In other pages on my blog, you can find other chapters of the book by Bella Chagall, Lights on.
The translation that I propose here, looking for Bella riestituire the language (there I still have to work a little '! But in the meantime the public the same) who tells his life Vitebesk. The sentences are short and broken, simple shapes, and the lexicon is that of a child of nine who still manages to convey all the excitement of the party. Preparations before the prayer at the temple, the synagogue was packed with men, women, children invaded by the sound of the shofar, the purification in the river for the sins committed throughout the year and the blessing of new fruits.
( http://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosh_haShana).
THE NEW YEAR - Rosh Ha-Shanah , ch. VI Lights on Bella Chagall
come the days of Teshuvah. The house is filled with all the noise. Each party brings their own flavor and is cloaked in an atmosphere all its own. The air of the New Year: mild, merciful, clear as after a rain. After the dark nights of the prayers of Teshuvah, it illuminates a bright and sunny day. The week of the prayers of Teshuvah is the least quiet. Dad gets up in the middle of the night, wake up my brothers are dressed in silence and fade away, like thieves, behind the door. What are they looking in the cold and darkness of the streets? In bed, you are so warm! And if you come back? Do not stop crying with my mom. I'm already starting to sink on its own and under the covers, curled up even more. In the morning, Dad drinks the tea: her face pale and exhausted. In all, the excitement before the party put away the tiredness.
the shop closes early and we all prepare to go to synagogue. We do it with more care than usual, as if we were going for the first time. Everyone gets something new: a cool hat who clear who a new tie, others a whole new dress ... The mother puts on a white silk blouse, and as regenerated, with renewed spirit, is preparing to go to synagogue. My older brother browse the large prayer book and score, for her, the pages of prayer where, for years, the hand of my grandfather wrote "here". The mother recognizes the verses last year sprinkled with tears. A shake the sailing eyes. Dashes to the synagogue to weep over the same lines, as if something ever happened before.
Ready for her there a stack of books very pious. She wraps them all into a large handkerchief and take them away with him: he must not ask for a good year for his whole family? books and talleth dad, however, to take them is the caretaker during the day. Rest alone. The house is deserted, and I feel as empty as the house. The old year, as he had lost, lingers, somewhere behind the windows. The coming year will be very clear, bright.
I would like to sleep together at night.
The next day, soon, I will go to the synagogue dressed in new clothes from head to toe. The sun shines. The air is clear and alive. My new shoes make a sharp noise. I hasten. Certainly in the synagogue on the New Year has arrived and already it sounds shofar me echoes in my ears. I have the impression that the sky has fallen from the earth to run with me to the temple. I headed to the space reserved for women, push open the door. A blast of heat, as of a furnace, gets in my face. A 'heavy air takes my breath away. The synagogue is full. The high desks are flooded with books. Older women if they are sitting comfortably while some girls standing popping out, almost over their heads. The children try to make their way under their feet. I would approach the mother, but is sitting, far, near the window overlooking the space reserved for men. As soon as I move, a woman turns with his back towards me a face in tears asking me an angry look: "Oh! Oh, "pours out his wrath around me. Pushed me from behind, and how liberated I go on the railing. My mother nods her eyes. E 'glad it's already close to her. Where is the shofar ? Where is the New Year? I look at the walls of the space reserved men. The Holy Ark is closed, the tent is covered and guarded, in the stillness of silence, the two lions that are embroidered above. The men come to life as something to be taken.
I arrived too early or too late?
Suddenly, from under a talleth reaches out a hand with the shofar . The shofar now he is there, in the air, motionless. Beeps. Everyone was awake. Everyone stops talking to himself. We are all waiting. The shofar , once again, the sound fills the air as if he had not broken out of breath. On either side are crossed eyes. The shofar , like a cry, it emits a loud, hoarse. Throughout the synagogue is spreading a buzz: what is this way of playing the shofar ? Lacks strength ... why not ask someone else to play? Suddenly, we hear a clear sound and extended as if the evil spirits that blocked the shofar , had been driven out: as a reminder, it spreads throughout the synagogue, to fill every corner. All are raised! Who makes a sigh, who nods with a nod. The sound propagates upward until it touches the walls. Coming toward me, toward my railing. It reaches the ceiling, moves off the air, seal any space blank. Penetrates my ears, mouth: I actually hurt my stomach. When did the shofar will no longer breath? What do you want from us the New Year?
