Bezpłatny fragment - The Possession of Moses K.

Chapter Minus Two: Author’s Foreword

Make no mistake: this book, and those to follow it, are works of fiction. I have attempted to make the depiction of history as accurate as possible, but where the facts were scant or non-existent at the time of writing, I invented them. Please do not go away thinking that because you read something in my book it must be true. I hope that you will check everything I say. Much of my historic data comes from sites that I visited on the Internet, so the data is as accurate as that.

It would add to your enjoyment to follow trips from one place to another. You can find the places mentioned on an Internet map of Poland, and on Google Earth.

Chapter Minus One: The Angel Zuriel’s Forward

I am Zuriel, the guardian angel of Valentine Karnowski, whose life is the unifying thread of this and subsequent books. This one is about how he was born. As an angel in the presence of the triune God, Who is Truth, I know a lot more than you on earth: I know the truth, rather than commonly-held beliefs about human events. I am a precise kind of being, and that is why I often give times of sunrise, sunset, high- and low- temperatures, wind speeds and other facts of weather, because I know the influence these can have on human events.

Well, why am I writing these books? Valentine Karnowski has led a most unusual life, having lived through many events of historical significance. I want to show the hardships forced on him and the Polish nation, of which he was a part. I want to show the faithfulness of the Poles to Jesus’s Catholic faith. I want to show that — relative to wealth — the “upper class” is actually the lower class, and — relative to morality — the “lower class” is more often the upper class.

This book is in the form of a journal, because the life of Man happens day by day. While something is happening in one place, something else is happening in another. The problem with many novels written by chapter is that e.g., in chapter 1 they will deal with the weather over a period of time, then in chapter 2 they will go back to day 1 and deal with geography. Chapter 3 will go back to day one and deal with Mr. X, etc. I tell you about things that are happening simultaneously. I am fascinated with the inter-connectedness of events.

How am I writing them? I give inspiration to Mr. Schmidt, and he types it all out.

Chapter One: Moishe Gets Marta Pregnant

Mon. August 30, 1841. It was an extremely hot and humid day, with almost no air movement. Marta Nering (15), had been working outside under the sun since it rose at 5:13 am. At about 2:00 pm she felt sweaty and uncomfortable since, in true peasant style, it had been days since her last bath. She asked her mother if she could go over the hill to the pond and bathe. This was grudgingly granted. The large pond called Melno Lake was almost entirely surrounded by trees, which afforded her some privacy. She removed her clothing and hid it under a bush. She plunged in; the water, though warm, was refreshingly cool in comparison to the air.

After a while a peddler’s wagon pulled up on the dirt track, and a man jumped out, looked around, stripped, and slid down the sandy bank into the water. Marta could see from a distance that he had a very handsome body. It didn’t take long for them to become aware of each other. She felt embarrassed and panicky as he called over to her a greeting in broken Polish. “I’ll turn away if you wanna put on your clothes”, he shouted across the surface, “Then you turn around while I do the same”.

When they were both dressed he approached her. “I recognize you”, the young man said; “Your mother sometimes buys my wares. Your name is Marta, isn‘t it?” She recognized him: he was Moishe (Moses, Moe) Karnowski (23), the oldest son of Shmuel Karnowski, the town rabbi of Łasin and owner of the Kashruth chicken store there.

Moe should have entered the Prussian army on his birthday at age 20, July 14th, 1838. After serving the usual two years he would have mustered out at age 22 on July 14th, 1840.

He bribed someone in the army, delaying his actual departure an entire year, meaning that he should have served until his birthday, July 14, 1841, but he was expelled on May 14th of this year, after being convicted by court martial of a sexual incident with a young German private.

His younger brother Baruch had been mustered out of the Prussian army on August 23rd. Baruch had competed with Moe in many things, and it seemed to Moe that his father favored him. He nurtured a resentment toward Baruch, not least for the fact that Baruch had actually finished his tour of duty.

Moe lived in Łasin, where there was a large Jewish quarter, and traveled all around to the eight villages that made up the parish of Łasin, peddling whatever he thought people would buy, with a horse and wagon. He was a typical peddler: a real salesman, not in the least bashful. With men he was brash; with women, much less so — more inclined to flattery.

Marta had never been alone with him before; she had never had much to say to him before. For a while they stood trying to talk, he in his broken Polish, she in the local Polish dialect, tinged with Kashubian. Then he invited her to sit with him on the grass and chat a while. Their talk turned to places where he had served in the Prussian army not long before. Marta’s mind gradually embarked on a magic carpet ride. She had never been away from Słup, the village where she and her family lived. Moses seemed like a man of the world.

He began by brushing the hair from her eyes with the backs of his fingers. This led to some gentle touching of her cheeks. In time he was holding her hand. Before long they were embracing, then kissing and having sex — something that she had never done. Marta was swept off her feet.

Afterwards Moses’ mood changed. Marta had wanted to stay in each other’s embrace, savoring their love, but he began to re-dress, not looking at her. His mind was on departure. She was torn between wanting to leave, and wanting to be with Moses.

Before he finished dressing his desire to discard her was replaced by a need for another fix. He held her by the wrist and insisted, “Let’s do this again”. She protested that her mother would wonder what was keeping her so long.

“Well, I wanna see you again. How ‘bout next Wednesday?”

Nervously, and quickly she replied, “You must know that that’s an important Catholic holy day, but it’s only in the morning. All right.” Moses got into his wagon, and with a “Brrrrr” to his horse, trotted off, satisfied with himself, and planning his next conquest. Marta was left with competing feelings of euphoria and malaise.

When she got home her mother adopted a hurt attitude: “What kept you so long? Didn’t you know I need you to help with supper? Can’t you make my workload a little easier on my namesday?” Tears came to her mother’s eyes, which she wiped away with her apron. Marta felt disgusted with herself. Nevertheless she figured she had to lie, saying that the water had been so comforting that she couldn’t break away. That made her feel worse. That night as she lay on her mattress of rye straw, looking out the window at the full moon, she pondered with sick regret the manner in which she had lost her virginity. She didn’t expect it to be like this. She didn’t know it but she had conceived.

Wed. September 8, 1841. This was the feast of the Birth of Mary, which Poles called the “Feast of Greenery“. At dawn (5:27) Marta’s mother got everyone up, washed and dressed in their finest for the 6:00 Mass at Szczepanki. This included Adalbert (41), the father; Julian, just short of 18; Daria (16), Eva (9), and Bronislava (Bronia, 7). Another brother — Laurence had disappeared on March 29th of the current year. He would be thirteen if he were still alive. Like the other farm people Marta’s mother got her and her siblings to carry to church vegetables and grains, interwoven with flowers from field and garden, and great bouquets of herbs, all of which would be blessed by Fr. Berent (47), the pastor.

The Nerings walked to church buffeted by a strong cold wind. While they were on their way Fr. Berent was saying his office and talking with Jesus, kneeling on the stone floor of the cold empty church. At 6:00 the sexton pulled the rope for the Angelus.

As the Nerings were approaching the church door they met the Flises. Justin Flis (13) smiled at Marta and said, “This is my day off”. Then, thinking himself too bold, he scurried off to sit with his parents.

Fr. Berent’s sermon was on Prov 8: 32—35:

“Now ye children, hear Me: Blessed are they who keep My ways. Hear instruction and be wise, and refuse it not. Blessed is the man who hears Me, and who watches daily at My gates, and waits at the posts of my doors. He who shall find Me shall find life, and shall have salvation from the Lord. But he who shall sin against Me, shall hurt his own soul. All who hate Me love death.”

He explained that the book was talking about finding Wisdom, and by further extension, Jesus Himself. He defined Wisdom as “seeking the things of heaven before the things of earth”.

After Mass the Nerings walked home in bright light. At home some of the blessed food was consumed at breakfast, during which Marta was silent. She was thinking: “I know that I am not being wise, but I can’t help it. Oh, Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner.” With all looking on, Marta was asked to tie the bouquets and hang them from the rafters, for use during the following year. When there was sickness in the household, the herbs would be brewed and used for medicinal purposes, not only for the people, but for the livestock as well. After breakfast and this little ceremony, since this was not a true holy day, everyone changed to work clothes and went about their usual tasks.

*

Later that day Marta again used the excuse of wanting to bathe in the pond to get away. She knew that this pretext would be good only so long as the weather remained warm.

*

After sex Marta suggested meeting the following Thursday, but Moe declined, saying that it was an important Jewish holiday: Rosh Hashana — New Year’s; his father would require him to spend a lot of time in the synagog. He was lying; he had no intention of spending any time there; he had another assignation lined up. He countered with the question: could they meet the previous day, which would not be so bad? She agreed, but added that the onset of cold weather would take away her alibi.

Wed. September 15, 1841. For the Catholic Nerings this was an Ember Day — not a very important day on the church calendar, but it DID mean fasting and abstaining from meat. For the Jewish Karnowskis it was the Eve of Rosh Hashana (New Year). In the Karnowski household there lived Shmuel (46), the father; Moses (23); and Baruch (22) — children of the deceased Rivka; Zeidel (36) their stepmother; and Shmuel-and-Zeidel’s children Bertha (18), Nathan (15), Rosa (13) and Sarah (12). Zeidel got the children up early, and when everyone was cleaned up and seated around the table, Shmuel gave them a little talk.

“Do we have to hear all that again?” moaned Moe, “It gives me a headache”.

“Now Moses, be forbearing. YOU have heard it many times, but the younger ones have not. Anyway, today marks the first of ten days which we call the Days of Awe or Repentance. They will end with Yom Kippur. This is a time to consider our sins of this last year and repent”, Shmuel said.

He went on: “During the Days of Awe imagine that God has ‘books’ into which He enters people’s names, writing down who will live and who will die, who will have a good life and who will have a bad life, for the next year. God writes in these books on Rosh Hashanah, but our actions during the Days of Awe can alter His decree. The actions that change His decree are called ‘Teshuvah, Tefilah and Tzedakah: Repentance, Prayer, and Good Deeds’. These ‘books’ are sealed on Yom Kippur. This is why we will be greeting each other during this time: ‘May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year””.

