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Rosh Hashona Among
The American Indians
(A Feuilleton)
by BEN SCHOCHER
Well, this was going to be a
different Rosh Hashona anyway.
I wondered what my wife would
say when I told her I spent Rosh
Hashona among the American In
dians. All around me as far as
the eye could see there were
nothing but Indians and maybe a
few buffaloes. Of course, the In
dians don’t live as bunched up as
the whites, but within the dis
tance of my eyes, I could see at
least four or five wigwams.
I wondered what tribe of In
dians inhabited this area, but soon
I saw an Indian coming along. I
would ask him. Then I reminded
myself I didn’t know any of the
Indian language, but I thought I
would try some of the American
words derived from Indian. Succo
tash, moccasins, Tammany Hall, I
said.
The Indian looked at me puz
zled. I saw I had muffed.
“Shana Tova,” I said despair
ingly, turning to Hebrew.
“Gam Atem,” he replied in per
fect Hebrew.
“Are you Jewish?” I asked.
“Indians Jewish?” he replied,
“Indians lost ten tribes.”
Well, we soon got into quite a
conversation. He proved a very
affable Indian. He told me his
name was Tomachichi. I told him
I had some relations from Poland
named Tomoski, but he said he
didn’t think they were related.
I told him I thought he ought
to Americanize his name. With a
name like Tomachichi, they would
think him a foreigner. He ought
to change his name to Thompson.
That was a good American name.
In Cleveland, I said, a leading
plumbing firm was the Thompson
Company. I said some of my rela
tives, the Tomoskis, changed their
names to Thompson, but a few
called themselves Cadwallader.
He told me he had often thought
of doing that — of changing his
name and becoming American but
he understood all the Americans
were immigrants, so he would
have to first go to Europe and
then emigrate to America and he
didn’t have time for all of that.
He said if I had nothing better
to do, he would be glad to have
me come down to his wigwam.
His squaw, he said, had just
fetched a jug of firewater for Kid-
dush for Rosh Hashona and we l
might sample it. .
It was real good stuff. His
squaw had gotten it and two
blankets in exchange for some
skins. He poured the liquor out
in two cups and, raising his own
cup, said, “May it be a good year.
May all catch plenty of buf
faloes.”
I said, “Tomachichi, you say
the Indians are the lost tribes.
How can you say that when you
don’t keep our religion?”
“Pale faces,” said Tomachichi,
“always talk about keeping re
ligion. They keep it locked up.
Religion was made to be lived—
used. Indians live religion.”
“Okay, Tomachichi, but Indians
don’t live our religion.”
“Indians,” said Tomachichi,
“worship Great Spirit, same as
you.”
“But you don’t keep the Sab
bath as a rest day,” I said.
“Indians,” said Tomachichi,
“rest on Saturday, rest on Sun
day, rest on Monday. Indians be
lieve in rest. Indians no believe
in work. No slaves to labor like
pale faces.”
He pointed to a horn, hanging
on the wall. “Shofar for Rosh
Hashona,” he said.
As we were sitting inside and
talking, I could hear sounds which
grew louder and louder.
“Indians dancing?” I questioned.
“Yes,” said Tomachichi, “Indi
ans always dance.”
“The Hassidim among the Jews,"
I said, “dance at their prayers.’
“Yes,” said Tomachichi, “Indi
ans real Hassidim. Come . . . let’s
go out and see Indians dance.”
We went out and stood watch
ing. Tomachichi was smiling and
it was a very happy scene, when
all of a sudden, an Indian runner
came up to Tomachichi, and you
could see a different look on his
face.
“What’s the matter, Tomachi
chi?” I asked.
“They have brought the holiday
meal.”
From a distance, I saw a couple
of Indians leading a pale face.
Very plainly he was to be boiled
for a holiday meal.
“Don't,” I cried. “You mustn’t
do that.”
Boy, was I glad, when my wife
tugged at me. “How long are you
going to sleep? Its time to go to
the synagogue, you know. It’s
Rosh Hashona.”
18
The Southern Israelite