I remember all my sins. God knows what will happen. There are many sins that have accumulated during the year. With difficulty, I can wait until the afternoon. I can not wait to go with mom to the Purification of Tachlich to shake away my sins in our great river. Along the way, other women, other men. Everyone goes down the road that leads to the shore. They are all dressed in black, as if they were - God forbid - a funeral. The air is fresh. Feel the wind whipping her by the high bank of the river and the large garden of the city. Some fly leaves, reddish and yellow butterflies hover in the air as: spinning, fall to the ground. So even if they fly away our sins? Crackling leaves and stick to boots. Drag behind me with them, is not hard to go to the "Tachlich. "Why do you stay forever?", The mother pulls me by the hand. "Leave the leaves!" Soon, everything stops. The street has been divided as: deep water and appear to pour cold on our feet. In the river are gathering in a circle, men in black. Prosthesis with the heads and beards dangling, plunge into the water as if they wanted to see the bottom. Suddenly, spilling their pockets: they are out of leftovers and scraps that people throw in the water with their sins, reciting aloud a prayer. But as I do, to shake off all my sins? I do not have crumbs in my pocket and I did not even pockets! I'm standing next to my mother and I tremble for the cold wind that lifts her skirt. The mother whispers the words of the ritual prayers, with the sins, fall straight from the mouth water. It seems to me that the river has been swollen for all our sins and which carries water suddenly become black.
Purified, I have returned home. The mother, as you enter, you sit down to read the psalms. He wants to enjoy a little 'of the day to ask one more thing to God A murmur spreads through the room dark. The air becomes blurred as the glasses of the mother who weeps in silence, shaking his head.
What should I do?
seems to me that rents out sguscino verses of the psalms, little by little, our ancestors: grandfathers, grandmothers. The shadows are becoming larger, thinner and surround me. I'm afraid to turn around. Maybe someone has put behind me and wants to hug me? "Mom!" I can not help myself and pull by the sleeve. She raises her head, blow your nose and stop crying. Kiss the Psalter and closes it. "Bachka - tells me - Back to the synagogue. Soon everyone went back. You little one prepares the table "" Mother is the blessing of the First Fruits? ". As soon as you exit, I open the wardrobe of well equipped. I pull out of large paper bags full of fruit and them back on the table. As in a large garden roll out big green melons. Alongside them, if they are lying clusters of grapes. White grape, red. Big juicy pears have turned on their heads. Sweet apples, turn golden yellow as if we had already dipped in honey. Dark red plum spread through the entire table. What will the blessing of new fruits? We've eaten all year round! On the other lot, I see sticking out of a pineapple: it seems a small fir tree. "Sacha, you know where to grow a pineapple?" "Who knows? - I respond by raising their hands - I have something else to think! "Nobody knows where it comes from the pineapple. With his calloused skin remembers a strange fish. Only its tail straight in the air if they are completely open like a fan. Touch its belly packed. Tremble all. It is not easy to touch it. One could say that it is there as a tsar. For him the center free of the table. Sacha cut it without mercy. As a live fish, pineapple groaning under the knife. Its juice gushes from my fingers like blood on the white. Lick it. A taste bitter-sweet. And 'the taste of the New Year?
"My God!" He murmured in a hurry "before they all fell within the synagogue, think of all of us! At the temple, mom and dad, I pray all day for a good year. Dad still think you and mother, at every step, remembers your name! You know what they are exhausted, full of worries, my God! You can do everything! May we have a good and sweet year! "With strength, sprinkle with sugar pineapple bitter. "Good Day! Good Day! "My brothers come running stronger than the one crying. Immediately after them, mom and dad come pale and tired. "May you be inscribed in the Book of Life for a good year." I feel your heart jump. It seems that God has spoken through their mouth.
Translated by Magdalena Cavalleri (Bella Chagall, light on , ed. Trois Collines, Genève-Paris, 1948)