“At this time I want you to seek reconciliation with those you may have wronged during the year. The Talmud says that Yom Kippur atones only for sins against God. To atone for sins against men, we must first seek reconciliation with them, righting the wrongs committed against them if possible”.

A period of awkward silence followed, during which the children looked at each other. Then, to give good example, Shmuel said, “Zeidel, my dear, I am sorry for the many times I lost patience with you. You children, I am sorry for being unfair in assigning chores.” He then went around and embraced all of them. “Now you must be reconciled with each other. You don’t have to do so in front of the others — you can do so privately.” In the course of the next ten days, all of them did so, all except Moses.

Thurs. September 16, 1841. At 5:42 the first day of Rosh Hashana dawned cool and crisp, with a blue sky and a few luminescent white clouds. “Good, good. A good start”, thought Shmuel, the Rabbi of Congregation Bnai Yitzhak in Łasin. Shmuel got to the synagog early to pray alone and to get things in order. “Oh, Lord, make me worthy to lead these Your people”, was the gist of his prayer. The president of the congregation arrived, and he and Shmuel discussed the blowing of the shofar (ram’s horn). The congregation arrived, and the shofar was blown, good, loud and raucous. All heads nodded approvingly.

Shmuel led a somewhat expanded liturgy, focusing on the concept of God’s sovereignty. He did so with a heavy heart, for before leaving for synagog he had approached Moses and invited him to accompany him in late afternoon on a walk to the Łasin Lake, to perform Tashlikh. Moe was reluctant to go. “I can be makin’ money by tradin’ with the Polocks”, he countered, “what with the other Jews suspendin’ trade today and tomorrow, and the Polocks needin’ things”.

Shmuel shook his head from side to side. “Won’t you do it for me, just because your father asked?” “No. Now I’m leavin’”, stormed back Moe.

Much of the day was spent in synagog for the Karnowskis and the other pious Jews. No work is permitted on Rosh Hashanah; even if it were, there would not have been much time for it.

After the service, everyone filed out into a small courtyard, where they all wanted to wish each other “L’shanah tovah” (for a good year).

When the Karnowskis got home they ate apples and bread dipped in honey, a symbol of a wish for a sweet new year. While his family ate festively, Shmuel himself wasn’t entirely present. Then Shmuel sadly wended his way to Łasin Lake, and emptied his pockets into it, symbolically casting off his sins. “Oh Lord, how I wish I were also casting off Moses’s sins”, he lamented.

*

In the hamlet of Kłódka Moses Karnowski had an assignation with Mrs. Euphrosina Schreder (35), a recent German colonist, resulting in his seducing her.

Tues. September 21, 1841. Adalbert’s day off. Marta Nering had known that her relatives Franz Smolinski, Einlieger, and wife Dorothea Bezdon, living in the village of Gruta, had succumbed to government-sponsored pressure and become Germanized. This was a cause of much friction in her family. But she also knew that Dorothea was expecting a child any day and needed help. She asked her mother if she could stay with the Smolinskis until the birth, figuring there might be some payment, either in money or kind, and permission was granted. Today she walked over to the Smolinskis.

Wed. September 22, 1841. In Gruta Dorothea gave birth. Marta took careful note of everything that went on, storing up what she considered valuable knowledge for her own time. It was a girl. One of the attendant women walked over to the church to inform Fr. Musolf that the Smolinskis would be coming in for a Baptism next Sunday.

Certain Kashubian superstitions were observed around the birth and Baptism because the midwife was a Kashube. For example, she inserted a needle in the baby’s swaddling clothes so that she would become proficient in sewing.

Marta stayed on until Friday and then walked home. She informed her mother that the Baptism would be next Sunday, and got permission to attend that and stay over as necessary.

Fri. September 24, 1841. The Eve of Yom Kippur. Shmuel Karnowski’s chicken store did a terrific business today, because of the custom known as Kapparot. The Łasin Jews were not only Orthodox: they were Chasidic. Consequently they were part of a slowly-dying group which observed Kapparot in its true form. Basically, one had to purchase a live fowl, and on the morning before Yom Kippur wave it over his head reciting a prayer asking that the fowl be considered atonement for sins. The fowl was then slaughtered and given to the poor.

The chicken store was a long rectangular one. Behind the dirty front window was a large public area. Then came a counter across the narrow dimension, behind which were stacks of crates containing chickens. After a chicken was selected it was taken behind a partition where its throat was slit. There was a long line of metal cones. A chicken was placed head-first in a cone, while its blood dripped into a trough. The customer had to wait for the chicken to die.

The store was crowded. People knew he would be closing at noon so as to get over to the synagog for Afternoon Service. It was dusty from the feet of so many people kicking up the sawdust. There were chicken feathers in the air. It smelled bad from their droppings, not to mention from the accumulated blood in that trough. It was also very noisy, what with the customers hollering, “I’M NEXT!” or otherwise jabbering with each other, and the constant clucking of the chickens, and their squawking as their necks were slit. The never-ending activity didn’t leave much time for Shmuel to think of Moe, which was a blessing. At noon he promptly closed up, went home, washed up and changed into his best black gabardine suit.

*

Upon entering the synagog Shmuel donned his talith and led the Afternoon Service. After the congregation went home, he stayed behind in the empty synagog and meditated on what he had just done. He brought his thoughts to a close with the awareness that he had to get home, eat, and get ready for the Evening Service.

After sundown — 6:01 pm — Shmuel began the Evening Service with a Prayer of Silent Devotion, before the actual beginning of the Service. Then an introductory hymn was sung by the choir, and the Evening Service proper was begun.

In time Shmuel led the congregation in praying to their deceased fathers, mothers, wives, husbands, children, brothers, sisters, friends, and those of the congregation who had died during the year, and brought the service to a close. He stayed on afterward and spoke to his deceased first wife. “Rivka, my beloved, I still feel the pain of your loss. Pray for our wayward son Moses. I feel responsible for how he is turning out.”

Then he addressed his dead son Saul: “Saul, even now I find it hard to forgive you for killing your mother during your birth. Pray for your brother Moses, that he take his Judaism seriously.” Afterwards he returned home, exhausted. He and the family retired early.

Sat. September 25, 1841. Yom Kippur, the annual Day of Atonement. Shmuel awoke at 5:30, before dawn (5:57), and as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he remembered sadly that this was the day in 1825 that his son Lazar had died. But duty called.

He began the service promptly at nine o’clock. First he said a Prayer of Silent Devotion, as he had done before the Service of yesterday. Then he moved into an introduction to the Morning Service. Eventually he bid the mourners to rise. After some prayers of atonement, he led them in the Confession: “O forgive us, our Father, for in our great folly we have failed; pardon us, our King, for our iniquities are numerous”.

Later a procession with the two scrolls of the Law formed. It moved to the reader’s desk, where the first scroll was unrolled. There were readings from the Law and Prophets. Then the choir sang Psalm 103 and Psalm 121. The Service ended with more prayers.

It was a long service, and at its end, Shmuel was very tired. When he got home Moe had still not returned. Sundown was at 5:58. Moe got home about nine pm.

Sun. September 26, 1841. Marta attended 9:00 Mass in Gruta and stayed for the Baptism of the Smolinski child. It was a local superstition that betrothed couples acting as sponsors brought good luck. The Smolinskis were careful to rule out any expectant mother as sponsor, for the local belief was that to do so meant that their child would die. Thus the Smolinskis asked a recently-engaged couple of German colonists to act as Baptismal sponsors. One of the smaller Polish estates had been bought out by the State and divided into small holdings. These holdings were then in turn homesteaded to German colonists from Westphalia.

Local custom decreed that the sponsors choose the name. The parents told them that they could not name their daughter for any deceased person, so the chosen sponsors kept asking the parents until the name AnneLiese was agreed upon. Besides, it sounded German.

The Smolinskis stuck a pen in the baby’s Baptismal gown so that she would grow wise, and a needle so that she would always keep her clothes in good order. These superstitions were actually of Kashube origin. They had been adopted by the neighboring Poles over the centuries. Even though the Smolinskis were trying to pass as German, it was hard to throw away centuries of tradition.

Custom also decreed that the parents not attend the actual Baptism. They stayed home preparing for a party that would take the remainder of the day. Most of the guests were German. The majority of the Smolinskis’ Polish relatives boycotted the affair on principle. The few who attended did not do so out of tolerance or brotherly love, but rather out of indifference and seeking a good time.

The language of the Baptismal party was German. In spite of being not very proficient at German, Marta enjoyed herself. Most of the male guests got very drunk and a few tried to get fresh with her. Since it ended very late she stayed over and walked home the next morning with twenty-five Groschen in her pocket.

Sat. October 16, 1841. The village of Słup, where the Nerings lived, as well as the villages of Szczepanki, Gruta, Jasiewo and Nowe Mosty, belonged to the magnate of Rogóźno Zamek, Lord Romuałd Rogoziński. It is time for a word about the history of this noble family. They had owned this estate for many generations. It consisted of 4,554 hectares (11,248 acres). Besides a farm at Rogóźno Zamek, there were farms, known as folwarks, at each of these villages, under the supervision of overseers. The estate had been awarded by Ladislaus Jagiełło, king of Poland/Lithuania, to Chrysostom Rogoziński in gratitude for helping to defeat the Teutonic Order in the Battle of Grunwald, July 15, 1410. It was thus known as a knightly estate.

In 1772, when the Germans took over, there was already a German element that had been allowed to live there in peace by their Polish neighbors for centuries. They had never assimilated with the Poles, although they had adopted many Polish customs and their Low German dialect was heavily influenced by the Polish and Kashubian languages that surrounded them. (Their language would have been totally unintelligible in those German principalities where Low German was spoken.) These Germans thought that with Germans now in the ascendant, they were going to be treated as being on the winning side. They thought, for instance, that large estates like those of the Rogozińskis, would be subdivided and handed out to Germans. To their surprise, the new rulers decided to govern through the societal system that was already in place. Thus, Lord Rogoziński had, until recently, been the local county president (Landrat).

