
Which brings us back to the Eternal Thread, the thread that
ravels and unravels, picking up stitches here and there in
the most unlikely places. Mrs. Krohn has one story --
they're all true -- titled "The Color Black," about Carla, a
convert of four years, who marries her son without her
knowledge. And I will NOT tell you how Carla, a convincing
and lovable human being, finally makes it into the good
graces of her Yiddishe Mama shviger. If it hadn't
been for our own Shabbos table experience, I would have kept
my own sceptic distance from this story, but it is part of
the Jewish scene, part of the ripple effect of the times of
Moshiach, part of Shavuos and Ruth, of the Midianite convert
Tzipora bas Yisro. Part of our people!
And for contrast much closer to home, or the Yiddishe Heim,
she has another story: "This history of Williamsburg will
someday be a book. But to give you a glimpse of how a
community generated a movement toward embracing Yiddishkeit,
I will tell you a small chapter." A little known chapter of
Williamsburg not- as-we-know-it-today but in those
prehistoric times when Shabbos observance was a vital issue.
A communal struggle that heralded the Williamsburg of
yesterday and today.
One of the keynotes of this exciting book is variety, as I
have tried to show. Another is feeling, emotions of a wide
range that are evoked as you read on and on, afraid that the
story will end too soon, and the book as well. Pride in
Jewish stamina ("I Remember Dadushka"), empathy for the
everlasting Jewish struggle against the outside world, more
than passing interest in Jewish life in foreign climes,
identification with Jews facing catastrophe on a personal
level ("The Blood Bank"), shidduchim ("The
Parashah"), adoption ("Come Home"). A many-textured but
eternal thread that binds us all together into a tapestry
that spans the heavens and earth, the past, present and
future.
Possibly, the story that best brings out her writing skill
is one about a blind man who regains sight. What a wonderful
thing, we cannot help marveling. But is this truly a
blessing for someone who must learn to see? You cannot even
put yourself into this person's shoes until you have read
Mrs. Krohn's eyeopening account of `paradise' gained...
The book ends with a beautiful piece on "The Aftermath of
Loss." With typically Jewish combination of sensitive
feeling coupled with the practical need to overcome the
desire to wallow in sorrow and tackle any problem and move
on with what remains of life, Mrs. Krohn portrays the state
of bereavement in this non-story. In her words:
The death of a spouse is cataclysmic. Whether it comes as an
expected event after an illness or it is a sudden happening,
the ferocious emotional effect is devastating. As many times
as it happens, it is always a terrible new experience for
the bereaved ones.
In the newsness of the catastrophe, family and friends
usually rally. Words of condolence, caring, and compassion
run like swift water over the wounds of the bereft ones. We
are a compassionate people; we try, but, like all swift
water, the words glide over and are gone. And the bereft
stand alone in their misery.
The frightening aspect of all this aloneness is not only its
basic loneliness, but also the accompanying feelings of
humiliation, fear, and most of all, anger. This anger is
unreasonable but terribly palpable. The lonely ones are
angry -- at whom are they angry? Is it fate? The doctor, who
they think made a mistake? Their destiny? The anger is
subliminal, like the humiliation of suddenly being almost a
persona non grata. After all, Hashem created a world with
"he" and "she" and a person suddenly bereft of a spouse
stands alone. Odd man out, you might say: the "extra" for
whom even kind people have to figure out a place.
Their self-esteem has suddenly evaporated.
There are two intellectual roads to take: acceptance or slow
degeneration. This is the terribly difficult -- and personal
-- decision that each person has to make on his own.
But what about the rest of the world, the rest of the
community? Compassion is part of our makeup, part of our
religious duty. What can we do as individuals and as a
community to help alleviate this struggle?
Why should I tell you, when Mrs. Krohn does so in her own
words -- and I want to get you to read the book firsthand,
treasure it, and pass it on, as it rightfully
deserves!
As I put the book down regretfully, I wonder: What came
first, the chicken or the egg? In this case, it was the
gifted son who came first: Rabbi Paysach Krohn has gained
immortality through his Maggid stories series which were
published before his mother's "The Way it Was." But surely
she was the woman behind him, the one who egged him on,
encouraged, read and advised, touched up, and finally
decided that if writing is a G-d-given talent, it may be in
the genes, and her genes came first.
I had the personal privilege of frequently visiting the
Krohn home, legendary for its bursting but unobtrusive
hospitality, as a Bnos Shabbos group leader for her
daughters. A home where you felt comfortable, at home,
almost had a natural claim to since it invited you so
naturally into its embrace.
And this too -- the Krohn home, which was also home to the
unforgettable gaon, R' Shalom Schwadron, for many,
many months of many years -- is a long story that has been
touched upon in the introductions of the Maggid books, a
story that will forever be too short to put down on
paper.
Thank you, Mrs. Krohn, for everything you have given in your
quiet way to Klal Yisroel. Thank you for spinning and
weaving your "Eternal Thread". May you and yours (other
children have written and published as well!) continue to do
so -- until the cloth is whole and Moshiach has come.
Speedily and in our times!
