I already have the designs that I've gotten from a wonderful graphic designer in Russia whom I'm using, however I went to make sure that as many people who occasionally check in with this blog will return between MARCH 31 and APRIL 7 to check out the options and vote for your favorite.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
WATCH THIS SPACE
As the countdown timer to the right illustrates, on MARCH 31 I will post several possible jacket covers for the book from which you've been reading excerpts. And I will ask YOU to vote on which one you like best. There are 2 possible titles that I'll be interested in getting your reactions to (though I'd welcome another option, if you'd care to suggest one).
I already have the designs that I've gotten from a wonderful graphic designer in Russia whom I'm using, however I went to make sure that as many people who occasionally check in with this blog will return between MARCH 31 and APRIL 7 to check out the options and vote for your favorite.
I already have the designs that I've gotten from a wonderful graphic designer in Russia whom I'm using, however I went to make sure that as many people who occasionally check in with this blog will return between MARCH 31 and APRIL 7 to check out the options and vote for your favorite.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Purim story - - Part III
That, however, was not the end of it. Haman now started telling us how his father, an Orthodox priest, had always taught him that Jews were true children of mercy. And he assured us that everyone knew we were the best marksmen in the regiment, and if we were to use our influence on the other men, or even merely do our best at the range tomorrow, be would know how to show his gratitude.
His small pig eyes actually erupted with tears. Truly, if a type like this could be reduced to weeping in front of men whom only last week he'd still been calling zhydovska morda (derogatory description of a Jew, occasionally translated as ‘Jewface,’ except morda refers to the visage of an animal), the days of the Messiah were at hand.
Haman left, and our little revolutionary cell convened a meeting. All night long we heatedly disputed whether or not to call off our strike.
I argued that, if the man had repented sincerely, he deserved at least one more chance. After all, we had already demonstrated our revolutionary power. Also, if we overthrew Haman completely, what guarantee did we have that our next commander wouldn't be even worse? But there were others who felt that his tears were not sincere, and that we'd be fools to pass up this opportunity to rid ourselves of the bastard once and for all.
In the end, the meeting dissolved without a clear-cut decision one way or the other.
Thus, back at the firing range next morning, some of us carefully continued to miss our targets, while others ran up a very decent score.
The outcome was still no great triumph for Haman. He was threatened with instant demotion if such a "mutiny" should ever again occur among his men. But he kept his command, and I regret to tell you that his heartbreaking conversion lasted only as long as yesterday's snow.
However, if Haman remained as much of a swine as ever, our little exercise did have one effect. From that day on, our commander's malevolence was strictly impartial. And what Jew in Fonya's army could have asked for more than that?
(End)
His small pig eyes actually erupted with tears. Truly, if a type like this could be reduced to weeping in front of men whom only last week he'd still been calling zhydovska morda (derogatory description of a Jew, occasionally translated as ‘Jewface,’ except morda refers to the visage of an animal), the days of the Messiah were at hand.
Haman left, and our little revolutionary cell convened a meeting. All night long we heatedly disputed whether or not to call off our strike.
I argued that, if the man had repented sincerely, he deserved at least one more chance. After all, we had already demonstrated our revolutionary power. Also, if we overthrew Haman completely, what guarantee did we have that our next commander wouldn't be even worse? But there were others who felt that his tears were not sincere, and that we'd be fools to pass up this opportunity to rid ourselves of the bastard once and for all.
In the end, the meeting dissolved without a clear-cut decision one way or the other.
Thus, back at the firing range next morning, some of us carefully continued to miss our targets, while others ran up a very decent score.
The outcome was still no great triumph for Haman. He was threatened with instant demotion if such a "mutiny" should ever again occur among his men. But he kept his command, and I regret to tell you that his heartbreaking conversion lasted only as long as yesterday's snow.
However, if Haman remained as much of a swine as ever, our little exercise did have one effect. From that day on, our commander's malevolence was strictly impartial. And what Jew in Fonya's army could have asked for more than that?
(End)
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Purim story - - Part II
When Haman became our commanding officer, he reminded us that anyone who had forgotten he was a soldier whose body and soul belong to the Czar would very quickly find himself “vacationing” in Siberia where, before long, they might get the chance to do some real soldiering against a race of yellow vermin laboring under the illusion that Asia belonged to them. And in particular, he advised the Jews in his company to cease conducting themselves as though they were still in some synagogue of theirs.
