Читать книгу Enemy of the Tzar: A Murderess in One Country, A Tycoon in Another - Lester S. Taube - Страница 14

CHAPTER 8

About half an hour before sunset, Israel, Jakob, and Zelek went to the synagogue. Inside the small building, in the center of the room, was the bimah, a raised platform from which the services took place. About three-quarters of the men and boys in the village were in attendance, each of them wearing his best clothing, and, under his shirt, his fringed tallith katan, to remind him to keep God’s commandments.

On the bimah was Rabbi Warnitski and his cantor, an assistant who chanted the prayers. In large synagogues, the cantor was a full time employee, and his greatest attraction was his voice, but in Gremai he was Moishe Feldman, the owner of the small shop. Feldman had been an unpaid volunteer for fifteen years, and during the past two or three, his voice had begun to give out. At the times he was to strike a high note, the boys would start grinning, expecting the worst, which did come, but their fathers kept their respect, for Feldman gave what he could.

When Jakob entered, the rabbi spoke a few quiet words in Feldman’s ear, then motioned his cousin’s son to him. Jakob stepped up to the bimah, and, standing by Rabbi Warnitski’s side, began assisting him. He chanted with such clarity, in such perfect tone and speed, that the members nodded in satisfaction.

It was a short service, about forty-five minutes, then the three started homeward, Israel making the best speed he could, and Zelek holding onto Jakob’s hand. Israel had been impressed by his new boarder. Generally, he was tuned off by the young men who dedicated themselves too eagerly to every dot and dash of ceremonial fervor. He himself was religious, and he gave the Lord His due at every turn, but he accepted the fact that God was slightly less concerned about how often you bowed your head then He was for man’s true feelings. So Israel had made his peace with ritual, and did not feel guilty about cutting a corner here or there. Jakob had made him feel that ritual did have meaning beyond its purely exhibitionist character. Here was a youth headed straight for a seat among the pious Talmid Chachems, yet equally the kind of lad he would have liked to sail with. He spoke straight out, with respect, even though he had an air which placed him far above the norm. And look at the way Zelek took to him. Furthermore, he did not make an effort to help Israel walk, like so many did, but unobtrusively kept down his long-legged gait so the older man could limp along without undue stress.

By sunset, the house had been swept and scrubbed, and the women and girls dressed in their Sabbath finery. Motlie lit the traditional two candles and closed her eyes. “Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe,” she prayed, passing her palms towards herself over the candles, “Who has sanctified us by Thy commandments, and has commanded us to kindle the Sabbath light.” Alongside the candles was her prized plate, and on it was a small coin, the most she could afford for charity. Beside her were Hanna and the girls, for they, too, must memorize the words, since it was the wife’s duty to recite them every Sabbath for the reminder of her life.

When Israel entered, he kissed each of them, wishing them a good Sabbath. Hershel was there, clad in a fine, light blue suit with five buttons down the front, a white, high-collared shirt, blue tie, and soft, ankle high dress boots.

He eyed the Hasid curiously, having been told of his presence earlier, and was surprised at the firm grip he received when shaking his hand. In short order, all were seated at the table, set with the best linen tablecloth, the best dinnerware, as is custom on the Sabbath.

At Israel’s place were two braided challahs covered by Motlie’s favorite cloth, and his silver goblet, given to him on his bar mitzvah almost thirty years before, containing wine. He gave the blessing, then pulled pieces from a challah and passed them around for each to eat and sip their own wine.

Suddenly, Jakob began to sing a Sabbath song. One by one the others joined in. He switched to a more spirited tune and clapped his hands to keep time. Quicker and quicker went his beat, then he rose from his chair and started dancing, whirling with the tempo, raising his hands high, jumping into the air. The gold flecks in his eyes sparkled with pleasure and his face shone.

“Come!” he called out to the others. “Dance to the Shabbas, the Queen of our week. Our Bride.”

He began to sing:

Come my beloved to meet the Bride

Let us welcome the presence of the Sabbath

Come in peace…and come in joy…

Come, O Bride! Come, O Bride!

