Homeward Bound
AND the upshot of it all?A friend comes to me andasks: “Are you going home?”
“Home? Where is my home?” Yes. I was born and brought up +: py.
I grew attached to the land. Was it not a common enemy, a cruel unyielding might, that oppressed us all alike? The accents of the Polish tongue took root in my heart, the fragrance of the fields flowed through my veins. “Not yet is Poland lost,” I sang together with all the other Poles. I prayed and worked for Poland’s _ liberation. Was T nat a child af Paland?
But what did little Stashek, the Polish shegets do? I was still a mite of a child. With my comrades from the Heder I went out to the open fields, to the pear tree. The tree was hundreds of years old, my grandfather had told me. I was about to pick up a few pears when little Stashek suddenly ran up, set his great, ferocious dog at me, and pelted me with stones, crying: “You sheeny, be off to Palestine!”
“Papa,” I ask, “does the pear tree belong to Stashek?” “No, it isn’t his. It doesn’t belong to anyone,” answers papa. “But we are in Golus.”
“And why does Stashek say ‘be off to Palestine?’ ”
~ We must wait, my child. Messiah has not yet come.” And on Lag b’Omer when we went to the grove, Stashek sprang out of the ground, as it were, with his great ferocious dog, and sent us flying down the road. “Sheenies, be off to Palestine!”
“Papa, does the grove belong to Stashek?”
“No, my child. But we are in Golus.”
“He told us again to ‘be off to Palestine!’”
“We must wait, my child. Messiah has not yet come.”
And on Shavuos when we went to the pond for grasses.Stashek appeared with his terrible dog, pelted us withstones, and both he and the dog cried after us: “Be offto Palestine!” I knew that the pond did not belong tohim. But papa had said: “Don’t go. Stay in the house.We are in Golus.”
I grew older. My head was no longer full of pranks.I sat in the Bes-Hamidrash and studied. But Stashekgave me no rest. He attacked me on my way to theBes-Hamidrash, set his great, ferocious dog at me, and torethe clothes from my back. And how often did he throwstones at the windows of the Bes-Hamidrash and break thepanes with the cry: “Sheenies, be off to Palestine!” . . .
Cruel, wicked Strashek! Would I not go? But where is Messiah. . . .
Later I left the Bes-Hamidrash and began to study with a Polish teacher, who taught me Polish history. Poland had been a great country. Enemies had come and humiliated it, insulted it, enslaved it.
But Poland will be liberated, says the teacher with the big moustachios. Poland will be rehabilitated, will
An Associated Press dispatch from The Hague, dated January 15, states that the Jewish Correspondent’s Bureau learns from Berlin that the Polish Ministers of Justice and Social Affairs have conferred with Jewish leaders and members of municipal councils regarding the settlement of the Jewish question in
+ The Jews told the Ministers that there must be more than a statement by the premier promising freedom and justice. It was absolutely necessary, they said, that special laws affecting Jews be abolished, as the Jews in Russia had been emancipated by the revolution. Expulsion of Jews from villages must cease. Jewish quarters in the markets must be abolished, as well as the double tax for hos- nitale which is demanded of Tews.
become great once more, great andpowerful.
“We Jews will be rehabilitated,too,” I tell him. “We shall returnto our land.”
And Stashek, the Polish teacher,smiled into his great moustachios,“You? No, you will not be redeemed.” . . .
And when I lay in prison in Viesh Vulia with a Polish socialist, in the prison which confined us both, and when we spoke together in the late hours of night, Stashek, the Polish socialist, said to me: "Here is Poland. Everything must be Polish. If you object—'Sheeny, be off to Palestine.'" And what was more, Stashek wanted to deprive me of my morsel of bread, he set fire to my house, stood by and laughed as he watched the flames, and set his great ferocious dog at me, tore the clothing
Later still I left for a strange land. For a time, I did not see Stashek and his cruel dog. But soon he sprang from the ground. He, too, was a fugitive. He had fled from the same enemy. But on me he had no pity. I found him wherever I went.
To go home?
Where, where is my home?
Stashek, the Polish shegets, is liberated; his hands are unchained. But whither can I return?
To go to Russia? I am a Russian citizen. There is a Russian eagle on my passport. And the Russian is warm-hearted and has a great soul, so people say. So, too, I have learned from literature. But whom have I, I personally, whom have I in Russia? My ancestors never set foot there. To me it is a foreign country. To whom can I turn there?
To return home?
Where, where is my home?
And the upshot of it all?
I have a home! I am going home!
Stashek, I am going home! “To Palestine!”
You did well to pursue and badger me with your “Sheeny, be off to Palestine.” Eretz Isroel entered into my veins. With your stones, Stashek, you Polish shegets, you drove the thought of Palestine into my head and reminded me.of it constantly.
Foolish Stashek! Did you anticipate this? You wereonly joking.
Yes, you would be redeemed, you said, but not I. I should stay as I was forever! And your words, “Sheeny, be off to Palestine” were merely used to twit and taunt me.
Foolish Stashek! I laugh at you and your dog. I am going home. I am “off to Palestine!” I shall say it to you in your own language that you may understand me. But to you, my friend, I say it in Yiddish, in our mother tongue, that you, too, may understand me.
“I am going home—to Palestine!”