21st Century Bogatyr: On A Planet Safe for Yidden

by Zvi Baranoff

She stood at the sink, ostensibly washing dishes but mostly staring out the window at the bleak landscape.

How bad had life on the Home Planet been that so many Yidden boarded ships and traveled across the void to come here and settle on the Planet Birobidzhan?

She had no way of actually knowing. The last of the ships laden with immigrants and supplies had landed long before her own mother was born and not even a word had arrived from the Home Planet since.

She could, in her dreams, catch a glimpse of a better place somewhere else but this was the only world she knew. She could also imagine a world with pogroms, wars, pollution, grinding machinery, floods, famines and plagues dominated by Outsiders of ill intent. But, about that she could not really know either.

What did this world have to offer? The air was breathable. The gravity was tolerable. The ground could be farmed. Most importantly, this was a land without persecution. This was a land without goyim. A Yid could live here without fear, the founders determined. Of course, she didn't know from goyim any more than she knew from dybbuks or sea monsters. She truly never knew fear. On the other hand, she really never had much hope.

Out the kitchen window one could see a few bushes, an occasional chicken running about, and then the endless savanna - a whole lot of nothingness as far as the eye could see.

Along one side of the house ran an alleyway. The other side was a shared wall with neighbors that she disliked. In front of the house there was a stoop and a sidewalk and the street.

The children ran in and out of the kitchen, the youngest wearing a droopy and somewhat poignant diaper that was overdue for changing.

She would acknowledge her kinder, sometimes with a pat on the head or a scratching behind the ears and sometimes with a swat or a potch on the toches.

It was all one and the same. She called them Tantele and Mommala and Ketschele and Yingela and other such terms of endearment, although she certainly could remember their names when she really needed to, which wasn't very often.

She sighed and sighed again. "Oy. Life is hard," she thought.

She mostly had the house to herself. The children ran in and out, this is true. But, mostly they were out and she didn't worry much about them. The neighborhood was safe. The town was safe. A bissel larger than a shtetl but smaller than a shtot.

She knew how Yidden lived in the sparse settlements scattered in the hinterlands. There was little appeal to her for that hard life in a small village where everyone knew your every thought, action and fart.

She had also been to New New York and New Jerusalem, the two largest cities on Birobidzhan. They were noisy, crowded, dirty, sketchy and sometimes dangerous places. The theater districts, the restaurants and the shopping made the occasional visits worthwhile. However, she could not possibly live in either of those places.

No. This town that was bigger than a shtetl but smaller than a shtot fit her just fine. The view from her kitchen window, however, was beginning to seriously wear thin. She left the wash rag in the sink with the remaining dishes and went looking for her youngest, to change his diaper and take him for a walk.

"Ketschele!" she called. "Come see Momma. Let's go for a walk." The yingela crawled out from under the table. His name was Dovid but he answered to any term of endearment that his mother chose.

Indeed, he was his mother's favorite and she spoiled him, in her own way. He loved his mother and he loved going for walks with her.

She gave him a perfunctory cleaning, wrapped him in a clean cloth diaper, and dressed him for an outing. She looked in the mirror as she fastened the top buttons on her blouse, adjusted her skirt and tied a kerchief over her hair, assuring that she was properly dressed before leaving her home.

When they reached the first intersection, they could see the corner minyan of ne'er-do-wells in the alley huddling in a circle. Her husband, not surprisingly, was in the center, dreyen - spinning a dreidl. The men were waving banknotes in the air and shouting at each other and at the spinning top.

Her Man was shouting "Gimel! Gimel!" as the top spun. She stopped and gawked in his direction. The dreidl came to a stop and when she saw his shoulders slump, she knew it landed on a shin. Now, he would be in a foul mood and broke, to boot.

She took the yingela's hand and headed in the opposite direction. "Let's go to the park," she said to her little one.

She didn't consider her Man a bad person. She thought of him as mostly unlucky. He worked, on and off. When he did, he would bring his paycheck home. When he worked, he would often come home tired and cranky, but he was always good to the children.

When he gambled, he often lost. When he won, he would bring most of his winnings home and spend that money lavishly on his family.

He never beat her. He never even yelled at her. He drank schnapps a bit, like most everyone, but rarely to excess. He never came home roaring drunk.