Zelek stood up and ran over to him, hopping in the air and kicking his feet, trying to follow Jakob’s movements. All laughed at the boy’s antics and began clapping their hands and joining in with the singing.

“Come, everyone!” said Jakob. “Dance to the Lord. He is here, with us. Come, show your love for Him.”

Motlie got to her feet and danced around him, singing in a high, thin voice. In seconds, color came to her cheeks, and her eyes brightened. Reba pulled Gitel up from her chair and motioned to Hanna. “Come, Hanna, dance with us.” She rose, chuckling, and joined their frolicking.

Jakob broke into a fresh tune. He caught up Zelek in his arms and began whirling, the boy screaming with joy.

Hershel watched with a smile on his lips, then it came over him, the belly tingling warmth of belonging. He sprang to his feet, his deep voice picking up the tune and words.

Israel sat there with delight on his face, the cane tapping at the floor. He slowly rose and began hobbling in a circle, singing with happiness. Motlie smiled at him and danced over, her arms held outright, courting him while she turned, never touching, for that was custom, with a radiance on her face that Israel had not seen for months.

They danced and twirled and sang until they finally fell onto their chairs, puffing, yet smiling with pleasure.

Hanna rested for only a few seconds, then brought over the food.

“I haven’t had this much exercise in years,” said Hershel happily. He looked across the table at Jakob, his face animated, a gleam of bliss in his eyes. “Do you believe that God is here with us?” he asked. “You know what I mean. Is He especially here?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Jakob, winded. “The Lord actually joins us here. With Him are two angels, the good and the bad. If a man sits down to a happy table with a devoted family, the good angel will say, “May all your Sabbaths be like this,” and the bad angel will say, “So be it.” But if this day is not dedicated to God, the bad angel will say, “May all your Sabbaths be like this one,” and it will be from that day on. The orthodox believe that the world is merely a place formed by God. We believe that God resides here, that the world becomes a sacrament because of His indwelling.”

Hershel sat forward, captivated. “Is that the crucial belief of the Hasids?”

“More than that. We know that since God is present in everything, there can be no evil.”

Hanna and Reba began serving the chicken soup. Jakob swallowed a couple of spoonfuls and continued. “All men are equal. You hear that remark everywhere you go, but most of it is just talk. To a Hasid, all men are truly equal.”

“The am ha-aretz, the ignorant one, and the Talmid Chachem, the wisest of the Jews?” asked Hershel, a smile on his lips.

“Even so,” said Jakob.

Motlie saw Israel’s eyes harden as he pushed away his bowl of soup, so she coughed gently as a warning to hold his temper. All at the table had abruptly stopped talking. What Jakob had said was blasphemous.

“Are you saying,” said Israel in a strangled voice, “that a Talmid Chachem is no more in the eyes of the Lord than, God forbid, me?”

“No more, no less.”

“Shame!” exploded Israel. “How can you say such a terrible thing?”

Jakob raised his hand. “Please, let there be no anger at this table. Forgive me if what I said offends you, but let me explain. We all agree that Torah is everything. It was before, it is now, and it will be.” He leaned closer to Israel. “Torah is the voice of God. When it says, “I will be the Lord your God”, these are not just written words. This is God speaking. He comes down from Sinai, down from the pages, and He speaks to you in every word. Therefore, you can say, and truly mean, that the closer you are to Torah, the closer you are to our Lord. And the closest is a Talmid Chachem.”

“Exactly,” said Israel, somewhat mollified.

“But the Talmid Chachem has something you rarely find. He has the mind, the brilliance, the ability to devote his life to Torah. But what of the am ha-aretz who does not have the intelligence or opportunity to learn Torah? Is he less in the heart of the Lord?”

“That is no excuse,” said Israel tightly. “There have been many am ha-aretz who in later years, as ignorant as they might have been, turned to Torah and became lamdans or Talmid Chachems.”

“I agree with you. But again I ask, are those unable to do the same less in the eyes of God?”

“Absolutely. I am as dirt compared to a Talmid Chachem.”

