At the Bzura
At the Bzura
Zvi Cohen of New York
Translated by Jerrold Landau
The lovely area of the Bzura, the corner of tones and colors, is now destroyed. However from the former principality of Lowicz until far beyond the legendary city of Sochaczew, there where the Bzura ascends from the land of the valley until the incline of the hill and winds along further to empty into the Wisla – one can see all of the footprints of the difficult battles that were fought there, and which left destruction and desolation; The principality was half destroyed and the lovely city of Sochaczew is no more. The place of Torah now remains a mound of ashes, obliterated from the earth…
Only by the Bzura remains a small wooden house, which is also half destroyed. However its walls retain some sort of a secret, and they tell a silent, holy secret…
A Jewish fisherman and his family lived in the small house. They were common people, but good, upright, and G-d fearing. The family was not large, consisting of only four people: the father and mother, and two daughters of marriageable age. The older one was Chanale and the younger was Rachele. I can still see the girls as roses. Their beauty was different. Chanale the older one was like a rose that had first opened its calyx, and its blood red, ruddy petals sprouted up… She was a slender blond, twenty-two years old, firmly built, with a refined, charming face and with a constant smile on her lips. Rachele was also like a rose, that had already closed its buds and the leaves had already wrapped around each other, as if they held a secret inside. She was also thin and firmly built, with a delicate face. She was seventeen years old, a prankster and mischievous.
The family lived calmly and peacefully until the war. The father caught fish in the Bzura early every Friday morning, brought them to the city and sold them to the Jews in honor of the Sabbath. On the other days of the week he did business in the village, and thereby supported his family.
Thus did the family live, quietly and idyllically.
Only with the outbreak war did the family encounter a misfortune. Once on a Friday morning, when the father went with the basket of fish to the city, a Cossack patrol encountered him. They were three. One of them grabbed the basket of fish from him, the second thrust his lance into him, and the third searched him, took his money, stripped off his boots, and then tossed him into the ditch. They laughed, and continued on their way…
In the afternoon, the Jews brought the corpse to his small house. A lament broke out there, and the mother and her children sat and wept around the deceased for the entire Sabbath. After nightfall, they buried him, and then sat Shiva[1] for him for the entire week. When the sorrowful week ended, the mother said to her children:
“Children, we have suffered a misfortune. This is what G-d wanted, and we cannot murmur. Help me, and I will continue to do business, catch fish, and we will earn our livelihood…”
The mother caught fish every Friday morning, and the children helped her. However, sorrow overtook the house from then on.
… It took place again on a Friday afternoon. The mother returned from the city and related what she had seen; no woman could be seen in the entire city, she stood alone in the market full of terror, all of the woman hid, fathers and mothers kept their children locked in the shops and enclosed in the cellars. Even women's dresses were cleared out of the dwellings. The previous night, they tore down the doors, took out the windows, and three Jewish girls were unfortunately killed…
Both sisters heard this, and a shiver went through their bodies, the elder more so than the younger.
When night fell, the elder did not get undressed, and remained awake on her bed. She listened to every rustling from outside. She got out of bed a few times to check the lock and bolt, and concern herself with the sounds from afar…
For the entire night, she heard the doors and windows being torn out, and the suppressed cries of woe from the women. She awoke her sister and trembled.
When the morning star came out, she and her sister went out to the river.
They sat down by the bank, and the elder sister took the younger sister's head in her lap, kissed her, and said:
“Beloved sister, you heard what mother told us yesterday about what is happening in the city. What will you do when…”
Rachele answered:
“Sister, do not ask me, it makes me so cold, a chill goes through my heart”.
“And during the night sister, did you hear?”
“Oh, don't remind me, don't remind me…”
The elder continued on: “And so, beloved sister, an ocean of shame will lie upon our faces. We will no longer be able to see our reflection in the Bzura…”
“Quiet, sister!”
“But what will you do when Cossacks break through the windows…”
“Don't talk!…”
“But the Cossacks will indeed come… They murdered our father and they will fall upon us… And then… And then…”
“Sis—ter!”, the younger said with a shiver, as she buried her head deeper in her sister's lap.
“Rachele!”
“What?”
