Bonzje hāt still gelebt un' is' still gestorben; wie a Schatten is' er durch durch unser Welt.
Auf Bonzje's Bris hāt man kēin Wein nischt getrunken, es hāben kēin Kōsses geklungen. Zu Barmizwe hāt er kēin klingendige Drosche nischt gesāgt ... gelebt hāt er wie a gro, klēin Kerndel Samd beim Breg vun'm Jam, zwischen Milljonen seins Gleichen; un' as der Wind hāt ihm aufgehōben un' auf der anderer Seit Jam arüber gejāgt, hāt es Kēiner nischt bemerkt.
Beim Leben hāt die nasse Blote kēin Schlad vun sein
"Let storm the wind, let it howl in anger: let the deep seethe, and boil, and roar! However it be, we Jews are lost, the ocean alone can allay our burning wound...."
XVIII. BONTSIE SILENT
Here, in this world, the death of Bontsie Silent produced no impression. You will ask in vain who Bontsie was, how he lived, and what caused his death. Did his heart burst, did his strength give out, or were his bones crushed under a heavy load ... who knows? Maybe, after all, he died of starvation!
There would have been displayed more interest if it had been a street-car horse that had fallen dead. Newspapers would have reported about it, hundreds of people would have congregated from all the streets to look at the carcass and even to survey the spot where the accident had occurred!
But even the street-car horse would not be honored in such a distinguished way if there were as many millions of them in existence as there are men.
Bontsie had lived quietly, and he died quietly. He passed through the world like a shadow.