Maybe once in a while he would go and lie down with some kurvah. Usually, after a bit of a bender and a losing streak at the dreidl with the boys in the alley. Afterwards, he would be full of remorse combined with self-pity. He would attempt to make amends, when things bottomed out for him.

No Man is perfect. He certainly wasn't. On the other hand, he wasn't the worst. He was her Man and she was his Wife and they had each other, for better or for worse.

And, he had given her some wonderful children. She loved them all. Even though motherhood was a lot of work, they each brought her nachas. She also took some pleasure in her presumption that her two favorite children were probably fathered by men other than her husband.

Her second child, sweet Sadie, the lovely little girl, was most likely the result of a liaison with that gorgeous rabbinical student who's name she couldn't remember.

She met him during the Sukkos harvest festival celebration. He was only in town for the Holy Days. It was a semi-rural break from his studies in New Jerusalem.

They made love in a haystack and in a barn and in an open field. She smiled whenever she thought of her seduction of that yeshiva bocher. And she thought of him whenever she saw her daughter, the resemblance in her beautiful eyes.

Her youngest, the one whose hand she held, was also probably not fathered by her husband.

His father was most likely the good-natured shopkeeper that smelled like aftershave, with the clean hands and a nice smile. The clothing store was on the other side of town.

He made love to her in the dressing room in the back of the store. They made love standing up, with her skirt hoisted above her waist. He entered her from behind in that little mirrored room.

He made her feel alive. She went to his shop every day for a week, except Shabbos, of course. Then she was satiated and she hadn't been back even to that side of town since.

She and Dovid went to the nearby park. The light filtered through the trees. What a lovely day.

The boy climbed on the jungle gym for a while and then the slide. She pushed him on a swing for a bit.

When a small herd of goats arrived, the child ran excitedly to greet them and she followed along as well. The goats brought back happy thoughts of her own childhood and of her own mother, of blessed memory, may she rest in peace.

They meandered towards the far end of the park. There was usually a vendor or two selling food, and so there was that day, as she had expected. They stopped by a cart where an old man was selling knishes.

She fished about in the folds of her clothing, retrieving some money - her knipple - from it's hiding place.

When she was young, her mother told her that every woman needs her own gelt. "Don't rely on a man," her Momma told her. "Not any man, not even a husband. Especially not a husband," her mother insisted. "Men will disappoint you. Men will let you down. Take care for yourself. Every woman needs her own knipple."

She took those words to heart. Because of that, she never did without and neither did her children. Not when her Man was "between" jobs. Not when her Man was on a long losing streak with the dreidl. Not even when he was passed out drunk in the arms of some kurvah.

She bought a warm knish, wrapped in a napkin and returned her knipple to it's hiding place in the folds of her clothes.

They sat together on a park bench. She nibbled, pecking at her food like a foigel, a bird. Dovid devoured the food, ravenous like a wolf. This child of hers was always hungry, with a seemingly unending lust for life.

They wandered over by the pavilion where the klezmorim gathered and listened to the music for a while. She smiled while Dovid danced about. Then, they did some window shopping on their circuitous way home.

Dovid cried a bit outside of the toy store, begging for the airplane he saw displayed in the window. She pulled him down the street with a combination of promises and admonishments.

She had already spoiled the child enough for one day. A mother cannot give her children everything. His tears, they both knew, were just for show and of no real consequence. The tears quickly evaporated.

It was nearly sundown by the time they approached their house. It had been a lovely excursion for the two of them.

When she opened the door, she smelled food cooking. The house had been straightened and swept. There was a vase filled with flowers on the dining room table. Her Man was in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes. He smiled when he saw his wife and the child.

He was always glad to see little Dovid. Of all the children, of the entire brood, Dovid was his favorite. Dovid, as well, was happy to find Papa in the kitchen.

"The stars align and it is mazel all around!" said her husband. Then, he turned to the yingela and said "Dovid, I have a present for you. Come give Papa a hug." The child was in his arms before he barely finished these words and he carried the toddler into the living room where there were actually two presents for him; a toy truck and a picture book.

The Man and the kind played on the floor while she made herself comfortable by loosening some of her clothing and putting away her kerchief. Her husband could barely contain himself. Words sprung from him like a babbling stream.

