"Young man, where do you want to get off?", the wagon-driver asked me, as we pulled into the village of Rakov, having come from the nearby train-station in Zaslov.

"Next to the Rabbi’s house", I answered, with an uncertain voice.

My uncertainty was due to the fact that now, for the first time on my own, I would have to earnestly begin to play the role of my new identity, of that "alter ego" with the strange name - Yitzkhak Taytsh. I was terrified of being found out...that someone might realize, that I was not me; rather, an imposter.

The Rabbi of Rakov, Reb Avraham Kalmanovitch, a tall, well-proportioned man in his early thirties, with a noble countenance, which was framed by a long blond beard, at first received me rather coldly. But as soon as he found out, that I was a former Slobodka yeshiva-boy, and a Masoratic to boot, his dark blue eyes lit up, and he said with exictement:

""If so, then you’re "one-of-ours", and welcome to you!"

The Rabbi had studied for severals years in the Slobodka yeshiva "Knesset Yisroel", where he was known as a great scholar and a stauch Masoratic, and was one of the favorites of "the Old Man", Reb Notte-Hirsh, the director of the yeshiva. He immediately began to ask me all kinds of questions about the Head of the Yeshiva, the Director, and the supervisor....whether I knew this or that famous yeshiva-boy, his former comrade; whether I knew this or that family where he had rented lodgings. It was clear, that with my arrival, I had awoken in him his sweet memories of Slobodka, from which he had now been separated going on half a decade. He had studied there until he got married in the small village of Rakov, with the deceased Rabbi's daughter...and as a "dowry", he had been recommended to the village for the position of Rabbi.

Although by nature he was an outgoing, energetic man, his duties placed him in the constant company of old, established householders, the "pillars of the community" ....and so, he unwillingly adopted the staid manners of a much older man. In fact, he felt very isolated and lonely among those small-town Jews. And here, out of the blue, standing right before his eyes, is an actual Slobodker - there was no limit to his joy, even though his un-expected visitor was a few years younger than he. He wanted in fact no less, than that I should take my lodgings with him.

Before long I found myself settled the old House of Study, back with my gemorras. It becamse known in the village of Rakov, that they now had their very first "refugee", a homeless yeshiva-boy; and as such, everyone felt obliged to show me a particular warmth. Before long the Rabbi had matched me up with a few well-to-do children, I should teach them bible with commentary and some Gemorrah as well, and thereby have with what to cover my living expenses. And every day, as soon as he had dispensed with his affairs in the town, he would come to spend a few hours with me in the House of Study; and sitting down next to me, he used to say:

"Come, Yitzkhak Taytsh, let’s study a page from the Gemorra..."

And study he would! With intensity, with fire, with the old familiar melodies of SLobodka, hoping to ignite me as well with the same fire. But I must confess that in those days, the words of the Gemorra used to go in one ear and out the other. I felt apathetic, depressed, as though I were in an upside-down world. My mind was occupied with confused, distracting thoughts: home, parents, family....where were they, and where was I? And most of all, I was tormented by the strange, false name which lay across my shoulders like a heavy sack of rocks.

I avoided meeting people...I forged no close relationships. I led a quiet, inconspicuous life, like a hermit. My aloofness caused me some difficulty, because I am out-going by nature. I love society, take great pleasure in conversation, in exchanging opionions; especially now with a war raging on all fronts. Every hour brought with it new events. I was dying to share my feelings with someone else; to clarify my own thoughts about the issues and arguments that raged everywhere.

Wherever Jews came together, they talked about the war: about "the footsteps of the Messiah"; about the decrees, expulsions, and accusations against the Jews; and about the great defeats of the Russian armies. Jews argued, philosophized, expounded on military strategy...often enough, there would be a little war in the House of Study, a heated debate between the Russian "patriots" and the supporters of the Germans....with the partisans of each camp arguing strenuously, that their side "should and would" win the war. And when this war got too loud, the Rabbi would give a bang on the table, and shout angrily:

"Jews! Stop fighting! The walls have ears! Don’t forget, we are living in Exile!"

And in the midst of these heated arguments, I felt a strong urge to join in; but I simply held my tongue. I didn't speak up because of my own inner turmoil, the duplicity of carrying two identities...my own and a stranger’s.

Often, representatives of the two sides would approach me, and start to lay before me their arguments, wanting to hear my opinion. And although all my sympathies lay on the side of the Germans, I held to my resolve to only listen...and keep silent.

But the hardest part was everybody would leave, leaving me all alone in the House of Study, with my uneasy thoughts and my downcast mood.

