This time I really thought he was going to kill me.
Was this my reward for taking extra lessons in Torah?
It was the year of my bar mitzvah, and Papa had arranged for me to stay an extra hour every afternoon to study with Rebbe Schumann the portion of the Prophets I was to read on that momentous day. My journey home was therefore even darker and more perilous than before.
I do not know what destiny brought the murderous Ed McGee into my path that night. Perhaps he had been lying in wait, since he seemed to derive some special joy from assaulting me.
I was caught in a kind of cross fire. The other kids at school resented me because I was the son of such a renowned and pious man. Their jealousy aroused, they would hurl abuse at me. But McGee—for almost the same reasons—would hurl fists.
This time there were no spectators—which frightened me. Who would restrain him should he go berserk? It was so icy cold that the rare pedestrian who passed us had his collar drawn up and hat down, barely leaving room enough for his eyes to see where he was going. And the wind was so loud it all but drowned my groans. My only arsenal was defensive—my shield of holy books, which I held up as quickly as I could.
Then suddenly Ed crossed the border of all precedent. His right fist smashed the cover of my Talmud, shattering its binding and knocking it from my hand onto the ground. I do not know whether the shock or the sacrilege caused me greater pain.
“Now, you little kike,” he sneered, “you don’t have your precious Jew books to hide behind. Stand and fight me like a man.”
He lowered his fists, stuck out his chin, and boasted, “I’ll even give ya the first punch free.”
I had never hit anyone in my life, but suddenly my fear transmuted into rage, and I lashed out at his solar plexus. I heard a sudden whoosh, like air being expelled from a huge balloon.
Ed doubled over in pain and stumbled backward, trying his best not to fall. Though I knew this was my opportunity to run, I stood there paralyzed as my attacker continued to stagger, gasping for breath.
Why didn’t I escape when I could? Shock, for one thing. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. And how effective it had been.
And, for some strange reason, I felt guilty. Guilty for having caused harm to another human being.
He was quickly in control again, and fire seemed to erupt from his mouth.
“Now,” he growled. “Now I’m gonna kill you.”
Suddenly there was a shout.
“Leave him alone, McGee, you stupid shit!”
We both looked up, startled. It was Tim Hogan running toward us.
“Stay out of this,” Ed countered. “This kike and I are having a private fight.”
“Just leave him alone,” Timothy repeated. “He’s a rabbi’s son.” He turned to me and ordered, “Go home, Danny.”
“What are you, Hogan, his bodyguard or something?” McGee sneered.
“No, Ed, I’m just his friend.”
“You call this sissy Jew your friend?”
“Yeah,” Tim replied with a calm that awed me. “Wanna make something out of it?”
“Are you serious?” McGee gasped.
“There’s only one way you can find out,” Tim replied, turning to me again and ordering, “Danny, go home. Right now!”
I must have looked as if I was bowing when I bent down, picked up my injured books, and began to retreat. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the two of them standing toe-to-toe like gladiators. As I started down the street, I could hear the sound of fighting. Punches exchanged, parried, landed. I did not dare look back. And then I heard the unmistakable sound of someone falling to the pavement. It was followed by the soft-spoken words of Tim Hogan.
“Sorry, Ed. But you had it coming.”