This final observation did not go down too well with the boys in my platoon. Partly thanks to Mikhailoff's easygoing policies, our company had walked away the previous summer, and the summer before that, with the highest score in the Novocherkassky's annual marksmanship competition. Not only because we'd had so much more opportunity to practice, but because, unlike some other companies, we had truly wanted to make a good showing on our Captain's behalf. And since a fair number of the Jewish soldiers also happened to be among the best shots in the regiment, it seemed to us that this new katzap was starting off with some degree of prejudice.
Our committee, therefore, took it as a direct challenge that, at a time when czarism itself, with its incurably corrupt, brutal, and ignorant bureaucracy and army, already seemed on the verge of crumbling, this Haman should come along and try to give us, as they say, a taste of pepper. In short, we determined to settle this dog before he could settle us.
We had our opportunity at the annual regimental marksmanship competitions. Each company commander was desperately anxious for his men to make a good showing. These contests, in fact, were one of the few ways in which an officer in garrison could make a name for himself. That was because if a company did really well, its commanding officer got the sole credit, and if it did badly, that, too, was blamed on him. Since there was just about nothing in it for the winning marksmen themselves, these annual competitions, as far as the soldiers were concerned, had only one practical purpose: to demonstrate to the world how the men felt about their company commander.
We could all tell Haman was a little bit worried because for some weeks now, he had been handling us as gently as a mother putting a dressing over an abscess. All our time in the field was devoted totally to marksmanship (although only with the rifle, not the machine gun, which was still too much of a novelty, as well as wasteful of ammunition. Also, I think our officers didn't quite trust its reliability - - especially in the hands of future revolutionaries).
Haman, of course, already knew that our company was blessed with some of the most expert sharpshooters in the regiment, and he was determined for us to do him proud. We, for our part, had every intention in the world of burying him.
Since Russian infantry tactics had changed very little from the days when soldiers carried muskets and fired in volleys, the way these competitions worked was as follows. Ten men at a time went up to the firing line. A hundred yards away were ten wooden targets painted to resemble enemy soldiers. After each man had fired his allotted number of bullets, a cease-fire was called and some soldiers who'd been hidden in trenches behind the target signaled each man's score with a red flag.
We all knew that, based on past performance, our regimental commander expected the Fourteenth Company to walk away with the first prize, and had placed his bets accordingly. So the night before, our revolutionary committee voted that tomorrow not one of us, all day, was to dare hit his target even once. Somebody wondered whether this wouldn't be a little too obvious. But of course we wanted it to be obvious.
Came morning and we took up our positions, fired off our volleys, and with a good deal of careful concentration succeeded in leaving every one of our targets absolutely untouched. I could tell how deeply this pained some of our better marksmen, and how they tried to console themselves by neatly shooting off branches four times as far away as the target.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Haman's face white as chalk and his teeth biting furiously into his lips. Before long, the colonel, faced with the loss of a rather large bet, summoned him over and, in front of all the visiting dignitaries, raked Haman over the coals for having inspired such blatant disloyalty in his men.
However, we, too, were warned. The results of the first round were declared null and void, and every company was given a fresh chance. Haman watched us in silence, but there was murder in his eye. Nevertheless, once again not one of us inflicted so much as a scratch on a single target.
The colonel, now clearly aware of what sort of a mutiny he had on his hands, also voided the results of the second round, and announced that the contest would continue, all day and all night if necessary, until "certain elements" showed themselves prepared to act like true children of the Czar.
We remained unmoved. By nine in the evening, our com¬pany's score still stood at zero, and the other companies, too, had long ceased to take the whole business seriously. The colonel, with barely restrained rage, again nullified all scores, but called a break until the following morning, when the contest would begin afresh.
An hour or two later, the door to our barracks flew open, and Haman entered, alone. We leaped to attention. He told us, in a gentle, almost broken voice, to stand at ease and gather around him.