Sitting all alone every day in the empty House of Study, I would often be overcome by a longing for my true self, for my own name, for my own "I". Many times I was all but ready to run to the gendarmeria, which was busy rounding up the runaway soldiers, the hidden deserters, the "rabbits", as they used to call them.... to tear off my mask un shout out loud:

"This is me, Falk Zolf, and not Yitzkhk Taytsh as they call me. Take me!"

I felt, that I couldn’t bear it any longer. Once and for all, I had to share with someone the secret of my duality. Perhaps then I would find peace ... as it says in the passage: "a heavy heart must be unburdened". But who could I trust with such a terrible secret? What about my neighbor, the village idiot, who was hiding out, like me, in the same House of Study? Who knows what reasons drove him to madness? Several times, I had already tried to carry on a conversation with him, to find the source of his tragedy. But I could get nothing out of him. He only stared at me, with his half-extinguished eyes...which made my blood run cold.....

One time, when I was sitting with my gemorra in the east corner of the House of Study, and my regular neighbor, the madman, was sitting in his corner by the oven...in strode the Rabbi with his walking stick in his hand; he came straight to me, and quickly said, as was his custom:

"Come, Yitzkhak Taytsh, let us study our "page of the day".

I stayed where I was, like one who was stunned. The Rabbi fixed his eyes on me, and with a frightened voice asked me:

"What’s the matter? Are you ill? Tell me, we’ll do something!"

"Rabbi, rabbi..." I began to stammer through my tears, "I can’t stand it any longer....I have to tell you the whole truth..."

The Rabbi looked at me uncomfortably, from head to foot, as though he were seeing me for the first time, and then spoke sharply:

"Speak! Tell!"

"Rabbi, you must know, that "Yitzkhak Taytsh" is not my real name. No, it is a false name, a phony name. My true name is Falik Zolf....."

I spilled out my soul for him. I felt like a stone had been lifted from my heart. It was somehow a release for me...I could finally breathe freely. The Rabbi, hearing my confession, sat there in shock and confusion, looking around as though to convince himself that there was, God forbid, no one else here who might have overheard what he had just heard. After a few moments thought, he spoke:

"I'm afraid you must leave at once from my house. Because if you should be caught, then the authorities would say that I, the Rabbi of the village, was responsible for concealing runaway soldiers with false passports..."

And with this short speech, he picked up his stick and his rabbi’s coat, and disappeared from the House of Study, leaving me all alone.

That very night, I slept in a strange attic....

One bright afternoon, there appeared in the House of Study a young boy, who looked to be about my age. He walked uncertainly over to the large bookcase, took down a gemorra, at himslef down in a second corner, and began to study with a soft, mournful melody. I answered him from my corner with a similar melody. In this way, we spoke wordlessly, he from his corner and I from mine. In my mind, all kinds of questions started to come forward: who is this boy? Where does he come from? What could have driven to come all the way to Rakov to be in this House of Study? Is he not possibly also a "rabbit" like me? Who knows, perhaps he carries about with him the same secret as I? Yes, certainly, there's no other explanation... I can see it the way he moves, in his glance; he looks around him a bit too much; somehow he buries his face too deeply in that old, dusty gemorrah....

I began to wrestle with the problem: should I make his aquaintance? Should I greet him, to see what he looks like up close? But suddenly I shrank back: No, I mustn’t! One doesn’t dare! Who knows who he might be? These days....anything can happen!? Better I should wait. Yes, wait and see.Better he should come to me first. First I'd want to look in his eyes; because, like it says in the morality books, "eyes are the windows of the soul".

But I was absolutely certain that he was also dying to make my acquaintance. He simply didn’t have the courgae. Maybe he was afraid of me, as I was of him? Once more, he had taken up his mournful gemorra-melody, this time a little louder than before: "mah koh mashmoh lon?"... what does he want me to hear..."mimah nafshekh?" ....mimah nafshekh... is he trying to tell me something? Go to him! Something told me, just go! You were here first, he is a newcomer, a stranger, it's up to you to make the first move....

I went over. And when I stood before him face to face, I gave a shout, as though not with my own voice:

"Yankel Novardocker!"

"Falik Kamenetser!"

We fell on each others shoulders and began sobbing out loud. Our sobs echoed up through the hollowness of the House of Study.

These two friends, who had some three years earlier studied together in the BriskYeshiva, and who had shared a love like that between David and Jonathan, and who had not seen each other since then...had now found each other once more! From that day forward, we were not only the best of friends, but also "brothers in misery"...because we both carried the same Mark of Cain, the stigma of a runaway soldier...

And with two, it was in fact easier to bear our shared fate....