Art of a Jewish Woman by Henry Massie Page A

delicately decorated ark for the Torah scrolls rose from the level of the pews to the roof.
    Also on the square was the Jewish meeting hall and library, and on the west side the city hall where Felice’s father, twice elected as a progressive socialist, served as mayor. He was a dignified man, well respected by Poles and Jews alike. When they walked around the square together, people would come up and greet him, “ Pan Ozerovicz, Pan Ozerovicz.” He would nod and tip his hat sometimes, though Felice often thought he should speak with them. Until she was fifteen, when businessmen came to his office from Germany or Russia or Latvia, if she was home he would call her in, and she was supposed to curtsy. He proudly told them she would be a government minister some day. Finally she told Papa she was too old to curtsy, and her mother backed her up.
    After she started going to boarding school, when she was home on vacations and walking in the square, older people would come up to her and offer her little cakes or sweets. She was the mayor’s daughter, the happy extroverted, introverted girl, strange because she went away for education. The attention people paid her gave her mixed feelings. She internalized an attitude that she was special, the princess. That was a mixed blessing: if she was exceptional, she should be able to tolerate bad things that other people couldn’t, but at the same time things should come to her that others didn’t have. And all the time she didn’t really feel special inside, didn’t really feel she deserved more than somebody else.
    Just beyond the square, the volunteer fire department also served as a venue for meetings, community events, plays, and, once in a blue moon, a movie. On those occasions the fire wagons moved outside and volunteers set out rows of chairs on the stone floor facing a stage in the back of the building. When she was sixteen and home from boarding school, Felice performed on the stage. The director of a summer theater saw her walking in the town, saw children admiring the sprightly, pretty, smiling teen, scooting around the little bird who was alighting for a few days or a few weeks at home in Sczuczyn on holiday from faraway schools, the child rumored to be the smartest girl in town.
    Thinking Felice would be just right for the role of the ingénue who resists conventions in Di Vilde Tsilke (Yiddish for Wild Tsilke, pronounced Silka ), the theatrical director approached Felice. Getting her into the troupe was not easily accomplished. The director was a thin, very alive man. Felice liked him and wanted to do the part. She was excited, but her father thought that actresses were immoral. She told the director to come to their home, meet with her father, and reassure him that there was nothing wrong. When he came, her father threw him out and said to her, “If you go to those crazy people, I’ll lock you out of the house.” The director knew what to say to her. He asked, “How can a girl of your education be afraid of your father?” She persisted with her father, and in the end he relented. She played the role two or three times a week all summer, her hair in one long braid with a ribbon on the end to the bottom of her back. Moses came to the play on opening night and enjoyed himself. He smiled afterward and couldn’t be angry. She enjoyed acting immensely and threw herself into the role with her heart and mind. Afterward her father said she could be a very good actress, “but as long as I am alive you are going to university!” Her mother didn’t come to the play; she stayed home with her lady friends playing cards.
    There was also the public elementary school Felice had attended just north of the square. Every morning the dressmaker’s daughter would come to the house for breakfast; she would carry Felice’s books, and they would walk to school together. She felt bad that her friend carried her books. Such an indignity. Did her parents ask her or did she want