And he said, "Dear children, I fully understand your grievances against me. I know that, on more than one occasion, I have allowed my vile temper to get the upper hand. And for this now all of you, to a man, are determined to humiliate me. But what am I to do? This is my nature. I've treated my own children no better than I've treated you. All I can do is beg you to forgive my past misdeeds. And let you know that, if you will not help me tomorrow, I am ruined. They will not even send me to an honorable death at the fighting front, but will reduce me in rank and discharge me from the service. And if that happens, there is nothing left for me to do but drown myself or put a bullet through my head."
We listened, but I for one couldn't say I felt particularly moved. Not only didn't I believe what he said, but it seemed to me that if he did kill himself, the world would be well able to survive the loss.
(To be continued)
This final observation did not go down too well with the boys in my platoon. Partly thanks to Mikhailoff's easygoing policies, our company had walked away the previous summer, and the summer before that, with the highest score in the Novocherkassky's annual marksmanship competition. Not only because we'd had so much more opportunity to practice, but because, unlike some other companies, we had truly wanted to make a good showing on our Captain's behalf. And since a fair number of the Jewish soldiers also happened to be among the best shots in the regiment, it seemed to us that this new katzap was starting off with some degree of prejudice.
Our committee, therefore, took it as a direct challenge that, at a time when czarism itself, with its incurably corrupt, brutal, and ignorant bureaucracy and army, already seemed on the verge of crumbling, this Haman should come along and try to give us, as they say, a taste of pepper. In short, we determined to settle this dog before he could settle us.
We had our opportunity at the annual regimental marksmanship competitions. Each company commander was desperately anxious for his men to make a good showing. These contests, in fact, were one of the few ways in which an officer in garrison could make a name for himself. That was because if a company did really well, its commanding officer got the sole credit, and if it did badly, that, too, was blamed on him. Since there was just about nothing in it for the winning marksmen themselves, these annual competitions, as far as the soldiers were concerned, had only one practical purpose: to demonstrate to the world how the men felt about their company commander.
We could all tell Haman was a little bit worried because for some weeks now, he had been handling us as gently as a mother putting a dressing over an abscess. All our time in the field was devoted totally to marksmanship (although only with the rifle, not the machine gun, which was still too much of a novelty, as well as wasteful of ammunition. Also, I think our officers didn't quite trust its reliability - - especially in the hands of future revolutionaries).
Haman, of course, already knew that our company was blessed with some of the most expert sharpshooters in the regiment, and he was determined for us to do him proud. We, for our part, had every intention in the world of burying him.
Since Russian infantry tactics had changed very little from the days when soldiers carried muskets and fired in volleys, the way these competitions worked was as follows. Ten men at a time went up to the firing line. A hundred yards away were ten wooden targets painted to resemble enemy soldiers. After each man had fired his allotted number of bullets, a cease-fire was called and some soldiers who'd been hidden in trenches behind the target signaled each man's score with a red flag.
We all knew that, based on past performance, our regimental commander expected the Fourteenth Company to walk away with the first prize, and had placed his bets accordingly. So the night before, our revolutionary committee voted that tomorrow not one of us, all day, was to dare hit his target even once. Somebody wondered whether this wouldn't be a little too obvious. But of course we wanted it to be obvious.
Came morning and we took up our positions, fired off our volleys, and with a good deal of careful concentration succeeded in leaving every one of our targets absolutely untouched. I could tell how deeply this pained some of our better marksmen, and how they tried to console themselves by neatly shooting off branches four times as far away as the target.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Haman's face white as chalk and his teeth biting furiously into his lips. Before long, the colonel, faced with the loss of a rather large bet, summoned him over and, in front of all the visiting dignitaries, raked Haman over the coals for having inspired such blatant disloyalty in his men.
However, we, too, were warned. The results of the first round were declared null and void, and every company was given a fresh chance. Haman watched us in silence, but there was murder in his eye. Nevertheless, once again not one of us inflicted so much as a scratch on a single target.
The colonel, now clearly aware of what sort of a mutiny he had on his hands, also voided the results of the second round, and announced that the contest would continue, all day and all night if necessary, until "certain elements" showed themselves prepared to act like true children of the Czar.
We remained unmoved. By nine in the evening, our com¬pany's score still stood at zero, and the other companies, too, had long ceased to take the whole business seriously. The colonel, with barely restrained rage, again nullified all scores, but called a break until the following morning, when the contest would begin afresh.