There were many hectares of the estate devoted to meadow and forest. In Lord Romuald Rogoziński’s day the Prussian government had still done little in the process of enfranchisement of the peasants, i.e., allowing them some say in governing their own affairs, allowing them their right to vote, or freeing them from serfdom and compulsory labor. In the Polish days, men like Lord Rogoziński had the right of corporal punishment of their serfs. In an earlier day they even had the right of capital punishment. The serfs still had to perform compulsory labor one or two days per week for him on one of his folwarks. No one really owned land except nobles like Lord Rogoziński; peasants had varying rights to use it, but it all belonged to him and those in his class. The peasants could gather firewood and fell lumber from HIS forest, mow hay from HIS meadow, fish in HIS ponds — all at his discretion. This description was standard European practice and would remain so until 1848.

Given the morēs of society that he was born into, Lord Romuałd Rogoziński was a decent man, and respected by his peasants.

Lord Gregory Rogoziński, Romuałd’s father, was seven years old when the Germans took over Royal Pomorze, as it was known in the Polish days. People were always asking him what life was like then, but what could a seven-year old boy remember? Still, that gave him a certain prestige. He was not adverse to inventing stories out of whole cloth, as they say.

Romuałd Rogoziński’s oldest child — John — was spoiled. As the heir apparent and a male, he was used to getting his way. He was not very industrious. Why would he need to be? In time the estate would be his. It would provide a more than comfortable living. He was nasty to the servants.

The Nobility class, to which the Rogozińskis belonged, had no particular loyalty to Poland. Their loyalty lay in holding on to their privileges, wealth and land. The fact that Poland had gone under was largely their fault. It was no wonder that in all of the three partitioned regions of Poland — under Russia, Prussia and Austria, — these people co-operated most shamefully with the occupying powers: thus, they were allowed to keep their privileges, wealth and land. See Confederation of Targowica in Polish History Prior to Beginning of Story.

Marta’s father Adalbert was what the Germans called an Einlieger: he owned nothing, and went around to the various estates trying to perform day labor when he was not performing the compulsory labor that he “owed” to Lord Rogoziński. It was the same thing the Bible talks about in Mt Ch. 20, where we read,

“Going at about 9:00 am (the owner of the vineyard) saw others standing idle in the marketplace”.

An Einlieger is lower than a serf. Though not owning land, a serf is allowed to farm one hide of his master’s land. A hide is enough land to support him, his wife, children and draft animals.

This was the namesday of Lady Jadwiga Rogozińska. Poles do not celebrate birthdays; in fact, many do not keep very good track of how old they are. A namesday is that day on the church calendar which honors the saint after whom one is named. Lord Romuald, Lady Jadwiga’s husband had learned early in his marriage that, in order to keep peace in the family, a certain amount of catering to his wife’s vanity was necessary. Consequently, he made quite a fuss over Jadwiga’s namesday. There was a very festive supper in the evening at which all the family, plus Fr. Andrew, the chaplain of his household chapel, were present. This kept the household servants hopping all day long.

Fri. October 22, 1841. Today was a day that Adalbert Nering, Marta’s father, and her brother Julian had to perform compulsory labor on the folwark located at the village of Słup, where they lived. They woke up today and saw the season’s first frost on the ground. They reported for the day’s work and were told by the overseer of the folwark, “I’m gonna wait to see if this frost persists. If it does, we’ll begin harvestin’ sugar beets on Monday”. They was given other work to do, finishing at sundown, 4:57. They came home and Julian told the family that they may have to drop everything to pitch in on Monday.

Mon. October 25, 1841. The frost had continued through yesterday, so the peasants set in to the harvesting of sugar beets. Some of them continued harvesting wheat and barley. This included Adalbert and his family. Of course, Rosa, the mother, was pretty much exempt, being the chief cook. There wasn’t much daylight, since dawn came at 6:50 and sundown came at 4:51. At that time everyone knocked off and returned home, where Rosa and daughters Marta (15), Eva (9 ½), and Bronislava (7), set in to cook a somewhat more festive meal than usual, this being Daria’s namesday. Daria was not totally exempt, however. She was simply given lighter tasks. Adalbert (41), and Julian (18) worked on repairing various tools or furniture while the females prepared.

When all was ready they sat around the table. Bronia grabbed a tidbit and Adalbert’s hand sprang out like a lizard’s tongue and slapper her across the face. Everyone sat bolt upright in fear, waiting for him either to say the prayer or strike again. Finally he chose to pray. He took the knife, made the sign of the cross over the bread with it, and sliced off a few pieces. Then the eating began. At its end, for dessert there was jam made with blueberries that had been picked earlier in the year. Marta smeared a liberal amount on her slice of bread, and again, her father’s rough calloused hand sprang out and hit her hard across the face. “D’you think God rains down blueberry jam like manna from heaven?” he snapped. She scraped off the jam back into its container, leaving only a blue coloring on the bread. Tears fell down her face. “Never mind the self-pity, you”, Adalbert exclaimed.

Tues. November 2, 1841. All Souls Day. In their private cemetery the Rogozińskis decorated the graves of their ancestors. Due to having money enough to buy good health, there had been no deaths among the immediate family for several years.

Marta, her mother and siblings Julian (18), Daria (17), Eva (9 ½) and Bronia (7) visited the cemetery at Szczepanki to decorate the graves of brother Simon +7/1/1830 and the children’s grandparents. Adalbert took the opportunity to spend some time with the regulars at Nudelman’s dive in Łasin.

Also at the cemetery were Zephyrin and Casimira Flis with children Henry (20); Elizabeth (17); Ignatius (16); Justin (almost 14); Peter (12); and Agnes (11) decorating graves of Klara +5/9/1822; Brigid +9/10/1825; and Lucia +3/12/1831. Henry got into a conversation with Marta Nering. Justin Flis looked on wistfully.

Sun. November 28, 1841. First Sunday of Advent. The Nering family, which lived in Słup, got up and began to dress for the walk up to Szczepanki’s St. Laurence church for Mass at 9:00 am. As Marta was putting on her dress her mother took a good look at her abdomen, which was showing unmistakable signs of growth. There had been times when she had been unexplainably sick in the mornings upon arising. “Oh God”, Rosa thought to herself, “This cannot be what I’m thinking. Lord, help me to proceed calmly”. “Marta, your stomach appears to be bloated. Is something wrong?” she asked, attempting to keep her voice calm.

“No, mama, nothing’s wrong”, Marta answered, panicking on the inside. Had each known, the heart of the other was beating wildly.

“How long have you been havin’ these bouts of sickness in the morning?” Rosa asked, trying to remember herself.

“Mama, it’s only happened a couple of times, really!” replied Marta, avoiding her mother’s gaze.

Rosa was the one who did the family’s laundry. She had taught her daughter how to use a length of cotton cloth as a sanitary napkin and realized that no bloody cloth had shown up for quite some time. Children learn the facts of life early on a farm, especially when they live in a one-room hut, so mother Nering felt no qualms in asking Eva and Bronia, “”When you help me with the wash, have you handled Marta’s menstrual cloth?”

“No, mama”, said Eva;

“Uh-uh”, said Bronia.

Abandoning her restraint Rosa grabbed Marta by the shoulders, looked her squarely in the face, and shouted, “MARTA! WHAT’S GOIN’ ON HERE? YOU’RE PREGNANT, ADMIT IT!”

“NO, I’M NOT!” Marta screamed frantically. They went back and forth for a while; finally Marta broke down and admitted it between deep loud sobs.

Her father came over, slapped her across the face with such force that she went reeling. “WHORE! HOW DARE YOU BRING DISHONOR TO THIS HOUSE?” he howled. Her siblings looked on with disbelief. “WHO IS THE CULPRIT? WHO HAS DONE THIS?” he demanded to know. Further slaps and rough treatment got it out of her: It was Moses Karnowski, the peddler from Łasin.

Her mother dressed her in something loose-fitting so as to hide her condition, and they trotted off to church. The cold wind and frozen mud on which they plodded, the purple vestments, and the abrupt sombreness of the season, all added to their grief.

After Mass they waited around until the chatting parishioners had all left. The mother and father approached Fr. Berent and blurted out their shame. Fr. Berent took Marta aside, and sat her down on a bench. His face took on a compassionate look. He took both of her hands in his and said, “I do not condemn you, daughter. Here, dry your eyes.”

He gently tried to reason with her. “You cannot marry him. He is not of our faith. There is no future for you with him. I don’t think his family would want you”, he said, looking directly into her eyes. He tried to get her to go to Confession, stressing that she must make a firm purpose of amendment, the kernel of which was that she must not see this Moses again.

“I can’t, Father; I love ‘im”, she cried, as she looked away from the clear blue eyes and ascetic face.

“But child, if you want to go to heaven you must give him up.”

“Father, there’s no further use in talkin’”, she said, and turned and left.

When she came out to her parents they asked if she were going to give him up, and she explained that she could not. “We’ll see about that. Where does this Moses live?” they inquired.

“In Łasin. His father is the rabbi there”, she replied.

They marched home in silence, and hastily ate a wordless dinner. Immediately afterwards mother and father took Marta by the hand and embarked on the three-and-a-half mile hike to Łasin. When they got there they found Goethegasse (before the Prussian occupation it had been called Długosz St. after a medieval Polish historian) and Adalbert pounded with his fist on the door of the rabbi’s tired, wooden, unpainted house. It was opened by a small woman dressed in a long loose dress and a small kerchief bound behind her head.

“Yes?” she inquired courteously and cautiously.

“Are you Mrs. Karnowski?” they asked, and when she answered “Yes, at your service” in broken Polish, they demanded that she fetch her husband. She did so, and a short thin man appeared wearing work clothes. He had a large yarmulka on his head, and dreadlocks before each ear, and peered out of thick glasses. One of his eyes was crossed. “Your son has gotten our daughter pregnant”, blurted the Nerings, getting right to the point.

The Nerings didn’t really know what they wanted. “Come in and sit down”, bid the Karnowskis, shaken. The Nerings came in but would not sit down. In the meantime the rabbi went and got Moe. “Is this true what these people are saying?” they asked him, and he denied it. “HAVE YOU LAIN WITH THIS MARTA?” Shmuel shouted.

“Yes, but she probably lies with many boys. There is no proof that I am the father”, Moe objected.

“No, mama, that is not true. He is the only one I ever did that with, mama, I swear”, Marta blurted out with many tears. She believed that their act had been the sealing of their love; now it seemed as though it had merely been some form of recreation for him.

