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16 Iyar 5761 - May 9, 2001 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family
A BOOK REVIEW AND TRANSLATED EXCERPT by Sheindel Weinbach

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...]

 

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