Hershel was munching on a piece of golden challah. “You sound like a socialist, Jakob.” He held up his hand. “I have no wish to cross words with you. But isn’t your viewpoint somewhat drastic? It contradicts the essential belief of Judaism.”

“Yes, it is drastic, but it is our fundamental belief. As your countryman, Martin Luther, preached to the Christians that they can communicate directly to God for absolution of sins, so our great leader, the Baal Shem Tov, said that all men are equal before God. The learned and the ignorant. In the soil are most precious objects–gold, silver, diamonds. Cannot the am ha-aretz be equally as precious?”

“Is that why you dance–like the peasants?” asked Hershel shrewdly.

Jakob laughed. “I am told that I look like a scarecrow when I dance.”

Hanna was bringing over a platter, containing the gefilte fish, when he spoke. “You do not look like a scarecrow at all,” she said emphatically. “You dance beautifully.”

“What of your women?” asked Motlie, moving around the table to serve the fish. “Do they feel as you do?”

For a moment Jakob seemed nonplussed. “I don’t really know, Mrs. Barlak,” he said slowly. “I’m sure they do.”

Hanna seated herself and began to eat. “You do not sound as if your women are very important,” she remarked.

“Of course they are important,” replied the Hasid stiffly. “They are as filled with the Lord as the men.”

“You sound almost anti-Semitic when you speak of women,” laughed Hershel. “In Germany, they say some of my best friends are Jews.”

“They say that also in Minsk,” grinned Jakob. He turned back to Hanna.

“Women fit into our lives as wives, mothers, keepers of the house. We rely upon them to counsel us about our day to day living.”

Those piercing brown eyes were disconcerting to Hanna. Whenever he looked at her, she felt drawn to him. “What of the girls?” she said, breaking the spell. “Are they part of your everyday life? I mean, someone to talk with, to share your feelings and thoughts?”

It was plain that Jakob did not have the least notion of what Hanna was getting at. “Certainly they are part of our everyday lives. As I said, they are wives, mothers of our children, keepers of our homes.”

Hanna immersed herself in the food, not wishing to discuss the Hasidic women any further. They sounded more like servants than mates.

“Your rabbi,” asked Hershel. “You call him a rebbe, don’t you?”

“Yes. My rebbe is also my father.”

“I have heard that they dominate their congregations.”

A flush came to Jakob’s pale cheeks, a flush of annoyance. “They do,” he replied with some acerbity.

“Isn’t that somewhat unorthodox? A rabbi is a teacher, not a leader.”

“Yours may be, not ours. But then again, your rabbis influence your congregations, too. It is just a matter of degree.”

Hershel nodded in agreement. “Do your rebbes also…” he searched for an unobjectionable word, “…influence your personal lives?”

Jakob understood perfectly what was in Hershel’s mind, and his eyes lit with expectation. In surprise, Hershel saw that the Hasid was about to attack.

“Yes, they influence our personal lives. Daily. When we seek a job, move from our houses, take a trip, decide to marry, it is our rebbe’s guidance and permission we require before doing so.”

“I see,” said Hershel. “Can you pray directly to God yourself?”

“Of course. But it gains force and validity when it is carried by our rebbe.” Hanna had been filling glasses of tea from a samovar and handing them around. Jakob took a sip, then held up his hand as a sign to Hershel that he had more to say. “Do not compare it to Luther’s schism of personal confession. If you reach back into Jewish history, you will remember that the high priest was the only human allowed in the Holy of Holies in the Temple to pray directly to God. We do not regard our rebbes as high priests in that sense, but we do consider them divinely chosen.”

“Chosen by God?” asked Israel, incredulously.

“Why not?” said Jakob, turning his intense eyes on him. “What makes a man become a rabbi? An accident? Does not the Lord touch him in some manner to be a teacher of His laws?”

Israel made a face of concentration, his lips pursed as he considered Jakob’s remarks. What an unusual young man, he thought. He makes the most outrageous comments, bordering on anathema, then follows them up with an explanation so valid and clear that only an idiot would argue with him.

