The Messenger

The Messenger

What that story is all about?

It is about a lot of things, actually. It is about me, my wife, the children, about coming to America, about the Statue of Liberty, about Riga, about Texas, about the Lubavitcher Rebbe

( in Yiddish we say Rebbe, not Rabbi), about the music and the ice cream, about Hitler's favorite composer Richard Wagner, and about the mysterious lake in Texas and a tiny old town with a perplexing history, about an American Indian, and about the main question of my whole life, and about the messenger, who unexpectedly delivers the answer to me, and about who is the messenger in our life. In other words, it is about my life as a Russian-speaking Jewish immigrant in America. At that point, I know you are raising your eyebrows wondering, from the Statue of Liberty to the Lubavitcher Rebbe in one story? Hah?

Anybody's life is a very confusing and convoluted story, isn't it?

For our family, it is even more so...

Therefore please allow yourself a comfortable time in your favorite chair. Get yourself a favorite adult beverage, if you have one, and start reading. This story isn't short and is a bit complicated…, and you need about a good half-hour if not more.

And so, as the story goes…

****

- Look at that ice cream. It looks so, so good. Would you like one? - I asked.

- Are you asking or telling, - Lily smiled back at me.

We were on the Staten Island Ferry going to see the Statue of Liberty. Summer of 1982. It was our first visit to New York City as tourists and not just as a tourist per se. We were American tourists! Yes! We had it made already.

Two whole years in the USA, wow! I got a good job as a draftsman, Lily worked as a bookkeeping clerk in Younkers, the biggest and the most prestigious department store in Des Moines, IA. We both earned some vacation days, saved a little money, and went on the first long-distance escapade leaving our son Mark behind with the grandparents. It was our first day in the Big City and we decided to start from the trip to see the Statue of Liberty.

It was the time before the internet and the only understandable, for us, source of information was the old New York's Russian newspaper, Novoe Russkoe Slovo-New Russian Word. It was in that paper's travel section we found out how to see the statue free of charge. One had to go to the free ferry for Staten Island and make a round trip. The ferry would be going within 100 yards from the Big Lady and we will be able to see it all up close and personal without spending any money. So that was what we did.

We got to the ferry, found the good-view seats on the wooden bench of the upper-level deck, and got ready. As soon as the ferry started to move the snack bar opened and I went to check it out. I noticed a very reasonably priced ice cream there. It was a Sundae cone from the machine actually, but to us, the newcomers, it was real American ice cream, alright.

- Look at that ice cream. It looks so, so good. Would you like one? - I asked.

- Are you asking or telling, - Lily smiled back at me.

I acted like a real gentleman and in a minute we had a large, swirly, tasty Sundae cone in our hands to enjoy. We got on our bench comfortably and started to lick the delicious melting dessert. It was a pretty warm day and the ice cream started to melt. It definitely melted faster than we could lick it down. It started to drip and soon enough a white sticky puddle grew around our bench. Meanwhile, the other passengers young and old enjoyed their ice cream without any visible problems.

... Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry...

Because the sky is blue, ah ah, ah, ah, ah...,

- my favorite Beatles song sounded from the overhead loudspeakers, but I didn't hear or see anything.

We tried to lick faster, desperately, but more and more of our treat went down to the floor than to our mouths. A little girl on the bench next to ours was eating the same cone as I.

She started to make faces and to laugh at me for my clumsiness. That was embarrassing. Meanwhile, we passed by the Statue of Liberty and didn't even look at it. We were too busy figuring out our ice cream nibble failure. Finally, I threw the end of my cone to the wastebasket.

- You know, apparently, we don't know how to eat ice cream in America,- I said.

- And I just ruined my dress, - Lily replied.

On the way back, I didn't even look at the Statue. I looked around, trying to understand what was wrong with our ice cream eating techniques. How did that happen that we couldn't enjoy it as well as anybody around us? What is wrong with us? Are we really that different? And suddenly, I understood, it was very simple. Back in Riga, the ice cream was always inside the waffle cone or container. So people licked ice cream from the top down. In the US they put a big ball of ice cream on a smaller cone, so one should lick the ice cream from the bottom up. This is how it wouldn't be melting and dripping on the floor. Eureka! We didn't see the Statue of Liberty that day, we couldn't. We were too busy with the ice cream, but we learned how to do it the American way and I thought, it was a fair trade.

- What will be next today? - Lily asked.

She didn't share my excitement about a newly learned American skill. Her beautiful yellow dress was ruined. Of course, I had a lot of must-see places on our itinerary. But I had also the one, that wasn't on anybody's must to see list.

- Let's go to Brooklyn to see the Lubavitcher Rebbe residence, - I offered.

Back in Des Moines Lily and I grew to become close friends with the young rabbi from New York City. He was the one, who on the first day of our arrival put a mezuzah (*1) on the door of our apartment. I didn't even know, at that time, that the rabbi could be as young as myself. I thought the rabbis only came as old as the time, ancient, and with a long white beard.

Our young rabbi didn't mind my broken English and the endless questions of why, why, and why... Those questions poured out of me endlessly. We had merged in a very special bond together and it worked well. I got the opportunity to learn and he got the opportunity to teach.

Rabbi Moishe Kasowithz was the one who told me about the Lubavitcher Rebbe and his unique view of Judaism. I was really curious to see his place in New York City. And so, we went.

