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3.

Religious Life

CELEBRATION OF THE SHABBAT formed the center of our religious tradition. Friday afternoon, Father took me to the mikveh, or ritual baths. First, each one poured a bucket of water over himself and washed with soap. Then we went into a kind of sauna, a steam-filled room with about twenty long steps going up one side. I managed to climb to the fourth step, but the higher steps were too hot for me. After this, we immersed ourselves in cold water. We emerged from the mikveh clean – inwardly and outwardly. Then we dressed in our best clothes and returned home for the lighting of the Shabbat candles. This ceremony moved us deeply, and Mother often had tears in her eyes as she lit the candles.

After the candles were lit, Father, Leo and I went to the synagogue for evening prayers. The ancient melodies sung by the vorbeter (cantor) pierced my heart. I could understand only a few of the Hebrew words, but the melodies and the feeling of those chanted prayers expressed clearly the persecution and suffering of our people, the longing for God and for redemption. I relive those Friday evenings still today when I secret myself away and listen to my scratchy recordings of Yossele Rosenblatt.

If any traveler or stranger was at the synagogue, it was considered a mitzvah (good deed) to bring him home for the Shabbat meal. Mother always hoped that Father would bring someone along and he often did. Father led us into the house singing, “Peace be unto you from the watching angels,” and “Who can find a virtuous woman? Her price is far above rubies.” We washed our hands ceremonially and gathered around the festive table. He blessed the wine and then the challah. The meal then went on for hours: maybe gefilte fish followed by lokshen mit yoch and then a dessert. After the meal, Father read to us from Sholom Aleichem or from other famous Yiddish authors. To close the long evening, we sang many prayers and psalms together.

Sabbath morning we slept in. After a light breakfast – maybe coffee cake – the whole family went to the synagogue. Friday evening was solemn, but on Saturday morning there was a more social atmosphere. I loved to watch the reader open the special cupboard where the scrolls of the Torah were stored, pointing towards Jerusalem. He removed the velvet covering in the prescribed way and laid them out on the pulpit in the middle of the synagogue. My father or other men from the congregation were called up for the special honor of assisting the reader.

There were many rituals associated with the readings from the Torah and the prophets. These were solemnly performed, but a casual, untroubled atmosphere tempered the service. During the long readings, my father sometimes nodded off; another man might then come up behind him, pull on his ears and then pretend that he had done nothing. Shul went on for hours.

During all this, of course, my mother sat in the women’s part of the synagogue. I think they took it all more seriously than the men. Even though she didn’t understand Hebrew, you could see that she felt it in her heart. The younger children could go freely between the men’s and the women’s sections; often I found my mother weeping.

After a substantial meal, we usually settled down for an afternoon’s nap. Sometimes, my father took me with him to the rabbi’s house. In some ways, this was the focus of spiritual life for the men. They discussed Scripture and the Talmud with the rabbi. My brother Leo didn’t come with us; he was busy with his activities in the Zionist Youth Movement.

When the first stars appeared in the evening, we went again to the synagogue. But the real closing ceremony was held at home. We had another meal and sang praise to God who made the difference between light and darkness, between the sacred and profane. We followed Shabbat – “the queen” – to the door and bid her farewell for another week. Then business started again; we had to think about tomorrow.

Sprinze, Mother, Milech, Grandmother, Rahel