The Jewish Dog

The Jewish Dog

Asher Kravitz

Penlight
Publications

The Jewish Dog
By Asher Kravitz

Translated by Michal Kessler

Edited by Shari Dash Greenspan

English Translation Copyright ©
201
5 by Penlight Publications/Urim Publications

All rights reserved
.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the copyright owner
,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and articles.

This is a work of fiction
.
Names
,
characters
,
places
,
and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously
,
and any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead
,
events
,
or locales
,
is entirely coincidental.

Originally published in Hebrew
as
HaKelev HaYehudi
by Yedioth Ahronoth in
200
7

ePub ISBN 978-965-524-222-5

Mobi ISBN 978-965-524-223-2

PDF ISBN 978-965-524-224-9

(Hardcover ISBN 978-0-983868-53-8)

Cover design by the Virtual Paintbrush

ePub creation by Ariel Walden

Library of Congress Control Number
:
201490807
3

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,
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,
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5 USA
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:
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:
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www.PenlightPublications.com

For Wawa,

spark of my existence
,
root of my soul
,
salt of my tears
,
my blood –

for teaching me the meaning of the verse

“Take now thy son
,
thine only son. . . .”

The Jewish Dog

Look at me
,
brethren
,
sullen with grief,

beaten
,
shamed
,
and chased by brutes.

A wandering Jew
,
a driven leaf,

dodging sticks and kicks and boots.

PROLOGUE

A
s far back as I can remember
,
I've walked around completely in the nude
.
Naked I came from my mother's womb and naked I walked the face of the earth all the years of my life
.
I am not an exhibitionist
.
On the contrary
,
life has taught me that
,
as a rule
,
I'm better off staying out of the spotlight
.
I simply live by other norms
.
At the risk of seeming ignorant or narrow-minded
,
I'll admit it – I'm illiterate
.
I don't understand how reading a book will benefit me in any way
.
So what do I take interest in? Food
!
First and foremost
,
food
!
Besides that
,
there's no use denying that I take some interest in the fairer sex
,
though I can't
,
to my dismay
,
boast about any grand conquests
.
In fact
,
I've only ever had one serious relationship
.
She was as beautiful as a summer's day
.
Lovely and temperate
.
Her name was Margo
,
and the fact that she refused
,
in an act of feminist defiance
,
to shave her legs
,
didn't lessen her attractiveness
.
I often think about our last night together
,
homeless
,
in the fierce cold
.
Even the white-hot rays of love couldn't thaw my body on that cursed night
 . .
 .
until those men in dark coats came along
.
I wonder if they managed to drug her too.

In any case
,
despite the deep feelings I still have for Margo
,
I won't deny that I look at other females
.
Casual sex
,
in my humble opinion
,
is not to be frowned upon
.
It's a part of life
,
just as the abundance of food served every day at home doesn't supersede the joy of grabbing a quick meal off the side of the road
.
Yes
,
food
.
Food
,
food
,
and once again – food
.
Food is
,
without a doubt
,
the most important thing in life
.
It's not hard to understand that there were days that I starved
.
I went through long months in which every sausage skin was a treasure in my eyes
.
There were weeks that I lived off potato peels
,
and each morsel of moldy bread tasted like biscuits and gravy
.
Sometimes
,
to fool my hunger
,
I would chew on pieces of wood or soles of shoes
.
Nevertheless
,
my obsession with food shouldn't be ascribed to my days of hunger
.
Food is paramount – that was seared into my mind from the crystallization of my identity
,
and that was that.

I was born to and raised by a single mother
.
At the time
,
there was minimal awareness of the issue and my family's single-parent status didn't win us any benefits
.
Due to the circumstances
,
my dedicated mother was forced to care for us on her own
.
I'm innocent of any Oedipal complex
.
I've never had the urge to hurt my father
,
and it's no wonder – I've never met him
.
My mother wouldn't mention him
,
at least not in my presence
.
From the few rumors and scraps of gossip that I managed to pick up
,
it seems that my father was a nameless low-life
.
Judging by my looks
,
he had brown eyes and large
,
hairy ears
.
It's odd that my mother
,
with all her fancy ancestry
,
chose him.

Although it's inappropriate for a child to think about the intimate moments of his conception
,
it's tempting to picture the situation
.
My mother runs away and finds refuge in the bushes
,
where her lover awaits her
.
They don't have time for excessive romance or foreplay
,
and without delay an innocent sperm is dispatched to fertilize my mother's egg
.
It was a fleeting amorous moment which sentenced me to an existence and to hair-raising hardships the likes of which you've never heard before
.
And trust me
,
when it comes to raising hairs
,
I'm quite the expert.

Mine was a home birth
,
a common thing back in the day
.
Upon turning eight days old
,
I was not circumcised
,
and I can't say I regret that
.
I had at least three brothers and one sister
.
If I were to meet them by chance tomorrow
,
I highly doubt I would recognize them
.
I wonder if any of them are still alive
,
and if so
,
what they're up to
.
None of their names have ever been mentioned in the Search Bureau for Missing Relatives radio broadcasts.

