Aunt Elvira entered the classroom with the put-on smile of grown-ups who view children as half-dangerous, half-idiotic creatures. She nodded and uttered a semi-sour, semi-friendly “Good morning,” which Dr. Salzmann answered with a sonorous-relaxed “Indeed it is!” Aunt Elvira’s smile froze at the sight of his black yarmulke, which she stared at as if transfixed.
“If the ladies will be so kind as to wait one more minute,” said Dr. Salzmann, shaking his watch and holding it to his ear. “I’m thinking out loud. The course — that is to say this class — in this Institute Dedication combines students from the cheyder as well as from the yeshiva. What is the cheyder? The cheyder is the basic religious study. So what is the yeshiva? The yeshiva is the place of advanced religious instruction. But what is this Institute Dedication? A private school with expensive tuition. The students of this institution are therefore children of rich people. Being rich doesn’t make one grateful. The children of rich people are seldom brought up in the faith. I am the teacher of this course. So what is my duty? My duty as teacher of this course is to make up for what has been missed. What tells me whether the pupils of the yeshiva master the basic instruction of the cheyder or not? My presumption as well as my knowledge. My presumption that the pupils of the yeshiva in this course have not mastered their basic instruction from the cheyder is based on the experience that children of rich people will have paid inadequate attention to religion. What confirms this supposition? My knowledge of the students of this class confirms that my supposition is correct. I repeat: my duty as teacher of this course is to make up for what has been missed. So the students of the yeshiva will repeat the greatest of the prayers in the faith, the Krias-Shema. What is this prayer? This prayer is the Shema Yisrael. The Shema Yisrael is the only prayer that must be prayed in Hebrew. Other prayers can be prayed in Hebrew as well — they should be, but they don’t have to be. This is half-imperative. That’s why one of our assignments is Taitsch. What is Taitsch? It is the Germanization, the translation of the prayers. We will translate the Shema Yisrael as well, but we will pray in Hebrew:
Shema Yisrael adoshem eloheynu adoshem echad!
Taitsch—I’m thinking out loud … Shema Yisrael—Hear, O Israel. Shema Yisrael adoshem. What is adoshem? Adoshem comes from joining adonai and shem. What is adonai? Adonai means God. So what is shem? Shem means the word for name. But what is the name? The name is God. Adoshem means the name of God, both literally as a compound drawn together and symbolically. The class will repeat:
“Shema Yisrael—”
We repeated it as a chorus.
“Hear, O Israel. Shema Yisrael adoshem—”
We repeated: “Shema Yisrael adoshem—” and so on, with the translation in Taitsch, until the end.
Dr. Salzmann had not yet put his yarmulke back in his pocket when Aunt Elvira walked right up to him. “Excuse me,” she said. “Am I standing before a teacher of this institute?”
“If you would prefer to sit down, ma’am, please,” said Dr. Salzmann politely, “you may have my chair.”
“And with whom do I have the pleasure?”
“Dr. Aaron Salzmann is my name. The lady here teaches mathematics at this institute, Dr. Margit Biro, née Wurfbaum.”
Dr. Biro, who was in the process of biting into her poppy-seed bun, bowed to Aunt Elvira.
“I only desire to learn the nature of the course being taught here,” said Aunt Elvira.
“You speak like a diplomat, ma’am. We are simple Jews. The course you have just attended was the Mosaic religious instruction.”
“And is Madame Aritonovich cognizant of the fact that this instruction is being imparted to Christian children?” asked Aunt Elvira, indignant in the true sense of the word, that is to say, removed from her dignity.
“For that information you have to ask Lustig, ma’am.”
“I have to ask how? said Aunt Elvira, sharply.
Dr. Salzmann closed his eyes and arched his eyebrows. “I use the word lustig not as an adjective, meaning jolly, but as a given name. Dr. Lustig is the professor in charge of this class, who takes care of the enrollment relating to religious instruction.”
“In that case, one will have to turn to Madame Aritonovich personally,” said Aunt Elvira, her non sequitur sounding painfully illogical to Dr. Salzmann.
“By all means, please do,” he said, bowing to her, as much as his enormous stomach would permit. Dr. Biro followed him out, still chewing.
The revelation that the Institut d’Éducation was a “pure Jewish school” where classes were taught in Hebrew, was first met with disbelief at home. But when asked, we had to confess that we had been taking part in Jewish religious instruction. This set off one of the usual “crises.” Our mother sought out Madame Aritonovich, who listened to her carefully and then said: “Didn’t you know that I’m Jewish myself?”
Not a syllable of that was true — both Herr Tarangolian and Uncle Sergei took pains to rebut this claim as tactfully as possible, but even as they did, our parents remained resolute in their decision to remove us immediately from the school. We cried for days. It was only thanks to some strenuous intervention on the part of Herr Tarangolian, who openly declared that he hadn’t expected his personal friends would disrupt his efforts to prevent the national, religious, and racist antipathies in this city from boiling over, that we were permitted at least to stay through the end of the term — naturally without further participation in the Jewish religious instruction.
As it turned out, we wouldn’t even be able to finish the term. Meanwhile, our family’s friendship with the prefect, which had lasted for decades, from that moment on began to chill.
[1] Karl Kraus first published the poem in Heft 781 of Die Fackel (1928), and later returned to it with an extensive analysis of the language. A literal translation follows:
A large bell-flower
wafted off the springtime tree
to the glory of the bright spring day
and danced into a gentle dream
A cloud of white silk
rustling by reflects each step:
mystic change takes place inside her garment
of blood and skin and breat
On her body’s flower-stalk
she swings the bell of her skirt;
the double clapper of her legs
gives a quiet melody