Yossi's Goal by Ellen Schwartz

frowned. “But that miser pays so little, our family is in a bad way.”
    Yossi put his hand on Jean-Paul’s shoulder. “Our family too.”
    All the French boys were friendly toYossi—all except Hugo. He never greeted Yossi, never smiled at him. When the other boys practiced their Yiddish, Hugo didn’t join in. When the boys skated over to the side of the rink to say hello to Yossi, Hugo stayed put.
    One day, Yossi brought Abie, Benny, Louie and Milton to meet the French boys and see the glorious game he’d been telling them about. The two groups crowded together, pointing and gesturing as they exchanged names.
    All but Hugo. He kept himself apart, glancing darkly at Yossi’s pals. Yossi heard him say something under his breath about “
les Juifs
.”
    Yossi knew those words: The Jews. He turned to Hugo, hands on hips. “What about
les Juifs
?” he demanded.
    Hugo swept out his arm, as if to take in all the Jewish boys. “The priest says you killed Our Lord Jesus Christ!”
    â€œKilled Christ—us Jews?” Yossi said, not sure he understood.
    Hugo nodded.
    â€œThat’s a lie!”
    Hugo’s face turned red but he pressed on. “And they say that you Jews kill Christian children to get blood for your rituals.”
    Yossi couldn’t follow that French. “What? What’s he saying?”
    Together, René and Jean-Paul acted out a gruesome drama of slit throats, cupped hands, gurgling and frenzied prayers.
    Yossi’s jaw dropped. “That’s crazy!”
    â€œDisgusting!” Milton added.
    â€œBesides,” Louie put in, “it wouldn’t be kosher!”
    Hugo looked sheepish. “Well, that’s what they say,” he mumbled.
    René stepped in front of him. “Listen, Hugo, these fellows are all right. They’re not the bad ones. Maybe those other ones”—he pointed toward Steiner’s—”but not these ones. You got that?”
    There was a moment of silence. “Yeah,” Hugo said. He glanced at the Jewish boys, and while he wasn’t smiling, Yossi saw that he looked a little less hostile.
    Yossi tried to think of a way to show that he and his pals had no hard feelings. He whispered to his friends and they nodded eagerly. Leading the French boys to Moishe’s pushcart, the Jewish boys pooled their pennies and treated their new friends to pickled herring.
    Then the French boys made dessert— by stirring maple syrup into snow!
La crème glacée à l’érable
, they called it, but when it was Yossi’s turn to take a bite, he looked at the mixture doubtfully. Whoever heard of eating tree sap mixed into snow? Hesitantly, he put a spoonful in his mouth. Cold! Sweet! Icy! Syrupy! “
Dé-dé-délicieuse!
” he said in his new-found French.
    All the boys laughed.
    â€œNow what?” René said.
    â€œWell,” Yossi said, “we can’t skate. So let’s play at something we can all do. How about”—he quickly packed a snowball and lobbed it at René—”a snowball fight?”
    â€œ
La guerre!
” René shouted, and the airwas soon full of flying snowballs, all the boys running and falling, sliding and laughing, hitting and getting hit.
    Even Hugo.

Chapter Nine
    One day, approaching the ice rink with a bundle on his back, Yossi heard yells and howls. He stopped short. There was a crowd of boys on the ice, pushing and poking, kicking and punching, slugging and swinging and shoving.
    Yossi ran closer. Where were his friends? There! He made out René…Jacques… Hugo… They were surrounded by nine or ten bigger, stronger boys—and they were getting beaten up!
    Yossi dropped his bundle and ran onto the ice. A tall muscular boy had his fist upraised, about to punch Jean-Paul. Yossi grabbed the boy’s arm and spunhim around. Surprised, the boy lost his balance and fell.
    â€œ
Merci!
”