“Jakob,” said Hanna. He turned his attention to her. “You said that your rebbes guide you on your marriages. If you cared for a girl, but she did not care for you, what would the rebbe say?”

Jakob sat up straighter. “He would marry them, of course,” he replied in a manner that gave no indication that another option was possible.

Motlie leaned forward, her cheeks still touched with color from the dancing and from a discussion that she considered to be one of the most interesting in her life. “Suppose her parents did not want the marriage?” she asked.

“They wouldn’t even consider being opposed to it. The rebbe has decided for them.”

Motlie and Israel were aghast at Jakob’s answer. Said Israel, “I would never force any of my daughters to marry a man she was opposed to. What kind of a life would she have?”

“You are not a Hasid, Mr. Barlak,” said Jakob.

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Gitel came running into the kitchen. “Papa,” she said breathlessly. “The cow. I think the calf is coming.”

Israel climbed quickly to his feet and hobbled to the stable, the rest hard on his heels. Gitel had already placed the lantern near the cow, and its beams showed her lying on the straw, giving out deep moans of pain as she strained to give birth. A small puddle of body fluid lay by her leg, from the casing which had ruptured. “Gitel,” said Israel. “go for Stanislas.” The eighty-five-year old Polish carpenter who lived next door had helped deliver the bull calf born three years before. In a flash, Gitel was out of the barn. Israel talked soothingly to the cow while he waited.

In a few minutes, she was back. “He’s sick, Papa. He’s in bed.”

Israel groaned inwardly. Stanislas was his only hope for help. Another look at the animal showed that she was indeed in trouble. Her belly muscles were working and she was straining, but her vulva was barely flexing. She will not be able to get it out by herself, he knew. He had assisted during calving in the past, but realized that he was physically incapable of kneeling to do what was necessary. He turned to Hershel.

Hershel raised his hands in helplessness. “I never saw a cow give birth before, let alone know what to do.” Israel could have told him, but he felt awkward about asking his guest to remove his coat and thrust his arm into what could soon be a gory mess. He looked over at Jakob.

The Hasid shook his head. “I am even less informed.”

“Hanna,” he said. “You will have to help her.”

Hanna nodded, her face tight with worry. “I will change my clothes first.”

“Hold on,” said Hershel, taking off his jacket. “Tell me what to do.”

“Reach inside her,” said Israel. Hershel knelt and cautiously placed a hand into the cow’s uterus. It was clammy, and his skin crawled at what he might find inside. He went in deeper and felt a solid object, wet and slippery.

“I’ve touched something,” he said. “I think it’s the head.”

“You’ve got to find its feet. Can you move around the head?”

Hershel kept probing. “I feel one of its legs, but it won’t budge.”

“Try harder,” said Israel, his heart pounding with concern.

Hershel did as he was told, but he could not pull it free. He put more force behind his effort, his hand often slipping, but nothing happened. “It still doesn’t budge,” he finally said.

“Oh, my God,” said Israel miserably. “If you don’t pull it out right, it may die.”

Hershel drew out his hand. “Shall I try again later on?”

Israel shook his head in despair. “I don’t know. I saw this happen once years ago. There was nothing they could do. They had to butcher the calf inside the cow.”

Hanna stepped forward to look at the stricken animal. “Isn’t there anyone else we could call, Papa?”

He shook his head and gave a cynical laugh. “We could call the veterinarian from Slabodka. He would charge the price of the calf, if he decided to come.”

“Good evening,” said a quiet voice. They all turned. Stephen was standing there. Hanna’s heart almost burst from her chest, and she felt a flush sweep over her face so strong that she nearly swooned. “I knocked at the door,” he explained.

“Good evening, Stephen,” said Israel. “This is Jakob Golub. He is staying with us.” The two young men eyed each other curiously and nodded.

Stephen looked down at the cow, then he took up the lantern and examined her more closely. “She can’t breech,” he said at once. “She hasn’t expanded enough.” He glanced at Israel. “May I help you?”

“If you think you can,” said Israel, renewed hope in his voice. “And thank you for whatever happens.”

