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Unlike his biblical namesake, Jacob accepted the role of second son, Never begrudging his older brother an army exemption, But hell if he would serve the Czar in Siberian winter, So he visited the Jewish graveyard one last time, Kissed his elderly father on a stubbly cheek, Hugged his sobbing brother and sister, And set off for Romania. Hunger played tricks upon Jacob’s mind, As he lay in a cold ditch outside Hirlau, A small village 200 miles north of Bucharest, For he clearly heard his sister laughing, His brother telling jokes in Yiddish, And his father chastising their irreverence, “A Shonda,” scolded the ancient voice, “Have you no respect?” The laughing eyes turned to terror, As Jacob’s hulking and tattered body, Filled the doorway of the Bernstein cottage, Where diminutive Devorah quickly brought soup, Washed his wounds, Gathered garments from her step-brothers, And soon became the bride of Jacob Shiovitz. “Size is of no consequence,” Jacob told her, Your heart is the biggest I have ever known.” Jacob found happiness in Romania with Devorah, Who, affectionately called him “Yankel,” But peace and freedom were more elusive. Borders changed and Cossacks burned Hirlau to the ground, Swatted Devorah’s step-sister and father like flies, As she watched from the same ditch where Jacob had lain, Clutching baby Max to her breast, to stifle his sounds, Praying they would not see her other children among the
cabbages, Her Yankel behind the woodpile, Vowing that one day they would all leave this evil land
behind. II. Max stood near the bow of the steamship, Wind numbing his unshaven face, Wondered what Calgary, Alberta would promise, How long it would take for him and sister Rose To earn the passage for his parents, brother and three
other sisters, But warmed as he thought, “At least this time, A Shiovitz is crossing the water like a man.” |
