Читать книгу The Rabbi of Worms - M. K. Hammond - Страница 12

What could Josef do to protect his mother? He knew that Joakim had evil intentions toward her and that she would suffer if the man had his way. Speaking to his mother could have no good effect—she was determined to get extra income from renting the room. He would have to speak directly to Joakim, to tell him to leave her alone, and even to threaten him if necessary. Would he listen, or just laugh at threats from a seven-year-old? Josef had grown considerably taller and stronger in the past year, and he was more confident too. Yes, he would have to take a chance, in hopes that Joakim would listen and not get angry. The difficulty now was finding a time to confront the man while his mother was out of earshot.

The opportunity came a few days later, on one of the rare mornings when Josef was not making purchases or deliveries for his mother. She had gone out early to clean a neighbor’s house. Josef was still lying on his mat, half asleep. As sunlight streamed through a small window, he reached into the hiding place he had found under a loose floorboard and pulled out a tiny scroll. Mosche had made the scroll from an unused scrap of parchment given to him by the rabbi—Mosche was always looking for something to write on. He had written out one of the psalms, and now Josef was trying to decipher the tiny letters.

After reading a few lines, he heard shuffling noises from the other room. Joakim must be waking up, he thought. Quickly he put the scroll back in its hiding place and rose from his mat. He pulled on his over-shirt and went to stir the porridge his mother had left in a pot over the fire. Joakim would want his breakfast as soon as he came out. Josef scooped out helpings of oatmeal porridge into bowls and set them on the table. He sat down to wait.

Joakim emerged from his room, looking groggy and disheveled. He came over to the table and began eating. Josef felt a knot in his stomach. He knew if he tried to eat, the food would not go down easily, so he held his spoon and stared at the man sitting across the table from him. Suddenly Joakim stopped eating and eyed him suspiciously.

“Why aren’t you eating, boy?”

“I’m not very hungry.”

Joakim went back to his bowl. When he was nearly finished, Josef summoned every bit of courage he had and said quietly, “Don’t touch my mother.”

Joakim looked up at him. “What?” His mouth hung open, and the sight of porridge on Joakim’s tongue made Josef nauseous. He looked away. “I said, don’t touch my mother.”

“Who are you to give me orders?”

“I’m her son, and you leave her alone.”

“What if she wants me? Women like that always want a man.”

Josef turned his head back to look at the man. “If you touch her, I’ll do something to make you sorry.”

Joakim snickered into his sleeve. He picked up his hat and bag of tools and walked out.

•

Josef now knew all the Hebrew letters. He had learned to read and pronounce many words during the months he had studied with Mosche. At first Mosche had copied texts on any scrap of wood or parchment he could find. Josef was soon able to read the daily prayers and recite many of them by heart, as well as certain short Scripture passages. By early springtime, it was clear he was ready to attempt longer texts. This would necessitate his having access to Torah scrolls and other writings.

The boys decided they would meet at daybreak, before making their morning deliveries, in the schoolhouse behind the synagogue. At that hour, none of the Jeschiba scholars would have arrived yet. The boys would be able to use the teaching scrolls in the classroom where Mosche studied. There they could read aloud to each other and recite passages they wished to commit to memory. Later in the morning when the boys walked the streets, they could use their time together for reviewing and discussing the day’s readings.

This plan was working well. Josef made good progress reading through the first book of Moses. He loved hearing stories about ancient peoples and took special pleasure in the travel accounts of the patriarchs Abraham and Jakob. Imagine mounting a camel and crossing mountains and wide-open plains and rivers! Mosche had told him to sway back and forth as he recited verses from memory, and he often pretended he was swaying on a camel’s back while it loped along. The time they spent in the schoolhouse was enjoyable for another reason—Mosche frequently brought raisins, figs, and nuts for them to eat as they studied. He said students need encouragement and sustenance to keep up their enthusiasm for learning.

One morning they read about how the patriarch Josef was sold into slavery by his brothers. As they discussed the passage, Mosche told his friend not to worry, that Josef would survive and save his people from starvation. In fact, he would become a great man and a hero and chief assistant to the king of Egypt. “That must be why your mother named you Josef. She wanted you to be a hero like Josef, son of Jacob.”

“No. My mother says she named me after Josef the carpenter, who was father of our Lord.”

“What? How can you say that? The Lord has no father! He is the Creator of all!” Mosche covered his ears to shield them from further blasphemy.

Josef was alarmed. He shook his head vigorously and motioned for Mosche to uncover his ears. He would try to explain. “I didn’t mean God had a father, only that Jesus did. We call Jesus ‘Lord’ because he was the only-begotten Son of God.”

Mosche looked solemn. “You better not use the word ‘Lord’ that way anymore, at least not when you’re with a Jew. There’s only one Lord—it’s the first thing our parents teach us. Any Jew can tell you that.” He paused a moment and added, “Wouldn’t you rather be named after a great, powerful leader than a carpenter?”