Suddenly the up-to-now mild-mannered rabbi dealt a terrific back-handed slap across the face of his son, who reeled back, despite towering over his father. Not waiting for Moe to regroup, Shmuel followed up with a series of back-and-forth slaps across the face. The young man cowered at this. “All right, daddy. I DID take her virginity. SO WHAT?” Moe retorted vehemently. His head began to ache.

“Is this the way I have taught you to observe Torah? Is this the way you reward your mama and daddy? Swine, offspring of Satan and not of me”, thundered Shmuel.

These parents were worried. During the Polish days Jews, though not liked, had been left alone. They had been invited into Poland by King Casimir the Great in 1364 because Poland needed a merchant class and the Poles disdained business. They had prospered and had pretty much of a monopoly on business. They spoke Yiddish as their first language, broken Polish as a second one. After all, if they were going to sell to Poles, the needed to know some Polish. The Poles’ dislike of them was a misplaced resentment against themselves for eschewing business. Under the Prussians Jews were definitely the lowest level of civil life. The state pecking order in occupied Poland was Prussians, Kashubes, Poles then Jews.

Addressing the Nerings the rabbi asked, “Well, now let us be calm. What can we do? You and we agree that a marriage is out of the question.” Indeed everyone was perplexed. What COULD be done?

It was Mr. Nering who eventually came up with, “He must make payment for the upkeep of the child. Outside of that he must never see our daughter again”. Mr. Nering would have added, “And I wanna punch the hell outa this bastard and make ‘im suffer”, but knew that he would not win such a fight with a much younger man. A monthly sum was agreed upon. It was to be delivered in person by the rabbi, and Słup was to be struck from the list of villages that Moe visited with his wagon. On the verge of leaving Mr. Nering turned and faced Moe. He put his nose within inches of Moe’s, backed off and with an angry scowl, shook his fist in Moe’s face, threatening, “IF I EVER CATCH YOU NEAR MY DAUGHTER AGAIN, I’LL KILL YOU. UNDERSTAND?”

“Yeah, yeah! — sheeesh!” said Moe in a hostile, defiant manner as he shook his head up and down absently.

*

In the rectory in Szczepanki Fr. Berent said the glorious mysteries of the Rosary for Marta Nering.

Thurs. December 2, 1841. Two inches of snow fell and remained on the ground. This was the first significant snowfall of the coming winter. In the hamlet of Kłódka a husband discovered that his wife, Euphrosina Schreder, was pregnant. He knew that it was not from him, as he had lost sexual interest in her. He had four children, all daughters. He told her, “When that baby is born, if it’s a boy, you both can stay. If it’s a girl, you both go”.

Fri. December 24, 1841. Christmas Eve. Right after breakfast Adalbert ordered Marta to go in to Łasin to get supplies for the festive Vigilia supper, to be held that night. “Oh Adalbert, must you send her?” her mother asked.

“And why not her? She’s made her bed; now she must lie in it”, he replied. Marta’s face dropped, and tears began to fall. Marta slowly moved to her mother’s side. Rosa put one arm around her daughter as both continued to face Adalbert, who ran over and slapped his wife in the face. “I give the orders here. I say she must go”, barked Adalbert. Eva and Bronislava began to cry.

“Well, at least let others go with her. She is physically unable to carry all that we need”, replied Rosa, not daring to sooth her burning face.

“And you, Eva, don’t think that you’ll be treated extra just because this is your namesday. You will be content with the fact that this is Christmas Eve”, said her father. “You and Bronia go with her”, ordered Adalbert. At that he took out a pinch of snuff, put it on his wrist, inhaled it, and blew a loud sneeze, followed by two more. Then he blew his nose into a dirty handkerchief and went for his vodka.

“Never mind that, daddy; we still have to do a half-day’s compulsory labor on the folwark!” said son Julian, sternly.

“Now girls, bundle up warmly. It’s very cold outside”, cautioned Rosa. And the three took off for Łasin in the dark. Dawn came at 8:16, while they were still on the way. The biggest order of business was the purchase of an enormous carp, the centerpiece of any Vigilia supper. They needed sugar, and various spices. Flour. Dried figs and dates. Candied citron. Oranges and lemons. Coffee. Tea. They produced their own chicken-, goose- and duck-eggs, fresh cabbage, pickled cabbage, potatoes, beets, onions, garlic, celery, pickles, caraway, dill, and marjoram; and blueberry jam. They could barter for butter, milk, cheese, sour cream, buttermilk, raspberries, gooseberries, and blackberries.

They moved from store to store, which were all arranged around the town square, and all owned and staffed by Jews. If Adalbert had meant to expose Marta to shame, he failed, as the bitter cold kept many shoppers at home, and the rest just wanted to get home quickly.

In the meantime Julian had been dispatched to Lord Rogoziński’s woods to fell a Christmas tree. This was the only time that the peasants were allowed to cut wood in his forest without his express permission. He brought one home and proceeded to hang it upside down from a roof beam. To the peasant mind, this made more sense than to try to set it up as it was found in nature: there was no way to put the trunk in water, and without water, the branches curled up quickly. If they curled in the upright position, they would be curling downward. They held it more esthetically pleasing for the curled branches to curl upwards, which hanging the tree upside down accomplished.

When the girls got home the females set in quickly to baking and cooking. In the afternoon Richard Skibiński, the organist from St. Laurence church in Szczepanki, dropped by with the Opłatki, a couple of wafers about 6” X 12”, with a depiction of Christ’s birth embossed on them. Though it was a fast day, Adalbert produced vodka and the two of them had a few shots. (By the time he saw the last parishioner, the organist was definitely inebriated.)

Finally, everything was in readiness for customs that took place only on Christmas Eve. The food was all off on a side table, leaving the table bare. “Bronia, go to the window and see if you can see a very bright star”, asked the mother of her youngest. She did as she was told. It took a while for her to see any stars at all, as it was snowing lightly. “I SEE ONE! I SEE ONE!” she called out with glee. At that Rosa produced a little pile of straw and placed the Opłatki on it, symbolizing that Jesus had been born. All stood around the table, with Adalbert at one end, and Rosa at the other. “Aduś, you are to give us a little sermon about loving each other, about forgiving each other”, said Rosa.

“Oh, you go and do it”, was his reply.

“Come on now. We are all waitin’”, said Rosa.

He would not budge, so Mother Nering said, “Jesus came to teach us a new thing: to love each other. Love is not just a feeling; it means wantin’ what is best for our neighbor. Who is our neighbor? Everyone who is not me! He forgave His enemies, even those who nailed him to a cross. So we must do likewise”, she said. And with that she turned to the child on her right, extended an Opłatek, the other end of which the child held on to, and said, “Now we will all ask forgiveness of each other, and wish some good while breakin’ the wafer. Keep doing this until you have broken wafer with everyone in the room”. When it came time for breaking with Adalbert, he said nothing on his side.

After that ceremony, which many of Poland’s neighbors have adopted thruout the centuries, Rosa spread a tablecloth. The girls quickly set plates, including one for the stranger who may knock at the door. Twelve courses were served in honor of the twelve Apostles. It sounds like a lot, until one realizes that salt and pepper are considered a course. Everyone drank tea from foraged herbs, everyone except Adalbert, who drank vodka. By meal’s end he was drunk and in a belligerent mood, swinging his fists at someone in his mind.

When all had eaten, and the plates washed and put away, the candles on the tree were lighted, and little gifts were produced. There was no spare money in this house, so the gifts were insignificant by later standards. Although gifts were given to him, Adalbert produced no gift for anyone else.

The candles were extinguished. “Children, there’s still a little time before we hafta take off for Midnight Mass. Lie down and get some rest. We’ll be up late”, said Rosa. Marta walked over to her mother and kissed her on the forehead. “Good mama, good mama”, was all she could say.

Mother Nering awoke everyone, had them wash and put on their Sunday best. They bundled up and trudged to church — all except Adalbert, who was too drunk to move. Rosa put him to bed, sighing deeply.

When they arrived at the church a few minutes before 11:00 pm it was fairly full. There in their special places were Lord Romuałd and his family. At 11:00 the organist began a sing-along of Polish Christmas carols. He introduced a new one that came from Austria, called Silent Night. Later the people said it reminded them of Śliczna Panienka — Beautiful Maiden. Just before Midnight he began Amid the Night’s Stillness, which seems to most Poles the Christmas Carol of them all.

The altar boy rang a bell announcing the beginning of the celebration. All rose and began to sing another carol as the procession moved toward the altar. Marta allowed herself to be swept up in joy; she wanted so much to forget her trouble. Father Berent wore vestments of cloth-of-gold and carried a doll representing the Newborn. There were different ranks of altar boy, some with red cassocks, some in white with a large red collar. There were children in their First Communion outfits. Behind the altar were many tall balsams each with many burning candles. (Certain acolytes had been assigned to keep watch lest a fire start. Buckets of water were at hand should that happen.) The baroque white-and-gilt reredos behind the altar had multiple burning candles. Off to one side was the Manger Scene. Father moved toward it and placed the Statue in it. By now the church was packed; there were latecomers gathered outside the door.

In his sermon Fr. dwelt on,

“She laid Him in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn”.

He definitely had Marta in mind. Being that it was dark outside, and that the church was relatively dark as well, most could not get a good look at Marta’s condition. There were some, however, who did.

Sat. December 25, 1841. Christmas. A fresh breeze was blowing and there was nine inches of snow on the ground. As the Nerings approached St. Laurence church in Szczepanki for 9:00 Mass with their daughter, four months pregnant, some eyes glanced at her. The news had gotten out. Illegitimacy was very uncommon among Poles, but most of them were pretty tolerant of it once it became known. There are always some, however… Ordinarily a girl of marriageable age like Marta would have been asked to be godmother to a lot of children in her family or village before her own marriage. Those invitations would now not come, except from other girls in her condition. The news reached Łasin, and from there pretty much every village in the entire area.

Fr. Berent knew who the gossipers and backbiters were, so in his sermon he elaborated on the text,

“There was no room for them at the inn,…”

reminding all that we are sinners, and not to cast the first stone, but rather to be forgiving as God has forgiven us. He made no overt reference to Marta.

