My Dear Shtetl Motele

Grandma Rekhl

Grandma Rekhl—my mother’s mother, whose name the members of the household and the people of the town all pronounced with exactness: Rekhl precisely with an “e,” differentiating between her and the other grandmother, my father’s mother, Rokhl with an “o.”

Well, Grandma Rekhl, an “evil woman”¹ up to the point of being cursed, but shrewdest of the shrewd, was an old woman experienced in life, learned in the tekhines [women’s prayer book], strict and rebellious, but energetic, strong-natured, fearless, opinionated, and strong-willed, participating in public matters and an independent thinker. And one example that occurred in her town of Sirnik: she didn’t like the cantor because of his wife, who sinned in the matter of a chicken that was not her own. And on Shabbat, during the morning prayers, Grandma left the women’s section, approached the lectern and turned to the cantor: “Miscreant that you are, when your wife did such and such—can you still be a shaliaḥ tsibur [prayer leader]? Go away,” she says and acts on it: dragging him by his sidelocks from the stage and no one protests “Rekhl! . . .”

And another example: before Moshe Yuda the doctor “ruled,” another doctor lived in Motele. A poor member of the Polish szlachta [gentry] and his wife, of French origins, who sought a secondary income, they found two Jewish girls, my young sister and her friend. The teacher developed a taste for beauty in the girls (“a sixth sense” totally lacking in our Jewish brethren in those days in a town like Motele), and taught them the art of planting flowers in windowsill pots, embroidery, knitting, and other similar arts.

Grandma saw this iniquity, and did not take note (Job 11:11): Childish behavior! open openings and hollow hollows—“do not destroy”² in relation to a piece of cloth and strands of yarn and “a broom” on the window—“do not destroy” as far as the flower pots. Although in retrospect—leave them, the world is crazy, and they say these things are good for a wedding match. Let it be . . .

But lately that matron began to teach them French. That was when Grandma’s patience ran out. “Is this possible? Is this heard of? My granddaughter should speak galkhes!³ My enemies must not be rewarded thusly!” She stood scolding the poor matron, grabbed the two maidens and pushed them with both hands to their mothers, pronouncing the verdict: “From now on—it’s over! Make the birkat ha-gomel [blessing of redemption] because I saved them them from apostasy.”

And another example that proves how far an iron will can go: I, your faithful servant [Psalm 116:16], Grandma forcibly and furtively drew me [into the world] via the [blessing] of a tsadik, I assume he was the tsadik of Stepan.

I was an only male child, and deemed the son of aged parents (if this concept can be attributed to a father who died at the age of forty-eight when I was already at the age of bar mitzvah). Prior [to my birth], my mother had given birth to three girls and no son. Who would stick his nose into such an issue? Grandma! And lo and behold she turned to “a wave” of gypsies and Tatars, talismans and spells, wonder-workers and miracle-workers, and to top it all off, “good Jews” [i.e., tsadikim, Hasidic leaders]. And all of these promised and promised, but nothing came of it. And the day came when Grandma made the decision: “Either now or never! I shall sin to the Lord and to the people, but this will come to an end, for better or for worse.”

And loaded with this decision she came to the tsadik of Stepan. With pidyon [remuneration] and a kvitl [note] like last year: “A male child to my daughter Khane Shifre bas Rekhl.”

The righteous man promises: “Go in peace, and the Lord will fulfill your wish.”

Grandma does not budge.

“Woman, what else?”

“Rebbe! Enough with your empty excuses.”

“And what else can I do for you?”

“Promise me with all your heart that a male grandchild shall be born next year to the day” [cf. Genesis 18:10].