A Boy In the Night

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What you are about to read is a very real and true story of my own ancestors. While I have slightly embellished in order to give voice to my family members, I wanted to keep as close to the tale as possible, preserving the integrity of my family's history. As is the tradition of the Jewish people, this story has been passed down orally through generations, and we recently discovered a handwritten account that was probably penned close to a hundred years ago. It was the same story, almost word for word, that had been told to my grandfather's generation, my mother's, and my own for nearly two hundred years. A story that I had also told my own children. The boy you are about to meet not only lived through this incredible event, but more events that we are only just beginning to discover, thanks to the wonders of the internet. But that's a further story for another day.

In honor of Mother's Day this weekend, I'd like to remember a woman whose bravery preserved generations beyond her. I don't know what horrors she faced, or how she met her end, but I am thankful.

Happy Mother's Day, Bubbe Ruchel.

The Pale of Settlement--1835

"I can't breathe, Mame!"

"Shh, bubeleh, it won't be much longer." She gently caressed his face and he nuzzled into her chest where they hid under the coarse fabric that covered the vegetables--and their trembling forms.

He inhaled his mother's scent, trying to slow his panicked breathing; she smelled of freshly baked bread and potato soup--their supper earlier that night. It was his favorite and she had spent days doing all of his favorite things before...he choked back a sob in his throat and reached to touch the lump inside his coat. It was the rest of the bread from their meal. She had wrapped it in her favorite handkerchief and given it to him for the journey in case he got hungry. He was scared. He knew that he must run away to be safe, but leaving his mother was more scary than any danger he was leaving behind. Four years ago the soldiers had come and taken his father. No matter how much he and his mother had cried, the cruel men still took him away. He had prayed every night as he knelt by his little bed that Yehov-h would bring his father home, but his family never saw the beloved man again. Once, he'd thrown rocks in the direction of some soldiers in the street because others like them had taken his father away. His mother had quickly scooped him up and told him that they must be kind to others, even those that hurt them; that Yehov-h would send them a Deliverer just like He had sent Moses to bring the Hebrews out of Egypt. His little sister had been just a baby then. Tears sprang to his eyes as he thought about her waiting for their mother to return. She had been left in the care of an elderly neighbor who lived in the next apartment. His sister had been sickly for most of her life and he was very protective of her. Who would bring her flowers from outside now that he was sent away? Who would tell her stories about the world outside of their snug little home? Who would tell her stories that made her smile as she lay sick in bed, fits of coughing shaking her tiny body?

The clattering of wooden wagon wheels over the Roytah Brik snapped him back to the present. He could hear the rushing waters of the River Prut flowing beneath them and he shuddered from both cold and trepidation.

"Do you hear that, bubeleh? That is the sound of leaving Egypt. The waters of the Red Sea, they are parting for you."

His mother always found a way to tie everything back to the stories in the Torah and this particular one was her favorite. He imagined the dark, foreboding waters below them parting as they crossed the bridge into an unknown wilderness of his very own. He buried his face deeper into her clothes, tears burning his eyes again and carving canyons into his cheeks as they fell. Every clack of the wheels brought him one moment closer to saying goodbye. It was dangerous to leave Bessarabia, but it was even more dangerous for him to stay. Soldiers were coming in the night to steal children like him from their beds. They were using little Jewish boys---and even the girls---to form an army and one by one his friends had started to disappear, never to be heard from again. Their mothers cried in agony as they mourned the loss of their children; sometimes the halls of the ramshackle apartment buildings echoed with the sounds of grieving women. Many of them began to search for families in other countries who would hide the young ones. After the lucky children were spirited away to safety, those mothers often disappeared themselves. Only, they were taken away by soldiers. His mother frantically searched for a solution. An escape. A deliverer. She found a Jewish family across the Romanian border in Iaşi who would protect him, but she was still looking for a place to send his sister. Times were hard and no one wanted to take in a sick four year old girl, much less her mother and brother. So they had to be split up; but finding refuge was no easy task.

The clacking beneath them stopped and the wagon slowed until it stopped, too. His throat started to close as panic crowded in. The farmer climbed down from his seat and pulled back the coarse fabric, letting in the fresh, cold air and a glorious view of the night sky. The stars twinkled down at them from above as if to say that they were guarding them. Keeping their secret. Holding the memories of this night in their own glittery hearts so not a detail would be forgotten.

"I can only give you five minutes." the farmer's voice was gruff, but heavy with sadness, as if he'd seen this very scene too many times before.

His mother helped him down from the wagon and handed him his small satchel. "Don't get lost. Here is the address you need to find, it isn't far from here and they drew this map." She pressed a piece of paper into his hand.

She straightened his clothes and caressed his cheek for the hundredth time.

"Be a good boy? Who do I kid--you are always my good boy." her voice cracked, sounding as though it were a pebble under the pressure of a boulder.

She gathered him into her arms and their hot tears began to soak one another's clothing.

"Do not forget how much I love you. How much we all love you."

"I won't, Mame. Not ever." he shook his head fervently before hugging her again with such a fierceness only brought on by heartbreak.

Behind them, the farmer cleared his throat nervously.

"You must go now, my son. Run to your freedom. I will be with you every step of the way," she covered his face in kisses and they said 'I love you' over and over, then she pointed him in the direction he should go. "Go with Yehov-h and with my love, bubeleh. Do not forget His ways!"

"I won't, Mame. I love you, too!"

His face wet with tears, he left her as she instructed. Only once did he turn back to wave. She blew him a kiss in return, then seemed to be swallowed up by the mist and the night. He did not see her rend her clothing and fall to her knees weeping; her hands scooping up dirt to sprinkle over her head as was an old custom. He did not see the kindly farmer help her to her feet and wipe away his own tears at the scene of a mother saying goodbye to her child forever. He only saw what she wanted him to see: a lamplight outside a front door, and inside that door was her greatest desire for him; freedom.

He timidly knocked on the door and when it opened he bravely said, "I am the son of Ruchel. I am Aaron Massi."

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