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Kalisz: A Journey of Return
Kalisz: A Journey of Return
Kalisz: A Journey of Return
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Kalisz: A Journey of Return

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History has a way of showing up without being invited and relatives can be hidden for decades, but when truth is revealed changes emerge.
It is without intention that Rose turns up in Kalisz, Poland, her father's ancestral home. But it is not the same Kalisz her father grew up in. The large welcomed Jewish population was emptied and left silent by the holocaust. But for Mr Masjewski, Rose's visit unlocks a hidden past. And an extraordinary connection between the two families is unveiled from its dark hiding place.
Kalisz is a sweeping drama, traveling between worlds of time and place through a rich culture's rituals and traditions, from Poland to Palestine and through generations of two world wars and beyond.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateOct 21, 2013
ISBN9781490716046
Kalisz: A Journey of Return
Author

Rosalind Brenner

Rosalind Brenner, Dip. Metaphysical Science, sat in a courtyard overlooking the square in Kalisz when she realized a story had to be told. She had not considered writing a novel at this stage, and was in love with writing short stories. But Kalisz was alive and the next four years, she wrote the visions appearing in her mind. Rosalind is a mother of three wonderful adults and also an active grandmother. She has traveled to India and Sri Lanka, besides traveling to Poland, her ancestry home, and around her own homeland of Australia. She has sat in Ceremonies with Aboriginal elders in the Australian Desert, and after her youngest child left home went to live in the UK for three years.

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    Kalisz - Rosalind Brenner

    -1-

    A New Beginning

    The journey of who you were and who you are becoming, is where the dance of life begins.

    Barbara De Angelis

    L ife is a precious gift. Through its cycles of birth and death, Alex Berner thought he’d found a way to survive and prolong his life through a silence carved from unspoken grief. Now, as he rushed Stella through the emergency entrance of Crown Street Hospital, his sorrows were left behind, replaced by anticipation and trepidation.

    Please, he called out, somebody come help! My wife is about to have a baby!

    A nurse came towards them, pushing a wheelchair. You must wait here, Mr Berner, she said, recognising the frantic man. We will take Stella to the maternity wing. When she is settled, you can go and see her.

    Alex watched as the nurse wheeled Stella down the sterile white corridor. He was anxious for his child to be born, alive and healthy; he didn’t care whether it was a son or daughter, but deep down, he knew a sweet little girl would delight him no end.

    It was midnight, and the quiet of the hospital was interrupted by the sound of the nurse’s squeaking rubber soles on the highly polished linoleum floor.

    Alex fidgeted in the waiting room. It was too hard for him to sit still. His mind raced through all of the possible complications his imagination could come up with. He paced up and down the long corridor. The smell of disinfectant caught his attention; he thought of their first baby, who had been stillborn. He had been very distressed by it, more so than his wife, it seemed. He was desperate to have children. It was his one and only reason for living.

    At least once a week, he had the same horrid dreams. He hated them and kept them under lock and key in the voids of his mind, but now in the quiet state of the corridor, it seemed as if the doorway had sprung open and the past he was trying to escape from returned. A vision of his mother, from the only photo he owned of her, flashed in front of him. It was in black and white, and her serious round face stared at him. He was riddled with guilt and felt unnerved from the memory. The nurse’s approach relieved him.

    Mr Berner, your wife will be spending the night with us. There’s no need to worry, but the doctor doesn’t expect your baby to arrive until tomorrow morning. The nurse’s stern voice commanded Alex’s attention. Come with me and you can say good night to her before you leave,

    Leave?

    Yes, Mr Berner, your wife is not ready to have the baby for a while. The nurse pursed her lips and spoke with authority. You can come back tomorrow morning and see her.

    Alex wasn’t prepared to tackle the nurse, so he followed her through the winding corridors and up some stairs until they arrived at Stella’s bedside.

    Not too long now! the nurse commanded.

    Nu, Stella, I must go now, he said softly, but I’ll be back tomorrow.

    He patted her hand as it lay softly on the bed covers. Alex felt edgy as he noticed her queer expression. She reminded him of a fallen and scared sparrow he’d watched during his escape from Poland, nearly twenty years ago.

    As Alex left the hospital, the balmy night air hit his cheeks. His spirits were lifted ever so slightly as he stepped out into the streets of the city.

    On returning to his home in the outskirts of Sydney, he lay on the bed, unable to sleep. The room was stifling from the little amount of air circulating in the tiny space. He tossed and turned, trying to run away from the recurring nightmares. In the early light of the day, he gave in and got up and paced the small room.

    His brother, Nathan, occupied the rest of the flat. A knock at the door brought some relief. His brother said, Good morning. Nu, it’s very early. Has the baby come? Is it a boy or a girl?