The subway was dark and really confusing. It was the New York's subway of the early 80s after all. It took me a while to get orientated, but when I finally understood how the system worked, it seemed to be not problematic at all. As soon as we got to the Brooklyn side I, however, managed to get on the wrong train and we got lost for a bit. We changed several trains and got out twice at the wrong stations, but finally, we got to the stop we needed.

The subway exit was under the railroad bridge. It was stuffy and smelled like urine. The lights under the bridge were bright yellow and everything around us was of the color of rust.

And the crowd? The crowd didn't seem to be friendly at all. Nobody smiled, everyone looked tired and on the run. It was spooky, we really wanted to turn around and go back underground to the safety of the subway, but my curiosity took over and so we went.

A few blocks from the subway station everything became better. Redbrick apartment buildings lined up on both sides of the street. Most of the people around were dressed in black, men and women alike. Some of the ladies rolled old-fashioned baby carriages. Somehow it didn't look real but like a typical old city from the good, old black-and-white movie.

We walked for a few blocks and soon came to the address that rabbi Moishe gave me back in Des Moines. There was a group of men, all dressed in black there, gathering and articulating in anticipation of the Great Rabbi coming. I joined the crowd, leaving Lily on the other side of the street.

I don't need to say that my look was very different from those other men. I wore blue jeans and a bright green short-sleeved polo. It was because of my colorful clothes I stood up from the crowd like a white crow. I stood up even more actually because my white crow was brightly green.

Suddenly someone put a kippah(*2) on top of my overgrown hairdo. I didn't mind that.

My timing was perfect. The doors of the shul (*3) opened and a group of older men came outside. I recognized the Rabbi instantly from the pictures I'd seen before. He wasn't a large man but seemed bigger than everybody around him. He had wide broad shoulders and looked like he was carrying some weight. Dressed in black like the others, he stood up with his white beard and his eyes.

Yes, the most special thing about him was the eyes, somewhat slanting, almost squinty, but yet open and seemed to see everything throughout. It was like he smiled all the time but yet was very serious. He held a conversation with the men around him and yet he was by himself at the same time.I had no idea why, but the crowd pushed me forward toward the rabbi, and quickly I found myself standing in the first row.

Men around me were pushing and chanting in Yiddish,

- Ask the Rebbe, ask the Rebbe… -In a minute I was standing there alone, in front of the chanting crowd facing the Great Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, or as we called him in Yiddish the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

- Nu, - the Rebbe asked me smiling, - what do you want to ask?

Suddenly I sensed him as a giant. He overwhelmed me with his demeanor and his eyes went straight through me. At the same time, I felt an incredible kindness radiating from his personality. He instantly realized who I was and asked me in Russian,

- " Noven'kij?" ( are you a newcomer?)

-- I am from Riga, - I reply.

- What do you want to ask?

-- Ask the rebbe, ask the rebbe..., - the crowd was chanting.

- What does it mean to be a jew, and when would be the time that I'll know the answer? - It is all I want to know, - I replied.

I had no idea of how that question came out of me. How could I gather all my thoughts together so well and so quickly?

Yes, I was always wondering about everything Jewish. I wanted to learn, to understand the complicated history of the Jewish people as a nation. I wanted to grasp the essence of the Jewish faith. I asked those questions before and I always liked to elaborate. It is a part of my character to over-complicate things, but at that moment I asked a very simple and very direct question,

- What does it mean to be a Jew and when would be the time that I'll know the answer? -The Rebbe glanced at me smiling, paused for a second, and said,

- I'll give you the book. You start with it, and the rest will be becoming... There was a man from Riga like yourself, he was wandering. His last name is Goldberg. He was with us, and then he wasn't. And then just like you came to us again. You don't know him yet, but the time will come and when you will come to his place, you will be ready to understand… and so you will know.

The Rebbe finished his strange riddle, got a big coin from his pocket, a shiny dollar coin, and gave it to me.

- Remember to do mitzvot… - (*4)Then he reached into his other pocket and gave me a small book, a lite-green paperback,

- It is for you, - he said and walked away.

- Let's go with me, - another bearded man took me by the hand.

- The Rebbe asked me to give you some more books and a little L'Chaim, - he said. (*5)

I followed him. The man was the one from the Rabbi's circle, I thought. He was just a few years older than I, but his beard made him look way senior. He walked slowly, limping heavily on one leg. He caught my gaze pounded by his leg and chuckled:

- Do you think the Lubavitcher Yidden didn't go to Vietnam? Do you… (Yidden is Jews in Yiddish)

- No, no! I didn't think that. Not at all. I am sorry, - I replied.

- You know, you are a very lucky man. The Rebbe doesn't stop and talk with some men on the street like he did with you. You should remember and treasure that, - he said.

We talked some more and came to an old house. I started to worry. I left Lily to wait for me on the other side of the street just for a minute and now I was gone for a while already.

- I need to go back, - I said. - My wife is waiting for me.

- Don't worry, you will be back in a minute.

We came inside an office with a couple of old desks and a lot of bookshelves full of Jewish books. There was another picture on the wall, a different Rebbe, I recognized him too. Rebbe Yosef Yitzchak, the one who lived in Riga before WWII.

- This is Rebbe's study, - the man said.

- There are some more books for you, - and he picked a few books in Russian from the shelf.

- And this is a little L'chaim from the Rebbe, - he said and gave me a little bottle of Smirnoff.

- Thank you, thank you so much. I don't even know how to thank you...

- Don't you thank me, I am just the messenger, thank the Rebbe. And be thankful for who you are, the Jew, - and the man walked away plunking and limping heavily on his right leg.

