There were no preparations at all for my departure to school in the faraway town. There was no packing to be done as I did not even have a change of suit. The understanding, apparently, was that I would enter the preparatory school of the famous religious academy, and that Esther, my supposed future "foster mother," would take care of me and look after my room and board.
On the eve of the departure, Mother took me to the house where Esther was staying for last minute arrangements. It was about nine o'clock in the evening, a late hour for our small town, and there were very few people in the streets.
Mother and I walked across the big marketplace. Twice weekly, on Mondays and Thursdays, a fair was held in this square. Farmers from all around town and neighboring villages would come here in their horse-drawn wagons, with wives and children, cows and goats, fruits and vegetables. A constant hum would hang in the air—a mixture of human voices, laughter, offers and counteroffers, handclasps in token of agreements, and rib-breaking slaps on the back. Here and there, groups of young peasants would sing to the accompaniment of a harmonica.
But now it was ominously quiet except for the sound of our steps on the cobblestones. I could hear my breathing, and I listened to the beating of my heart.
We walked silently with heavy hearts. Not a single word was exchanged between us.
I was not yet fully nine years old and felt like bursting into tears. With all my power I wanted to stop the plan of sending me away from home. I wanted to plead, "Please, Mother, don't do it, don't!" but did not find the courage to utter the words.
The strange quiet all around reminded me of a cemetery, and for the span of a heartbeat it seemed to me that I was going to my own funeral. I continued walking beside my mother, like an animal brought to this very place during a market day for sale and slaughter.
Mother, not much taller than her little son, walked with bowed head. She, too, may have felt like breaking off the deal at the very last moment. She, too, may have searched within herself for a sudden surge of courage to stand up for her motherly rights. Bitter feelings may have welled up in her heart against unsolicited advisors, and she may have wanted to tell the world to let her live her life surrounded by all her six children, including me, her only son. She certainly did not want her home broken up again after the untimely death of my father. All she wanted was a peaceful life blessed with daily toil.
But neither she nor I could find the words to rebel, the craved-for strength to stand up for our mutual happiness. We continued walking in silence. Our shadows merged and clung to each other. After a long while I feebly pushed away the choking silence from my throat:
"Mother, will you buy me a bentsh'erl?"
A bentsh'erl was a small, paper-covered booklet containing the blessings of grace after meals. I knew by then all these prayers by heart, but I saw myself keeping it in my pocket, touching it gently with my fingers as the only thing brought from home. I could think of nothing else which Mother could possibly give me as a present on the occasion of my leaving home for the religious school. I also knew that even mother could afford it, since its cost was literally a few pennies.
Mother turned her head sharply.
"Are you still a child?"
New silence rushed in to-cover the gap just made by the few words.
Mother's long silence during our walk to Esther meant for me only one thing—that there was no recourse and that she was resolved to go through with the plan.
So I asked for the bentsh'erl as a reminder of home, of Mother, something to call my very own.
Mother, on the other hand, apparently heard in my request an indication that I had resigned myself, without any sign of resistance, to the idea of going away to the faraway school, and this may have stopped all her own doubts and hesitations about the soundness of the plan.
And so the issue was closed—on to the new school, young man!