In the afternoon a group of local boys which included Justin Flis came by with a star made of translucent paper, which had a candle in it. It was mounted on a pole. They were observing an old tradition. They sang Christmas carols outside the Nerings’ door until someone came out and gave them a treat. Marta was not among those who went out to them.

The rest of the day was a day for visiting, and neighbors dropped by off and on. A few of them had the ulterior motive of having a look at Marta. If there were men among them, Adalbert brought out the vodka. By evening he was drunk again.

Tues. December 28, 1841. Today the Catholic department of the Prussian Ministry of Education and Religion was founded by King William IV. It was the result of the resolution of a dispute between the church and the government over marriages between Catholics and Lutherans.

Wed. February 2, 1842. At the hamlet of Kłódka Joanna Beinkin bore Moe’s illegitimate child Elizabeth.

Thurs. February 3, 1842. Fat Thursday, Polish Mardi Gras. At Szczepanki, while others were celebrating, with an outdoor temperature of -10°, and an indoor one not much higher, with eleven inches of snow on the ground and snow continuing to fall, an illegitimate son, Julian, was born to Anna Kuligowska. She refused to say who the father was. It was Moses Karnowski.

Sun. February 6, 1842. Anna Kuligowska’s illegitimate son Julian and Joanna Beinkin’s daughter Elizabeth were baptized in St. Laurence church, Szczepanki by Fr. Berent. Justin Flis (14) was a godparent for the former, and Henry Flis (20) for the latter.

Wed. February 9, 1842. Ash Wednesday. At the village of Rogóźno Catherine Szmetówna bore Moe’s illegitimate child Andrew.

Sun. February 13, 1842. 1st Sunday of Lent. After 9:00 am Mass Catherine Szmetówna’s illegitimate son Andrew was baptized by Fr. Berent. Ignatius Flis (17) was a godparent.

In the afternoon Rosa Nering took her children to Bitter Sorrows (Gorzkie Żale) in St. Laurence Church, Szczepanki. Both mother and daughter had their individual reasons for taking comfort from the sufferings of Christ.

Thurs. March 17, 1842. Last day on which there was snow on the ground: 1”.

Sun. March 20, 1842. Palm Sunday. Before Mass there was a procession with pussy-willows celebrating Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Marta participated with her mother and siblings, but imagined that eyes were giving her condemning looks. She felt much more at home at Bitter Sorrows in the afternoon, where she poured out her sorrow to the suffering Jesus.

At the hamlet of Przęsławice Anna Wilant gave birth to Moe’s illegitimate daughter Rosalia Teresa. She was baptized the same day by Fr. Berent. Justin Flis was called upon to be a godparent.

Thurs. March 24, 1842. For the Jews this was Ta’anit Bechorot — the Fast of the Firstborn. When Shmuel Karnowski got to the table in the morning he was shocked to see Moe — his firstborn — downing a bowl of mashed potatoes and buttermilk. Judging from the shells and crumbs, he had already downed several eggs and slices of bread. Since this was well after dawn — 6:00 — Moe was committing sin. “Is this how you observe the traditions of our people, my son?” Shmuel asked sadly.

“Oh, get out of here. I work hard. I need food to keep up my strength”, was Moe’s answer; “Besides, I have a headache”.

*

Meanwhile among the Poles this was Holy Thursday. After the liturgy in St. Laurence church, Szczepanki, which was celebrated at 9:00 am in the morning, there was all-day exposition of the Blessed Sacrament at a special altar, surrounded by candles, flowers, silks and brocades. There were two prie-dieus, with a change of altar boys every hour. People took a bit of time away from chores to come to church to pray, and Marta was no exception.

“Lord, I know that I am in serious sin by hangin’ onta Moe, especially since I accept that marriage is outa the question. I throw myself on Your mercy”.

This was the gist of her prayer, re-framed in ever-changing words.

A Pope had given Poland the privilege of exposing the Blessed Sacrament in a monstrance on Holy Thursday. The monstrance was quite high up. Below it there was a traditional statue of Jesus bound at the wrists, wearing a red cloak, with a reed in His hands and a crown of thorns on His head, standing behind a grate of bars. Nearby was an “empty tomb” of plaster, waiting for Good Friday, when a statue of the dead Savior would be placed there. Marta looked at this figure of Christ and knew that the Man of Pain understood her pain, though He did not approve of her hanging onto Moe. It was tempting to tell herself that in her case the sixth commandment did not apply because she loved Moe so much.

“No, my only hope is to acknowledge, Jezu, that Your laws are written in stone: they don’t change, and I am breakin’ ‘em. O Lord, be merciful to me a sinner!”

She slumped into a sobbing session on the back of the pew before her.

Fri. March 25, 1842. A surly Moe woke early on this Eve of Passover and announced angrily, “I’m getting’ outa here. There’s money to be made from the Polocks. They’re getting’ ready for Easter.” He slammed the door behind himself. Zeidel Karnowski felt a great hurt, but she did not have the time to sit and brood: she had to spend all day doing three things. First, she had to burn all breads, etc. made with yeast. Then she had to take a small twig, wrap some cotton wool around one end, and go along all joints in the stove, table, and floor-to-wall intersections removing any possible yeast in the house. They would not be eating yeast-products for the eight days of Passover. Third, she had to do the cooking for tomorrow night’s Passover Seder. And she had to get things done before sundown tonight, since Shabbat began at sundown, 6:28 pm. Luckily she had Bertha (18), Rosa (14), and Sarah (12), to help her.

*

But this was also Good Friday. Fr. Berent began the liturgy at 9:00 am. Marta’s entire family was there. Everyone stood while the lengthy Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ was read. Marta offered up the inconvenience for her sin. She identified with Jesus, in that they were both suffering. She was suffering an unrequited love, and the feeling of being cheap, damaged goods. During the veneration of the cross it was the custom for all to start at the door of the church and advance on their knees until they reached the altar rail, where they would bend over and kiss Jesus’ wounds. Marta did this gladly; it seemed to go a long way to atone for her sin. Finally came the Mass of the Pre-sanctified. She felt her face burn with shame when everyone went up to receive Jesus in Communion and she had to remain in her pew, not having been forgiven in Confession because she had not repented of wanting Moe.

When the Mass of the Pre-Sanctified was over, many got up to leave, although things were not ended. Marta did not leave, more from lethargy than devotion. Fr. Berent took off his chasuble. He opened the Tabernacle door and left it ajar, symbolizing that Jesus’ soul had left His body. He removed all excess candles from the altar, and took the six main candlesticks and laid them on their sides, in helter-skelter fashion; he stripped all the altar clothes, exposing the bare marble, and removed all Holy Water from the stoups. All this symbolized desolation. These doings seemed to symbolize the desolation of her life to Marta. When these rites were over she unenthusiastically left for home.

In the evening she returned for the Stations of the Cross devotion.

Sat. March 26, 1842. After morning synagog on this first day of Passover, Zeidel and the girls walked home quickly through snow flurries that made the ground wet, but did not pile up, to set the table for the evening’s Seder. There was a moderate breeze blowing. She got out her finest tablecloth and, with her special kosher dinnerware, set the table for ten: seven of her own, and three guests, widowers from the congregation. She was already presuming that Moe would not be with them, but she set a place for him anyway.

Finally Shmuel took a pocket watch from his vest. “6:30 — sundown. Take your places at table, everyone”, he said. The candles were all lit. The Seder plate with its six symbolic foods and a 7th symbolic item used during the meal — a stack of 3 matzos on its own plate — were on the table. The other food was not. Shmuel sat at one end; Zeidel at the other.

On Shmuel’s right were: the guest Chaim Rosenberg (84); Nathan (15); and Sarah (12). There was an empty place for Moe.

On his left were: the guest Baruch Tykociner (78); Bertha (18); the guest Yitzhak Wilner (80); and Rosa (14). There was an empty place for the prophet Elijah.

Shmuel began the service with the Blessings and the first cup of wine. Everyone at table filled each other’s cup. The girls giggled.

Then came Karpas, the “Appetizer”. Each participant took parsley from the Seder plate and dipped it into salt water, symbolizing the tears shed in Egypt.

Then Shmuel reached for the pile of three matzos and broke the middle matzo into two, and hid the larger half, to be used later as the Afikoman, the “dessert” after the meal. He replaced the smaller piece between the other 2 pieces of matzo.

Then came the Retelling of the Exodus to his children.

The first part of the Retelling was the Invitation to the Seder. Shmuel uncovered the matzos, the “bread of affliction”. In Aramaic his family and guests read an invitation to all who are hungry or needy to join in the Seder. They repeated the invitation in German and Polish.

The next part of the Retelling was the Four Questions. Sarah, the youngest at 12, had to ask,

“1. Why is it that on other nights we do not dip our food even once, but on this night we dip them twice?”

“2. Why is it that on other nights we eat either leavened bread or matzo, but on this night we eat only matzo?”

“3. Why is it that on other nights we eat all kinds of vegetables, but on this night we eat bitter herbs?”

4. Why is it that on other nights we dine either sitting up or reclining, but tonight we all recline?”

Shmuel gave the formal answer to all these questions.

For the next part of the Retelling the Ritual Book for Seders spoke of a question asked by each of four sons: One Who Is Wise, One Who Is Wicked, One Who Is Simple, and One Who Does not Know to Ask. After Shmuel answered Chaim Rosenberg (84), who had to ask the first, the latter commented, “Hmph. Doesn’t seem to answer the question”.

Shmuel replied, “Let us just go on”.

Later there was an enumeration of the Ten Plagues. With their recital each participant removed a drop of wine from his or her cup using a fingertip. “Let’s eat!” thought Baruch Tykociner. His demeanor showed his impatience.

The Retelling concluded with the drinking of the second cup of wine.

Finally came the actual Passover meal. A noticeable sense of relaxation came over the superannuated male guests. “It’s about time!” they were thinking.

When all had finished eating, it was time for the eating of the afikoman. Everyone at table received an olive-sized morsel of matzo to be eaten as afikoman. After its consumption, no other food could be eaten for the rest of the night. Also, no intoxicating drinks could be consumed, with the exception of the remaining two cups of wine.