An hour or two later, the door to our barracks flew open, and Haman entered, alone. We leaped to attention. He told us, in a gentle, almost broken voice, to stand at ease and gather around him.
And he said, "Dear children, I fully understand your grievances against me. I know that, on more than one occasion, I have allowed my vile temper to get the upper hand. And for this now all of you, to a man, are determined to humiliate me. But what am I to do? This is my nature. I've treated my own children no better than I've treated you. All I can do is beg you to forgive my past misdeeds. And let you know that, if you will not help me tomorrow, I am ruined. They will not even send me to an honorable death at the fighting front, but will reduce me in rank and discharge me from the service. And if that happens, there is nothing left for me to do but drown myself or put a bullet through my head."
We listened, but I for one couldn't say I felt particularly moved. Not only didn't I believe what he said, but it seemed to me that if he did kill himself, the world would be well able to survive the loss.
(To be continued)
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
A Slightly Late Purim Story - - Part I
After some weeks of basic training the so-called convicts' company, which Mordechai felt I was danger of beginning to enjoy rather more than was proper for boy of my refined family background, I found myself unexpectedly transferred to the regimental tailor shop. Mordechai hoped that joining this platoon, which consisted of one hundred and eighteen men, forty two of whom were Jews, would keep me out of further brawls and court martials.
Here, out of eight men, I think two were actually tailors and therefore obliged to cover for the rest of us. However, no one complained because it was apparent that we others must have had some pull with notchalstva (bosses, in general, or local government), or we wouldn't be there.
But I soon realized that my years in the commercial jungle and newborn labor movement of Warsaw had almost totally destroyed my ability to cope grew bored with the blessing of idleness. Within less than a month, to my brother's dismay, I began to crave some other outlet for my youthful energies and thirst for adventure.
Finally, against Mordechai's vehement advice, I applied successfully for a transfer to the Fourteenth Company, which was under the command of my defender, Captain Mikhailoff, the Czar's relative. It was, after all, peacetime and, while life in the infantry might have been a little more strenuous than smoking my pipe in the tailor shop, being back among real soldiers was as exciting to me as going to a summer camp, with all facilities for outdoor sports, would be to an American child today.
Being only a captain and in command of a mere company of infantry, Mikhailoff might not have been quite as close a relative to the Czar as he liked to let on. But during the time he was in charge of our company, I must admit I found military life a great deal more interesting than the ‘freedom’ of working twenty-hour days in Warsaw.
While we were well aware of our good fortune in having such a humane and easygoing company commander, we continued to talk among ourselves of the necessity to overthrow our abominable Czar, Nicolai Alexandrovich, and to abolish altogether such instruments of tyranny as the army. This revolutionary fervor, at least among the Jewish soldiers, was further inflamed as we heard about ongoing pogroms in even such large modern cities as Kishinev and Gomel, and about the latest atrocities committed by the "Black Hundreds" (anti-Semitic groups that conducted government-sanctioned pogroms) often led by uniformed Russian or Ukrainian officers.
Our noble Mikhailoff was a man who not only enjoyed life, but also did not begrudge others. He believed, for example, that in peacetime there's little sense in tormenting your men with a lot of useless exercises. So, while the other companies were sent on field maneuvers and forced marches and entertainments of that sort, our excellent captain took us, the Fourteenth Company, to some shady spot in the woods. Here he permitted us to amuse ourselves with such leisure activities as trick riding and marksmanship. And we, in anticipation of the revolution, and thanks to Mikhailoff's generosity with ammunition, soon became so handy with our rifles and horses, we began routinely to win a good many of those regimental competitions on whose outcomes our officers so loved to place wagers.
In fact, we did our Captain Mikhailoff so proud that he was presently relieved of his command, promoted to colonel, and placed in charge of an important customs post on the Manchurian border, where it was understood that a man would have to be made of stone not to pile up money like manure.
Very well. We'd had a sensible and humane officer and, instead of simply thanking our good fortune, we'd gone right on plotting the overthrow of his wretched relative, Nicolai Alexandrovich. Now fate rewarded us for our zeal in wanting to liberate our one hundred and thirty million other countrymen, as well, with a new commanding officer.