Lily was waiting for me patiently. She watched everything that was happening from the distance and was moved by it.

- The Rebbe talked to you. I saw that. What did the Rebbe say? Where did you go?

- He asked me if I knew Goldberg ...???

Yakov Goldberg was a good college friend of mine from Riga.

- That doesn't make any sense. Do you know how many Goldbergs in Riga? - Lily asked.- Dozens. A hundred maybe, a lot. What has that got to do with understanding the essence of Judaism? I have no idea, but the books are awesome, and I got a bottle of vodka and a dollar. Oh, and the Rebbe himself gave me that little book. Look.

And I showed Lily the little lite-green paperback, "This is my G-od", by Herman Wouk.

****

Many years went by. The little bottle of vodka disappeared, but the big dollar coin and a little lite-green paperback became my real-life partners. Now, as I am writing this, I see it on my desk, just next to the computer screen. Inadvertently it reminds me of who I am and what is so valuable in ourselves and in all others around us. Even though I didn't really understand the meaning of the words that the great Rebbe told me, that story became very special to me, and for years I was telling to my friends about our special encounter with the great man. Everything passes, that too has passed and in a few years, I stopped thinking about it.

****

I like to say that I wasn't born in Texas but came there as soon as I could. And so it's true, we came to Texas almost 40 years ago from Iowa because I got a new job and the very special love for the state and its people took over our small family at once. We didn't know anyone here, not a soul, but we felt something extremely positive up in the air and we liked it.Texas didn't disappoint us. It took us into a friendly family of people and very soon we understood that we belonged here, even though we shined a bit differently sometimes.

We like to travel, Lily and I. And we like to learn the history of the people and the land, that so instantly became our homeland. That is why, when we are traveling we go to some places that are far from the usual tourist trails and well-advertised attractions. We go to the places that hold an untold history, the history that it is there for us to discover and to interpret.

Wandering through Texas we've inadvertently unveiled a very special and totally unexpected surprise. Our state has a very long and fascinating Jewish history.

I know my New York and California friends are getting ready to shout: "What are you talking about!", but I say, Yes! The Yiddishkayt was an essential part of the majority of small Texas towns among the Germans, Czechs, Pollacks, Brits, Scots, Irish, Italians, and other immigrants. We are the immigrants of the present day. They were the immigrants of the past. There is only one way to connect to the land you are living on, it is the way to learn, the way to know and understand its history.

****

Once, flipping pages of the colorful magazine, in the doctor's office I came across a photograph of the mysterious lake shores. Covered by the greenery of the beautiful water flowers, with the thick layers of the enchanted Spanish moss falling down from overgrown cypress's branches, that lake wasn't like any others I had ever seen. It had a certain perplexity attached and I started asking around about it.

"Good for fishing, too far to drive, down-under on the coon-ass border…",(*6) my coworkers didn't tell me anything I was looking for. All until finally, one man told me it was the only natural lake in the whole state of Texas. Wow! All the other lakes are man-made actually. That was something to investigate! And we decided to drive there.

I knew that most of the lakes in Texas are man-made. I knew, that it was a Jewish french-men by the name of Henry Castro, the engineer and the banker, who got the idea to irrigate wast Texas land and started construction of the river dams, lakes, and power plants. He lived in the early 1800s near San Antonio, Texas. There is a small town named after him, Castroville, TX.

With all of that in mind, we found online a very good deal, we always do that, and rented a small cottage on the lake for a whole week, deciding to spend time by the mysterious lake in a recluse style. The name of the cottage was "The Lily's Pond" and that by itself sealed the deal.

And of course, as I usually do, I read everything about the lake and the area around it.I found that nobody knew about Lake Caddo's existence until late 1815. The local American tribes didn't know and the European settlers didn't. Napoleon sold this territory to the New American Republic among others during the Louisiana Purchase and neither side knew about the lake.It was a Great Madrid earthquake that shook the whole mid-American territory damaging and destroying everything from the Gulf of Mexico to the land of Ontario.

That horrific earthquake didn't happen only once, it continued with the strong aftershocks for two years from 1811. Imagine that!

The church's bells in Boston and Washington rang by themselves…

That earthquake opened access to one of the big tributary channels that fed the Red River and Mississippi about 300 miles north of New Orleans. The earthquake created a huge wave running over the rivers and a back-flush that flooded all the lowland areas around.

The legend of the Caddo Indians talks about the Big Chief who saw the vision of the Great Spirit warning him and asking to take all of the people to the higher grounds. The Caddoes followed the call of the Big Chief immediately and all survived. The ground was shaking under their feet as they were leaving. Ever since local Indians called that area the trembling grounds. They didn't want to come back, leaving that area to the white men without any trouble.

****

As we drove closer to the lake the usually boring North Texas's landscape became a bit more interesting. The endless flat pastures turned into a really thick, dense forest. We drove through several very tiny old towns; one Main Street, one general store, one gas station, three or four abandoned houses, and two or three still occupied, with every front yard looking like a set for an old movie or an antique store.

I called ahead to ask for keys to the cottage and directions. The lady on the telephone said it would be really easy to find if I would follow the directions; when the Broadway, and yes, every town should have its own Broadway in Texas, will become the Cypress I need to go east, that would be straight and then left to the south on Goose Prairie and one more left to the trail in the woods. At the end of the trail would be our cottage and the keys would be under the doormat. It sounded easy enough and we continued our driving without any worries.

