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THE JEWESS
Story of an Obscure Individual Who. Is the Pledge
of the Immortality of the Jewish People
By JOSEPH A. LOEWINSOHN
I T was twenty years ago, and on my way from
St. Petersburg, Russia, to Berlin, Germany,
I missed my train on the border line—Verzh-
bolovo-Eidkunen.
I was young, romantically inclined and had the
entire summer before me; 1 had just finished the
school and my father, may his soul rest in peace,
wanted me to spend the summer vacation in Ger
many and Switzerland.
The next train that was to take me to Berlin
was leaving the following afternoon and I frowned
at the prospect of wasting the whole day in that
little frontier village separating
Russia from Germany.
After putting up at a small
and unpretentious hotel, l went
out to explore the surrounding
territory. Roaming along the
dusty streets of the place, I en
countered stolid, well-fed, ro
tund burglers, stalwart Prus
sian soldiers and haughty
officers who seemed preoccupied
with the importance of their
martial calling. Little had I
known then that six years thence
I was to bear arms under the
stars and stripes against the
country of my sojourn.
After several hours of aim
less walking about the village
and before returning to my
modest hotel, 1 stopped at a
Jewish inn for the evening meal.
The inn was a combination of
a large dining room and a
dwelling bespeaking of the
squalor and adversity of its
owner. The windows were
crooked, the earthen floor was
uneven and the cracked walls
revealed patches of the wooden
framework. Along the walls
stretched narrow w o o d e n
benches and the shaky tables
were damp and shiny from the
grease that had been soaking through the coarse
boards.
The smaller part of the room, toward the rear,
was separated by a fancy chintz curtain and from
behind it came the foul air of soiled bed linens,
diapers and the pungent odor of spicy food. The
proprietor, when 1 asked him for something to
eat, welcomed me very affably and it was quite
evident that his business was not flourishing.
“What may I give you, mister?” asked the man
with a twinkle in his squinted eye, “and what
would mister want?”
“I can prepare most anything,” he continued,
“tea, eggs, milk ... I could cook you a hen,
but that would take too much time.”
“You may give me some milk and eggs,” said
I, “and what else could you give me?”
“What else?” came back a surprised excla
mation, “I could offer you gefilte fish, that is if
you like our Jewish fish. It is the common Jewish
fish tha^ my wife prepares for the Sabbath.”
“You may give me the fish and some wine,
please.”
The man closed both eyes, approvingly shook
[8]
Joseph Loewinsohn, a resi
dent of Atlanta, is a free-lance
writer, iv/iose writings have ap
peared in a 7iumber of news
papers and magazines, includ
ing The Southern Israelite.
1 he story of “The Jewess" is
a personal experience of Mr.
Loewinsohn s taking place ivhile
a student in Europe and is ex-
clusively written for The
Southern Israelite.
his head and asked: “Is mister traveling far?”
“I leave tomorrow for Berlin.”
“Are you perhaps an official?” he queried.
“No,” I smiled, becoming aware of his subtle
flattery, “I am a student from St. Petersburg.”
“Ach, a student. It is very pleasant to meet
a student from Petersburg. Believe me, I am
so glad to serve you.” And with these words he
called towards the rear of the room: “Rival”
A second later he was behind the chintz par
tition and 1 heard him speak the jargon in an
excited manner, as if he was displeased.
Returning from behind the
curtain, the man brought a plat
ter on which were thinly cut
pieces of fish and some sauce.
He also brought with him a loaf
of twisted white bread gener
ously covered with poppy seeds.
“Mister,” said the innkeeper
mysteriously, “my wife has
some real wine. Try it, it is
the kind we drink on Pesach.”
And the man produced from
under his coat a small decanter
and set it before me. The wine
was yellow in appearance and
slightly smelled of cognac, but
when I swallowed a small tum
bler, it seemed that my mouth
and throat were filled with a
burning aromatic gas. Soon
a delicious warmth surged
through my body and I felt a
ravenous appetite. The fish
was exceedingly palatable and
so spicy that it fairly bit the
tongue.
The innkeeper, respectfully
standing near my table with his
hands clasped behind his back,
was saying in a kindly tone of
voice:
“Maybe mister thinks the
fish was not cooked right?