“Let us… let us jump into the river, before…”
“Sister?!!”
“They are coming… They will come… And the shame will be so great…”
“But sister, you see, how the Bzura flows so prettily around the hills, and from the hills it goes on so much further, further into the Wisla. The Wisla is so pretty and large, and it flows around Warsaw. Warsaw is a pretty city, with so many gardens, theaters, and young people… It is all so pretty, and you say… Brrrr…”
“But they will come… Remember, after that you will no longer find a place. You will no longer look into the Bzura; you will no longer see your reflection in the Wisla and go to Warsaw… A world of shame will lie around you, remember that!”
“Oh G-d!”
“Be well sister!”
“Are you going?”
“Yes!”
“I also, but what about mother?”
“Let us bid her farewell, but not tell her anything.”
They called their mother, fell upon her neck, and kissed her.
“Be well, mother… We are going away… We are going before they come here. We are going to preserve our honor… The world will afterwards be full of shame!”
The mother silently shed tears and said:
“Where are you going, children?”
One after the other, they slipped away from her hands, went to the river – and jumped in.
When the mother realized what had happened, that she remained alone, she looked around and said:
“And I? Where shall I remain?… Children!…”
“I will also jump in…”
Immediately, there was a voice from heaven:
“The joyous mother of children, Halleluya!”[2]
TRANSLATOR'S FOOTNOTES
The seven day mourning period of immediate relatives following a death. Return
The last half verse of Psalm 113. This story of suicide in order to avoid violation is known from Jewish history. The most obvious example is the Massada story. Another instance of such a story is recorded in the elegies of Tisha Beov morning (Zechor Asher Asah, page 111 in the Authorized Kinot of Tisha Beov, Translated and annotated by Rabbi Abraham Rosenfeld), which records the Midrashic story of boatloads of youths, male and female, being transported to Rome after the destruction of the second temple. Realizing that they were being taken for purposes of immorality, the girls decided to jump overboard into the sea. The boys, realizing that the immorality being planned for the girls was at least natural, but the immorality planned for them was unnatural, then followed suit and jumped overboard as well. Return
Zvi Cohen of New York
Translated by Jerrold Landau
The lovely area of the Bzura, the corner of tones and colors, is now destroyed. However from the former principality of Lowicz until far beyond the legendary city of Sochaczew, there where the Bzura ascends from the land of the valley until the incline of the hill and winds along further to empty into the Wisla – one can see all of the footprints of the difficult battles that were fought there, and which left destruction and desolation; The principality was half destroyed and the lovely city of Sochaczew is no more. The place of Torah now remains a mound of ashes, obliterated from the earth…
Only by the Bzura remains a small wooden house, which is also half destroyed. However its walls retain some sort of a secret, and they tell a silent, holy secret…
A Jewish fisherman and his family lived in the small house. They were common people, but good, upright, and G-d fearing. The family was not large, consisting of only four people: the father and mother, and two daughters of marriageable age. The older one was Chanale and the younger was Rachele. I can still see the girls as roses. Their beauty was different. Chanale the older one was like a rose that had first opened its calyx, and its blood red, ruddy petals sprouted up… She was a slender blond, twenty-two years old, firmly built, with a refined, charming face and with a constant smile on her lips. Rachele was also like a rose, that had already closed its buds and the leaves had already wrapped around each other, as if they held a secret inside. She was also thin and firmly built, with a delicate face. She was seventeen years old, a prankster and mischievous.
The family lived calmly and peacefully until the war. The father caught fish in the Bzura early every Friday morning, brought them to the city and sold them to the Jews in honor of the Sabbath. On the other days of the week he did business in the village, and thereby supported his family.
Thus did the family live, quietly and idyllically.
Only with the outbreak war did the family encounter a misfortune. Once on a Friday morning, when the father went with the basket of fish to the city, a Cossack patrol encountered him. They were three. One of them grabbed the basket of fish from him, the second thrust his lance into him, and the third searched him, took his money, stripped off his boots, and then tossed him into the ditch. They laughed, and continued on their way…
In the afternoon, the Jews brought the corpse to his small house. A lament broke out there, and the mother and her children sat and wept around the deceased for the entire Sabbath. After nightfall, they buried him, and then sat Shiva[1] for him for the entire week. When the sorrowful week ended, the mother said to her children:
“Children, we have suffered a misfortune. This is what G-d wanted, and we cannot murmur. Help me, and I will continue to do business, catch fish, and we will earn our livelihood…”
The mother caught fish every Friday morning, and the children helped her. However, sorrow overtook the house from then on.