Our long day was coming toward the end. The bright Texas sun painted everything in those unique Texas sunset colors when brown would become maroon, green turns into the emerald, and blue Texas sky would become an orange-red like the rocky cliffs of the American West.

Soon we noticed the sign of the town that was our final destination. Uncertain, TX.

Population 9..., the second number fell off and it looked to us like it was only nine people were living there. We were uncertain for sure.

The farm road became a Broadway, Broadway became a Cypress and then everything became really murky. We drove for a little more and stopped by the big tree on the side of the road. I got out of the car to look around.

The air was pristine but extremely humid. It was quiet, so remarkably quiet like somebody above turned off the sound, I thought. I could tell there was a lake there somewhere behind that deep dense forest. The big centuries-old cypress trees covered with the thick gray web of the Spanish moss were really spooky, to say the least.

One tree had an old wooden sign with an arrow attached to it. I came closer trying to read the faded writing."Friends of former inmates - the prison fellowship", the old signage said.

I heard a strange noise coming from the pile of moss at the bottom of the cypress trunk. I looked down and froze. Two little eyes looked at me. The huge snake apparently was just as surprised as I was. The snake's reaction was faster than mine. It looked at me for a second and hurriedly disappeared into the pile of moss. I quickly went back to the car.

- Are we anywhere close already? - asked Lily

- Yes, I drove a little too far and missed our turn, - I replied, understanding that I never will show her the old wooden sign and its zealous watcher.

Soon enough we found another wooden sign that showed us directions to Lily's pond cottage. We slowly curved through the backwoods trail and finally found the place. It was truly enchanted, a bit spooky, but magical nevertheless, especially if one would understand there is no one around, just you and the magical forest.

The little cottage was totally covered by wild vegetation of all different kinds. There were several art pieces scattered in the front yard. Some statues had distinguished Latin American influence and some others were oriental. Mayan's Costumbre(*12) and Buddhism, what an interesting concept of faith, I thought. A big toad was sitting on the porch just in front of the door.

- Frogs are for good luck, remember what they taught us in Puerto Rico, - I said and we came inside.

It was a small studio with a separate bedroom in the back. Everything was old but very neat, clean, and accurate. The antique rocking chair was by the fireplace. A bookshelf with some old books on it separated the main room from a little kitchenette.

One of the books was a bible with the Star of David and a Roman cross in it, the compromise of unification quite often misunderstood by Jews and Christians alike.

No TV, and no WiFi, but to my surprise, there was an original old record player with a large collection of 1960-80s LPs.

- Wow, we can make our week here! - I declared.

Quickly it became dark, I meant to say, really dark. So dark that if you stretch your arm out you won't see your fingers, that's how dark! We fixed a little dinner, had some wine, and retired for the night.

***

The morning came early, very early. Lily was asleep and I decided to explore the grounds around by myself. I was curious and, to tell the truth, a little anxious, especially after my spooky encounter yesterday. Everything was fresh and peaceful. I crossed a rather large backyard with a barbecue pit and a really nice stone bonfire set. A grassy trail took me to the long wooden walkway.

It was like in a wild aviary. Birds of all different kinds flew around paying no attention to me, chirping and trilling their morning songs. The wooden walkway took me across the green lagoon covered with lotus and water lily flowers down to the old fishing shed.

Apparently, it was a long time ago when someone used that shed for fishing or for anything else. Everything inside was covered by the enormous spiderwebs and huge Texas-size spiders were in it.

- Spooky again, - I thought to myself.

The walkway continued over the swamp toward the lake itself ending with a little pier and two empty chairs on it. A huge gray heron stood in the water waiting for his breakfast meal. It was quiet, startlingly quiet, and peaceful. Oh my, how beautiful it was...

***

We spent the whole week there and it wasn't boring at all. We walked around and watched the wildlife and the birds. We talked about our life, past, and present and we fantasized about our hypothetical future.

On the lake, everything was different, not like in the city. It was clear for the thoughts to get organized and to come out more coherently. Therefore we spent long evenings sitting around the bonfire, looking at the sunset, talking and listening to the LPs oldies on the old record player.

We took a boat ride with the guide from Johnson's Ranch Marina. That marina is the oldest in Texas, circa 1908. We went on the boat ride on sunrise and then again at sunset. It was unbelievably beautiful and romantic as well.

And we discovered another local gem, the town of Jefferson, TX. Jefferson is a small picturesque town where the time stopped about a century ago. The streets, saloons, stores, old fashion hotels all of that would take visitors to Texas of the 1800s. Then it was a booming town of more than 10,000 people. Several theaters, churches, and to our surprise a big white building that was a synagogue before. Apparently, there was a large Jewish community.

We found a memorial pluck on the local public theater building, the Jefferson Playhouse, commemorating the synagogue and the Jewish community of the past.

We walked into the plaza with a big Stars of David inserted into the walkway. In fact, we found that it was one Jewish family from New York City, that came back and dedicated a city plaza with the statue and the beautiful fountain to commemorate their ancestors who lived here before.

It was hard to tell how old that fountain was. The whole plaza complex was very well kept and attended.We learned that years ago it was the first in Texas town with electric street lights, electric streetcars, and the cinematographic theater. The big steam boats were going back and forth from the New Orleans caring goods and the passengers.

The Nash's Iron Foundry, the oldest (1847) Texas's iron mill, gunpowder factory, glass-work factory, and many other businesses, everything was here and then all of that disappeared.

