A Spotlight for Harry

“H
urry, Dash!” Harry Weiss called to his younger brother. “Can’t you all go any faster? We’re never going to get good seats if we don’t hurry. We may even miss the whole show!”

“Slow down, Ehrich! You too, Dezso,” Rabbi Weiss told the boys. “The show doesn’t start for an hour. Besides, how do you expect Mama to run when she has to walk with Leopold and carry Gladys? We’ll get there
in plenty of time, and we’ll have wonderful seats.”

Harry and Dash stopped to wait for their family. “Trust me,” their father went on. “Nobody knows better than Mayer Samuel Weiss how to get good seats at the circus. Who knows? If life had turned out differently, I might have been a circus performer myself. Can you see me as a lion tamer? Or a trapeze artist flying through the air high above the center ring? I’ve never missed a circus in my life, even when I was a boy in Hungary.”

“And now that you’re a grown man and a rabbi in America, you still act like a boy when the circus comes to town,” said Mrs. Weiss. She carried Harry and Dash’s little sister in her arms. Their younger brother, Leopold, toddled along beside her, holding tightly on to her hand.

Rabbi Weiss and his family were important
members of the small, but growing, Jewish community in Appleton, Wisconsin. Like many new immigrants, Rabbi and Mrs. Weiss spoke little English. Rabbi Weiss’s Saturday-morning sermons at the synagogue were in German. German was the main language the Weiss family spoke at home. They all spoke German now, on their way to the circus.

The two older boys, Harry and Dash, spoke German with their parents. However, between themselves, they spoke English. Although they had been born in Hungary, they thought of themselves as Americans. They gave themselves American names.

Ehrich’s nickname at home was Ehri. At school, it became Harry. Dezso easily became Dash.

Their American names suited them perfectly. The boys never stood still. Especially Harry. He was always in a hurry to explore
new ideas, rushing off to new adventures with Dash close behind.

The circus was the greatest adventure of all. True to his word, Rabbi Weiss had found seats for the whole family. They were three rows back from the center ring. Harry and Dash could see everything.

Leopold and baby Gladys giggled at the
clowns. They jumped with excitement when the elephants paraded around in a circle. Harry’s parents clapped for the glittering circus horses and their riders. A girl in a white spangled dress did handstands and somersaults on the back of a pony as it cantered around the center ring. She was hardly older than Harry and Dash.

“How that little girl can ride! Simply wonderful!” Rabbi Weiss exclaimed in German as horses and riders took a bow.

Harry couldn’t see what his parents were so thrilled about. “They’re just horses, Papa. What’s so special about jumping on and off a horse?”

“My own son doesn’t like horses? Where have I failed?” Rabbi Weiss replied. He pretended to be deeply disappointed.

“Don’t feel bad, Mayer,” Mrs. Weiss said. “It can’t be helped. We’re Hungarians. Harry’s an American boy. No American can ever love horses the way Hungarians do.”

“I suppose you’re right, Cecelia,” Rabbi Weiss said with a sigh.

Harry knew his parents were teasing him. He didn’t mind. They missed the Old Country in a way that their children could never understand.

But that’s past
, Harry thought.
Why waste time thinking about long ago when the future is so exciting?

And nothing was more exciting than a tightrope walker! That’s what Harry and Dash had been waiting to see ever since the circus posters went up all over Appleton.

Harry had pulled down one of the posters to keep. He stuck it on the wall of the room he and Dash shared.

Harry loved looking at that poster. The picture gave him goose bumps. It showed a man in white tights walking high above the crowd. All that stood between him and the ground far below was a thin rope. Would he keep his balance? Or would one slip plunge him to his death? How could a herd of horses be as exciting as that?

Now, as the ringmaster announced the next performer, Harry was about to see it
actually happening before his eyes. The circus band fell silent. Every eye in the circus tent looked up. Monsieur Jean Weitzman, the tightrope walker, stepped out onto the high wire. Harry reached for Dash’s hand. He squeezed it tight.

Monsieur Weitzman, carrying a long pole in his hands, walked across the wire. He stopped in the middle and turned around in midair. Then he walked back the way he had come. That was just the beginning.

Harry had never seen anything like it in his life. Monsieur Weitzman didn’t just walk across the rope. He danced on it. He sat on a chair in the middle and pretended to read a newspaper. He carried a young woman across and back again on his shoulders while she juggled five red balls at once.

The act ended too soon. Monsieur Weitzman slid down a long rope to the
ground and took his bow. The audience exploded with cheers and applause while the circus band played a lively march. Monsieur Weitzman walked around the arena, waving to the audience.

“Harry, let go! You’re crushing my fingers!” Dash said.

Only then did Harry realize he was still gripping his brother’s hand. Leopold’s eyes were wide open. Gladys had fallen asleep in her mother’s arms. Rabbi Weiss was still clapping.

“What do you think, Papa?” Harry said. “Wasn’t that better than horses?”

Rabbi Weiss had to agree. “That certainly was fine,” he admitted. “Still, I wish I could take you to see the circus in Budapest someday. Our performers in Hungary are the best in the world.”

“I give up,” Harry whispered to Dash in
English. “Everything’s better in Hungary, according to Papa.”

“And it gets better every time he tells us about it,” Dash replied with a wink. “If it was so great over there, why did Mama and Papa come here?”

A sudden drumroll called the audience to attention. Everyone fell silent as the ringmaster strode into the center of the ring.

“Ladies and gentlemen …,” he began in a powerful voice. It could be heard in every corner of the circus tent. “Monsieur Jean Weitzman will now present a feat that, until this day, he has only performed before the crowned heads of Europe. Using only the power of his jaws, he will allow himself to be suspended from the highest point of the big top. Ladies and gentlemen, I do not have to remind you how dangerous this is. We must have total silence so that Monsieur
Weitzman can focus completely on what he must do.”

Harry sat on the edge of his seat. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles cracked. Gladys began to whimper.

“Hush, child. You must be quiet,” Harry heard his mother say. Her voice seemed to come from a distance, even though she was only one seat away. He heard his father whispering prayers for the performer’s safety.

Monsieur Weitzman stepped to the center of the arena. He saluted the audience. A drum rolled. A rope came down from the top of the circus tent. Monsieur Weitzman took the end of the rope in his teeth. He threw back his head, holding his arms out wide.

Harry gasped as Monsieur Weitzman rose into the air as if he were a bird flying up from the floor of the circus. Up, up he went,
spinning round and round, holding on to the rope with only his teeth. Seeing such bravery left Harry breathless. How could a man find the courage to perform a feat like that? A sudden slip, an unexpected moment of weakness, would send him hurtling to his doom!