Chapter XVII: On the Bosom of the Ocean

The terrible wind, the dangerous storm, is wrestling with a ship on the ocean; it is trying to break her, but she in distress cuts through the deep, groaning heavily.

The mast cracks, the sail trembles, frightful is the depth of the roaring waters; the wind struggles desperately with the ship in a life and death combat.

Ot mus sie sich lēgen, ot mus sie sich stellen,
Ot treibt es zurück ihr, ot treibt es varaus,--
A Spielchel is' itzter die Schiff bei die Wellen,
See schlingen sie ein un' see speien sie aus.

Es laremt der Jam, un' es hēben sich Chwales;
Es huzet, es pildert mit Schreck un' mit Graul;--
Der Sturem, der Gaslen, will umbrengen Alles,
Der Thom öffent auf sein varschlossene Maul.

Es hören sich Süfzen, es hört sich ēin Beten,
's is' grōss die Ssakone, 's is' schrecklich die Nōt,
Un' Jederer bet't bei sein Gott, er soll retten,
Befreien die Menschen vun sicheren Tōdt.

Dās wēinen die Kinder, es klāgen die Weiber,
Män schreit un' män is' sich miswade azünd:
Es flatteren Sēelen, es zitteren Leiber
Var Schreck var dem boesen, varnichtenden Wind.

Doch unten, in Zwischendeck, sitzen zwēi Männer
Ganz ruhig, see rührt nit der mindester Wēh;
See suchen kēin Rettung, see klären kēin Pläner,
Wie Alls wollt' sein sicher un' still arum see.

Es laremt dās Wasser, die Wellen, see schäumen,
Es wojet, es mojet meschune der Wind;
Es ssappet der Kessel, es hužet der Kōmen;
Doch unten die Zwēi, seht, see schweigen azünd.

See kucken mit Kaltkeit dem Tōdt in die Äugen,
See rührt nit dem Sturem's gefährliche Macht;
Es scheint, as der Tōdt hāt allēin nor erzōgen
See Bēiden, in Schreck un' in finsterer Nacht.

Now she must lie down, now again she must rise, now she is driven back, now forward;--the ship is a plaything of the waves that swallow her up and spit her out again.

The ocean roars, the billows rise, and lash, and thunder in awful terror, the murderous storm wants to destroy everything,--the abyss opens up its closed jaws.

There are heard sighs and prayers. Great is the danger and dreadful the calamity,--and everybody prays to his God that He may save and liberate the people from sure death.

Children weep, women wail; the people cry and confess their sins; souls flutter, bodies tremble in terror of the angry, destructive wind.

But below, in the steerage, two men sit quietly; no pain assails them; they seek no salvation, they make no plans, just as if all were safe and calm about them.

The water roars, the billows foam; the wind whines and howls insanely; the boiler gasps, the chimney buzzes,--but the men below, behold, they are silent now!

They look coolly into the eyes of Death; the dangerous might of the storm touches them not; it seems as though Death had reared the two in terror and dark night.

"Wer seid ihr, Unglückliche,--lässt es doch hören,--
Wās können varschweigen die gwaldigste Nōt,
Wās hāben kēin Süfzen, un' hāben kēin Trähren,
Afile bei'm schrecklichen Thōer vun Tōdt?

"Sāgt, hāben euch take nor Kworim geboren?
Ihr lāsst gār kēin Elteren, Weib oder Kind,
Zu wēinen auf euch, wenn ihr werd't dā varloren
In tiefen, in schrecklichen Ābgrund azünd?

"Wie? Lāsst ihr nit Kēinem, wās ihm soll vardriessen,
Wās er soll wenn baenken, zu lāsen a Trähr,
Wenn euch wet der nasser Bessōlem vargiessen,
Wenn ihr wet dā kēin Māl zurückkehren mehr?

"Wie? Hā't ihr kēin Vāterland gār, kēin Medine,
Kēin Hēim, wu zu kummen, kēin freundliche Stub',
Wās ihr hā't behalten in sich asa Ssine
Zum Leben un' wart't auf der finsterer Grub'?

"Ihr hā't gār nit Kēinem in Himmel dort ōben,
Zu wemen zu schreien, wenn ihr seid in Zar?
Ihr hā't gār kēin Volk nit, ihr hā't gār kēin Gläuben?
Varlorene, wās is' mit euch far a Gsar?"