The town people refused to participate in the railroad construction.

"We got the river and the lake", - they declare.

"You can run your stupid railroad to Dallas or some other town that needs it.", and so they did. The new railroad went to Dallas.

A few years later about 100 miles down the stream of the Big Cypress Bayou, the workers widened the delta of the Red River. They set the dynamite and exploded the old log raft that was blocking the part of the river stream.

The intend was a good one, - to allow more traffic on the waterways. Good intentions, however, did not produce the expected result. The explosion let the huge amount of the water to flow down the Mississippi and to the Gulf of Mexico. And the water never came back.

The water level in the Big Cypress Bayou wasn't deep enough any more for the big riverboats, and the hope of Jefferson vanished far out in Texas history.

Nowadays the old town is a mecca for the tourists looking for the haunted room's hotels and antique stores.

We have our favorite one as well, the Old General Store.

They have everything hand made in this unique store. Old fashioned sweets, hand made ice cream, and even a 5 cent freshly brewed coffee all day long! It is just like in good old days.We wandered through the store looking at antique plucks and souvenirs. We tried all kinds of different preserves, tonics, salsas, and hot sauces.

Accidentally I knocked down one of the decorative pillows. The pillow fell down to my feet. It was white and blue with the star of David on it and the neatly knitted writing, " Jefferson - the Jewish heart of Texas". Wow!

I picked up the pillow and approached the older lady nearby who looked like she is working in the store.

- It said it is the Jewish heart of Texas. Is it right?

- Yes, it was, - the older lady replied. - It was a Jewish town back then when we were bigger than Dallas, - and she smiled.

- Anything Jewish left there for us to see today, - I asked.

- Yes, - she paused for a second, - are you Jewish?

- Yes, of course we are.- Where are you originally from?

- We are from Latvia, many years ago.

- Oh, that why you sound just like my grandpa did,- she smiled again. - My family came from somewhere in eastern Prussia, the Baltic's, as they called it. Are you Chautauqua's?

That was my time to ask a question. I had no idea what Chautauqua was.

- No, we are not the Cha-ta-quas, I butchered the name. It sounds American Indian. Is it the name of the tribe?

- No, it is Jewish actually.

- What? It is definitely not a Jewish sounding word.

- You are right, It doesn't sound Jewish, but it is.

I raised my eyes, with so many questions in them, that actual words weren't necessary anymore.

- My name is Malachi. Do you have time for a cup of coffee?

- Absolutely,

Both of us, Lily and I, were at the peak of the new discovery and we followed the lady to the bar area inside the store. She poured us the famous good old 5 cents coffee and started her tale.

Years ago Malachi's great-grandparents were neighbors with one of the original Jewish families in Jefferson, Texas, the Sternes. They came first to McKinney right after 1821, when the State of Texas officially recognized Judaism. It was another surprise for us because we live only 15 minutes drive from McKinney, TX now. Twenty years later the Sternes moved to Jefferson and remained there for generations to come.

Years ago, as Malachi said, more than a quarter of the Jeffersonians were Jewish, imagine that!It was Jewish charities that organized schools, hospitals, and public theaters here. One of the town ladies organized the society of the sisters of Chautauqua. The name was taken from a similar Jewish group in New York City.

In the native American language of the Iroquois confederacy, "chau-tau-qua" means "to tie two moccasins together". The main purpose of the group was the Jewish charities and Jewish dissemination, movement dedicated to the erasing the faith differences and misunderstanding through the education.

The first Chautauqua's sisterhood lady in Jefferson was Janette Miriam Goldberg. The name sounded familiar, but I was too involved in the story to think about the names. I wanted to know more about the place and its unique history. After all, everything Malachi told us was very closely intertwined with my personal thoughts that I was carrying throughout my entire life.

– The Jewish core of the Jefferson town radiated some kindness that went through everyone and reflected upon what they were doing, - Malachi continued.

- It was not that all Jewish people did everything good, and exceptional. It was a lot of good and bad in what they did, but the internal kindness and some sort of rightfulness always prevailed in their doing. The other town people learned from them and followed their example. They learned how to tie two moccasins together very well and that was what Chautauqua was all about.

Lady with the unusual name, Malachi, told us a lot of little known stories, some about the good things and others about the bad. Some of those stories sounded like the fairy-tales, but I checked those stories later and all came factually true.

One of these stories was about the Diamond Bessie.

She was a lady of sparkling beauty. She met him at the brothel in Hot Springs, Arkansas in 1875. They fell in love and he covered her with the incredible wealth, even though his family didn't approve that union. They came to Jefferson and rented the room under the name of Alexander Monroe and his wife. They spent several days there visiting saloons and theaters, having a good time.Everyone was admiring her elegant dress all covered in diamonds and a ring with the stone bigger than anyone ever seen.One morning he abruptly left town with all the suitcases, wearing Bessie's ring on his pinkie.

A few days later her breathless body was found near the river next to the big sycamore tree. Her head was crushed by the bullet, but the elegant dress was intact. He was caught, arrested, investigated, tried by the court, convicted but let go on technicalities.

Who was he? No, he wasn't Alexander Monroe, certainly not.

His name was Abe Rothschild. He was the son of the world-famous Meyer Rothschild, a Cincinnati jeweler.

For many years beautiful dress of the Diamond Bessie was kept in a closet in the synagogue back room. Only ones a year on January 21st, the bloody murder anniversary, the dress was shown to the public. People lined up in a long queue to see it, and the fare collected was used for the charities. It became a town tradition.