Pss • • • never in my life. Our
-Ie"\\isli women, you know, do everything in accord
ance with the sacred books. And the books tell
you exactly what to do; how to clean the fish,
how' to cut and when to wash one’s hands. Let
mister not worry one bit—eat zu gezundt Riva
bring more fish.”
From behind the chintz partition came out a
woman and when I turned around to face her, it
seemed that some invisible force suddenly pushed
fluttering W" UmeCn COM hand SqUeeZed
Not only have 1 never seen such radiant, proud
perfect beauty, but never could I dare to think
that such beauty could exist in this world.
True, 1 have had opportunities to observe lovely
feminine heads on the canvases of famous mas
ters, always thinking, however, that such perfect
faultless faces are not to be found in life and
that they were the product of creative imagination.
lherttore, all the more wonderful and incon
ceivable was that strikingly beautiful face in the
sordid surroundmgs of a cheap inn, in a room reek-
“Wh h ° ffC K nS1 )' r° d0 [- ° f a wr «<*ed dwelling.
Who is that? I whispered reverently. 8
the man,
a Pproach-
u gged his
‘What is
all.
* looking
wnof 1 hat r indifferently rep.
nodding his head in the direction of
ing woman. “That, mister, is mv
“How beautiful she is.”
The man laughed and disdainfull
shoulders.
“Mister makes fun of me?” he as!
she? An ordinary, poor Jewess, th
not mister seen in large cities real
women ?”
“Riva,” called the man to his w hurrie 11
uttering a few sentences in Yiddish. [ e }
smiled, flashing two rows of white c n teeth ^
The tumbler of the passover win im de n
feel delightfully mellow and my cheeks were *
with a burning sensation.
Languor was slowly overcoming i, body in i
I wanted to sit there motionless and fi m time i
time surreptitiously feast my gaze upon the he-n
tiful face of Riva.
Is it possible to describe to some one her face
I wondered. Is it possible to explain in our daih
poor, inadequate language the marvelous features,
the tender hues of her complexion? There she U
standing with her face opposite my own. How
clear, how marvelously delicate is the line descend
ing from the temple to the chin, outlining the
contour of her cheek.
Her eyes are large and black—so large and
black that they seem to have been touched by a
heavy theatrical pencil. And within their be
witching depth, near the pupils, shine lively, trans
parent golden dots, just like dancing light spots
in the yellow topaz.
The eyes are surrounded by a dark, slightly
moist shade and how imperceptible is the change
of this dark undertone, which lends the glance
such a languid and passionate expression, into a
healthy, dark glow of the cheeks. The full lips
are red and, although at this moment they are
closed, they seem slightly open. On the upper and
lightly shaded lip, there is a pretty little mole
near the corner of the mouth.
What a straight, noble nose and what finely
cut, proud nostrils. Oh, dearest, beautiful, 1 was
repeating to myself affectionately, ready to burst
into tears from the overwhelming raptures and
tenderness.
There on her cheeks I noticed brownish stripes
of dried up dirt, but to me it seemed that even
this carelessness could never disfigure her trium
phant beauty in full bloom.
I also noticed, when she came out from behind
the wooden counter, that the bottom of her pink
calico skirt was heavy and wet from the mud and
it flapped against her feet as she walked across the
room. But with all that, nothing vulgar, nothing
funny and pathetic could mar her exquisite beauty.
My thoughts took an unexpected turn, reaching
out into the hoary, dim and glorious past of ou:
people. What a wonderful, incomprehensible peo
pie we are! What other trials lie ahead of the
Jewish people? Through scores of centurie>
marched Israel, wary of the dangers of assimila
tion, aversively individual, cherishing in his heart
the eternal sorrow and undiminishing flame.
Colorful life of Rome, Greece and Egypt j 13 *
long since become the property of museums, haung
been reduced to a merely historical dream, a b
tant legend. And this mysterious people
already was a patriarch during the days ot t eir
infancy, is not only existing, but has P re>ene
its identity, its wholesome, warm southern OF*'
has preserved its religion full of great hopes
trivial rites, has preserved the sacred too jut o '
inspired divine books, its m> r stic alp! "
very characters breathe countless ages
What has this people endured in tlu u*ay > o *
youth? With whom have they trade
treaties and warred?
Nowhere are left the traces of i
toes, of all those Philistines, Amalek
tans and other half-mythical peoples,
pliant and immortal, (Please turn
★ THE SOUTHERN IS
mysterious
Moavi-
d Israel.
sage 17)
elite