Eternity
This is a book review of sorts, besides being a story of Lag
B'Omer as seen through the eyes of a new Russian immigrant,
Valentina, religious from birth but one generation removed,
and ignorant, and feeling her new way into Yiddishkeit, in
her new homeland of Eretz Yisroel, as a literal tinokes
shenishb'a.
"KOL HASIKUYIM", "All the Chances" is a book by CHAVA
ROSENBERG. If you haven't ever read her novels, you're
missing a literary pleasure of the old kind, when you read
for pleasure, vicarious excitement, intellectual thrills,
titilation. With the added benefit of messages intertwined
by this chareidi writer.
Let me put in a good word for that old fashioned type of
reading. It kept me going erev Pesach. Malka Adler's
"Sunny Slice of Life," which was reviewed in this section,
plus another excellent library book. I didn't let it carry
me away, but read in short spurts, enough to relax from
taxing physical work and to give new impetus to tackle
another Pesach chore, get it done, and back to book-and-
coffee, a variation of the famous carrot-and- stick
incentive. And it worked. I looked forward to the work,
broke it down into sections I could handle, about two hours
at a time; it refreshed my mind and gave me what to think
about, and relaxed my body for the next lunge. The loss was
pure gain and kept me in good spirits all along.
And now, on to "Kol Hasikuyim," another book in
Hebrew, though I have translated a book for Chavi into
English, highly recommended for relaxing, tension packed
entertainment, "The Dividing Line." Back to my pet project --
getting Anglo-Saxons to read Hebrew for pleasure. There --
I've said it in a nutshell. Now onto the book.
This is a two part book, with the first half in the usual
Chavi Rosenberg style, that is, sustained suspense until the
end of the plot, an interesting revelation of human nature
through the realistic characters, and lots of insight. The
second half is a series of stories about a Russian immigrant
who discovers Yiddishkeit through her daily circumstances,
through her husband and children, and through her own
sensitive, perceptive and receptive soul. Easy enough
reading that you may identify with, as an immigrant
yourself, even though the background is necessarily
different. Each story in this section, called "All the
Stories of Valentina," is self contained and a fascinating
discovery. For example: In this episode, Valentina and her
husband visit a friend in an old age home.
ETERNITY
The acrid smell of smoke filtered into Valentina's nose. She
peered out the window and saw many concentrations of fire in
the field bordering her neighborhood of Dekalim, with smoke
spiralling upwards from each. "What's going on! Fires!" she
shouted in alarm. Frightened, her daughter Olga rushed to
the window, but Yonoson remained where he was, a bemused
smile playing on his lips.
"Those are fires lit on purpose," he commented.
"On purpose?" Valentina was shocked. "Why are you so matter-
of-fact about the whole thing?"
"It's for Lag B'Omer. Don't you know that on Lag B'Omer
night they light bonfires?"
No. Valentina didn't know. Lag B'Omer is a purely Eretz-
Yisroel date. She had never heard of it and needless to say,
back in Russia, had never seen a Lag B'Omer bonfire.
Yonoson explained to her what he had learned in school and
what he had heard from friends. He told her about the
saintly Tana R' Shimon Bar Yochai who had hidden in a cave
for many years, where he had been sustained by carobs and
water from a spring that had burst forth from the ground. He
told her about the Torah he had studied in spite of Roman
persecution, and came to the climax of the story, the
critical hours before his death. His face flushed, Yonoson
movingly described how R' Shimon had gathered together his
disciples and revealed to them the most esoteric secrets of
the Torah -- in both the revealed and mystic parts of Torah.
The fire of Torah had enveloped them in a blazing circle and
"in memory of that fire, we light bonfires to show how we
yearn for the light of that very Torah and hope to regain it
and merit it, ourselves," he concluded for the enlightenment
of his mother and sister.
Just as he finished, Michael came home from work. He and
Valentina headed towards the senior citizens home to visit
the father of their mutual landsleit, Leah. All along
the way they saw the bonfires and people dancing around them
and were most impressed. Here and there they noticed the
chalaka children and Michael explained the lovely
custom of the haircut ceremony to his wife, as a
continuation of Yonoson's narrative. She was deeply affected
by this festival of which she had not known a thing, and
which appeared in the middle of a regular week, just like
that.
They entered the old age home and met a group of old men to
whose clothing the odor of smoke still clung. They had just
returned from a bonfire. "We don't light a fire here,"
explained a member from the staff, "because many of the old
people can't take the smoke; they have difficulty breathing.
But there was a bonfire not far from here and whoever
wished, went there to see it and take part in the event."