    Somewhere deep down inside, Alex was glad to have his brother so close, but he didn’t know how to share his feelings, except for anger. And as much as he wanted to show some brotherly love, it was too difficult. Not yet. Maybe it will come today, maybe later. He shrugged his shoulders as he spoke gruffly.

    Come. I make coffee for us, Nathan offered.

    Alex followed his brother into the kitchen. He sat on one of the wooden chairs and watched his brother’s actions intently. They were so unalike, yet similar too. Nathan was much more at home in the kitchen. He whistled a little while he filled the percolator with water and lit the gas stove.

    He may have made a better husband than me, Alex thought to himself. It’s a shame he hasn’t found himself a wife.

    The strong aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled the room and brought Alex back into the present moment. He relaxed a little as he cupped his hands around the mug.

    Alex attempted to express his feelings, saying, "Oy, so many tsurises [troubles]. Not like you. You are happy, Life has worked well since you arrived in this country, nu! I couldn’t work in that factory. Ever since I was young, I have worked for myself. I feel it in my kishkas, I need to be my own boss and have freedom to make business as much as I like. But for you, it’s different; you have a job without tsuris."

    "Vus to do! I earn a living. It’s enough for me. I would like a wife. But I find these foreign people strange. The English are so… I don’t know how to say, proper? Look at yours, she hardly laughs, but always smiles. I don’t understand. Maybe I go back to Europe one day."

    "Oy vay, you leave here, this fine country with all of its opportunity? Look, my brother, I have to leave for the hospital. Please don’t go anywhere before I bring home my child." They both chuckled.

    The small conversation was enough for Alex. He left the flat feeling happier than he had for years, and, as he closed the door behind him he thought he heard his brother wishing him well for his birthday.

    Is today my birthday? Alex pulled his wallet out from his back pocket and took out his driver’s licence. Aahh, the eighth of January, such a long time ago, 1912.

    His birthday wasn’t a big deal to him, and he didn’t make the connections between the thoughts of his mother, his own birth, and now his own child’s birth, perhaps even to be born on his birthday. Instead, he carried on with his usual business activities.

    His work always came first, and today was not going to be an exception. His customers were waiting to make their monthly installment for the refrigerators he’d sold them. Each customer offered him food and a drink. They all wanted to chat, but today he couldn’t; when he explained that his baby was on its way, they congratulated him and wished him well.

    Around the middle of the day, Alex finally managed to get to the hospital. He walked through the ward without checking with the ward sister, who came running behind him, saying, Excuse me, sir. You can’t barge in like that. Who are you? And who is it that you want to see?

    Alex didn’t care for the English culture. He didn’t know the rules and didn’t want to bother learning them. My wife is Stella Berner. She’s having a baby. His European accent made him sound brash, but it got him what he wanted. The sister immediately led him to his wife’s bed.

    Your wife is having a hard time, the nurse said. She’s waiting for the registrar to come.

    Alex felt very uncomfortable as his wife winced in pain from her contractions; he kissed her gently and then was very relieved to be told to go to the waiting room.

    As the hours passed he was pleased to meet another Yiddish man, also waiting for his wife to give birth.

    What business are you in? Alex asked.

    "Ladies’ schmatta," the man said.

    Hmm, Alex said; he could see an opportunity in building relationships with this man. Before he could ask his name, the nurse appeared.

    Mr Faust? she said. Congratulations, you’re a father.

    "Nu, Mr Faust, I am Alex Berner. Mazel tov!"

    Oh, yes thank you, the man stuttered in a daze.

    Come on then, you can meet your daughter. Follow me. The nurse walked off briskly; Mr. Faust needed to run to keep up with her.

    One by one, the other men in the waiting room were called. Finally, Alex was left on his own. He was losing patience. How long could this take? he asked. She’s been in there for more than twenty-four hours. He approached the receptionist sitting behind a glass petition. My wife has been in there for so long. Is there something wrong?

    Excuse me, sir. What’s your name?

    Alex Berner.

    I’m afraid you just need to wait. Babies have their own way of arriving, you know. The newly applied red lipstick contrasted her pearly white teeth as she formed her words. She pulled the holland blind down, and Alex went back to pacing. He looked at the clock; it was six.

    There’s a pub across the road, the receptionist said as she prepared to leave. A lot of the fathers wait it out there.

    But Alex rarely went to a pub unless he was seeking out customers. Will you join me? he asked her spontaneously.

    Sure, just one drink, though; I have to get home for tea. My elderly mother relies on me.

