She didn’t like the Prince Albert either. She said it was too slow. Who ever heard, she said, of a single trip taking ten days?
We tried explaining that it was because of the ocean, not the ship. Pinye pointed out that there’s three times more water than land in the world. Elye said it’s only two times. He knows his geography, he said. The world is two-thirds water and one-third land. That means twice as much water. “Three times,” Pinye said. “Twice,” insisted Elye. “Three times!” “Twice!” They fought for a while and made up.
Who would be the cantor on Yom Kippur? My brother Elye, of course. Not that he was ever a cantor before, but his father was a famous one. And he has a good voice and knows Hebrew — what more could anyone want? Pinye had the whole ship begging Elye to sing the Kol Nidrei. He spread the word that the young man with the blond beard — that’s Elye — is a musical wonder. You should hear him pray! Not to mention the little man who is his brother (that’s me!) and sings a mean soprano. It’s enough to make God himself take voice lessons.
It didn’t matter how much Elye tried begging off or swore he had never been a High Holy Day cantor. Nothing in the world could get him out of it. He was practically dragged to the prayer stand — I mean to a round table covered with a white sheet. Pinye said to me:
“Let’s go, little man. Get to work!”
We gave those passengers a Kol Nidrei to remember!
But the Kol Nidrei was nothing compared to the prayers that came after. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. It started with some sighing and throat-scraping. Then came the quiet sniffles. That led to the blowing of noses, which grew so loud after a while that the whole place was bawling its head off. Everyone was thinking of where he had been a year ago — in his own town by his own prayer stand in his own synagogue with its own cantor and choir boys.
Now we were vagabonds, so many head packed together in a cattle drive. Believe me, even the first-class spiffs with their shiny top hats couldn’t hold back their tears. They had their silk handkerchiefs out and were pretending to mop their brows, but I could see them crying sure enough. The stewards and sailors stood at a respectful distance, watching the Jews rock back and forth in their white prayer shawls. They must have been thinking that all that sorrow did us good. Elye gave it all he had while I pitched in with the harmonies. My mother stood in the women’s corner in her good silk shawl, holding her prayer book and weeping her heart out.
She was blissful. At last she was in her element.
The next morning we rose early to start the service on time. We might as well have stayed in bed. Not only couldn’t anyone pray, no one could walk or even stand. Our heads were spinning too fast to see straight. We felt so bad we wanted to die. As a matter of fact, that’s what we thought we were doing.
What was the matter? I’m too tired to go on now. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.
CROSSING THE RED SEA
I was telling you about the humdinger that hit the Prince Albert that Yom Kippur. It was a bad one. We’ll never forget it.
It didn’t start out like much, just a strip of black cloud at the edge of the sky soon after Kol Nidrei. My friend Mendl was the first to notice it. That’s because all the other Jews were still yammering below and reciting Psalms after the prayers. Mendl and I had gone for a walk around the ship and were sitting quietly in a corner. It was a calm, warm night and we were feeling happy and a little sad. I don’t know what Mendl was thinking. I was thinking about God. I was thinking how big he must be, sitting up there in charge of everything. How did it feel to be prayed to and praised by so many Jews pouring out their hearts to you?
My mother says God hears and sees everything and knows my every thought. I was hoping she was wrong, because just then I was thinking of a juicy apple, a sweet pear, and a nice glass of cold water. The potatoes were giving me heartburn.
Elye would kill me if he caught me drinking on Yom Kippur. He wanted me to fast the whole twenty-four hours, even though I wasn’t thirteen. “We’ll see about that,” my mother said. Now she was looking for me everywhere. A sailor showed her where Mendl and I were sitting in the prow. “Motl?” she yelled. “Motl!”
“What is it, Mama?”
“You know what it is! Go to sleep! Have you forgotten you have to get up early tomorrow? It’s Yom Kippur.”
Not that I wanted to, but I went to bed.
The sky was black when we woke in the morning. The sea was angry and wild, its waves higher than the ship. They tossed the Prince Albert up and down like a toy. The sailors staggered like poisoned mice. The stewards clung to the railings. The passengers hugged the walls and reeled with each step.
All at once it began to pour buckets. The thunderclaps came one after another. God was whipping on his chariot — and on his holiest day! Bolts of lightning flashed across the dark sky. The Prince Albert groaned and rolled with the waves. The rain pelted down. It felt like a second Noah’s flood. But hadn’t God sworn that the first was the last?
“Crossing the Red Sea was nothing compared to this,” said my brother Elye.
“Nothing!” Pinye echoed. It was the first time I had ever heard them agree.
The comparison caught on. Before long everyone was looking out the portholes and talking about the Red Sea. I mean everyone who didn’t run to the deck to puke his empty guts out. Yom Kippur? Prayers? Who could even remember what day it was?
The first to break down in our family was Brokheh. For a while she screamed she was dying. Then she began swearing at Elye. What ever made him think of going to America? She had known all along that Siberia was better. Why, Siberia was gold next to America!
My mother came to Elye’s defense. She tried explaining that all things came from God and had to be borne. It said in the Bible …but my mother never said what it said in the Bible because just then she turned green. One look at her made Taybl sick too.
Pinye thought it was funny. “Just look at them!” he declared. “Women are one big laugh.” He jammed his cap down sideways and stuck his hands in his pockets. “They’re ninnies! What do I care if there’s a storm and the ship is rolling? I use my brains and figure out what to do. When the ship rolls that way, I bend this way; when it rolls back this way, I bend that way. It’s called keeping your equilibrium.”
As Pinye was showing us his equilibrium, my brother Elye started looking pretty bad. Soon the two of them rushed outside to chuck up whatever was still in them. So did the other passengers. Then everyone dragged himself off to his bunk and collapsed like a bale of hay. And we weren’t across the Red Sea yet!
Mendl and I held out the longest. Mendl had been taught a trick by a fellow emigrant, an old sea hand who liked to give advice. He had been to America three times. The trick, he said, was to stay on deck with your eyes on the horizon while pretending you were riding a sleigh. Before long the old sea hand was sprawled out like a corpse and Mendl and I were soaked to the bone. We couldn’t walk a straight line back to our bunks. We had to be taken by the hand and led there.
How long did crossing the Red Sea take? Maybe a day and maybe two or three. I can’t rightly say. All I remember is how good it felt to be alive when it was over. The sky was pure as gold. The sea was smooth as glass. The Prince Albert skimmed the water looking like new, churning foam and spray in all directions. The passengers revived and flocked to the sunshine to enjoy a bright new day.