Then it was time for Shmuel to pray grace after meals. He poured the third cup of wine before the grace was said. Then he asked his son Nathan to open the front door (so that the world could symbolically hear) and all recited Psalm 79: 6, 7:

“Pour out Your anger on the nations that do not know You, and on the kingdoms that do not call on Your name. For they have devoured Jacob and laid waste his habitation”.

Then they recited Lamentations 3:66:

“Pursue them in anger and destroy them from under the Lord’s heavens.”

Then he poured the Cup of Elijah, but no one drank it.

After Grace after meals they eventually drank the fourth cup and said a brief thanksgiving “for the fruit of the vine”.

They concluded their Seder with a short prayer that God accept the night’s service. They expressed hope to each other that the Messiah would come “next year in Jerusalem!” They sat around singing songs which recounted the miracles that occurred on this night in ancient Egypt as well as thruout history. Sarah asked her father to explain inconsistencies in the questions and he tried his best to answer them.

The three guests stayed a respectable amount of time and took their leave. The members of Shmuel’s family recited the Song of Songs, engaged in Torah learning, or continued talking about the events of the Exodus until they got sleepy. When they had all gone to bed and only Shmuel and Zeidel were left, Shmuel’s thoughts turned sad, as he remembered his wayward son Moses had not been with them.

Sun. April 24, 1842. St. Adalbert’s feast day, namesday of Marta’s father. She feared him now that he knew of her deed. She wanted his love, his approval, so she went out and picked a bouquet of wild flowers for him. She brought them home, and tried to hand them to him. Brusquely he swept them aside and onto the floor, where he stomped on them, turned away, and left for Nudelman’s dive and his drinking pals. She felt much overcome with shame, second-class, and inferior.

Mon. April 25, 1842 was a major Rogation Day, a day of prayer to obtain a good and bountiful harvest, to ask protection in calamities and to appease God’s anger. In farm parishes, bringing in a good crop was vitally important, so participation in a Rogation Day was high. The celebration at St. Laurence’s in Szczepanki, like all others, consisted of the Litany of the Saints, then Mass, and finally a procession, which wended its way around the perimeter of the district. At Mass all the parishioners showed up in their best folk costumes. A host of religious banners stood in readiness.

In his sermon Fr. Berent dealt with James 5: 16:

“Confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be saved”.

He also dwelt on the gospel of Luke 11: 5—13, where Jesus tells us to be persistent in prayer to a loving Father who wants to give us good things. Marta prayed, upon hearing this,

“O Lord, my situation seems hopeless. I don’t wanna go to hell, but I can’t give up Moe. Still, I’ll continue to pray for a good resolution to my problem”.

Fr. Berent prayed silently that people were interceding for Marta’s conversion.

After he intoned the Latin words, Ite Missa Est, everyone knelt as he put the Body of Christ into a glistening gold monstrance. Four ushers appeared with a canopy of damask cloth of gold. Fr. Berent descended the steps from the altar, the ushers covered their precious Protegé and proceeded out the door of the church. Delegates of various societies grabbed large banners of damask, silk, gold thread and multi-colored ribbons and fell in behind him. These banners represented various saints and had the names of the sponsoring parish societies embroidered on them. A tall acolyte walked backwards constantly incensing Christ and frequently bowing, while two teams of smaller altar boys alternated the ringing of quadruple handbells: “a-lang-a-lang-a-lang”, then, “a-ling-a-ling-a-ling”. Finally the rank and file fell in behind them. The weather was beautiful: blue sky with a few radiant white clouds, the temperature about 63°. Everyone sang Yours Be the Praise and Glory, and every litany they knew. This procession would last until about three pm, as the distance to be covered was great.

As the hours wore on, Marta dropped more and more to the back. Then she saw Moe’s horse and wagon behind some bushes. He was watching it all. By this time in the day it was not unusual for some people to feel that they had had enough, and to drift home. She acted like one of these, falling so far behind that she could barely see the procession. When she thought she was not missed she ran back to Moe. She threw herself into Moe’s arms. She wanted to talk; he wanted sex. His will prevailed.

Afterwards they did talk — for a very little while. “You DO love me, don’t you? You didn’t mean what you said?” she asked.

“Yes, yes. I had to appease my father”, lied Moe. She felt torn: she wanted to stay a long while with Moe, but did not want to arouse any suspicion from her parents. Finally she said, “I must go. We’ll find a way to see each other again. Oh, I know: there’ll be another procession on Corpus Christi.” And she told him where to hide so that when it passed there, she would drop out and join him.

When she got home her parents were still gone. She knew that she could use the excuse that in her condition she could not endure the entire procession. That night, as she looked out at the full moon she felt apprehension: how would she endure as a known illegitimate mother? She also felt good that she had seen Moe, and nurtured a hope that somehow things would turn out all right. She lived for their next meeting.

*

When Moe took off he headed for Orle, a small village within the parish, where another young girl, the simple-minded Leokadia Kobus (16), waited for him. He convinced her to have sex with him.

*

As this was not a holy day, when the procession ended Adalbert and Julian Nering reported for compulsory labor on the folwark of Słup, and worked until sunset, 7:22.

Wed. May 25, 1842. Moe returned to Łasin from his route as the sun was setting. Shmuel looked at his pocket watch: “8:11”, he noted to himself as his son approached. Moe greeted his father, washed up, and sat at the table. The family had all eaten some time before. His stepmother lovingly prepared a meal for him, carefully avoiding eye contact with her disapproving husband. When he was finished he got up from the table and said he wanted to take a walk to get some fresh air, to clear up an ache in his head. He felt drawn to open country, away from the town. There seemed to be something within him urging him into a definite direction.

He entered a pine woods, crashing through some brush. The ground was well illuminated by the full moon. He found a copse of oak trees and bushes, in the midst of which was a clearing with a slight natural mound in the center. Mounting it, he felt his head tossed back as far as it would go, and heard a hoarse howl bellow from his own throat, as all his muscles tightened in intense pain. He never lost consciousness, but seemed as one outside himself, observing. He could not tell how long it all lasted, but when it was over he was exhausted and noticed that his clothing was torn and his skin scratched by the brush. Thruout all this he was unaware that he was being watched by Zora, an aged witch and her small coven.

A word about this coven. It consisted of thirteen people.

The leader was Zora, born on February 29, 1788. She was half Polish, half gypsy: the product of a liaison between the 22-year old Gregory Rogoziński, father of the present lord of Rogóźno Zamek manor, and a voluptuous itinerant gypsy; Her mother was driven away and treated very shabbily, eventually dying of starvation. Zora’s turning to the satanic arts was in revenge for this. Although Gregory had eventually straightened out, he blotted out any memory of the baby or her mother. She was 53 but looked 80.

There were five Germans: Heinz Szpletstösser and his concubine Rosina Penske, plus two men, and one woman. Heinz lived with Rosina in a ramshackle cottage in the tiny hamlet of Jasiewo. He was a day laborer and a drunkard, a non-practicing Lutheran. He thought the world owed him a living. Expected the German government to give Polish lands to Germans when they took over in 1772. The resentment of the Germans in the coven can be traced precisely to the fact of not getting a piece of the Rogozińskis’ land.

There were two Kashubes: one man, one woman. Once there was a Slavic nation that had occupied the shore of the Baltic Sea from Denmark to Gdańsk. They were known as the Pomeranians, from the Slavic words po, meaning along, and moře, meaning ocean. In the course of time the Germans annihilated most of them, and Germanized a large part of the remainder of them, all but a few, who lived in the Polish province of Royal Pomorze (recently renamed WestPreussen). These had lived peacefully among Poles for centuries. Their language was very close to Polish. They became known as Kashubes. When the Germans took over Royal Pomorze, the Kashubes collaborated with them, which caused the Poles to dislike them. They had no aversion to incorporating many German words into their language, even using German as a primary language. (By contrast the Poles learned only enough German to get by in public.) As so often happens, once the Kashubes became disliked, they in turn began to dislike the Poles. The presence of Kashubes in the coven owed itself to this anti-Polish feeling.

There were two Jews: one man, one woman. For centuries, ever since king Casimir the Great had invited Jews to Poland, they had perfected their business practices; indeed, they were the merchants on whom the Poles depended. But even in such an elite, highly successful class, there have to be losers, and these two were such. They resented that, and hoped that calling on Satan would make up for talent.

There were three Poles (two men, one woman). These three had no particular grudge, but exhibited something that they shared with all of the other ten: they were anti-authority, due to the fact that they lived a life of sexual vice.

When Moe got home his stepmother looked at him in horror and asked, “Where have you been?” to which he replied truthfully, “I felt the need to walk in the woods”.

“Did you step in the droppings of some wild animal? Or fall onto a rotting carcass? There is a bad smell about you”, she replied. He went out to the well and drew some water and washed up to please her, while she tried to master the disquiet that had arisen in her.

Thurs. May 26, 1842 was Corpus Christi day, another day for an outdoor procession, but this one kept to a much tighter circuit, never venturing very far from the church itself and the precincts of Szczepanki. Moe had walked from Łasin to Szczepanki and taken the place Marta had assigned him. Sure enough, Marta dropped out and joined him. They had had quick sex (at Moe’s insistence) and had been talking a while when suddenly the bushes were parted and the fury of Mr. Nering burst forth on both of them. “I TOLD YOU NEVER TO SEE MY DAUGHTER AGAIN!” he hollered at Moe. To Marta, “AND YOU, YOU BITCH IN HEAT! WHAT KIND OF DAUGHTER HAVE I RAISED? YOU’RE A DISGRACE! ONCE THE BABY IS BORN, YOU ARE TO DEPART!” He slapped Moe across the face, snatched Marta up roughly by the elbow and dragged her home, where he announced his decision to his wife. She cried, not wanting to evict her daughter, but did not protest.

