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Authors: Bryna Kranzler
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our regiment would remain there for any length of time, or would be sent directly into another battle. Our lines were crumbling in the face of the Japanese advance and anything was possible. But I had made up my mind: if there was a synagogue in Harbin, nothing, not even the prospect of standing trial for desertion, would stop me from finding it tonight.
At the depot, I picked up the hopeful rumor that we were to spend the next few days at an encampment near the city. “Near” turned out to be a march of several hours through a swampy, roadless, and thickly wooded wilderness through which there was no assurance I’d be able to find my way back.
As evening approached, I was left with a heavy heart. Our camp was in such a state of disorder that none of the officers knew about food or tents for the newly arrived regiment. It was obviously futile, amidst all this chaos, to ask for permission to return to Harbin. Especially for an errand as frivolous as asking the faraway God of the Jews to forgive our sins.
Some of the Jewish soldiers in our regiment had already begun talking about organizing services right in the camp. However, they were strangely convinced that Yom Kippur did not begin until the following evening, and I could not persuade them otherwise.
Yet, even those few who agreed with me that Yom Kippur began that very evening, felt it was hopeless to try and walk all the way back to Harbin that night. First of all, no one knew the way. Second, although none of us knew how many kilometers or how many hours we had walked, no one felt we could possibly arrive in time for Kol Nidre .
Plus, the area we would have had to cover on foot was reported to be swarming with Chinese bandits who had already killed, robbed and mutilated a number of our stragglers.
I tried to convince the others that the rumor about bandits was spread by our own officers to keep us from wandering off. In the end, I persuaded only Glasnik to accompany me by painting the prospect of being invited to a fat, traditional Jewish meal after the fast, and perhaps even spending that very night in a warm, clean feather bed. But I had no doubt that it was out of friendship, not holiness, that Glasnik agreed to go with me.
We carefully loaded our revolvers and filled our pockets with bullets. I gave someone my watch with instructions to send it to my parents in case I was killed en route.
It took no effort to evade the few tired sentries guarding the camp, and as darkness fell, we were well on our way, blundering through a misty landscape strewn with unseen rocks, knee-deep patches of mud, and unexpected rivulets that left our boots filled with water.
I felt reasonably confident that I knew the way into town. But with no visible moon or stars, and no landmarks to guide us, we walked and walked and Harbin seemed as far away as ever.
Presently, we came upon a narrow road. I was certain that if we stayed on it, sooner or later we were bound to come to a village in which we could ask directions.
The path meandered through a dense and dripping forest. Any tree might be sheltering a bandit waiting for foolish travelers such as we. Although we tried to walk without making noise, our frequent stumbling made this impossible.
After another hour of walking without making visible progress, Glasnik said that the way he felt, anyone who would stab or shoot him would be doing him a favor. I helped restore his energy by pointing out that, from what I’d heard, when Chinese bandits caught a Russian soldier they didn’t kill him all at once. They had a method called “death of a thousand cuts” by which they whittled away at the prisoner piecemeal until, after several days, he was fortunate enough to expire.
By then, it was dark; it would be long past Kol Nidre time, but if we were headed in the right direction, there was still a chance we might find a Jewish home where we could get a warm bed tonight, and a
At the depot, I picked up the hopeful rumor that we were to spend the next few days at an encampment near the city. “Near” turned out to be a march of several hours through a swampy, roadless, and thickly wooded wilderness through which there was no assurance I’d be able to find my way back.
As evening approached, I was left with a heavy heart. Our camp was in such a state of disorder that none of the officers knew about food or tents for the newly arrived regiment. It was obviously futile, amidst all this chaos, to ask for permission to return to Harbin. Especially for an errand as frivolous as asking the faraway God of the Jews to forgive our sins.
Some of the Jewish soldiers in our regiment had already begun talking about organizing services right in the camp. However, they were strangely convinced that Yom Kippur did not begin until the following evening, and I could not persuade them otherwise.
Yet, even those few who agreed with me that Yom Kippur began that very evening, felt it was hopeless to try and walk all the way back to Harbin that night. First of all, no one knew the way. Second, although none of us knew how many kilometers or how many hours we had walked, no one felt we could possibly arrive in time for Kol Nidre .
Plus, the area we would have had to cover on foot was reported to be swarming with Chinese bandits who had already killed, robbed and mutilated a number of our stragglers.
I tried to convince the others that the rumor about bandits was spread by our own officers to keep us from wandering off. In the end, I persuaded only Glasnik to accompany me by painting the prospect of being invited to a fat, traditional Jewish meal after the fast, and perhaps even spending that very night in a warm, clean feather bed. But I had no doubt that it was out of friendship, not holiness, that Glasnik agreed to go with me.
We carefully loaded our revolvers and filled our pockets with bullets. I gave someone my watch with instructions to send it to my parents in case I was killed en route.
It took no effort to evade the few tired sentries guarding the camp, and as darkness fell, we were well on our way, blundering through a misty landscape strewn with unseen rocks, knee-deep patches of mud, and unexpected rivulets that left our boots filled with water.
I felt reasonably confident that I knew the way into town. But with no visible moon or stars, and no landmarks to guide us, we walked and walked and Harbin seemed as far away as ever.
Presently, we came upon a narrow road. I was certain that if we stayed on it, sooner or later we were bound to come to a village in which we could ask directions.
The path meandered through a dense and dripping forest. Any tree might be sheltering a bandit waiting for foolish travelers such as we. Although we tried to walk without making noise, our frequent stumbling made this impossible.
After another hour of walking without making visible progress, Glasnik said that the way he felt, anyone who would stab or shoot him would be doing him a favor. I helped restore his energy by pointing out that, from what I’d heard, when Chinese bandits caught a Russian soldier they didn’t kill him all at once. They had a method called “death of a thousand cuts” by which they whittled away at the prisoner piecemeal until, after several days, he was fortunate enough to expire.
By then, it was dark; it would be long past Kol Nidre time, but if we were headed in the right direction, there was still a chance we might find a Jewish home where we could get a warm bed tonight, and a
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