Bubbe's Place: Stories

Yitzhak the Blacksmith

Sonya, over here! Yitzhak's grave!" shouted Papa.

"Come, Flo. You'll be interested in this one," said Mama.

"I never heard about a cousin named Yitzhak," I said.

"He was older than me. And he left for America when I was just learning to walk. I never really knew him," Mama explained.

"Good, so now you be quiet while I tell Yitzhak's story to Flo," snapped Papa. He turned his attention to me and this is the story he told.

Koshovoto held about one thousand Jewish families. Some of the men were scholars, whose wives supported the families. But most of the men worked. What was their parnoach, their livelihood? Well...some were balagolim, wagon drivers. Some were Schneiders, tailors. A few Schneiders even owned their own sewing machines. Those we called capitalists. Men like my father Israel-your zayde, Flo- were shpayzkrom, store-keepers and grocers. Sonya's father was a fassmacher, a barrel- maker. Some men were teachers and some milkmen, like Tevyeh in the Yiddish play. There were even a few beggars, behtlers, and schnorrers. But in all Koshovato there was only one Yiddishe schmeed, Jewish blacksmith. And this was Yitzhak, Mama's cousin.

Only a zehrshtarke mensch, a very strong man, could be a blacksmith. Yitzhak was the strongest Jewish man in all Koshovato. He was very proud of his body and its muscles. Even as a baby Yitzhak had been strong. He was a big baby, who held up his head, sat, and walked before most children his age. He also looked different. He didn't have the thick, black Gubenko curls. No, his hair was a sandy color, very straight. He was a head taller than any other child in cheder, bigger and stronger than any of his brothers. A little Samson. You know when someone is different, people talk about the difference. Soon Yitzhak became a favorite topic for the town yentas, gossips. They didn't say anything bad, just asked innocent questions. "Ooh, do you think Yitzhak might have some goyish, Gentile, blood? Honestly, isn't he is big as a peasant or a Cossack, our Yitzhak?"

When Yitzhak's mother, Channah, heard these questions, she called them what they were - slander! Since she couldn't stop the yentas from muttering, she began to fret and worry that Yitzhak's classmates would repeat dos rekheeles, such slander. Maybe it would start with whispers, then grow to attacks that the teachers would excuse as childish teasing. What would that do to Yitzhak? Would he become a laughing stock, a person to mock? Would he become a bully if he defended himself? She fretted for herself, as well. She knew that the yentas, without sayingas much, questioned her virtue. No yenta dared accuse her of being unfaithful or, G-d forbid, promiscuous! They just wondered if maybe, just maybe, she might have been raped in the big pogrom before Yitzhak was born... Reb Mordechai saw and felt Channah's distress. He asked her what was wrong--and finally she told him about Yitzhak and the yentas' poisonous words.

Reb Mordechai didn't hesitate. Grabbing Channah and Yitzhak each by a hand, he marched quickly to the Rabbi's house. There, he repeated the rumors, questions, and snide inferences. He demanded justice! The Rov was very distressed. Saturday in synagogue he solemnly ordered the Jewish women and girls of Koshovoto to gather in front of the synagogue that very day at the end of Shabbat. After everyone had arrived and was quiet, the Rabbi spoke. "I have learned there is a terrible disease raging in the lungs and on the tongues of the women of Koshovato. Those of you who are not infected, protect yourselves and your children. Those of you who are infected-cast out this disease! The disease in our homes and streets is called 'Loshen Awreh,' the 'Evil Tongue.' Cast it out before it destroys us all! Stop the spread here and now. Remember our laws. A child born to a Jewish woman is Jewish! That child is not part-Jewish. If a man calls that child his son, who are you to question him?"

Now the Rabbi looked up from the women and prayed, "Dear G-d, cure us from the evil infecting our minds and mouths. Cast the sin from us! Teach these poor, ignorant women 'a bayser tsungis ergerfun a shlekhter hant,' a wicked tongue is worse than an evil hand. And, 'di kleinste beyza wart fersammt di neshomah,''the smallest evil word poisons the soul." The women were grateful it was dark and they did not have to look at each other as they hurried home. While Yitzhak was still a schoolboy, he liked to walk around town and watch the men at work. The work that fascinated him most was at the blacksmith's forge. The smith made and repaired things, and even worked with animals. Yitzhak woiuld run home from the smithy, excited, and tell his parents all he had seen. Eventually, Reb Mordechai apprenticed Yitzhak to the blacksmith. It was good, he felt. The two men agreed Yitzhak would apprentice from his thirteenth until his eighteenth birthday.