… It took place again on a Friday afternoon. The mother returned from the city and related what she had seen; no woman could be seen in the entire city, she stood alone in the market full of terror, all of the woman hid, fathers and mothers kept their children locked in the shops and enclosed in the cellars. Even women's dresses were cleared out of the dwellings. The previous night, they tore down the doors, took out the windows, and three Jewish girls were unfortunately killed…
Both sisters heard this, and a shiver went through their bodies, the elder more so than the younger.
When night fell, the elder did not get undressed, and remained awake on her bed. She listened to every rustling from outside. She got out of bed a few times to check the lock and bolt, and concern herself with the sounds from afar…
For the entire night, she heard the doors and windows being torn out, and the suppressed cries of woe from the women. She awoke her sister and trembled.
When the morning star came out, she and her sister went out to the river.
They sat down by the bank, and the elder sister took the younger sister's head in her lap, kissed her, and said:
“Beloved sister, you heard what mother told us yesterday about what is happening in the city. What will you do when…”
Rachele answered:
“Sister, do not ask me, it makes me so cold, a chill goes through my heart”.
“And during the night sister, did you hear?”
“Oh, don't remind me, don't remind me…”
The elder continued on: “And so, beloved sister, an ocean of shame will lie upon our faces. We will no longer be able to see our reflection in the Bzura…”
“Quiet, sister!”
“But what will you do when Cossacks break through the windows…”
“Don't talk!…”
“But the Cossacks will indeed come… They murdered our father and they will fall upon us… And then… And then…”
“Sis—ter!”, the younger said with a shiver, as she buried her head deeper in her sister's lap.
“Rachele!”
“What?”
“Let us… let us jump into the river, before…”
“Sister?!!”
“They are coming… They will come… And the shame will be so great…”
“But sister, you see, how the Bzura flows so prettily around the hills, and from the hills it goes on so much further, further into the Wisla. The Wisla is so pretty and large, and it flows around Warsaw. Warsaw is a pretty city, with so many gardens, theaters, and young people… It is all so pretty, and you say… Brrrr…”
“But they will come… Remember, after that you will no longer find a place. You will no longer look into the Bzura; you will no longer see your reflection in the Wisla and go to Warsaw… A world of shame will lie around you, remember that!”
“Oh G-d!”
“Be well sister!”
“Are you going?”
“Yes!”
“I also, but what about mother?”
“Let us bid her farewell, but not tell her anything.”
They called their mother, fell upon her neck, and kissed her.
“Be well, mother… We are going away… We are going before they come here. We are going to preserve our honor… The world will afterwards be full of shame!”
The mother silently shed tears and said:
“Where are you going, children?”
One after the other, they slipped away from her hands, went to the river – and jumped in.
When the mother realized what had happened, that she remained alone, she looked around and said:
“And I? Where shall I remain?… Children!…”
“I will also jump in…”
Immediately, there was a voice from heaven:
“The joyous mother of children, Halleluya!”[2]
TRANSLATOR'S FOOTNOTES
The seven day mourning period of immediate relatives following a death. Return
The last half verse of Psalm 113. This story of suicide in order to avoid violation is known from Jewish history. The most obvious example is the Massada story. Another instance of such a story is recorded in the elegies of Tisha Beov morning (Zechor Asher Asah, page 111 in the Authorized Kinot of Tisha Beov, Translated and annotated by Rabbi Abraham Rosenfeld), which records the Midrashic story of boatloads of youths, male and female, being transported to Rome after the destruction of the second temple. Realizing that they were being taken for purposes of immorality, the girls decided to jump overboard into the sea. The boys, realizing that the immorality being planned for the girls was at least natural, but the immorality planned for them was unnatural, then followed suit and jumped overboard as well. Return
