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T R A N S L AT I O N i Forthcoming from The New Yiddish Library

The Jewish State and Other Stories


by Lamed Shapiro
Leah Garrett, Editor / David G. Roskies, Series Editor

VIOLENCE AGAINST THE JEWISH PEOPLE IS NOTHING NEW.

In Shapiro s controlled narrative, chaotic violence is played out in the cold New York City tenement of the escaped immigrants. The boys parents remain so damaged by the pogro m that they neglect him, leaving him lonely, frustrated, and lost. Only at the end of the tale does the son begin to understand that his fathers coldness and fury and his mothers perpetual tears and recurrent illness are the outcomes of the violence they experienced in the Old World. The New World, which should offer the potential for limitless reinvention, has been corrupted by a shadow that hangs over everything. Rather than describing the violence directly, as he does in other stories, Shapiro has his boy protagonist stand at the edge and witness its permanent effects. He is apart from the violence both geographically, by being in America, and through time, by reexperiencing it in a confusing whirlwind of memories. In his father, however, the pogrom has created a repressed tide of fury and pain that builds until he can no longer contain it. It transforms the man into a raging monster that the son does not recognize. As is typical in Shapiro s stories, Judaism itself is infected and transformed by the violence. Even the four questions of Passover become emblematic of the complete lack of communication within the boys family. And the Haggadah passage that ends the story is recast as the fathers plaintive, angry, and impotent cry against the attackers who have ruined him and his family. Shapiros story reminds us that while Jewish immigrants to America may have landed on a safe shore, many still carried the permanent psychological scars of antiSemitism. And for some, the profound trauma was physical as well, as manifested in the unwanted child of rape growing in the womb of the boys mother. Leah Garre t t

It began with the maltreatment of Jewish slaves by the Pharaoh, continued through the twelfth-century Crusade slaughters and the 1648 Cossack massacres, and culminated in the destruction of European Jewry during the Holocaust. As David Roskies has explained in his groundbreaking Against the Apocalypse, part of the Jewish response to these catastrophes has been the creation of a remarkably rich and powerful literature. The great Jewish modernist writer Lamed Shapiro, the author of Pour Out Thy Wrath (1908), introduced a new literary perspective on anti-Jewish violence. He was the first Jewish writer to show how Jews, in response to victimization, could themselves become victimizers. For Shapiro, violence was an elemental force that plowed down everything in its path and infected the receiver as well as the giver. In Shapiro s most famous story, The Cross (1909), the protagonist rapes and kills his girlfriend after he has witnessed his own mother tort u red and killed by pogromists. In many of Shapiros tales, violence does not lead Jews to become saints; instead, it can cause them to mimic their oppressors. In the tradition of the Yiddish and Russian writers I. L. Peretz and Anton Chekhov, Shapiro wrote highly crafted short stories. Yet unlike his literary mentors, what he chose to describe was the chaos of modern Jewish life. His tales thus often express the basest elements of human behavior rape, sadism, murder through the medium of high art. Shapiros stories have a taut, highly condensed form that contrasts dramatically with the chaotic events he describes. Pour Out Thy Wrath is one of Shapiros most troubling pogrom stories. It is told from the perspective of a young boy who witnesses how a pogrom in Eastern Europe continues to destroy his parents even after they have immigrated to New York. In this story, physical violence transgresses all boundaries and brings ruin even to the children of those who are subjected to it. No one is untouched.

Leah Garrett is assistant professor of English and Judaic studies at the University of Denver and author of Journeys Beyond the Pale: Yiddish Travel Writing in the Modern World (University of Wisconsin Press, 2003).