He made his appearance on a cold Wednesday morning. Unnaturally tall, he had shoulders like a barn door, upon which rested a small Slavic head with a broad nose and little pig eyes. In fact, all the parts of his body seemed to be not quite in proportion, so that when he walked, he looked not so much like a man as the way you might picture the original golem (In Jewish Folklore, the golem was a mythical creature created from mud that became animated when the name of God, written out, was placed in its mouth).
We were promptly called into formation where, for a start, we were allowed to shiver at attention for some time. Presently, our new boss introduced himself as Captain Fedorenko, but before the day was out, his nickname among the Jewish soldiers was Haman (Chief Minister to King Ahasuerus, (aka Xerxes, 486-465 B.C.E.) who wanted to exterminate all the Jews in thekingdom of Persia
(To be continued)
Here, out of eight men, I think two were actually tailors and therefore obliged to cover for the rest of us. However, no one complained because it was apparent that we others must have had some pull with notchalstva (bosses, in general, or local government), or we wouldn't be there.
But I soon realized that my years in the commercial jungle and newborn labor movement of Warsaw had almost totally destroyed my ability to cope grew bored with the blessing of idleness. Within less than a month, to my brother's dismay, I began to crave some other outlet for my youthful energies and thirst for adventure.
Finally, against Mordechai's vehement advice, I applied successfully for a transfer to the Fourteenth Company, which was under the command of my defender, Captain Mikhailoff, the Czar's relative. It was, after all, peacetime and, while life in the infantry might have been a little more strenuous than smoking my pipe in the tailor shop, being back among real soldiers was as exciting to me as going to a summer camp, with all facilities for outdoor sports, would be to an American child today.
Being only a captain and in command of a mere company of infantry, Mikhailoff might not have been quite as close a relative to the Czar as he liked to let on. But during the time he was in charge of our company, I must admit I found military life a great deal more interesting than the ‘freedom’ of working twenty-hour days in Warsaw.
While we were well aware of our good fortune in having such a humane and easygoing company commander, we continued to talk among ourselves of the necessity to overthrow our abominable Czar, Nicolai Alexandrovich, and to abolish altogether such instruments of tyranny as the army. This revolutionary fervor, at least among the Jewish soldiers, was further inflamed as we heard about ongoing pogroms in even such large modern cities as Kishinev and Gomel, and about the latest atrocities committed by the "Black Hundreds" (anti-Semitic groups that conducted government-sanctioned pogroms) often led by uniformed Russian or Ukrainian officers.
Our noble Mikhailoff was a man who not only enjoyed life, but also did not begrudge others. He believed, for example, that in peacetime there's little sense in tormenting your men with a lot of useless exercises. So, while the other companies were sent on field maneuvers and forced marches and entertainments of that sort, our excellent captain took us, the Fourteenth Company, to some shady spot in the woods. Here he permitted us to amuse ourselves with such leisure activities as trick riding and marksmanship. And we, in anticipation of the revolution, and thanks to Mikhailoff's generosity with ammunition, soon became so handy with our rifles and horses, we began routinely to win a good many of those regimental competitions on whose outcomes our officers so loved to place wagers.In fact, we did our Captain Mikhailoff so proud that he was presently relieved of his command, promoted to colonel, and placed in charge of an important customs post on the Manchurian border, where it was understood that a man would have to be made of stone not to pile up money like manure.
Very well. We'd had a sensible and humane officer and, instead of simply thanking our good fortune, we'd gone right on plotting the overthrow of his wretched relative, Nicolai Alexandrovich. Now fate rewarded us for our zeal in wanting to liberate our one hundred and thirty million other countrymen, as well, with a new commanding officer.
He made his appearance on a cold Wednesday morning. Unnaturally tall, he had shoulders like a barn door, upon which rested a small Slavic head with a broad nose and little pig eyes. In fact, all the parts of his body seemed to be not quite in proportion, so that when he walked, he looked not so much like a man as the way you might picture the original golem (In Jewish Folklore, the golem was a mythical creature created from mud that became animated when the name of God, written out, was placed in its mouth).
We were promptly called into formation where, for a start, we were allowed to shiver at attention for some time. Presently, our new boss introduced himself as Captain Fedorenko, but before the day was out, his nickname among the Jewish soldiers was Haman (Chief Minister to King Ahasuerus, (aka Xerxes, 486-465 B.C.E.) who wanted to exterminate all the Jews in the
(To be continued)
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