Es gänezt der Ābgrund, es brausen die Inden,
Es krachen die Leiters vun Schiff, un' es trāgt,
Es hulet der Sturem, es pfeifen die Winden,
Un' Ēiner hāt endlich mit Trähren gesāgt:

"Der schwarzer Bessōlem is' nit unser Mutter,
Nit is' unser Wiegel der Keewer gewe'n;--
Es hāt uns geboren a Malach a guter,
A teuere Mutter, mit Liebe varsehn.

"Who are you, wretched ones, tell me, that you can suppress the most terrible sufferings, that you have no sighs and no tears even at the awful gates of Death?

"Say, have, indeed, graves brought you forth? Do you leave behind you no parents, no wife, no child who will lament you when you are lost here in the deep and dreadful abyss?

"How? Have you no one to be sorry for you, to long for you, or shed a tear, when the wet cemetery will cover you, when you will no more return to this earth?

"How? Have you no fatherland, no country, no home where to go to, no friendly house, that you bear such a contempt for life, and are waiting for the dark grave?

"Have you no one in heaven above to whom to cry when you are in trouble? Have you no nation, have you no faith? Miserable ones, what is your fate?"

The abyss yawns, the waves bellow, the shipladders crack, the storm rages madly, the winds whistle,--and finally one says in tears:

"The black cemetery is not our mother, the grave has not been our cradle; a good angel has borne us, a dear mother, endowed with love.

"Es hāt uns gepjestet a Mame, erzōgen
A zärtliche, wareme, freundliche Brust;
Gekichelt un' ständig gekuckt in die Äugen
Hāt uns äuch a Vāter, un' lieblich gekusst.

"Mir hāben a Haus, nor män hāt sie zubrochen,
Un' unsere hēiligste Sachen varbrennt,
Die Liebste un' Beste varwandelt in Knochen,
Die Letzte varjāgt mit gebundene Händ'.

"Män kenn' unser Land, o, sie lāsst sich derkennen:
Durch Jāgen, durch Schlāgen nit werendig müd',
Durch wilde Pogromen, durch Brechen, durch Brennen,
Durch Suchen dem Tōdt far dem elenden Jüd.

"Un' mir seinen Jüden, varwogelte Jüden,
Ohn' Freund un' ohn' Frēuden, ohn' Hoffnung auf Glück.--
Nit frägt mehr, o, frägt nit, o, seht, lāsst zufrieden!
Amerika treibt uns nāch Russland zurück,

"Nāch Russland, vun wannen mir seinen antloffen,
Nāch Russland derfar, wās mir hāben kēin Geld;
Auf wās bleibt uns itzter zu warten, zu hoffen?
Wās täug' uns dās Leben, die finstere Welt?

"Ihr hā't wās zu wēinen, ihr hā't wās zu brummen,
Ihr hā't wās zu schrecken sich itzt far dem Tōdt,
Ihr hā't gewiss Alle a Hēim, wu zu kummen,
Un' fāhrt vun Amerika äuch nit aus Nōt.

"Doch mir seinen Elende, gleich zu die Stēiner:
Die Erd' is' zu schlecht, uns zu schenken an Ort--
Mir fāhren, doch leider, es wart't auf uns Kēiner,
Erklärt mir, ich bet' euch, wu reisen mir fort!

"A mother has fondled us, a tender, warm, friendly breast has nurtured us; a father, too, has stroked us and looked into our eyes, and kissed us tenderly.

"We have a house, but it has been destroyed, and our holy things have been burned; our dearest and best have been turned into bones, and those who survive have been driven away with fettered hands.

"You know our country; it is easily recognized by its unceasing baiting and beating, by its cruel riots, its ruthless destruction, and dealing death to the wretched Jew.

"Yes, we are Jews, miserable Jews, without friends or joys, without hopes or happiness. Oh, ask us no more, ask no more, oh, leave us in peace! America drives us back to Russia,

"To Russia, whence we have run away, to Russia, because we have no money. What is there left for us to expect, to hope for? Of what good is life, and the gloomy world to us?

"You have something to weep for; you have reason to murmur and to be afraid of Death! You have, no doubt, a home where to go to, and you have left America not from necessity.

"But we are forlorn and alone like a rock. Earth is too mean to give us a resting-place; we are voyaging, but, unfortunately, no one waits for us. Explain to me, pray, whither we are bound!

"Soll sturmen der Wind, soll er brummen mit Zoren,
Soll sieden, soll kochen, soll rauschen der Grund!
Denn 's sei wie 's sei seinen mir Jüden varloren,
Der Jam nor varlöscht unser brennende Wund'...."
M. ROSENFELD.