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Pour Out Thy Wrath


BY LAMED SHAPIRO TRANSLATED BY HEATHER VALENCIA

True, it had been a terrible storm. Yet when you are nine years old you quickly forget even the most violent tempest. And Meyerl had turned nine a few weeks before Passover. However, it was also true that winds were always blowing through their house: biting, icy gusts which cut into him and reminded him of that storm. In fact Meyerl spent more time in the wild streets of New York than in the house. Tartylw and then New York. New York had flooded over Tartylw and washed it out of his memory. The only thing he still remembered was a dream from that time. And besides, when you are nine years old you quickly forget any storm. But even if it was just a dream it was still terrifying! At that time they had been stu dying in heder. Th ey were really just going through the moti ons, because at the end of term, on the Days of Repen t a n ce leading up to Rosh Hashona, the rebbe rel a xed a little. So while they were sitting learn i n g, su d denly from the street came the sound of doors banging, and thro u gh the wi n dows of the heder they saw Jews running around as if they had gone mad . Th ey were jerk i n g and spinning abo ut, just like leaves in a wh i rlwi n d , wh en a witch rises up from the earth in a pillar of dust and spins thro u gh the street , so swift and unex pected that a shiver goes though your body. Seeing the people running around in the s treet , the rebbe collapsed onto his chair, as wh i te as a corpse, his lower lip trem bling uncon trollably. Meyerl never saw him again. Afterwards people said that the rebbe had been mu rdered . Meyerl was not pleased to hear this even though the rebbe used to beat the pupils brut a lly. But he also wasnt sorry abo ut it ei t h er. He just didnt re a lly u n derstand what had happen ed. What did that mean: mu rdered? And so the whole puzzling qu e s ti on com p l etely disappe a red from his mind, toget h er with the rebbe . It was on ly then that the real terror bega n . For two days, toget h er with some older people, he and some boys hid in the bathhouse wi t h o ut food, drink, or paren t s . The adults wo u l d nt all ow him to go home, and once, wh en he started screaming, t h ey almost smothered him. He carri ed on sobbing and shaking, u n a ble to stop crying immed i a tely. A few times he dozed off, and wh en he wo ke with a start, nothing h ad ch a n ged. In the midst of all the horror, he only heard one

word goyim wh i ch conjured up in his mind an image of som ething re a lly terrible. The rest of it was very confused. In fact he did not actu a lly wi tness anything direct ly. L a ter, wh en it was all over, no one came to look for him, and he was taken to his home by a stra n ger. Nei t h er his father nor his mother said anything to him, but acted as if he had just come back from heder as usual. Everything in the house was smashed . His fathers arm had been disloc a ted and his face be a ten up. His mother was lyi n g on the bed with her bl onde hair tousled, h er eyes puffy as if she had overs l ept , h er face pale and dirty. Her whole body looked unti dy, like a heavy, c ru m p l ed bed s pre ad . Meyerl s f a t h er silen t ly paced abo ut the house, not looking at anyone, his bandaged arm hanging in a wh i te sling around his neck . Meyerl sudden ly sen s ed some kind of hidden horror and bu rst out sobbi n g. His father merely looked at him with a bleak, m orose ex pression and con ti nu ed pacing about the room without saying a word. Th ree weeks later they sailed for Am erica. Du ring the voyage the sea was very rough, and Meyerl s mother lay bel ow on her bu n k , the whole time vom i ting vi o l en t ly . Meyerl was fine. His father however kept on pacing backwards and forwards on the deck , even in the heaviest rain, u n til one of the ships crew came and drove him bel ow deck . Meyerl didnt know ex act ly what happen ed , but at one point a goy on board annoyed his father laughing at him, or som ething like that and his father drew himsel f up and gave him a look. It was on ly a look, but the goy was frighten ed . He retreated and started crossing himsel f while spitting and muttering inaudibly. Wh en Meyerl saw the way his father twisted up his mouth and ground his teet h , with his eyes pro truding o ut of their socket s , he was also scared . Meyerl had never seen him looking like that. But soon his father started pacing the deck again with his head bu ri ed in the co llar of his coat, his hands in his sleeves, and his back hu n ch ed . When they landed in New York , Meyerl s head began to spin, and pret ty soon Ta rtylw had tu rn ed into a dream. It was the beginning of wi n ter, and soon masses of fresh, wh i te snow began to fall. Meyerl had become a real American boy. Like all boys, he wen t to sch oo l , he learn ed to throw snowb a ll s , f ly on skates, and l i ght fires in the middle of the street and no one was upset. Like all boys, he lived mostly on the streets and would only come home to grab some food or sleep. Cold biting drafts penetrated the house, making it seem strange and eerie. Meyerls father, a thin, large-boned man with a dark-skinned face and a black beard, had always

