"Neither you—nor me."
A Lost "L'Ag Beomer"
Our teacher, "Reb" Nissel the small one—so called on account of his size—allowed himself to be led by the nose by his assistants. Whatever they wanted they got. When the first assistant said the children were to be sent home early that day, he sent them home early. The second assistant said that the boys would turn the world upside down, and ought to be kept at school, and he kept them at school. He could never decide anything for himself. That was why his assistants controlled the school, and not he. At other schools the assistants teach the children to wash their hands and say the blessing. At our school, the assistants would not do this for us, nor fetch us our meals, nor take us to school on their shoulders. No, they liked to go for our meals. They ate them themselves on the road. We did not dare to tell the master of this. The assistants kept us in fear and trembling. If a boy whispered a word of their doings to the teacher, he would be flogged, his skin would be cut. Once, a daring boy told the master something; and the assistant beat him so terribly that he was laid up in bed for months. He warned the boys never to tell the master anything, no matter what the assistants did.
This period of our schooldays might be called the Tyranny of the Assistants.
. . . . .
And it came to pass that we were under the yoke of the assistants. One year, we had a cold "L'ag Beomer." It was a cold, wet May, such as we sometimes had in our town, Mazapevka. The sun barely showed itself. A sharp wind blew, brought us clouds, tore open our coats, and threw us off our feet. It was not pleasant out of doors.
Just then the assistants took it into their heads to take us for a walk outside the town, so that we might play at wars, with swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows.
It is an old custom amongst Jewish children, to become war-like on the "L'ag Beomer." They arm themselves from head to foot with wooden swords, pop-guns and bows and arrows. They take food with them, and go off to wage war. Jewish children who are the whole year round closed up in small "Chedorim," oppressed by fears of the master, and trembling under the whips of the assistants, when "L'ag Beomer" comes round, and they may go out into the open, armed from head to foot, imagine that they are giants who can overcome the strongest foe and reduce the world to ruins. All at once they grow brave. They step forward eagerly, singing songs that are a curious mixture of Yiddish and Russian.
"One, two, three, four!
Jewish children
Learn the 'Torah,'
Believe in miracles,
Are not afraid.
Hear, O Israel! Nothing matters.
We are not afraid of any one,
Excepting God."
And we carried out the old custom. We took down our swords of last year from the attic, and we made bows from the hoops of old wine barrels. Pop-guns the assistants provided us with, for money, of course—fine guns with which one could shoot flies if they only stood still long enough. In a word, we had all the Jewish weapons to frighten tiny infants to death. And we provided ourselves with food in good earnest, each boy as much as the Lord had blessed him with, and his mother would give him, out of her generosity. We arrived at "Cheder" armed from head to foot, and our pockets bulging out with good things—rolls, cakes, boiled eggs, goose-fat, cherry-wine, fruit, fowls, livers, tea and sugar, and preserves and jam, and also many "groschens" in money. Each boy tried to show off by bringing the best and the largest quantity. And we wished to please the assistants. They praised us, and said we were very good boys. They took our food and put it into their bags. They placed us in rows, like soldiers, and commanded us.