Something funny is going on in my neighborhood. Everyone
who's read Sudy Rosengarten's new book, An Onion for the
Doctor and Other stories, hasn't stopped talking about
it.
"I just love how she describes the yeshivishe world of
Williamsburg and Toronto of the 1940s," one neighbor tells
me. "The way she writes about the relationships between new
immigrants to Eretz Yisroel is so moving," says another. "Did
you read that story about the shidduch?" asks a third.
"I can't get it out of my mind."
It's rare that one writer can touch the imagination of so
many. Yet Mrs. Rosengarten has a remarkable ability to make
people and their emotions so real that they stay in the
reader's mind long after the story is read. Even more, every
reader can recall certain scenes as clearly as if s/he had
lived through them personally. The stories in An Onion for
the Doctor display this exceptional style of writing to
its fullest.
From Europe to Toronto, from Williamsburg to Bnei Brak, the
author treats us to a panoply of interesting characters.
There's the young bride in a prewar Polish shtetl, new
immigrants to the New World, young children at camp and at
play, and modern-day pioneers in an Israeli development town,
to name just a few. All have fascinating stories to tell,
guided by the sure pen of an accomplished writer.
The true novelette called An Onion for the Doctor, for
example, is narrated by a 6-year-old girl named Ruthie whose
parents sent her into hiding with various gentile families
before taking her out of Hungary on the Kastner Train. This
unique retelling of events through the eyes of a youngster
packs a dramatic punch that the reader will not soon
forget.
An unusual theme that runs through the opening chapters of
this long story is that of "make-believe," subtly contrasting
Ruthie's desire to escape her strange new reality with the
larger community's disbelief that Hungary could really hand
over its Jews to the Germans. Here is the enchanting
description of Ruthie's first meeting with the farmer's wife
who agrees to shelter her:
"Now, in this make-believe game, I am your mother. Farmer
Krausz is your father and all these children are your sisters
and brothers. We have acres and acres of corn, a barn full of
chickens, cows and horses, and the children all take turns
feeding the chickens and taking the cows out to pasture."
On and on she went, while I listened raptly to everything she
said. I was full of curiosity about how to play this game,
and so anxious to remember all the things she was saying:
that the freckle-faced boy was 10-year-old David, and Baby
Etta had just gotten her first tooth, and that the eldest two
had best be heeded or they'd give me a thrashing, and most of
all to be careful, and if anybody looked at me too long and
started asking me too many questions, I was to play deaf and
dumb and run straight home.
"Can I also milk the cows and run around barefoot and maybe
even ride a horse?" I asked, full of excitement at the new
world I had stumbled into. I still wanted my sister Suri, but
what fun I would have till we were together again."
Mrs. Rosengarten, who is well known to the readers of YATED
and other Jewish publications, is in a class by herself when
it comes to chareidi writers. If you try to put your
finger on just what makes her writing special, you could cite
her exquisite command of language, the cadence of rhythm that
make her words flow, and her keen eye for detail. She doesn't
overburden the reader with plotting, but allows scenes to
filter into one's consciousness, the way they do in real
life.
For example, one feels the excitement oozing from the very
walls of the house as Motti prepares to leave for yeshiva in
Eretz Yisroel.
People kept coming and going. There were aunts and uncles,
cousins and friends, neighbors and people from the shul.
Mommy didn't know how to handle so much company in the house
at the same time, and kept bringing in trays of cookies and
candies and drinks. Except for our own kids, nobody paid any
attention to the treats, but that didn't stop her from
refilling the plates as fast as we emptied them.
The phone didn't stop ringing. Motti graciously accepted all
the good wishes, reciprocating with blessings that could have
made him worthy of taking kvitlach. The kids were
making a list of all the gifts he was receiving from everyone
who came, and it looked as though he'd have enough spending
money to last him the whole year. Tatte could never figure
out why, a month later, the appeal letters started
arriving.
The ability to make a reader feel that s/he personally
witnessed an event is a golden talent. This reviewer was
inspired to call up the author at her Bnei Brak home to ask
her about her natural gift for storytelling, and how she got
her start in writing. She was as charming to talk to as she
is to read.
"All these years I've brought up my family and taken various
courses (I'm now taking narrative therapy), but basically I
write," she said. "I have a room where I write every day."
Now a great-grandmother, Mrs. Rosengarten dates the beginning
of her writing career to a contest sponsored by the fledgling
Bais Yaakov High School of Williansburg. Twelve-year-old Sudy
was one of the first students to be recruited by Rebbetzin
Vichna Kaplan. The school held a writing contest on the
subject, "Why I am in Bais Yaakov" to interest other girls in
enrolling.
"I remember the room we were sitting in," she recalls with
her characteristic eye for detail. "There were two or three
teachers supervising us. I remember being famished and taking
out my chocolate bar and apple that I had brought for recess.
I ate while I scribbled away. That essay won the contest."
She has been writing ever since. Her advice to other would-be
writers is simply to put pen to paper and to keep at it.
"People may tell you, `What difference does it make? How
important is what you have to say?' Those are the people who
think with their minds, not their hearts. If you think you
have something to say, then write it."
The publication of Mrs. Rosengarten's first book brings a new
standard of excellence to chareidi writing. Each
reading and rereading of these memorable stories promises new
emotions to savor, new insights to ponder, and much enjoyment
in a story well told.
