Drei Simchas (Three Celebrations)

Drei Simchas (Three Celebrations) - Gabi Flatto-Katz (Ramaz School, Tenth Grade)

Antwerp, 1938

The moment Yechiel walked into the wedding hall, his brother, Avrum, came to greet him.

“Yechiel, mein bruder!” Before even seeing who it was calling for him, the sound of Yiddish

erased the word “foreigner” that Yechiel felt was written across his forehead.

“Avrum,” Yechiel said. The two men kissed on the cheek and embraced. “Your voice is the first

comfort I’ve felt since stepping off of the train. Why would you ever move to this city?”

“Four years I haven't seen you, and your first thought is to question my decisions. Oh, Chiel, you

haven’t changed one bit,” Avrum said, chuckling at his brother.

“I have missed you, Avrum. I’ve missed the family, that’s why I’m here. How are Martha and the

children?”

“They are well. Last time you were here, Leopold hadn’t even begun school. They’ve all grown

so much since you last saw them.”

The two men had just opened the door to the main hall, and they were greeted by a symphony of

yiddish and french, polish and flemish. Suddenly, there was a young girl running up to Yechiel, yelling

“Feter!” Yechiel, immediately recognizing his neicce, Regina, in her soft pink dress, crouched down and

caught her in his arms. He held onto her tightly, even after he felt her arms loosen around him. Finally he

let go, if only to be able to look into her young eyes. She was a girl of eleven, and every aspect of her face

glowed. Her smooth cheeks, the cold having painted them a pink more delicate than her, blushed against

her white skin. Her brown hair fell onto her shoulders, broader than he remembered. She seemed to him

five years old and twenty at once; there was a striking maturity to her soft youth.

“I’ve missed you, my Regina. I last saw you, a little girl, a Maidele, and I came back to antwerp

met by a young woman calling herself by your name,” Yechiel said, pushing a lock of her hair behind her

ear.

“Feter,” she said to her uncle. She looked up at him, her face showing a coy smile. “Have I

changed? I hadn't noticed.” She was teasing her uncle, who let out a quiet laugh and kissed her forehead.

He wished to stay there for the rest of the night; he would not have minded if the rest of the hall slipped

away into nothingness, and he and Regina alone remained. But at that very moment, the groom, arms

interlocked with his father and future father-in-law, entered, ash rubbed on his forehead, and the wedding

procession began. Regina squeezed her uncle's hand, and ran to join her mother and the women on the

other side of the room, trailing the bride.

Later that night, after the dancing had died down, bringing the barrier between the men’s and

women’s sections down with it, Yechiel sat in a corner with Regina on his lap.

“Feter, tell me about your home. It must be wonderful! Some nights when I cannot fall asleep,

Papa tells me stories of Poland. He tells me of palaces and princesses and the marvelous balls in Krakow.

Oh, how I picture it!”

“Krakow on its best day is an ugly monster compared to being here in Antwerp with you,”

Yechiel answered. Of course, he hated Antwerp too, hated the otherness it instilled in him. But these

truths easily got lost in the sweetness of Regina’s smile.

“Feter, please tell me. Do you wake up in a castle and spend the night dancing with duchesses and

princesses?” Regina asked, reminding Yechiel that she was only eleven.

“No, my darling. I wake up in my apartment, and I spend my nights reading. Perhaps if you

came–”

“Would you take me to a ball with you? Oh, how I dream of going to a ball, dancing the night

away in beautiful gowns. Papa says good Yiddishe girls shouldn’t care about gowns, but when I’m older

I’m going to buy thousands of gowns and hide them from him.”

“Keeping secrets, are we?” a voice chuckled. Yechiel looked up and saw that it was his brother,

Yitzchak, Regina’s father. Regina, embarrassed that her father had heard her, blushed even more, her

cheeks turning so pink they were almost red. Yitzchak picked her up and kissed her forehead. “Now, say

goodnight to your uncle, and run along to Mama. It is time for you to go to bed.” Yechiel gave Regina one

last kiss on her cheek before she ran off. He watched her slip her hand into her mother’s and exit into the

night. Yechiel saw Yitzchak’s face follow his wife and daughter as they exited, and watched as his

brother’s face darkened the moment they were out of sight. “Did you see Goldberg tonight?”

“Hard to miss, in that eye patch.” Yechial said.

“His eye hasn’t healed since November, Chiel. The Germans officers beat him up, and thugs

destroyed his store. And I don’t even let my daughter have the joy of imagining gowns! What does that

matter at this point? What difference would imagined gowns make in this horrible reality I’m dreaming?

I’m scared, Chiel. You should be, too.”

“Poland gets more insufferable by the day, with the Germans right on our border.”

“Don’t go back! Stay here. I have an extra room and so does Avrum. Tatte was the only thing

keeping you there, and now that he is gone, I don’t see why you don’t join us.”

“I’ll consider it, Iet you know by–”

“I’ll tell Rivkah to prepare the guest bedroom. Come by once your hotel reservation finishes up,

and stay as long as you would like.”