    Alex brought two drinks to the table and the time passed quickly, with a lot of flirtatious chat and laughter from both of them. Well, Alex, you’re an absolute delight, she said, but I have to go. I hope your baby doesn’t keep you waiting too much longer.

    Thank you for your company, Alex said; he walked back into the empty waiting room. "These Australian women aren’t so bad after all. They have as much chutzpa [spunk] as the Israeli ones."

    Mr Berner, come with me. A nurse appeared just as Alex had sat down.

    Is my wife all right? he asked nervously.

    He entered the ward where Stella lay, and a young nurse placed a tiny baby into his arms. Alex smiled down at the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. The tiny face could only belong to a princess. Her features were so small and delicate. He couldn’t believe she was real. She lay completely still, wrapped in a bunny rug with Crown St Women’s Hospital stamped in the middle. It was the most special moment of his life; Alex burst with elation as he held his child for the very first time.

    Come on then, baby. The English-accented nurse took the baby from Alex and stood beside the bed, ready to hand her over to her mother.

    Please, Stella murmured, I just want to sleep.

    Don’t you want to feed this lovely little one first?

    No, I can’t. I’m too tired.

    Alex pulled the nurse away from the bedside and out of Stella’s hearing range.

    She needs to learn how to look after our baby. My child must have the best care. He pointed to his wife. She is so weak and afraid.

    All right, Mr Berner, I’ll look into it. There is Karitane, a mother craft agency that helps new mothers. Most women are scared when they have their first child. Don’t be too concerned. In the meantime, I’ll take this delicate little one into the nursery, and she’ll have the best of care.

    Alex decided to see the rabbi first thing in the morning. He wasn’t a religious man by no means, despite being born into the religious Chassidic tradition in Poland. But the moment he’d been waiting for had finally arrived; maybe there was a God after all.

    The next day, Alex entered the ward with the largest bottle of eau de cologne he could find, knowing it was Stella’s favourite scent. He greeted her with a peck on the cheek.

    Nu, Stella, the rabbi wants a name for the baby. I want to call her Raizel, like my mother.

    Stella bolted herself upright in the narrow hospital bed. You can’t call her such a foreign name, Alex. She’ll have a real struggle on her hands. How about Rose? She has such rosy cheeks and pale skin.

    Alex thought for a moment. He didn’t want to give in too easy, but he didn’t want to fight either. OK, he said. I want the best life for her; that’s why we came here to Australia, nu?

    -2-

    Raizel

    "The moment a child is born, the mother is

    also born."

    Rajneesh

    D ecades earlier, in Poland, on the morning of Alex Berner’s birth, his mother, Raizel, made her traditional daily trip to the market. The thick snow covering the ground didn’t deter her. Nor did the fact she could feel the baby inside her belly; an experienced mother, she knew her time would come soon. As she walked to the market square, her stubby fingers became numb. Even the woolen gloves didn’t provide an ounce of warmth to her hands. Her muscles ached as she trudged through the deep snow.

    A strange silence filled the square. Usually, the noises of the stallholders would echo through the streets, and the sounds of the children playing would be carried into the mix of the bustling little market. Raizel noticed the fountain in the centre that usually poured out a constant stream of fresh running water had been caught in time. Frozen icicles hung in mid-air.

    But the market was still bustling with trade; time was not waiting for the winter to finish, and business could not wait for the freeze to melt. The families of Tulizkow still needed to eat.

    This was Raizel’s fifth child, and during the morning’s activities, the baby dropped down in her belly. By the time she finished her business and got back home, she was sweating profusely and in a great deal of pain.

    Rivka, she called for her eldest daughter, go fetch the midwife. I think your little brother or sister is ready to make an appearance.

    Mama, where have you been? Rivka asked.

    She was astonished to see her mother had been out when she was so close to delivering the baby. Rivka knew of her mother’s tenacity to keep going no matter what, but she couldn’t understand how she could do some of the things she did.

    She swore under her breath, When it’s my turn to have a child, it’ll be in a nice warm place, and I’ll be ready to welcome the baby with love.

    I’ve been to the market, of course! Don’t fuss, just get the midwife. I’m going to get the bed ready. Send Halina in from next door to help me. Be quick, Rivka!

    Rivka ran off calling for the neighbour. Halina, can you come and help Imma? She’s in labour. I am going for the midwife.

    Rivka’s voice was thin with urgency. It was hard to run in the ankle-deep snow, and she knew time was of the essence.

    The contractions grew stronger; Raizel was forced to lie down on the bed. Past experience and instinct had taught her how to use her breath to get through the intensity of the pain. Relief came when the contraction ended. She had time before the next one, so she got up and started to walk to the cupboard where the stash of materials she had gathered for the birth was stored.