Stephen slipped off his jacket, but before he could drape it over one of the rails of a stall, Hanna reached out and took it from him, folding it carefully and holding it to her breasts. He gave her a shy smile of greeting, then sank to his knees, crouching low to enter the cow as gently as possible.

In a few seconds, he began straining, then leaned his shoulder against the rump of the animal to obtain leverage. The muscles of his arm bulged as he applied pressure. After a minute or so, he drew out his arm and stood up. At once, Hanna handed over a basin for him to wash off the mucus.

“It’s front feet were turned under very tightly,” he explained to Israel. “I’ve gotten them past the head. But the cow will need more time. A half hour or so.”

“Will she last that long?” asked Israel.

“I think so. She’s had good care. Anyhow, we’ll help her.” He turned to Hanna. “Can I have a pail of cold water and some cloths, please.”

“Reba,” said Hanna. “Get a bucket of water from the pump, please. Zelek, find some old towels in the storage area.” Both of the children ran off at once.

Stephen squatted by the head of the cow and began rubbing her face and her neck, speaking gently to her. “Would you turn up the lantern, please?” he asked.

Hanna brought it to him. “We are not allowed to do so. But you can.”

He eyed her quizzically, as if she was teasing him.

She grinned down at him. “One of our Jewish customs.”

Stephen did not know whether to chuckle or not. Instead, he wheeled the wick up higher, then turned back to the cow. When the children returned from their errands, he dipped a cloth in the pail of water and began washing down the face and neck of the animal.

In short time, the moans of the cow appeared to ease. “She seems better,” said Israel with approval. “You have the right kind of hands.”

“It’s the cool water,” said Stephen in his direct manner. “It helps her forget that she is having pains.”

Hanna squatted down beside him. “Can I help you?”

He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m all right.” He wiped the animal’s mouth with the wet cloth. “Why can’t you turn up the lantern?”

“It is our Sabbath. There are all numbers of things we are prohibited from doing. Like lighting fires, or putting them out.” She grinned. “Even fishing.”

He smiled at her. “That’s interesting. Can you name some others?”

Hanna shrugged. “I don’t know most of them.” She turned towards the Hasid. “Do you know them, Jakob?”

“There are thirty-nine categories and one hundred and seven derivative varieties which could lead to breaking the Sabbath laws. Do you want them all?”

Hershel chuckled with sheer joy. “Just the thirty-nine, Jakob. Stephen will understand what you mean before you start splitting hairs.”

“All right. Actually, there aren’t thirty-nine.” His eyes sparkled. “There are forty, less one. They are sowing, reaping, binding sheaves, threshing, winnowing, cleansing, grinding, sifting, kneading, baking, shearing wool and washing or beating or dying it, spinning, weaving, making two loops…”

Hershel began to chuckle again, and the rest of them smiled.

“…weaving two threads, separating two threads, tying a knot or loosening one, sewing two stitches, tearing in order to sew two stitches…”

Everyone was now laughing, even the children.

“…hunting a deer and slaughtering it or flaying it or salting it or curing its skin or scraping it or cutting it up, writing two letters, erasing in order to write two letters…” This remark broke up the audience, and tears came to their eyes. “…building, demolishing, extinguishing, kindling, striking with a hammer, and carrying from one domain into another.” Jakob took a long breath, then smiled at those assembled.

When Stephen was able to stop laughing, he shook his head in wonder. “How do you get them done?”

Motlie said, “We have a Shabbas goy do them for us. Or rather, we did.” She did not go on to explain that since Israel’s accident, there was barely enough money for the basic necessities, let alone paid help.

When all was again under control, Stephen said, “I can stay out with the cow if you want to finish your supper.”

“We’re finished,” said Israel. “But I will wait in the house.”

One by one they left until Hanna, Hershel, and Zelek remained. Hershel squatted by the side of Stephen. “How do you decide when to start pulling out the calf?”

“I hope I won’t have to, because it can be very seriously injured. You know it’s time when the calf shifts completely to the rear. It’s almost there now. I’m hoping that since the feet are in their proper position, the cow can do the rest herself. If she doesn’t manage after another try or two, I’ll go back in.”