“Thank you, bruder,” Yechiel said. His mind returned to his niece. “She’s a marvelous girl,

Regina. She’s so mature for her age I forget at times that she is only eleven.”

“She does very well in school, too. Better Marks than any of her siblings. And she has her

mother’s beauty,” Yitchak said. They had been walking around the hall as they talked, and only then they

looked up and realized that they were the only ones left who were not immediate family. They walked

outside into the cold together, and Yitzchak gave Yechiel the directions to his hotel. “Goodnight, Bruder. I

hope I won’t have to wait for anothers wedding to see you next.” They hugged and kissed each other's

hands before walking in opposite directions.

As Yechiel Walked, he thought of Regina and her soft blush cheeks. He compared the cold breeze

to her skin and the full moon to her eyes, and wondered how he had gone four years without her.

* * *

New York, 1942

Yechiel opened the door to the restaurant. The space had been completely rented out for the Bar

mitzvah, and he saw tables beautifully set with blue and white china sets and floral centerpieces; a wave

of uneasiness passed over Yechiel.

“You made it, Bruder!” Avrum walked to the entrance to greet Yechiel.

“Of course, Avrum. I wouldn’t miss such a joyous event,” Yechiel said, his monotone disagreeing

with that adjective.

“You look pale, Chiel. How have you been?”

“I’ve been all right. Don’t focus on me tonight, I can take care of myself. Focus on Leopold.”

Yechiel and Avrum kissed on the cheek and Avrum returned to his seat, concerned for his brother but

trying to look past it. Yechiel walked to a table in the corner of the restaurant. A man, who introduced

himself as Mr. Schwartz, began talking to him.

“Me and Abe work together down on forty-seventh street together,” The man said in an unnatural

yiddish. It took Yechiel a moment to realize that Abe was Avrum, his brother, and it took him another few

moments to get what that meant. Avrum had always had such ease with transitions, living in Antwerp as if

he was not born in Poland, and now Yechiel saw that Avrum was living in America as if he had never

lived in Antwerp.

“That’s very nice,” Yechiel siad, with no interest in keeping this conversation going. The man was

clearly eager to continue speaking, but he was cut off by the entrance of waiters. They brought in the first

course, a hot soup with a gold spoon, which Yechiel did not touch; his mind was outside of the restaurant.

–What is Regina eating tonight?

Yechiel had heard countless reports and rumors of the situation in Europe. He had been living in

Antwerp when the Germans invaded, and escaped in a truck with Avrum, Avrum’s wife and the children.

Yechiel had heard rumors of Ghettos and camps and torture and starvation, and he couldn’t handle not

knowing what the state of his Regina was. At night he would stay awake and weep; he hadn’t eaten more

than one piece of bread a day for the past year. If he had ever removed his yarmulke, one would see a

bald spot where Yechiel had ripped out his own hair.

As the waiters continued to hand out the first course, Avrum spoke and welcomed everyone,

thanking them for coming to celebrate Leopold's bar mitzvah. Leopold then got up and began to speak,

but Yechiel could not muster up the concentration to listen. By the time Leopold had finished, waiters had

replaced the untouched soup in front of him with the main course, green beans and a piece of rotisserie

that could feed a family. Yechiel looked up from his plate and for a moment, Regina was sitting across

from him, dressed in pink; just as fast as she appeared, she was gone, having left her chair and returned to

Yechiel’s imagination.

– What is Regina eating tonight?

The man sitting with Yechiel took the ending of the speeches as permission to pick up their

conversation where they had left off. “I hear you’re a brother of Abe’s. Is it just the two of you?”

“No, he has three more brothers.”

“Are they present tonight? I would love to meet some of the family..”

“No, sir. They live in Europe.”

“Oh! I see. So you two are the lucky ones,” the man chuckled.

Yechiel’s hard apathy began to melt as a fiery rage began to burn through him. This American,

this filthy man, was joking about his brothers in Antwerp. Yechiel hated this man– but this sudden burst

of emotion now outgrew the American; Yechial hated this event, this simcha. Yechiel despised how these

people ate from china while their brothers ate from the floor and he hated how they took seconds with

such ease. This anger burned through him, reaching his fingernails and the bald spot on his head. Breathe,

Yechiel told himself. Deep breaths; he had no intention of ruining his brother’s event. As he felt his

heartbeat begin to steady, he looked up.

Yechiel saw Regina; she had a gash going from her ear to her chin, and only her left eye was

open. Her pink dress was ripped into tatters, dyed red with blood. Yechiel blinked; she was gone.

– What is Regina eating tonight?

Yechiel’s bandaged hand slammed down onto his plate in a burst of anger, flipping it up into the

air and sending chicken and beans flying across the room. The plate fell to the ground, and with a great

crash the china shattered. The room, previously vibrant with conversation, fell silent and eyes fell onto

Yechiel. Immediately, Yechiel regretted his decision, if only for its effect on Avrum, who was looking at

him with sad eyes. He bent down and began to pick up the shards, but one stabbed his palm. Yechiel

muttered, “Excuse me”, grabbed a napkin from the table and wrapped around his cut, and ran outside.