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been quiet and only rarely did one hear him say things to his wife like: Listen to me, Tsipe... Now he was completely silent and it was really frightening. Mother, on the other hand, h ad alw ays been lively and talkative , con s t a n t ly bustling around with her Shloyme this and Shloyme that, and telling lots of stories. But now all this had changed completely. Father constantly paced around the room while Mother followed him with her eyes like a child, as if she was desperate to say something but did not dare to. And there was something different about her expression. What was it, exactly? It was something which reminded Meyerl of the eyes of the dog Mishka that he loved to play with back there, in the shtetl that had become a dream. Someti m e s , waking up sudden ly in the middle of the night, Meyerl heard his mother sobbi n g. At those times his f a t h er, in the other bed, would be smoking his ciga r, d rawing on it fiercely. It was fri ghtening to see the gl ow flaring up each time in the darkness as if of its own accord , hovering just over wh ere his fathers dark head must be lyi n g. As sleep overcame Meyerl , his mother, the gl owing ciga r, and the whole room would ju m ble toget h er in his head and then fade away. Twi ce that wi n ter his mother was ill . The first time it lasted for two days and the second time for four, but both times it seem ed very serious. Her face was fiery-red , and she bit her lower lip so hard with her sharp white teeth that it bl ed. D e s p i te this, terrible wild groans came from her revealing her dre adful pain. She vomited frequ en t ly as she had during the sea voya ge . The vom i ting was so vi o l ent that it seem ed as if her intestines were going to come up. At these times she did not look at Meyerls father pleadingly. No, this was something differentthis was likewhat was it like?Oh yes! It was like the time when Mishka had a sharp thorn stuck deep in his paw, and he squealed and howled with furious rage while chewing his paw as if to devour it and the thorn together. Father also was different during those periods. He didnt just pace but ran about the room with the smoking cigar crackling ceaselessly between his teeth. Instead of the one cloud which perpetually hovered motionless over his brow, now cloud after cloud chased each other, twisting into the deep broad furrows. From time to time it was as if flashes of lightning passed over and then were immediately extinguished again. He did not look at his wife, and neither of them paid any attention to Meyerl, who felt altogether lost and lonely. It was stra n ge , but it was at those times that Meyerl fel t d rawn to stay at home. In the street everything was just as usual, wh ereas at home.... Th ere , it was rather like the atm o s-

ph ere in the synagogue during the Days of Awe wh en the shofar was bl own as tall fathers with prayer-shawls over thei r h e ads stood holding their breath, and from far away the note of the tekia reverbera ted over the con grega ti on a solitary, powerf u l , long-drawn - o ut sound: to-to-u-uuuuuuuuu! Both times after his mother recovered a dark shado w would descend on the house. Father became even gloomier than before, and Mothers expression, as she followed him with her eyes, was more submissive and dejected than ever. Meyerl in turn would run out of the house and into the noisy street. The white snows had become less frequ ent and s oon they dep a rted altoget h er like bi rds leavi n g the nest. It felt as if som ething new was in the air. What it actu a lly was, Meyerl couldnt re a lly say. But in any case, it must be som ething good, som ething very good , because all the people in the street were very happy abo ut it. You could see that in their bri ghter and fri en dlier faces. On the morning of the Eve of Pa s s over the sky also cleared a little at home. It was as if the outdoors and the indoors were clasping hands thro u gh the wi n dow wh i ch had been open ed for the first time. This fri en dliness made Meyerl feel happ i er. Fa t h er and Mo t h er made prep a ra ti ons for Passover. Th ey were, however, meager prep a ra tions: there was no fe s tive, noisy matzo-bakery so they inste ad bo u ght a pack a ge of old, cold, re ady-baked matzos. Th ere was no barrel of borsht for Pa s s over standing in the corn er covered with coa rse unbl e ach ed linen . Th ere were no du s ty Passover dishes to get down from the attic where they had been kept for years. Inste ad , f a t h er bo u ght cheap unmatch ed odds and ends of crockery from a street ped dl er. But all the same, t h ere was sti ll a sligh t ly fe s tive atm o s ph ere that warm ed the heart. O n ce or t wi ce, b ack in Ta rtyl w, Meyerl had lain in bed at night with his eyes open , his heart petri f i ed with fear, l i s te ning to the dark stillness. It seem ed as if the whole world his wh o l e family had died . But the sudden simple crowing of a rooster was en o u gh to fill his heart again with a warm stream of joy and hom ely comfort . Fa t h er s face bri gh ten ed up a little. Wh en he was wiping the wine glasses for Passover, although his eyes sti ll stared ra t h er distractedly, his lips looked as if t h ey might just bre a k into a smile at any moment. Mo t h erlooked almost ch eerful as she bu s t l ed around in the kitch en, prep a ring the first of the matzo-pancakes wh i ch were sizzling and chattering in the pan, wh en a nei gh bor came in to borrow a pot. Meyerl was standing be s i de his mother. The nei gh bor took her po t , and the women started exch a n ging a few words abo ut the forth-