“What if it doesn’t come out?”

Stephen shrugged. “It will have to come out, dead or alive. When you pull out a calf, it’s to save the cow.”

Zelek was watching Stephen intently from the corner of his eye, his face set hard. Hanna did not have to wonder what was going through his mind. She had felt the same way. That Stephen was Russian; Cossacks were Russian; ergo, Stephen was a Cossack–an enemy of his people. She shook her head sadly. Only five years old and already feeling the bile of hate. It must start in the womb, she concluded with rising anger, and all it could bring is misery. She knew she was somewhat to blame also, joking about assigning the rooster, Nicholas Aleksandrovich Romanov, to the pot one day, and Israel calling him the Cossack.

Inside, she heard Jakob break into song again, his feet pounding on the floor boards, and soon the rest were joining him. Zelek wavered a few seconds, torn between eyeing his enemy or joining his new found friend, then he left for the kitchen. It took Hershel only a few more seconds to realize that Hanna and Stephen might want to be alone, and with a, “I’ll be inside in the event you need me,” he also left.

The moment he was out of sight, Hanna leaned forward and kissed Stephen. “When did you get back?” she asked happily.

“About an hour ago.”

“Have you eaten?” she asked, her practical nature overcoming her desire to clasp him in her arms.

“Yes. My mother said she never saw me finish supper so quickly.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I missed you terribly.”

“And I missed you, my darling.” She settled herself cross-legged on some straw. “The funeral, it was sad, eh?”

“Not really. Mother carried on, of course, but it’s mostly because Russians always carry on, even if it’s for a stranger.” He reached into a shirt pocket and brought out a small box. “I bought this for you.”

Hanna’s eyes grew wide. “Can I open it now?” she asked excitedly.

Stephen grinned. “You’d better, or you’ll be flying like a bird in a minute.”

With nervous fingers she opened the box and took out a light brown cameo with a dove delicately carved above the figure. It was hooked to a fine, gold chain. “Oh, Stephen,” she whispered. “It is so beautiful. I cannot take it.”

“You’ll have to,” he said. “It’s for only one person in the world. You. If you don’t take it, I promise to throw it in the river.”

Hanna smiled. “You would not do that.”

“I swear I will,” he said seriously. She knew he would, so she pressed her lips against his.

Suddenly, his attention turned back to the cow. His hand washing her down had felt a movement that signaled she was trying once again. He moved to her rear, slid a hand into her uterus, then began exerting pressure inside.

“Wash her face,” said Stephen. “Work back to her shoulders.”

Hanna took up the cloth and began to do as she was instructed. She started talking to the cow, telling her how nice she was, how good her milk tasted, and what a brave mother she was.

“Keep talking to her,” said Stephen. “You’re doing great. She’s trying.”

The minutes went by, Stephen pulling only with minimal strength.

Suddenly the cow began squeezing and straining. Stephen drew back firmly on the legs of the calf. It barely moved.

“Slap her face!” he said to Hanna. She looked at him questioningly. “Slap her! Hard!” he said again, urgently.

Hanna slapped the muzzle with an open hand.

“Harder!” he cried. “Use your fist.”

She punched the cow in the face. Her fist began stinging. “Again,” said Stephen, pulling more strongly. She punched the cow twice. The cow shook her head, shocked by the attack. Stephen felt the calf move ever so slightly. “It’s coming,” he said. “Keep hitting her, hard.”

Finally understanding what was at stake, Hanna began pounding on the animal. As it twisted its head to escape the pummeling, its muscles convulsed and Stephen felt the calf finally move free. Placing a knee against the cow’s rump, he drew back forcefully.

The calf’s front feet emerged, then its head, and once the shoulders broke through, its entire body gushed out.

Hanna turned towards him, and her eyes fastened on the calf.

Stephen smiled. “It’s alive, Hanna, and well.” He leaned over the wet, sticky animal and his smile became broader. “Or rather, I should say, she’s alive.”