He would not board at the blacksmith's, because he needed to eat .kosher food. The blacksmith reduced the apprentice charge accordingly. So it was agreed.

It was a wonderful choice for Yitzhak. He had a way with animals. He liked the work. He was honest and, so, he was successful. He married, and one by one the children came, bringing joy. It should have been a story with a happy ending, but Yitzhak had an unfortunate personal flaw. He was a shreklach barimer, a terrible braggart. He liked to flex his muscles and let people know what a shtarker, strongman, he was. Then he would lift huge weights above his head. If this were all, perhaps things would have been alright. But Yitzhak went a step further. He began to brag about his courage. In his mind, strength and courage went hand in hand. He was afraid of no man, not even a Cossack! And, in those days, fear and courage were on everyone's mind.

Wherever groups of young Jewish men gathered in Koshovato to talk, eventually the subject turned to pogroms. Everyone agreed that the self- evident goal of a pogrom was to slaughter helpless Jews. So in these conversations the young men plotted ways to foil the exterminators and to save their own families and property. They talked about the best places to hide, about a day when they could buy guns and fight back. But above all, they agreed that the very best solution would be to leave Koshovato and move to America, the the guldene medina, golden country. In these discussions Yitzhak would puff up his chest and declare that he'd like to meet the Cossack who could defeat him. One day one of the young men asked Yitzhak where exactly he had been during the last pogrom. "I took my family to the wheat fields and hid them there, like the rest of us." "...And after you hid them? the young man asked innocently.

"I stayed with them, to protect them, in case a Cossack, cursed be he, wandered into that particular field." "Oh...I see," said the klugger, smart alec, with a smirk and a wink for the others.

After that, whenever Yitzhak bragged that he was any man's match, the young men would smirk and ask, "Oh, and where did you say you were during the big pogrom? Hammering Cossacks, yes?" Alas, the time soon came when rumors of another pogrom in a neighboring village began to fly through Koshovato. Scouts ran through the muddy streets, crying out, "Jews! Hide yourselves! The Cossacks are coming!" This time Yitzhak did not go into the fields with his wife and children. He sent them alone. His wife begged him to come with them. But he wouldn't budge. "I am no pakhdn , coward!" he shouted. "I am unafraid! I'll shmays,beat up, the Cossack who comes near me or mine. You! You go and hide with the children. May G-d protect you all!"

It was two days later before the Jews dared to return to Koshovato. They found Yitzhak near his forge, his bloody hammer by his side. He was alive, but he was a different Yitzhak now. He could not control his right arm or leg. Now he was a weak cripple. In two nights, he had become a bitter, angry man, who watched in frustration as his wife slaved to support the family. Now he urged his children to leave Koshovato as soon as possible, and go to America, where there were no pogroms. When his eldest son turned thirteen, he left as Yitzhak had urged. They heard nothing from him. Eighteen months later, the second son left. A year later Yitzhak announced to his friends and neighbors, "A miracle has occurred! A letter from America!" The two boys had found each other in New York. They were well and would bring the siblings over, one by one. For the first time since he had been crippled, Yitzhak smiled and laughed. The boys kept their promise. One by one, the brought all their siblings to New York, America.

"Now, I can die in peace," Yitzhak told his loyal wife. "They are all safe, over there, far from here."

A year after the departure of their youngest child, the oldest son returned to Koshovato. He had come to escort his parents to the guldene medina. The old people argued.

"It will be a waste of money," they said. "We're old and useless. Where will we live? We can't speak any English. What would we do over there? Better we should end our years here in little Koshovato."

For every argument, their son had an answer. His mother was needed to teach di shnur, the daughter-in-law, how to cook. There were so many grandchildren that the women desparately needed help to raise them all! Yitzhak was needed to tell the children their family history. He had to tell them about Koshovato so they would understand and appreciate America.

"Most of all, papa, only you can teach the boys~and the girls, too- the difference between acts of bravery and acts of foolishness." At last, the old people were convinced.

They travelled with their son to New York, America - where there were no Cossacks. And no pogroms.