Michael and Valentina met Leah's father in his room. He
looked good and was in fine spirits. A newcomer, he found
the transition a bit difficult, "like with any new place.
But I like it here. It's a good place. It was an excellent
choice," he told them.
"Did you see the bonfires?" Michael asked the old man.
"No," he said. "Which bonfires?" They went out to the main
terrace on that floor where they could spot many, many
fires, their flames dancing up to the line of the horizon.
"What is that?" he wondered aloud. "This country does not
cease to surprise me..." Michael told him about Lag B'Omer,
about R' Shimon, about the bonfires, about...
The old man wrinkled his forehead and sank into thought. The
words were visibly penetrating into his brain and heart.
"When did this Jew, R' Shimon, pass away?" he asked
finally.
"Oh... a long time ago."
"What does that mean -- long ago? Fifty years? Sixty?"
"Oh, no! Not in terms of decades at all. Or even centuries.
The gemora tells us about R' Shimon," Michael
commented.
"Well, try to figure it out. It's very important to me. I'll
tell you why, soon."
Michael tried to organize the various strata of Jewish
history in his mind, to shake off the cobwebs of his
knowledge of dates and events, and finally arrived at an
approximate figure. "Something like two thousand years
ago."
"Two thousand years!" the old man exclaimed aloud. Even
Valentina opened her eyes in wonder.
"Yes, yes, exactly what you heard. Two thousand years,"
Michael echoed.
"Two thousand years! Two millenia! Twenty centuries! And
look at those bonfires!" exclaimed Leah's father. He was
amazed. "You're still young. You aren't well enough
acquainted with the history of Mother Russia, but I'll tell
you! I still remember very well, in my very bones, the times
of Stalin, ruler of Russia. He was a mighty dictator, an
iron despot, so much so that many people couldn't even
conceive that he would ever die. Indeed, his death was a
blow, a real shock to the entire nation. I remember that day
well. People walked around in total bewilderment, completely
disoriented. They couldn't imagine how Russia could continue
without Stalin. Then began the deification of that leader.
They established memorial days, ceremonial occasions. What
didn't they do to immortalize his memory? They build
museums, taught about him reverently in schools, depicted
his figure on currency bills, gave him a place of honor in
the history books. They glorified and idolized him to the
skies.
"Until, one day, they began singing a different tune.
"`Stalin was a murderer!' they revealed. `He was a dreadful
terrorist, a demagogue!' `A tyrant of the first degree!'
`The cruelest, most sadistic of rulers!' Suddenly, the press
began to expose to the people what had actually taken place
during the regime of this evil despot. How many millions --
do you hear! -- how many millions of people, without
exaggeration, had been murdered for some slight disloyalty
to this cruel dictator. The merest hint of suspicion of so-
called betrayal was sufficient reason for murder, to
liquidate a person altogether, or at best, to imprison
him.
"People in Russia, like me and tens of thousands of others,
read and couldn't believe. If this was the man, how had they
allowed us to idolize him all these years? How had they
succeeded in deifying his person in our eyes? How had they
crowned him with laurels of glory and praise when they knew
that he was a base murderer of dimensions not yet known to
history?"
He took a deep breath. "It is very difficult for a person to
absorb such an awakening, such a revelation that shakes the
very foundations of his belief. This is what happened in
Russia time after time. At first with the czars, then with
Lenin, afterwards with Stalin. And now they are trying to
glorify Gorbachov for his famous glasnost policy. Who
knows what they will say about him a few years hence? In
Russia, it is all a matter of time. Today, this, tomorrow
thus. There is nothing that you can revere for
certainty."
The old man was silent and went back to gaze out the window.
He stared at the bonfires, tears forming in his eyes. "Do
you realize what the Jewish nation is? Eternity! Netzach
Yisroel lo yeshaker! The Eternal of Israel shall not
deceive! This R' Shimon died two thousand years ago, and
today, Jews still celebrate the anniversary of his death,
and study the Zohar which teaches those secrets he revealed
before his death, and sing holy songs in his memory. Today!
As if it happened right now. Their reverence towards him has
not changed or dimmed with the passing of the years.
"There are moments when I think to myself: I wish I were
young again and had the strength to dance for joy, just for
being a Jew! Do you hear what I am saying? To dance for
joy!"
*
Michael and Valentina will never forget that Lag B'Omer.
Suddenly, all of the mitzvos took on a deeper
meaning, a more internal momentum. The tefillin were
no longer the same tefillin and Shabbos was not the
same Shabbos. "It is simply as if we became connected to
eternity," said Valentina, and even the timber of her voice
had ancient overtones and sounded more resonant than ever
before.
[You've got your taste of eternity. Now read on...]