My eldest brother
,
only a few minutes older than me
,
had a habit of sneaking up on me
,
catching me by the legs
,
and flipping me on my back
.
He found much amusement in this romp
.
I was scared of him because he was stronger than me
,
but I pretended to view it as a game
.
There was no use trying to run from him – he was much faster
.
Sometimes I would turn to my mother and ask her to rein him in
,
but she would watch his abusive actions with a compassionate
,
motherly gaze
,
and wouldn't do a thing
.
Again and again she would explain to me that these games are crucial.

“Life is an endless battle – and you must learn to survive
.
You'll see,” she would say
.
“When your brother is taken away
,
you'll miss him very much.”

Before she could even finish preaching
,
my sneaky brother would be storming toward me
,
prepared to knock me to the floor
.
If it weren't for the carpet
,
my whole body would have been covered in bruises
,
welts
,
and wounds
.
I would lie down and look sadly at my mother – perhaps she'd reevaluate her educational approach
.
How deluded was I
!
It was clear that she saw her eldest son's behavior as nothing but playful shenanigans
,
and she had no intention of intervening.

I wouldn't want to be that guy who blames his parents' mistakes for all of his shortcomings
,
but the truth is that my mother never changed my diaper
,
never told me a bedtime story
,
and never put money under my pillow when one of my teeth fell out
.
What could I expect? After I was born
,
she ate our placenta
.
And besides
,
Mother was only two-and-a-half years older than me.

CHAPTER 1

F
rom the very beginning
,
I knew I was an exceptional pup
.
In fact
,
my opinion on the matter has never changed
.
There are countless things that distinguish me from my fellow dogs
.
The first is my understanding that all good things must come to an end – said end usually being much closer than expected
.
I envy those who linger carelessly at their master's feet
,
exposing an expectant belly with the utmost trust
.
I am not among them
.
Something in me always keeps me on my toes
.
Even if I do let myself succumb to the occasional petting
,
I'm always prepared for the calamities lurking right around the corner
.
My vigilance is incurable
.
Acknowledging that everything in life is temporary is a cornerstone of my Jewish identity.

My ability to recognize the transient stems from a well-developed awareness of time
.
Lodged in my mother's womb
,
the membranes of my mind winding and entwining in an ingenious molecular dance
,
I became aware that my existence alongside the placenta would soon come to an end
.
Crammed inside with so many others
,
there wasn't much room for doubt
;
our present reality would have to be replaced with another.

The overcrowding was annoying and frustrating
,
yet the hopeless optimism of youth urged me to see the glass as half full
.
The many difficult weeks inside the womb had their advantages
.
The greatest was that I didn't have to spend every waking moment struggling for food
.
This luxury left me with plenty of time for contemplation
.
Muffled echoes from the outside world entered the bubble of my being
.
For the first time I recognized
,
albeit vaguely
,
the cyclical nature of the world
:
a time of hustle and bustle
,
a time of peace and quiet
;
a time of frenzy
,
a time of rest
;
a time to feed
,
a time to digest
.
I mulled over an impossible quandary
:
was it worth replacing my current existence with another? My heart said nay
.
I preferred to stay with the devil I knew.

Bit by bit
,
my siblings and I took our final shapes
.
The congestion impeded our ability to move around
.
With stumps for tails and partially formed extremities
,
each looming life tried to secure for itself the space it needed
.
When the pressure from the walls of the womb became unbearable
,
my fetal mind accepted the decree
:
against my will I shall be born
,
and against my will I shall live.

And the birth itself? Cliché dictates that it's an amazing experience
,
and that everyone should be born at least once
.
Indeed I was born only once
.
(As to the number of times I've almost died – at some point I stopped counting.) The compulsion for survival is another building block of my Jewish identity
.
I'd even go so far as to say that my Jewish brethren would do well to take a lesson from me in survival.

Today
,
looking back with the 20-20 hindsight of twelve years
,
I remember my birth as a moment of clarity
.
Although the birth itself was little more than a jumble of amniotic fluid and chaos
,
from the very first moment I felt a wonderful lucidity
.
The voices
,
a dull echo in the womb
,
were sharpened tenfold
,
and they carried with them some of the wealth and plenty that was awaiting me
,
or so I believed
.
The wonderful sharpness of sound immediately verified what I had assumed while floating aimlessly
:
my brothers and I were not alone in the world.

The contact with the carpet
,
the cold floor below
,
my brothers tumbling upon me in a maelstrom of body parts
,
the newfound freedom of movement
,
the blind attempts to feel my way toward Mother
,
and the never-ending murmurs of the world – all of these left little room for doubt
:
being born is an amazing experience
,
and at its pinnacle
–
the first experience of sniffing
.
But it would be some time until I learned to recognize every detail in the wave of scents and odors
,
the hidden information carried in each waft of air reaching my wet nostrils
.
An endless concoction of perfumes
,
disinfectants
,
animals in heat
,
tobacco
,
burning benzene
,
the oily spreads with which humans polish their shoes
,
bodily secretions
,
cut grass
,
gunpowder
,
and food
.
Yes
,
food
.
That first scent of food marked the beginning of my passion for nourishment
.
I made my way head first through the narrow path to my mother's life-giving teats
.
That was the start of the war of existence.