Later the local Jefferson Playhouse started to show a mystery play about the event. And for the last 65 years, it became an annual spring celebration, a Jefferson Historical Pilgrimage festival in which the whole town is a participant. The play goes for the whole day in the different parts of the town ending with the mystery drama in the theater, at the same building that was home to the Hebrew Sinai Congregation synagogue years ago.

Malachi told us about the life of the black folks in Jefferson. Jeffersonians didn't recognize the slavery. There were the few black slaves brought to the town from New Orleans, but these slept and ate in the house with the families like a part of it. That was before the Civil War. After the war, blue-uniformed Yankee came to town. First, they burned everything down, then helped to rebuild it. They brought to Jefferson a new word, a new concept of segregation, and life for black folks and the whites never were the same anymore. Meanwhile, the town of Jefferson was a birthplace for several famous Jewish doctors, lawyers, engineers, architects, scientists, authors, and playwrights.

One of the names Malachi mentioned to us, I recognized. It was Alexander Ziskind Gurwitz who wrote the books in Yiddish about his life in Texas as a Jewish boy. He was a member of the Agudas Achim Congregation, the synagogue we used to belong while in San Antonio.

Malachi's story was going for a good hour, but it was so interesting and unexpected that we listened to her every word.

- There is an old Jewish cemetery there behind the railroad tracks. It is Mount Sinai. You would like to see that. You should, - she insisted.

- You will find there something for your soul, something you really need to see.- There are the directions, - and she gave me the little map.

- This town is the true Jewish heart of Texas and I am glad that you are the followers of the Chautauqua, even though you do not recognize it, - as she continued

- You came to America just like my ancestors did a long time ago. You have the same inspirations, as they had. And you do it well, I can tell...

- Thank you, thank you so much! Your story was so interesting. We are so glad we have met you. - I didn't know how to thank her.

- Don't thank me. I am just a messenger. Thank G-d and thank the fact that you were born Jewish and keep your children that way...The old lady stood up and went somewhere toward the back of the store limping to the right foot. I noticed she walked with the cane.

****

To find a cemetery was easy. We drove just a few blocks talking and wondering about an interesting story we'd just heard. The old lady Malachi moved us incredibly. That story brought back a lot of feelings and a lot of memories from the past. Soon we noticed an old gate.

We got out of the car. The cemetery was large. There were several hundred graves, not less. The old stones weren't standing straight anymore. Some of them were fallen already, cracked and covered in moss, but we could still read the names, dates, in English, and in old Hebrew letters. It was an incredibly humble experience to see a place like that.

I rose my eyes and instantly became frozen. Literally, I froze, I couldn't even say anything. Something rolled up my throat.Right in front, there was a larger headstone with only one name on it, - Goldberg.

- Ask the Rebbe, ask the Rebbe..., a chant suddenly came out from the old hidden compartments of my memory and started to pound inside my head.

- Lily, look, that is the Goldberg the Rebbe was talking about, - I said.

- What do you mean?

- Remember our first trip to New York years ago? I talked to the Lubavitcher Rebbe and he told me that the time would pass and I will see the Goldberg from Riga and that would be the time when I will know and understand,... remember? That is the Goldberg from Riga. That it is, I know.

- Does it say that that man was from Riga? - Lily asked.

- It doesn't, but I somehow know it is, - I replied.

- You always come up with some incredible stories, don't you know. You have to check this out. If you will be right it would be a miracle, - she chuckled.

****

The day was coming to the end and we went back to our little retreat in the wilderness, Lily's Pond. The idea of the strangest possible improbability was bugging me.

How can it be? If it really is, what I think, how would I know?

How did he know? Just a coincidence?

Oh, how I needed the internet now!

Unfortunately, Lily's Pond didn't have the internet, just an old record player. Lily went to bed and I left one to one with my thoughts.

I couldn't sleep at all. I sat on the rocking chair looking into the dark nothing outside. The yellow mosquito lamp on the porch was cracking and blinking every time the little fellow would find its end in the bright beauty of the captivating light. How fragile we are... Just like in the song:

... on and on the rain will fall,

perhaps this final act was meant

to clinch a lifetime's argument...,

on and on ...

My eyes slowly drifted around the room. The fireplace. A bookshelf with some old books on it separated the main room from a little kitchenette. One of the books was a bible with the bright yellow Star of David and a roman cross in it, the compromise of unification quite often misunderstood by Jews and the Christians alike.

- I've remembered that star. I've remembered that star very well.

It was I who made one just like that once. I was a little kid and was really conscious of my Jewishness. I wanted to be a Jew, nobody else but a Jew, but that meant for me not to be friends with some other kids I really care for. … and the girl… There was a girl…

They wouldn't take me in for a friend, because I was different, because I was a jew. I took my grandma's old brooch with the star of David on it and glue a hand made cross right into it. I kept that brooch in a secret place under my bed dreaming about the time when we all…

My memory took me back in time. Very far back, even before the time of the grandma's old brooch.

****

I didn't know that I was a Jew until I was about 10 years old. It was a complicated time and the family hid that from me thinking that it would be keeping me out of harm's way. Of course, I knew that in our family everyone sometimes spoke another language, with a funny name - Yiddish, but I could not even guess that it was the language of the Jews.

I've heard of them, of the Jews. My friend Vladimir told me that they were the God-killers and they were abducting children and baking something like cookies out of their blood, but those cookies weren't sweet not even a bit. And if anyone tries those cookies, they would also turn in to a Jew.