Chapter Two: Marta, Illegitimate Mother

Mon. May 30, 1842. The sun rose today at 3:51. Slightly after this Marta began to feel her pains. Rosa sent Marta’s baby sister Bronia for Mrs. Krajecka, the area midwife. She, at least, was completely indifferent about Marta: she made a modest income from delivering babies, whether legitimate or not. Marta took to bed. Rosa sent Eva to round up some good-hearted Słup women to help out. Their men were sent outside; the girl children were allowed to remain, so as to indoctrinate them to the ways of being a woman. Besides her scissors the midwife brought along a flask of Holy Water, and occasionally sprinkled Marta, being particular to sprinkle the abdomen and vagina. Finally, about six pm, Marta made one long last cry, and a male child exited from her womb. The midwife slapped his slippery little behind, and lay him in his mother’s now bowl-shaped abdomen. She took her scissors and cut the cord. Marta embraced him lovingly; then the midwife took him, washed him, sprinkled him with more Holy Water, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes. The women went outside to announce to the men that the baby was a healthy male, whereupon they came back in. Bronia was sent to Szczepanki to inform Fr. Berent that they would be bringing a baby in for Baptism next Sunday, and to ask him to find two godparents.

Adalbert and Julian returned from compulsory labor after sunset — 8:17- to find a new life in the house. Adalbert scoffed, and went for his vodka, muttering to himself. Julian took the little boy into his arms and hugged him. Then he held his sister’s hand and said, “You must rest now. I’m sure that was very tiring for you”.

Sun. June 5, 1842. The Nerings borrowed a horse and wagon and drove Marta and her new child to Szczepanki for 9:00 am Mass. Fabian Kwasigroch (15) of Szczepanki, who had had an interest in Marta, made his First Communion at this Mass. He looked over to Marta and her child. She could tell that his interest had departed.

After Mass and after everyone not involved went home, Fr. Berent led the baptismal party over to the font in which generations of Nerings had been baptized, and where two parishioners, known to the Nerings, were waiting. Custom gave to them the right to name the child, and they decided on Valentine, with a namesday on February 14. After the minor exorcism, Fr. Berent scooped up some water from the font and repeated thrice, “Valentine, I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost”.

Afterwards Marta’s mother asked, “Fr. Berent, would you be so kind as to join us at the baptismal party?” to which he replied, “Why, I would be most delighted to come”. When there he spent much time listening to Marta, and talking with her. Adalbert used the occasion to indulge in vodka, as he did on all such occasions when they had guests in their home.

Everyone knew who the father was, so Marta began to call her son Valentine Karnowski.

Wed. June 8, 1842. Today was the first day of the Jewish month of Tammuz, not that it made a bit of difference to Moses Karnowski. While making his rounds with his wagon, Moe raped the emotionally-disturbed Julianna Przypyszna of the village of Szonowo Szlacheckie and got her pregnant. At the time she did not know where babies came from. He threatened her that he would send a mora — a female evil spirit — to torment her for the rest of her days should she tell. This drove her deeper into withdrawal. She stuffed her keyhole — the supposed point of entry for moras — with a bit of red rag, the bane against moras.

Thurs. June 16, 1842. Mrs. Euphrosina Schreder (35), a recent German colonist with whom Moe had had sex nine months earlier, gave birth to their illegitimate child Gottfried in the hamlet of Kłódka. Her husband had promised to keep her if she produced a male child. He had hopes that this child would be of help in farming.

Sat. June 18 until Thurs. June 23, 1842. These were the longest days of the year: each contained sixteen hours, fifty-one minutes of daylight.

Sun. June 26, 1842. The entire Karnowski household arose before 3:44 (sunrise) for the purpose of eating breakfast. This was Tzom Tammuz, a minor fast on the Jewish calendar, commemorating the date when the walls of Jerusalem were breached by King Nebuchadnezzar. It would last from dawn to sundown, 8:34. Sunday was just another day for Jews, but since the Christians did no work on that day, they were forced into not operating any businesses. They confined themselves to household tasks. When his mother tried to wake him before dawn so that he could still eat, Moe slapped her hand away. He then slept very late; got up and ate what he pleased.

*

Abiding by the law that forced Catholic priests to baptize Lutheran babies when no Lutheran church was as yet built, Mrs. Euphrosina Schreder and family brought Gottfried in to St. Catherine’s church, Łasin, where Fr. Konieczny baptized him after the 9:00 am Mass.

Chapter Three: Valentine Karnowski, One Month Old

Thurs. June 30, 1842. Valentine had to be fed five times a day with his mother’s milk. This caused Adalbert much grumbling, as it took Marta away from productive work. The baby needed to sleep about twenty hours per day. This caused Adalbert additional grumbling, as he needed to keep quiet so as not to awaken the child.

Once, when she was nursing him and her father was absent, Marta said to her mother, “I think that Val can distinguish certain people. When I hover over ‘im, he waves his arms and legs excitedly expectin’ somethin’ good. When daddy comes into his field of vision he cries or reacts negatively”.

Tues. July 26, 1842. In the middle of the village of Słup in the cemetery stood a little chapel to St. Ann. Mass was held in this chapel once a year, on this, her day, instead of in St. Laurence, Szczepanki. Marta knew that St. Ann was the saint to whom unmarried girls prayed to find a husband. She knew that she was unworthy now that she had “lost her wreath”, but she decided to come to this Mass anyway. Of course she didn’t want just any husband; she wanted St. Ann to fix it so that she could have Moe. When she got to the chapel she joined a much agitated group of women, standing in the strong wind and rain, who were staring in horror at a pornographic drawing sprawled across the double doors. There was much clucking and tsk-tsking and wagging of heads. When Fr. Berent arrived he quickly ordered a peasant to get some whitewash and to cover the obscene drawing.

Fri. July 29, 1842. When Adalbert encountered Marta upon arising he said loudly, “DON’T THINK WE’RE GONNA CELEBRATE THE NAMESDY OF A WHORE! NONONO! YOU’RE LUCKY THAT YOU STILL HAVE A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD!” This caused Valentine to cry, and Marta left the breakfast table to nurse him, using this as an excuse to get away from her father. She hated the sloshing sound he made in masticating solid food; she hated the way he slurped up liquids; it seemed to her he exaggerated it to annoy everyone. In fact, Marta’s mother Rosa used to take the bait and reprimand him, which led to a prolonged argument. Many times when Adalbert was not present one of the children would advise Rosa, “Mama, he wants to start an argument. Just ignore it”, but she would not listen.

When Adalbert had finished eating he stormed off to compulsory labor, slamming the door behind him. Before his own leaving thereto Julian said, “Take courage, Marta; you still have me”.

Supper that evening was no different than it had been the day before.

Sun. July 31, 1842. At Łasin Marianna, the daughter of Franz Nehring, the Germanized mayor of Łasin, and his German wife Maria Kerner, was baptized by Fr. Konieczny. Marta Nering had to find a place to stay, as her father wanted her gone. Luckily, he was not turning her out with no place to go. She had many relatives in Łasin, so she left little Valentine with her mother and sisters, and came to the christening party in hopes of talking Franz or one of them into taking her on as a servant. Franz refused. Because he had a German-derived name, the Prussian authorities were allowing him the opportunity to eindeutschen — to re-graft himself into the German community, and he saw that as economic progress, while remaining Polish was the way to continued poverty. He wanted no association with Poles if he could avoid it, relatives or not.

*

Back in Słup Valentine lay in a cradle suspended by ropes from a roof rafter. Grandma Nering lifted him under the armpits and held him in the air above her and shook him affectionately. Then she sat down in a rocker, still holding him the same way, and sat him on her lap, and talked to him: “Little cutie, little Valuś! Zhoo! Zhoo! Zhoo!” She gave him a wide smile, and he looked her in the eyes and smiled right back. She held a piece of red cloth over him, and moved it to the left and to the right, and his eyes followed attentively, and he cooed with delight. “Don’t get attached to ‘im; he’s leavin’”, ordered Adalbert.

Sat. August 13, 1842. In preparation for the observance of the feast day for the church in Szczepanki dedicated to St. Laurence, this evening Richard Skibiński, the organist, led a solemn Vespers, in which singers divided into two groups, one on each side of the sanctuary, and sang alternately the Psalms for the day. Marta brought Valentine. She scanned the singers and her eyes connected for a brief moment with those of a youth who was six feet tall. In spite of his lankiness he had broad shoulders and a developed chest. He had light hair and eyebrows which sat low above his eyes. His pleasant face presented a rather lean look, with cheeks somewhat hollowed out, and a very thin well-formed nose. It was Justin Flis.

When the service was over and the people were congregating in the courtyard, Marta and Justin met briefly. “Hello”, he said.

“Hello”, she said back. They had only looked into each other’s eyes for a moment when his parents Zephyrin and Casimira whisked him off for home.

Sun. August 14, 1842. St. Laurence parish’s festival day. In the morning there was the usual 9:00 am Mass with a procession following. The remainder of the day was given over to elements that were part carnival, part picnic, flea market, horse fair and all around good time. Once again Marta Nering attended, figuring that it might lead to finding employment.

The general Catholic rule about no commerce was relaxed on such a day, and local Jews took advantage of this. She came upon a stall set up by Moe selling holy pictures, of all things. Furtively she looked around for the disapproving glance of her father, and when she saw that the coast was clear, said, “Here is your son. He was born May 30th.” Moe seemed unnerved, at least momentarily. He had never been a father before, at least not that he knew of. He looked at the boy nervously, even taking him into his hands. Valentine began to wail. “Rock ‘im; that quiets ‘im down”, she advised, and he did so.

“His eyes are crossed — like my father’s”, he returned, weakly. Then, “But you must go. I have business to transact. We‘ll get together somehow”. He quickly handed him back to his mother.

Mon. August 15, 1842. This would have been Adalbert & Julian Nering’s compulsory labor day, but it was canceled due to Harvest Home. (They would simply have to forego some future day off to compensate.)

Harvest Home was traditionally celebrated on the Feast of the Assumption in Szczepanki parish. As an aside, the Polish word for August — Sierpień — comes from the word sierp — scythe or sickle. This popular and colorful celebration was held by the nobility and those owning large enough tracts of land that required hiring day-laborers (Einliegers) from all around the countryside. It was viewed as a way to reward them for their hard labor. By now many of the Polish nobles and landowners had been forced out and replaced by government-imported and subsidized Germans, but there were still plenty of Poles left to make for some fun.

