Yossi's Goal Read Free

thought with dismay.
This place isn’t for the likes of us
.
    But then the Rebbe and cantor began to sing the Sabbath prayers, and the melodies swept Yossi up in their familiar comfort. The prayers were the same as those they’d chanted in Braslav. And the Torah—even though this one was encased in a blanket of blue silk and crowned with a golden cap, instead of wrapped in a simple cotton quilt—was still the Torah. He and his family were Jews, after all, and Sabbath was Sabbath, whether in a hut or a palace. God didn’t care if they were richly dressed or clad in rags.
    The service progressed as usual, and soon Yossi was joining Papa in singing the final hymn.
    â€œ
Shabbat shalom
,” the Rebbe intoned from the
bima
, and all around Yossi men shook hands and patted each other on the shoulder.
    â€œGood Sabbath…good
Yuntov
…”
    As Yossi, Papa and Daniel made their way toward the front door to wait for the women outside, along came a short man with an imposing belly, florid cheeks and a balding head. His stylish black coat hung open, revealing a shiny black waistcoat over a gleaming white shirt. A golden watch chain dangled from a pocket of the waistcoat. “
Shabbat shalom
,” he bellowed to all he passed and was greeted in return.
    Yossi knew who he was—Saul Steiner, the owner of the garment factory where Papa and Daniel worked and where Yossi picked up and dropped off the bundles. Saul Steiner, who lived in one of the mansions they’d passed that morning. Yossi had seen him at a distance, across the sweatshop floor, but never up close. He doubted whether Mr. Steiner knew who he was—or who Papa or Daniel were either, for that matter.
    As Mr. Steiner approached them, Papa lowered his eyes, touched his hand to hiswoolen cap and said, “
Shabbat shalom
, sir.”
    Mr. Steiner gave no reply. He simply looked past them as if they weren’t there and moved on, greeting someone else.
    Yossi’s ears burned. “Papa, he snubbed you—,” he began.
    Papa grabbed his arm. “Yossi,
shaaah!
”
    â€œBut Papa—”
    â€œNot here!”
    Yossi looked at Papa. His father’s cheeks were red. So why hadn’t he said anything? Why had he let Mr. Steiner treat him like that?
    Papa never used to humble himself like this, Yossi thought. Not even back in Russia, not even to the Cossacks had Papa bowed his head.
    And now, to see Papa lower himself before a man like Mr. Steiner!
    They found the women and set off down the synagogue’s broad steps. Yossi preened a little, wondering if anyone would notice his finery.
    No one did.
    Just as they reached the end of thefront walk, a group of boys ran toward them. The leader, Yossi saw, was a little older than he, a stocky boy with curly, dark brown hair and pink cheeks. He had on a smart black winter coat with brass buttons and soft leather boots that buckled above the ankles.
    Leading the others, he circled close to Yossi. “You enjoying your new coat?” he said, his eyes dancing. The other boys giggled.
    Yossi nodded. “Yes, I am! It’s—”
    The boy grabbed one of the toggles and leaned into Yossi’s face. “Good, ’cause it’s my
old
coat, and I don’t want it anymore. My old
shmata
! I threw it away!”
    He let go of the toggle and darted away, followed by his guffawing friends.
    Yossi felt his ears grow warm. He started after the boy. “Why, you—”
    Papa jerked him back. “Yossi, no!”
    Yossi struggled to free himself, but Papa held him fast. “But Papa—”
    Papa turned Yossi to face him. “Yossi, you know who that is?”
    â€œNo, and I don’t care!” He broke away. Again Papa pulled him back.
    â€œIt’s Max Steiner. Steiner’s boy.”
    â€œI don’t care who he is. He can’t get away with that—”
    â€œYossi, please!” Papa said.
    Yossi turned to him angrily.