- You had to stay away from them, these Jews. - Vladimir told me and so I did.

Opposite the little street park, where my mom sent me to play very reluctantly as we didn't have an alternative playground nearby, were the ruins of an old house left from a war's bombing. Other children played the war games there, but I, as I was a loner as a child, was spellbound by the shady individuals who gathered in the basement of the ruins and did things bad that no one was allowed to be done.

One day they noticed me, dragged me down, started to push me around laughing, and for some reason called me a Jew!I was offended. I knew I was not a Jew, not at all!

They were bursting with laughter. Then, for some reason, their laughter faded and changed into the drunk anger.The winter wasn't over yet. The dirty snow and ice still lay on the ground on some parts. They threw me into a wet ice pit and told me that they would not let me get out until I confessed that I was a Jew!I didn't confess.

I clambered over the muddy ice, scratching my fingers to the blood and crying that I was not a Jew.And they, every time I crawled up to the edge, cackled and threw me back down to the icy bottom ...

And then he came, an older man in a dirty green-and-brown jacket with medals on it. The war amputee, he was missing a leg and walked with the crutch. He shouted at the drunk hoodlums, shook his crutch vigorously, and so they left. He helped me to get out and comforted me. Sitting on his knee, I warmed up. His jacket and unshaven cheek were as prickly as my dad's. Yes, and the smell of sweet shag tobacco was the same. I calmed down.

- Don't you cry, - he said.

- I am not a Jew..., I am not.

- The Jewish people are very special. They have been chosen by God himself to lead us to...- They kill the children. I am not a...

- You more likely are. You just don't know it. Let's go for a walk.

And so we went. We walked very slow accurately stepping from one cobblestone to the next.

I held my savior by the side of the crutch. He was talking about the good and the evil and about the stars in the night sky, about the pyramids and the crusaders, about the love and the hate. Some of it I understood, but some went way over my head, even so, it incredibly calmed me down. We stopped in front of one old city building.

- Look, he said. - Once there was a man, who lived here. He hated the Jews because he was jealous. He created the beautiful music, and people loved him for it, but he never became a good man and died angrily. Jewish people brought kindness to us.

Look, - and he pulled something out of his side pocket.It was a piece of wood with the curving on it. It was a six-point star with the cross inside of it.

- The star is for the Jews and the cross is for all other people.

When the difference between us will disappear we will learn how to live happily ever after and the star will swallow the cross.

- And the angry jealous men will stop hating the Jews?

- Yes, they would...

The man turned around and slowly walked away clonking and limping heavily on his wooden crutch. He went down the street and soon vanished from the sight. And I? I became totally calm and went home without any shade of the distress in my head.

When my mother saw me in a torn coat, without a hat, with dried blood on my hands, she was stunned.

- Mama, is it true that we are Jewish? - I asked

- Yes, we are, - my mother said and broke down in tears.

I wasn't crying. I suddenly knew that being a Jew was great, it was special, not like everyone else, even though it hurt.

****

Something cracked outside and it took me out of my semi-sleep. It was almost 4 AM. I quietly crawled into the bed trying not to wake up Lily. I knew exactly what I needed to do tomorrow. I needed to find WiFi. I needed the internet. I needed to know where Jefferson's Goldberg family came from.The next day after a breakfast we drove to town and found the little cafe with free WiFi. A cup of coffee, a few clicks on my laptop, and a little stretch of my imagination instantly clarified my premonition.

****

It was the mid-19th century when Richard Wagner came to Riga for the second time. At that time he wasn't the unknown student trying desperately to make ends meet and to choose who of the two actresses he lived with were more attracted to him. That time he was recognized, famous, a successful composer, conductor, and director of the Riga's Opera House. His marriage was always on the rocks, but he found his solace in a huge black dog who was his daily companion.

The composer was known for his strong political opinion and vigorously antisemitic aspirations. It was years before his"Das Judenthum in der Musik" was published and created an uproar in many European circles.It was years before then, but he held a grouch for a Jewish merchant Yakov Goldberg who chased him out of town for insolvency just a few years ago.

Wagner attended a political rally at the Small Merchants Guilt building in Riga where his strong anti-Jewish speech became the insight for the wave of antisemitic demonstrations throughout the town. Jewish merchants were harassed, bitten, some buildings were set on fire. Even though the local political government publicly condemned those demonstrations, the Jewish life in Riga wasn't the same anymore.

The Yakov Goldberg's family, as well as many others, moved to Koenigsberg, Germany. Yosef, the son of Yakov Goldberg, was born there and as he has grown adapted the Latin name of Louis. That was customary in the catholic countries. Louis Goldberg organized a large group of families to immigrate to the new world.

The first stop in America happened to be New Orleans. In the second part of the 19th century, Louisiana wasn't exactly the easy place to start a Jewish life even though the civil war had ended already.

The families took a steam boat ride upstream the mighty Mississippi River, all the way to Texas' new city of Jefferson. This was how the new Jewish colony in Texas began.

Yes, I found my Goldberg from Riga!

The day was young and we decided to go one more time to the lake before driving back home.We learned so much, seen so many beautiful places, took so many photographs, but for Lily and me, it is never enough. We took the closest access road toward the lake and parked our car by the old sunken metal boat. A lonely gray heron was sitting on the top of the rusted metal poll, and Lily wanted to capture his image.