The symbol of Harvest Home was a Vieniec, which was traditionally presented to the local landowner, Lord Rogoziński (47). This large wreath/crown was made of a mixture of barley and oats, the most important local grains. This year the honor of making the wreath, which came by drawing straws, fell to the Nering children Daria, Eva and Bronia. There were one or two women in the village of Słup who disapproved that such an honor be bestowed on a family with an illegitimate mother among its members. Still, the drawing of straws had been conducted honestly. At any rate Marta’s sisters crafted a dome-shaped crown from the most beautiful stalks of grain. After they decorated the wreath with flowers, ribbons, hazelnuts, and the fruit of the mountain ash — traditions so old that no one knew why any more -, they took it to the Kwasigroch farm, in the village of Szczepanki.

Wearing the wreath was an honor, to be worn by a young girl involved in the harvesting who was considered a very good worker. The chosen girl, Danuta Kwasigroch (16), was driven to church in great pomp and ceremony, wearing a folk costume and the wreath on her head while sitting in a wagon pulled by four horses decorated in greenery and surrounded by other young maidens wearing folk costumes and flowers in their hair. The group was followed by all those involved in the harvest, most walking, some lucky enough to own farm wagons. Fr. Berent blessed the wreath before Mass. Afterwards the entire procession made for the manor house at Rogóźno Zamek, singing songs that were known only in the Szczepanki area.

The procession stopped at the gate leading to the Rogoziński palace, its members continuing to sing until Lord Rogoziński emerged. Danuta approached wearing the wreath, and Lord R. removed it himself and placed it aside. She was given a handsome reward. Marta Nering had dreamed of someday being the Harvest celebration queen. Continually she had to dismiss such musings as she watched all this from a distance.

After rewarding those that offered the wreath, Lord Rogoziński signaled to the musicians to start playing. Taking Danuta in his arms, he started the dancing with a lively krakowiak. The village band played with abandon in a scratchy, error-filled style that people expected. Now the part of the festivities that everyone had been waiting for, the dancing and refreshments, began in earnest. Marta hung around for a while, holding little Valentine. A few people came by and made courteous small talk with her, and coochy-cooed the baby.

When Marta got home she cried herself to sleep.

When the Harvest Home queen got home she hung the wreath above the door of her family’s living room as a symbol of prosperity, knelt down to say her prayers, and plopped into her rye-straw mattress a very contented girl.

Sun. August 21, 1842. There was a long-standing custom in Poland. Groups of people all over Poland would form and walk to the shrine of Our Lady of Częstochowa, praying along the way, maybe carrying a large cross, hoping to arrive there for her feast day, August 26th. If their starting point were far-enough off as to entail an overnight stay, people in villages on the route who were not on pilgrimage would offer them a place to sleep and food. Today after his sermon Fr. Berent made the announcement that the Prussian authorities were not going to let people leave the country (Częstochowa was now in the Russian partition).

Chapter Four: Valentine, Three Months Old

Tues. August 30, 1842. St. Rose of Lima. Rosa Nering took her children to 6:00 am Mass on this, her namesday. There was much mention of virginity in the Mass, and Rosa found herself wallowing in self-pity. “I should have become a nun”, she thought; “then I wouldn’t have all this grief with an alcoholic husband”.

Marta prayed, “Lord, I have lost my virginity. Please don’t punish me by my never havin’ a husband”.

Tues. September 13, 1842. The Eve of Yom Kippur. In Łasin’s town square Rabbi Shmuel Karnowski closed his Kashruth chicken store at noon, went home and cleaned up for the Afternoon Service. Upon entering the synagog he prayed aloud,

„How goodly are Thy tents, O Jacob, thy tabernacles, O Israel! God, I love the shelter of Thy house, the place where Thy glory dwells. Trusting in the abundance of Thy grace, I enter Thy house, and bow down to Thee, at the shrine of Thy holiness. I bow down, bend my knee, prostrate myself before Thee, my Maker. To Thee, O God, I address my prayer in an acceptable time; respond, O Lord, to me, with the truth of Thy salvation.”

He felt himself unburdening the problem he was having with his wayward son, Moses. He always found comfort in resorting to the synagog, whether it was full, as at present, or empty. He felt like a child seeking comfort in the strong arms of a loving daddy.

After the people’s response Shmuel recited Psalm 145. When he reached the lines,

“The Lord upholds all who are falling, and raises up all who are bowed down,”

his voice caught in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears. “Calm yourself!” he ordered; “You have a lot of work ahead of you.” It happened again when he reached,

“The Lord is near to all who call on Him, who call on Him in truth.”

“I am calling out to You, I, I, I!”, he shouted out desperately in his mind. He used the time during the hymn that the choir sang after the Eighteen Benedictions to pray for strength to go on.

His final prayer contained the phrases,

“Grant me fortitude to be silent… and to be humble with all men. Enlighten my heart by Thy instruction… Save me with Thy power and respond to me so that Thy beloved ones may rejoice… May He who makes peace in high Heaven also grant peace to us and to all Israel. Amen.”

After the congregation went home, he stayed behind in the empty synagog and meditated on this last prayer.

“When I married Moses’s mother, I had not really wanted children. I had selfishly wanted exclusive access to Rivka. What was I thinking? I was so crazily in love with her. Then Moses had come along and ruined that. I had nursed a grudge against Moses for a long time after the birth. I had accommodated myself to being a father more and more, as each succeeding child had come along. But I had treated Moses, my firstborn, as different. ‘Evil speech’ says the prayer! Yes, I have uttered evil speech against my son. I see now that I have done so to justify my bad attitude toward him.”

He ended his ruminations with the realization that he had to get home, eat, and get ready for the Evening Service.

Sundown was at 6:27. Shmuel began the Divine Service this Tuesday evening as he would on a Sabbath, with a Prayer of Silent Devotion. He had in mind himself in general, and his relations with Moe in particular, as he silently read the following:

“O God… I approach humbly Thy holy throne in this solemn moment of self-inquiry, to seek encouragement and confidence, enabling me to review the past year’s joys and afflictions. Weary from life’s endless struggles, its thousand changes and disappointments, I seek refuge and consolation in Thy temple, to utter before Thee my innermost feelings, to find again my own self, to delve into the secrets of my soul, to behold my conduct in the mirror of truth, and present myself at the throne of Your eternal justice.”

“When I review my life anguish seizes me. I have so often forgotten Thee in the allurements of life; and so seldom sought eternal and imperishable treasures. I have so often forgotten suffering fellow-beings, and neglected to thank Thee for Thy bountiful gifts, by either pious words, or charitable deeds. Have I grown in goodness; am I today wiser or better as I approach my grave? I have neglected Thy words, disregarded Thy precepts. Therefore my heart trembles. If You judge me according to my deeds, I deserve not Thy blessings nor thy grace. Father, show mercy to me, to the sinful child of dust, and be not a stern Judge and King to Thy trembling creature.”

He prayed on at some length in this vein of self-accusation. He ended this section of the service with,

“Open my lips, O Lord, that my mouth may utter Thy praise for ever and ever. Amen.”

After an introductory hymn was sung by the choir, the Evening Service proper was begun. In it Shmuel and his cantor alternated in praising God.

After some prayers of atonement the Ark was opened. Other prayers were uttered and the Ark was closed. Then Shmuel led the congregation in praying to their deceased fathers, mothers, wives, husbands, children, brothers, sisters, friends, and those of the congregation who had died during the year, and brought the service to a close. Afterwards he returned home, exhausted. Knowing that he had work to do tomorrow, Yom Kippur, he went to bed about nine pm. The family didn’t have to do so, but out of consideration for him, followed suit.

*

Moe knew that this was the Eve of Yom Kippur; he decided to work anyway to spite his father. At sundown (6:27), the end of his day’s work, Moe had a throbbing headache. He drove back to Łasin and hung around Nudelman’s dive for a while, hoping to kill the pain with drink.

Then he drove over to Szczepanki and parked his horse and wagon in some woods, where no one would see. He waited until all the lights in the village were extinguished, then he waited some more. After he was sure that everyone was asleep Moe quietly crept over to St. Laurence church. With a log he battered in the doors, went up to the altar, threw the crucifix down on the floor and stomped on it. He then turned his attention to the tabernacle and smashed it open. He took the ciborium and sprayed the consecrated Hosts on the floor; then he ground them to bits with his boots. He found an open space in the woods and let out a wolf-like howl. Returning home to Łasin about 10:00 pm he slipped into his bed unobserved, with only a dim memory of what he had done. His head throbbed all the more.

Wed. September 14, 1842. Yom Kippur. Some time before dawn (5:38) Moe woke up with the same terrible headache. In the darkness he quietly re-dressed and went outside. Going to the Karnowski stable he pulled bales of straw and hay over to the synagog and spread them along the foundation on the back and sides. He struck match after match and threw them into the dry bales, and quickly returned home and slid into bed. His heart was pounding with excitement, hoping that the fire would not be discovered until it was too late. This same pounding was adding to the agony he was experiencing in his head. He wanted desperately to fall asleep, but the pain would not permit that.

*

Theo Welsch, the Łasin policeman, was born and raised in Württemburg, Germany. He could read and write, but had had difficulty keeping himself employed and his family fed there. Then he read a poster advertising a police job in Łasin and informing that the government was subsidizing the move thereto: free housing for a year, a stipend for food and clothing, furniture, kitchenware — all this so as to “strengthen the German element there”. It was an offer too good to pass up.

So here he was, living in Łasin, in what had been a part of Poland until 1772. All that had been promised him had been given. In fact, though he had begun as an ordinary policeman, he had developed skill as a detective. He was proud of his status, and expected people to use his title.

He didn’t like the Poles, but he was determined to be fair to them. There were times he felt downright sorry for them. He was exasperated that they did not appreciate the fact that the Germans had come to establish order in their country. What he was blind to see was that Prussia, Russia and Austria had created the disorder as a pretext for going in and splitting up Poland.

A Polish peasant came into the station and in broken German excitedly explained that he had arrived early for 6:00 Mass at St. Laurence church in Szczepanki, a bit over 3 miles down the road. He discovered that it had been broken-into and sacrilege had occurred.

A non-practicing Lutheran, Welsch wasn’t buying the sacrilege part; still, breaking in a door and destroying furniture were crimes. So he finished up some work he was doing, got on his horse and followed the peasant. He arrived about 9:30 am and knocked at the door of the rectory, to be informed that Fr. Berent was in church.