    Raizel had come across a gypsy peddler months before who was selling off schmattas (rags), perfect for collecting the fluids from birthing. She had made such a good deal with him, she could afford to throw them out instead of soaking them and rubbing and scrubbing her hands to the bone to remove the stains. She had traded some of their old hens, who hadn’t laid an egg for a year. He seemed quite excited by the prospect of half a dozen old hens; heavens knows what he would do with them. But Raizel didn’t care. She was glad to be rid of them.

    She hadn’t quite made it across the room when Halina marched in.

    Nu, Raizel, what is happening? Get back to the bed. I am here now.

    So wonderful for you to come, she answered in her sarcastic tone. I’m having a party, what do you think?

    Halina caught her under the arm as the next contraction doubled her over with pain. After she helped her back onto the bed, Raizel squeezed onto her arm until the next contraction passed. There was no thank you or nice hearty feelings between the neighbours; Raizel had grown to believe that showing feelings made her vulnerable and appear weak.

    And it wasn’t that there was any danger in Tulizkow; this had been the village of her birth, and she had never been beyond its boundaries. But her parents had fled from the violence of a small town that bordered Russia. They left with only the clothes on their backs. Raizel’s mother had been young, only sixteen and newly married. Dozens of youngsters, including Raizel’s parents and their cousins, were forced to leave and find a better life for themselves in a town where they could live comfortably with the Poles.

    Jews had begun to settle in the small town of Tulizkow since the beginning of the nineteenth century. By the time Raizel’s parents had arrived, there were about one hundred Jews amongst the small population of one thousand. They mixed and worked alongside the Poles, making a living as traders, craftsmen, and farmers.

    Raizel had been born the year after they settled in Tulizkow. But as the pogroms grew wider, not even the small town was spared. Raizel grew up amidst the spasmodic attacks of anti-Semitism.

    Once she witnessed an attack on an elderly woman who was being beaten up by a group of Polish men. They had accused her of taking away their freedom, blaming her for the economic problems and the Russian soldiers taking over the town.

    The elderly woman couldn’t understand why they were blaming her.

    Please let me go, she had pleaded. Here, have all the coins in my purse, she had offered, but the men had brutally knocked her to the ground and began kicking her. They had kept kicking her until she stopped moving, and then they had run off. Blood had trickled from behind her head and ran like a creek towards the drain.

    Raizel had watched in silence. She was totally overcome with fear. Her feet were frozen to the spot. She could tell the old lady was dead. When she could finally move, she had run all the way home to tell her mother what she had seen. But her mother didn’t want to hear or see the flood of emotions coming from Raizel.

    You must not behave like this, her mother had said. You must be strong. It’s not a kind world we live in, and if you want to survive, you must learn how to tolerate pain.

    The words echoed in Raizel’s head as the next contraction came. They were coming quite close together. Raizel bit into her lower lip to keep from crying out.

    "In the cupboard are the schmattas for the drippings." Raizel managed to just get out the few words between the contractions.

    I hope that midwife arrives soon, Halina muttered to herself as she brought the schmattas to the bed. "Otherwise, I’ll be delivering the baby."

    She knew she must be strong, but Raizel would have really liked to cry out and let the world hear her voice; she longed to have her fragile nature nurtured and mothered. But she squashed these thoughts down as the next contractions took over.

    I want to push! she screamed.

    "Oy vay, where is the midwife? Halina said. Just pant, Raizel. Hang on a bit longer. Rivka will be here any minute with the midwife."

    Halina fluttered around the bed, spreading the schmattas apart and pushing them underneath Raizel.

    Rivka returned with the midwife just in time. Her mother was lying in the big bed, where she and her brothers and sister had also been born. Raizel’s face looked tense, and her lips had gone white.

    I can’t, Raizel screamed back, just as the midwife appeared. I’m pushing now, he wants to come, nu, let him. She spoke with gritted teeth and short breaths.

    Just in time, am I? the midwife said calmly, pushing Halina out of the way. Let’s get this baby into the world; may he be blessed with good health.

    Why are you calling it a ‘him’ already? How do you know? Rivka asked.

    The midwife seemed to have mystical powers. Sometimes the women of her shtetl were quite strange, especially when it involved women’s matters.

    One more push, Raizel, she now said. I can see his head already.

    With a last effort, Raizel pushed and the baby was out. She lay back on the bed, relieved it was over. Her head was wet with sweat and her lips parched white from the strain.

    And so another yiddisher babe was born into the harsh reality of the Jewish world in Eastern Europe, into a world where survival was the key and silences a doorway to pass through.

    See, Rivka, the midwife cackled. "A brother for you.

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