Indeed
,
the memories from my suckling days include a lot of pushing and pulling
.
The food supply was limited
,
and if you didn't push
,
you didn't eat
.
After the battle for food
,
my siblings and I would make up quickly
.
We held no grudges
.
The bitterness was quickly forgotten and we played together good-naturedly
.
There were no hard feelings.

“Mother
,
Mother
,
come!” Reizel called eagerly
.
“Bruriah gave birth
.
Six puppies!”

Herschel and Joshua also urged their mother to come see the marvel.

Herschel
,
Joshua
,
and Reizel's calls of excitement were the first utterances
,
the first words I heard in the human tongue
.
Without attempting to rewrite the past
,
it was clear to me that my new state – this so-called “life” – was closely tied to the children whose voices I heard then for the very first time
.
Though my eyes were still closed
,
I saw this basic truth clearly.

From man's confident voice
,
I learned that he holds the position of strength
.
His scent of authority was so absolute that I entertained the possibility that dogs and humans are not the same species at all
.
The voices emitted by these creatures – who smelled strongly of mastery – contributed to the notion that sprung into my mind ever so early
,
developing and growing over the years into a well-defined hypothesis
:
dogs and men are not the same.

I experienced a restless urge to understand the language of man
.
In those days
,
I had not yet deciphered the meaning of my mother's barks
,
but it was easy to find some rhyme and reason in them
.
However
,
the muffled grunts of the two-legged seemed incomprehensible
.
At this point
,
I could barely understand the children's speech
.
Listening to them contributed little to my budding vocabulary
,
as their conversations were boisterous and their diction poor.

But I wouldn't throw up my paws
.
I was firm in my decision – I would find a way to decipher human speech
.
My thirst for knowledge even eclipsed my hunger for food.

Only a handful of days passed
,
and I already acquired my first three words
.
The first three treasures in my hoard
.
A heap of words that has multiplied at an impressive rate since those days of yore
,
if I may say so myself
.
My first three words were related
,
and yet I was unable to put my finger on the nuances
.
The words were “eww,” “yuck,” and “
gevald
.” All three were said in a reprimanding tone and were associated with the relief of emptying my bladder on the kitchen floor.

“Kitchen” was the magical
,
mysterious name of the place from which intoxicating scents wafted day and night
.
Several times a day
,
I would arise from my mother's resting mat and toddle toward the source of the appetizing odors
.
The scents emanating from the kitchen
,
especially when Shoshana's friend Marta came to cook with her
,
put me in a stupor
.
With utmost concentration
,
I would take in the smells of Shoshana's marvelous cuisine.

Even after being rebuked
,
I would relieve myself on the same spot on the kitchen floor
,
time and time again
.
But then
,
relief was joined by guilt and embarrassment
.
I felt like a criminal
,
unwillingly led by his legs once again to the scene of the crime
.
Later
,
the word “NO” joined the party
.
This word was hurled at me over and over
,
when chewing on what I later learned to be a “rug,” or upon resting my paws on the elevated throne of man
,
which came to be known as a “couch.”

Building my vocabulary was
,
to me
,
the most pressing matter
.
During my first days upon this earth
,
when I still had little idea of what was actually going on around me
,
I was careful to listen closely to the speech of man
,
and file every utterance he made in the recesses of my mind
.
Many sentences were seared into my memory even though I didn't understand them
.
Later they would surface
,
their meanings clarified
.
Thankfully
,
I was blessed with a sharp memory – I am a dog who never forgets
.
This too I attribute to the Jewish blood flowing through my veins
.
“Thou shalt not forget!”

It is important to note that even when I could only count the words I knew on two paws
,
I was able to understand the gist of what was being said according to both the intonation and the scent wafting from the speaker's body
.
I recognized without difficulty whether they were growls of joy
,
words of love
,
or snarls of anger and derision.

The first time I heard cries of disgust was when
,
much to my embarrassment
,
a tick was found in my fur.

“What is this ugly thing? Eww!” Reizel cried.

“A tick!” Herschel declared.

Joshua
,
who also wanted to see the despicable creature sucking my blood
,
called for help
.
“Daddy
!
He has a tick on his ear!”

Kalman
,
the father of the three
,
touched the tick with the edge of his cigarette
,
and it shriveled and died instantaneously
.
That was the first I learned of the health hazards associated with cigarettes.

The ticks were unbearable
,
but my true nemesis has always been the flea
.
Every time I think about these low organisms
,
a shiver runs down my spine
.
Imagine tiny
,
despicable creatures crawling across your skin
,
and you have no way of stopping them
.
The feeling is ten times worse during your first few weeks of life
,
when you're still cast in darkness
.
Until this day
,
I wake with a start when my puppyhood returns to me in my dreams
.
The children pinch my skin and taunt “flea
,
flea. . . .”