Page 114 - issue
P. 114
Voice of Jacob
“You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses,” I responded. Nu,
guess what happened. Correct. He grabbed my eyeglasses,
lifted them towards my forehead and gave me a zets
(punch) right across the eye. To complete the callous act,
he shoved the glasses back to their original spot. Since he
was two heads taller than me, I hesitated retaliating and
returned home. My first zets from the nochrim. Did it end
there? you may ask.
Not exactly, because our family lived on Fairmount
Avenue, and I soon learned that there were certain streets
that Jewish kids avoided. If you entered such streets you
heard a whistle and suddenly a group of the thugs
appeared and began pummeling you with their fists!
Did we just absorb the punishment? you may ask. Iz
dehr enfehr (the answer is) no! We hit back, but I some-
times wondered whether this really was the “land of the
free and the home of the brave,” as sung in the tune “G-d
Bless America.”
Story #2
One day upon returning home from the Talmudical
Academy, I exited the streetcar and crossed the street.
Upon passing the corner store (Lerners), two teenagers
suddenly jumped from the store doorway, threw me to the
ground, and repeatedly stated, “Got any money?” One
held a knife pointed at my chest so I did not move! I don’t
recall having any money, and after searching my pockets
they suddenly jumped up and ran away. Another gomel
call.
I was a bit tsu tumult (confused) and ran home to tell
my parents. Thereafter, after leaving the streetcar, I used
another route to walk home. However, that fear remained
for a long time, and whenever someone approached in my
direction, I crossed the street.
Story #3
On the corner of Baltimore and Chester Streets, there was
a large building with a playground that was occupied by a
missionary group and supervised by an apostate Jewish
person. This meshumed, as he was called, would stand
outside his residence and invite youngsters to use his play-
ground. The playground had swings, a merry-go-round, and
other structures for youngsters. My father, a”h, told me in
no uncertain terms to never, but never, enter the play-
ground, and I never did.
One day two missionary nuns were having a conversa-
tion in front of their building. For some reason, I ran down
the street and inadvertently – or vare vais (who knows) why
– I collided with both. One gave me a pahtch (smack), so I
ran home and told my father what occurred. He immedi-
ately went to the missionary house and told the nuns to
keep their hands in their tunics. If it ever happened again,
they were to inform him. It never happened again.
110 u www.wherewhatwhen.com u
“You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses,” I responded. Nu,
guess what happened. Correct. He grabbed my eyeglasses,
lifted them towards my forehead and gave me a zets
(punch) right across the eye. To complete the callous act,
he shoved the glasses back to their original spot. Since he
was two heads taller than me, I hesitated retaliating and
returned home. My first zets from the nochrim. Did it end
there? you may ask.
Not exactly, because our family lived on Fairmount
Avenue, and I soon learned that there were certain streets
that Jewish kids avoided. If you entered such streets you
heard a whistle and suddenly a group of the thugs
appeared and began pummeling you with their fists!
Did we just absorb the punishment? you may ask. Iz
dehr enfehr (the answer is) no! We hit back, but I some-
times wondered whether this really was the “land of the
free and the home of the brave,” as sung in the tune “G-d
Bless America.”
Story #2
One day upon returning home from the Talmudical
Academy, I exited the streetcar and crossed the street.
Upon passing the corner store (Lerners), two teenagers
suddenly jumped from the store doorway, threw me to the
ground, and repeatedly stated, “Got any money?” One
held a knife pointed at my chest so I did not move! I don’t
recall having any money, and after searching my pockets
they suddenly jumped up and ran away. Another gomel
call.
I was a bit tsu tumult (confused) and ran home to tell
my parents. Thereafter, after leaving the streetcar, I used
another route to walk home. However, that fear remained
for a long time, and whenever someone approached in my
direction, I crossed the street.
Story #3
On the corner of Baltimore and Chester Streets, there was
a large building with a playground that was occupied by a
missionary group and supervised by an apostate Jewish
person. This meshumed, as he was called, would stand
outside his residence and invite youngsters to use his play-
ground. The playground had swings, a merry-go-round, and
other structures for youngsters. My father, a”h, told me in
no uncertain terms to never, but never, enter the play-
ground, and I never did.
One day two missionary nuns were having a conversa-
tion in front of their building. For some reason, I ran down
the street and inadvertently – or vare vais (who knows) why
– I collided with both. One gave me a pahtch (smack), so I
ran home and told my father what occurred. He immedi-
ately went to the missionary house and told the nuns to
keep their hands in their tunics. If it ever happened again,
they were to inform him. It never happened again.
110 u www.wherewhatwhen.com u