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coming festiva l . Th en the nei gh bor said: And there ll soon be s om ething else to cel ebra te in your house, wont there ? poi n ting at mother with a smile and a wi n k . It was then that Meyerl sudden ly noti ced for the first time that his mother s f i g u re had become round and full . But he had no time to think abo ut it, for he heard the crash of breaking glasses from the other room. His mother stood as if she had been stru ck dumb, and his father appeared in the doorway. G et out! His voice made the wi n dowpanes rattle, as though a heavy w a gon was riding over the pavem ent. With a clumsy movem en t , the terrified nei gh bor tu rn ed round and lef t . Fa t h er and Mother looked awk w a rd in their fe stive clothes, with their faces like mourners at a funera l . In fact the whole seder seem ed awk w a rd. The atm o s ph ere was more like the last evening meal before the fast of Tisha Bov. Wh en Meyerl began ch a n ting the Four Q u e s ti ons in an ex pre s s i onless voice, like som eone hired for the job, he felt his heart aching; around him all was stra n gely silent, like in the synagogue wh en an orphan is rec i ting his f i rst Kaddish. Mothers lips were moving without any sound at all. From time to time she wet her finger and turned over the pages, one after the other, and a large, heavy, shining teardrop slowly rolled down her beautiful but unhappy face, falling on the siddur, on the white tablecloth, or on her clothes. Father did not look at her. Did he see her weeping? And how strangely he recited the Haggoda! He chanted a little bit of it with a melody, with long-drawn-out tones, and then suddenly his voice would break down w ith a choking sound, as if a hand was squeezing his throat. Then he would look at the Haggoda again, or his unfocused eyes would stray around the room. He would start to recite again, until his voice broke down once more.... They hardly ate anything and each o f them said the grace privately and silently. Suddenly Father said: Meyer, open the door. Ra t h er nervo u s ly, f u ll of vague fear of the Proph et Elijah, Meyerl pull ed the door open . Shfoykh khamoskho el hagoyi m , a s h er loy yed oukho Pour o ut Thy wrath upon the nations that know thee not! A slight shu d der ran down Meyerls spine. A voice that was com p l etely strange to him re s o u n de d from one corner of the room to the other, shot up to the cei l i n g, f lung itself downwards again and began to ricoch et off the four wall s , like a c a ged bi rd going bers erk . Meyerl tu rn ed to look at his father

and his hair stood on end with terror. A wild figure in a long snow-white robe , as stra i ght as a taut vi o l i n - s tri n g, with a bl ack beard and a thin, dark-skinned face stood by the tabl e . Its eyes were bu rning with a dark, eerie fire. It gra ted its teet h and its voice tu rn ed into the wild howling of an animal roaring for qu ivering flesh and warm bl ood. Mo t h er spra n g out of h er chair, shaking in every limb. She looked at Fa t h er for an instant and then threw hers el f down at his feet, clutching the hem of his long wh i te robe with both hands and l et ting out a wail. Shloym e , Shloym e . Ki ll me, Shloyme! Put an end to me! Oh, the agony, the agony! Meyerl felt all his insides turning over, as if a large hand with long talons had dug into and twi s ted them with one te a ring movem ent. His mouth open ed wide, and the scre a m of a terrified child bu rst out of his throa t . Tartylw sudden ly wh i rl ed in front of his eyes. Terri f i ed Jews were rushing abo ut in the street like leaves in a storm. The pale rebbe was sitting on his chair, his lower lip trem bl i n g.Mother was lying on the bed , all screwed up like a cru m p l ed bed s pre ad . Meyerl sen s ed as clearly as if it had been wri t ten there in front of his eyes that a ll that was not over, that it was just beginning, that the real, en ormous calamity was just coming, was just about to fall on their house, on their heads, like a thu n dercl a p. O n ce again a scream of wild helpless terror bu rst out of his throat. A few Italian nei gh bors were standing in the corri dor, s t a ring at this incompreh en s i ble scene and wh i s pering fe a rf u lly to each other. In the room the terrible curse sti ll re s o u n ded; one instant ri n ging out in strong steel - l i ke tones, and in the nex t , in the rasping, pers i s tent de a t h - ra ttle of a s l a u gh te red man: Mi gh ty God! Pour out thy great wrath upon the nations Who have no God in their hearts! Thy great wrath upon the kingdoms, That know not thy name! My body he has devoured , devoured My house he has laid waste, laid waste! Let thy wrathful anger pursue them ! Pursue them and overt a ke them , Overt a ke them and de s troy them ut terly From under the heavens! PT

Heather Valencia is an Honorary Research fellow at the University of Stirling, Scotland. She is currently translating Esther Kreitmans novel Brilyantn into English.

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A ransacked apartment in the aftermath of a 1919 pogrom in Zhitomir, Ukraine. Photograph courtesy of YIVO Institute for Jewish Research.

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