The cool breeze of that summer night in Brooklyn calmed Yechiel, though his face remained paler

than when he had entered the restaurant. He knew that Avrum meant well; he had expressed to Yechiel his

apprehensions of having a celebration like this while his family across the ocean suffered, starved, died.

In fact, it was Yechiel who had reassured him that it was important for Leopold to have a simcha, even

more so in a time like this. But Yechiel overestimated his own abilities; he could not handle being in a

joyous environment. All he saw was an image of Regina, the pink stolen from her cheeks.

Yechiel heard the door open, pushing against the breeze, and turned to see his brother. For a

moment they stood, silently, neither one brave enough to break the quiet. Then, in a whisper, Yechiel said,

“I’m sorry for making a scene.”

“What Happened?” Avrum asked, without one note of anger in the calm cadence of his sentence.

Yechiel did not want to share; but he owed Avrum an explanation.

“I- I saw Regina,” Yechiel said so quietly that he barely heard himself. But Avrum heard, and he

understood. He walked over to Yechiel and hugged him, and Yechiel wept, and then Avrum’s arms

became Regina’s as Yechiel remembered the last time he had embraced her and he wept more.

“Sleep in my apartment tonight. We won’t be home until late– you will have privacy but you

won’t be alone.” Avrum took Yechiels silence as agreement, and let go of his brother. He walked into the

restaurant and adjusted his mood back to the joyous occasion; though his brother's emotions were not lost

on him.

That night, in Avrum’s guest room, Yechiel dreamt that he was alone in an endless black void.

Suddenly, Regina appeared, holding her mothers hand. She kept walking forward, and Yechiel tried

stopping her, for some reason knowing she should not go that way. But then She disappeared, and Yechiel

was alone again.

***

New Jersey, 1956

Yechiel stepped out of the taxi and walked around for a few minutes, trying to find the wedding

hall. He finally found it and walked in. As he entered, he was met with electric lights that clashed with the

European chandeliers..

This was the first wedding that Yechiel had been to since the war, and probably the last. Yechiel

was sick, never having recovered from the years of malnourishment. In fact, he had only gotten worse

since the war ended, since Hannah, the only survivor of the family, came to America, bringing with her

nothing but a tattooed arm and names of the dead; when she told the fate of her sister, Regina, Yechiel

didn’t weep but went mute for a month, and fasted for two weeks. He had spent the past decade not

accepting the five years that preceded it. He began to frequently visit a psychic, and he talked to Regina

through her.

“Tell her I’m sorry that I ate so much while she starved,” he once asked the psychic.

But Yechiel had managed to pull himself together for today, for Hannah’s wedding. During the

ceremony, he stood under the canopy. After the groom’s parents, grandparents and finally second cousins

had walked down the aisle, the bride’s procession began: Hannah and Avrum, who since the war was her

adopted father, emerged and slowly paced towards the canopy; the two of them reached the end of the

aisle, and the bride’s procession was over.

At the meal, Yechiel sat next to a chair which Hannah had left empty in memory of her sister. The

whole table was dedicated to her, scattered with her photos.

“How are you related to the groom, sir?” Yechiel turned and saw a young man talking to him; for

the first time noticed other people were sitting there, not just him and Regina..

“I’m not. I’m an uncle of the bride,” Yechiel answered, wanting to get back to focusing on

Regina.

“Oh!I didn’t know she had any family– other than her father, of course.” The man who was

talking to Yechiel then picked up the photo of Regina that was in the center of the table. “I’m assuming

you knew this young girl?”

‘Knew’ was an insult to the emotions Yechiel felt for Regina, but all he could muster up was a

quiet “yes”.

“It’s horrible what they must have done to her. I want to cry just looking at her beautiful face.”

Yechiel, after spending years as a reclusue, was oddly touched by this man's words, and he had an urge to

speak to this man.

“She was the most youthful and mature girl I’ve ever met. The breeze reminds me of her soft

skin. And her young cheeks, how can I describe them! They were–” Yechiel’s voice cracked, a tear rolled

down his cheek; he had nothing to say. His words failed to paint the hues of Regina’s beauty.

“Go on, sir.”

“I can’t. I can’t tell you; I can’t describe the pink that were her cheeks.” More tears began to fall

down Yechiel’s face.. But the man talking to Yechiel placed a hand on Yehciel’s shoulder and spoke:

“Perhaps you can show me what they were like– you won’t need to say anything.” The man

himself was not sure what that exactly meant– but Yechiel understood wiped his eyes and began to look

around, aching to fulfill this man’s request, eager to somehow show his love’s beauty. Yechiel needed

only to look up, and he found his answer; Hannah knew the way to memorialize someone.

Yechiel looked at the centerpiece and noticed that the flowers were soft pink roses that looked

like they would crumble at the lightest touch; Yechiel saw Regina’s cheeks, soft and blush. He quietly

picked up a finger and pointed, not at the flowers, but at one singular petal, and turned to face the man.

The man looked and a small grin escaped his lips and simultaneously, a tear escaped his eye. Yechiel

picked up one of the flowers and closed his eyes; he kissed Regina on the forehead.