The Storks of Bociany, Chava Rosenfarb
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The storks of Bociany were majestic white birds, three, sometimes four feet in height, with black flight feathers, dark-red bills, and spindly reddish legs. They were inclined to stand motionless on one foot and meditate and would have devoted entire days to this activitywere it not for the prosaic problems of sustenance, which in comparison to the problems of the hosts on whose roofs they lived, were not inordinately severe.

The storks derived their livelihood from the swamps surrounding the shtetl, which swarmed with frogs, tadpoles, snails, and earthworms. The human habit of storing away supplies against a "black hour" was alien to them. They could fill themselves and their offspring so far and no more, yet the thought of their treasures in the swamps gave them no peace of mind. Several times a day they felt compelled to check on their "gold mines," if only to fish for a snack for their little ones, or merely to survey the marshes by cruising above them. Because of this, the air above the shtetl always resounded with their bustling cries and the clatter of their bills, sounds that expressed with urgency the grave state of stork affairs.

It is therefore no wonder that a wandering band of beggars, which regularly descended on Bociany for the Tuesday market day, had coined the term "a Bociany fair" for any racket loud enough to reach the sky. Every Tuesday, the clamor from the humans below, and the cacophony from the birds above, threatened to deafen the unprepared ears of a stranger, before he even realized that he was actually caught between two towns, a Bociany on earth and a Bociany in the heavens, both towns preoccupied in dead seriousness with practical problems, one with having too much, the other with having too little.

Storks in  the marketFor the earthly Bociany fared not so "heavenly." The land around the shtetl was indeed generous and fertile, but it belonged to a landowner and to his heirs, who lived in a manor house at the foot of the White Mountain. Most of the peasants owned little more than a small piece of swampy land. They labored as field hands on the landlord's property. And as the Gentiles fared, so fared the Jews. The shtetl of Bociany was distinguished by its poverty.

It could not be helped. The pauper could neither escape his home nor his fate. What he could do was wait with iron fortitude, the Christian for the Kingdom of Heaven and the Jews for the coming of the Messiah, and in the meantime be consoled with whatever solace he could find. And the storks were a solace for the shtetl.

When the Polish autumn began to dip leaves in a pallet of sunset colors, when the sheaves of grain appeared on the scythed fields like figures embracing in a melancholy dance, and the time for blowing the ram's horn for the High Holy Days was passed, a peculiar restlessness entered the hearts of the people of Bociany and mixed with the usual autumnal sadness. That was the time when the storks, as if by a prearranged signal, rose from the rooftops, fluttered their wings as if waving good-bye, and soared toward the sky. For a while, they circled the region, as if to fix the familiar panorama in their memory. Then, as if on command, they formed themselves into long lines, and with majestic dignity, flew off toward distant lands.

"Who knows if they'll return," Manka the Washerwoman and the other peasant women would sigh, crossing themselves in awe.

A bird was not like a human being, who died where he was born. A bird was born free, soared high, and could see what was behind and what was ahead. So perhaps the storks could foresee that the abundant swamps would become arid, and they would seek out new homes for future summers. The peasant women blinked their moist eyes toward the sky, until the last quivering string of storks wound itself into the horizon and vanished.....

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excerpted
Barnes and Noble linkFrom: Chava Rosenfarb, Bociany. Translated from the Yiddish by the author. © 2000 by Chava Rosenfarb (Syracuse, New York: Syracuse University Press), pp. 8-13. Excerpted by permission of the publisher.

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