"Oy," he began. "You wouldn't believe! My luck had been going from bad to worse! Nothing was going my way. Every spin was bad. It was all nisht, nisht when it wasn't shtel arayn. I was beginning to wonder if one of those mamzers hadn't slipped me a loaded dreidl."

"I was down to just a few sheckles when I saw you and the little Ketschele heading out for a walk. Just then, a beam of sunlight shone on me like a message from the Divine. You always bring me luck, my dear."

"On my next dreyen I hit a gimel. From then on, it was all gants, gants, gants. I was just raking in the cash. Some of those shtarkers were probably beginning to suspect me of using a loaded dreidl, keinehora." he said and he spit three times to ward off the evil eye.

"So, I gathered up my winnings and left those ne'er-do-wells to their drinking and kvetching and licking their wounds. I had gelt in my pocket for once and I had better things to do."

"I went and did a little shopping. I bought gifts for all the children and a little something for you, as well," he said. He pulled a new silk kerchief from one of his pockets and handed it to her. Indeed, it was very pretty.

"The other children have all been fed and washed. Let's feed Dovid and put him to bed. We can eat by candlelight, just the two of us."

"Anyways," he continued. "The big news! As I was leaving the store where I bought that pretty scarf, as I was walking out that door, I literally bumped right into an acquaintance of mine and I startled him. He tells me that he was just thinking about me and he has work for me if I wanted and I can begin on Sontag. So, right after this Shabbos, I am, once again, a working man!"

He smiled at his wife and with that he picked up Dovid, carried him into the kitchen and got the yingela into his highchair.

While her Man fed their child, she headed to the bathroom to wash up. There, in the bathtub, she saw a carp swimming. Well, to be more accurate, a fish that they call a carp on Birobidzhan and that the rabbis have declared to be kosher. The family would have fresh fish for Shabbos.

By the time she had finished freshening herself, her Man had the yingela fed and his hands and punim clean. Her husband carried his favorite child to the boy's bedroom and was reading him a bedtime story.

"My Man has a job. There is food in the house. The kids are all well. Ales iz gut!" she thought. Immediately, she said "Keinehora!" out loud. She didn't want to bring herself or her family any bad luck.

She could hear her husband's lyrical voice as he read nonsense rhymes to Dovid from the boy's favorite bedtime book. She smiled as she remembered how sweet her Man was when they were courting and how handsome he was when he stood under the chuppah.

"Abi guzunt. That's the main thing," she said, to no one in particular.

This is not a Jewish story. It is, however, a story about Jews. One does not need to be Jewish to read this tale any more than one needs to be a Hobbit or an Elf to read Lord of the Rings.

This story is a work of fiction. The setting for this tale is in the distant future, on the far away Planet Birobidzhan. This planet was settled by Jewish exiles from Planet Earth.

The population of Planet Birobidzhan has been cut off from the Home Planet for a long time. They have developed their own unique culture, traditions and linguistics.

The language spoken on Planet Birobidzhan is primarily Yiddish. I have sprinkled a significant number of Yiddish words and phrases throughout the telling of the tale. I also refer to various Jewish religious and cultural touchstones.

To make this story more accessible, I have included a glossary of words and phrases in Yiddish and Hebrew that are used as well as some explanations of religious terms and holidays.

I hope that readers find this to be useful.

The link to the Glossary is here:

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/a-useful-guide-glossary-to-planet.html?m=1

פּלאַנעט ביראָבידזשאַן

Do you want to read more about Planet Birobidzhan? Here are all the posted installments so far, in the order that they were posted. Just click your way through the story!

1 On A Planet Safe for Yidden

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/on-planet-safe-for-yidden.html

2 Yenne Velt: A History of Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/yenne-velt-history-of-planet-birobidzhan.html

3 Another Globe, Perhaps?

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/another-globe-perhaps.html

4 Bereshis: The Transport & Transformation of the Founders

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/03/bereshis-transport-transformation-of.html

5 The Town of First Landing

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/03/the-town-of-first-landing.html

6 A Personal History of an Early Settler on Planet Birobidzhan

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/05/a-personal-history-of-early-settler-on.html