- Do you wanna go for a ride? - I heard the loud croaky voice from the water.

There was a pontoon boat floating nearby with the stocky bearded man on it.

- I got no show at 4 o'clock. I'll give you a ride for a half price, - he shouted to me.

When somebody offers me half price I never need to be asked twice and so we went.

Aaron, it was the man's name gave us a fantastic excursion. He took us to see some of the really enchanted places, the places we never would have found without him. He took us deep into the overgrown spooky part of the lake with the old wooden crosses attached to the cypress trunks for the centuries. It was the sacred cemetery.

We read the stories about the lake people who lived their lives on the water and refused to be buried ashore underground. I noticed that a few crosses had a six-pointed star attached to it.

- Yo laid yo'r eye on David's star, I'reckon,- said Aaron. (*7)

- You ain't Ainglish yo' ar Jewish ain't you? It's ain't bad. There weer a lot's of yer kind they're ov'air yonder at the old days. Now ain't not much. Good God's folks they ain't make them like it no more.

I told Aaron that its a really beautiful lake and we are very thankful to him for the opportunity to see those places he showed us.

- It's a God's place here, - he replied.

- Don't you thank me, I just taken care of ev'thang ah'ite ,- he said. (*10)

Soon our excursion was over and we were ready to disembark to the little wooden pier nearby. Aaron rolled over on to the pier rather than step on it. Looked like he had trouble with his leg.

- What's happened there, - I asked.

- 'Nam hepined,- Aaron replied. (*11)

- Thank you for your service sir, - I said

- Yo ain't seen the other guy,- Aaron laughed.

We said goodbye once more and I asked him for a card, so next time we could arrange a boat ride with him again. He gave me the card, "Aaron Berg, the boatman".

- It was longer, m'yin name. I took the Gold part out of it. It's better that way, itz shorter than Goldberg - and Aaron walked away slowly clonking and limping heavily on his prosthetic leg.

I was astounded. It was he. He was the Goldberg... and I instantly understood... what the Rebbe was saying.

On the way back we stopped by the General Store once again. I wanted to see the lady Malachi again. I wanted to thank her one more time and maybe to share my story with her.The General Store was full of customers. I found my way to the counter.

- Can I see lady Malachi, - I asked

- We don't have anyone by that name.

- Maybe I mispronounced her name, I do that a lot, - I smiled

- She is an older lady with the cane. We talked to her a couple of days ago here.

- No, I run the place my name is Anna, Anna Bode. We don't have Malachi here.

- But I am sure..., I talked to her myself...

- People say we have some ghosts here,- Anna smirked.

- No, it can't be...,- and I walked back looking for Lily.

She was taking photos of old antique cameras at the end of the store.

- I didn't find the lady,- I said without any details of my conversation with Anna.

- And they have some awesome ice cream there. It looks soo good. Would you like one? - I asked.

- Are you asking or telling, - Lily smiled back to me.

We sat down on the wooden bench right on the side of the main door.

- We've finally learned how to eat it,- Lily laughed, - look at me! Not even a drop!

In the store window, right in front of us was a huge Statue of Liberty.

We finished our ice cream, got to the car, and drove back home.

Lily tuned the radio on our favorite oldies station,

- Now I finally realized what the Rebbe meant back then. Yes, it took a long time to learn. More than 30 years after I met the Great Rebbe, I understood what he meant. To be a Jew is to believe, to understand the kindness, to see the world in the Jewish way. To never stop learning. To do the mitzvot and to live your life the way, that your children and grandchildren will continue your traditions and never would shorten your Jewish name, even if it sounded better for them.

... Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry Because the sky is blue, ah ah, ah, ah, ah...,- sounded from the radio.

- It would never be that our family name will drop the Mir and become the Sky,- I said smiling....

because the sky is..., - sounded from the radio.

- You betcha, we are the forever Mirsky, - Lily replied.

Alex Mirsky

Dallas, 2020

side notes:

*1 a mezuzah - a parchment's scroll that inscribes the Biblical passages inserted in a small case attached by Jews to the doorpost of their home as a blessing and a sign of devotion.

*2 a kippah - skullcap worn by orthodox male Jews.

*3 a shul – a synagogue in Yiddish.

*4 mitzvot – a good did or a charity in Yiddish

*5 L'Chaim – For Life, a Jewish expression, a good wish usually used as a toast for someone.

*6 coon-ass – a conversational ethnic slur for Cajuns, some use it to describe themselves actually.

*7 I'reckon – I understand in Texan slang.

*8 Ainglish – English in Texan slang.

*9 ov'air yonder – over there in Texas slang

*10 ev'thang ah'ite – everything in Texas slang

*11 'Nam hepined, - Vietnam happened

*12) Costumbre – traditions in Spanish. That was how spanners described the religion of Maya.

References:

Jefferson, TX1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jefferson,_Texas#:~:text=Notable%20people,the%20age%20of%20fifty%2Dthree.Slavery in Jefferson, tx2. https://jimplecute1848.com/2020/03/07/life-as-a-slave-in-jefferson/3. https://www.jeffersongeneralstore.com/pages/about-us4. https://jeffersonpilgrimage.com/diamond-bessie-murder-trial/5. http://www.jmaw.org/goldberg-jewish-jefferson-texas/6. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chautauqua7. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diamond_BessieMiriam Goldberg8. https://jwa.org/thisweek/feb/28/1935/jeannette-miriam-goldberg9. https://online.chq.org/ci/speakers/view/280