Another day, as they walked the streets, the boys discussed ritual sacrifice of animals. That morning they had read passages in the third book of Moses describing how Aaron and his sons were to slay a bull and present it as an offering to the Lord. Josef was fascinated to read how blood was thrown all around and flesh cut into little pieces. Even the head and fat and entrails of the animal were to be laid on the altar and burned. What a mess! His mother would have had a difficult time cleaning up. “Do Jews today kill animals and throw blood around?” he asked Mosche.

“I don’t think so. We don’t have a temple anymore so there’s no altar to throw blood on.”

“What happened to the temple?”

“The Romans burned it down. Then they made all the Jews leave Jerusalem.”

“Why?”

“I guess they wanted Jews to follow the Roman religion instead of their own. It didn’t work though.”

“What did they do?”

“Wherever they went, Jews took the Torah with them. It was their protection against enemies who wanted them to forget about God. That’s why we have to study Torah so much.”

“What if people don’t want to study?”

“Everybody’s supposed to study. It’s part of our religion. People who don’t know Torah and don’t teach it to their children can’t be good Jews. Sometimes we make those people leave the Jewish quarter.”

“Why can’t they be good Jews?”

“Because you need to know the Law before you can obey it. In fact, everything we learn makes us better Jews. Our rabbi says all learning points back to Torah, and Torah points us in the right direction.”

“What if there’s no school in town?”

“One of the elders said a community with no school for children deserves to be destroyed. But I think every Jewish quarter has a school beside the synagogue. Some farmers live too far away to send all their sons to school, but they try to send at least one to live in town and become a scholar.”

The boys went on with their deliveries. After unloading a huge slab of cheese on the back stoop at the residence of a town dignitary, they sat down to rest. Mosche said, “May I ask you a question?”

“Okay.”

“Do Christians really kill and eat people in their churches?”

Josef frowned. “Where did you hear that?”

“Well, I heard someone say that Christians eat human flesh and drink blood sacrificed at the altar. So I figured somebody must be killing somebody else.”

“It’s not like that, really. The priest takes bread and wine and somehow changes it into the body and blood of Jesus. It still looks like bread and wine, so it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“Do people eat it?”

“Some people do. We always sit at the back of the church and watch because my mother doesn’t think she’s worthy to go up to the front. But for the people who do go up, the priest takes a little piece of the bread and dips it in the wine and puts it in their mouth.” Josef’s eyes brightened and he looked excited. “I have an idea! I could take you to Mass at St. Paul’s so you could see it for yourself.”

“No! Never!” Mosche looked horrified.

“Why not? We can sit at the back near the door and go out quickly if anybody notices us.”

“I can’t go in a church. It would be a terrible thing for a Jew to go in a church.”

“I don’t mind going to the synagogue with you.”

“That’s different. There’s nothing in the synagogue you would object to. But churches! You just have to believe me.”

“Okay.”

•

At Josef’s next meeting with Father Albert, the old priest asked him to name the seven principal sacraments. After doing so, Josef asked, “Which of the sacraments have you had?”

“Let me see,” the priest answered. “I was baptized as an infant, of course, and confirmed when I was a young man. Since then I have participated in the Eucharist many hundreds (or even thousands) of times. Hmm, what’s next? Ah, yes, penance. Penance I have done, but I’ve not yet received unction. You’ve already learned that unction is reserved for the last days of life.”

“You must have been ordained, though, because you’re a priest.”

“Yes, I received Holy Orders when I was twenty-five years old, more than forty years ago!” Father Albert paused and closed his eyes. “You may not know that I was married, even before my ordination. My wife was a dear woman who helped me in my parish work. Her nursing skills were well-known.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died in an epidemic. Still a young woman she was, and very beautiful.” Father Albert contracted his eyebrows and compressed his lips so that his face became a tight web of wrinkles.

Josef though he’d better change the subject. “How do bread and wine become the body and blood of Jesus?” he asked.

“That’s a hard question. We know it happens because Jesus said so. He told his disciples at their last meal that they were eating his flesh and drinking his blood. But how does it happen? The scholars may figure it out, but I know I’m not smart enough to understand.”

“Well, how come some people eat his body and blood at the Mass and some don’t?” Josef asked.

“St. Paul says that anyone who eats the bread or drinks the cup in an unworthy manner profanes the body and blood of our Lord. So it’s only those judged worthy who are allowed to partake.”

“How can you tell whether a person is worthy or not?”

“You’re full of hard questions today! God himself knows who is worthy, and he entrusts his special representatives with this knowledge. Sometimes people you would not expect are denied the sacrament. Our own King Henry, it appears, has recently been judged unworthy.”

“If the king isn’t worthy, how could anybody else be?”

Father Albert winked. “Perhaps the king will be worthy again by this time next year.” Assuming a more serious tone, he said, “Between you and me, very few people are worthy, but the Church makes allowances.”

“Will they make allowances for my mother?”

Father Albert laid his hand on Josef’s head. “We must trust our church leaders to make these decisions. They’re learned men and they know more than we do. Do you see?”

Josef did not see, but he thought he’d better stop asking questions. He crinkled his nose and nodded. What had he learned today from Father Albert? We are not wise enough. We don’t know enough. Only a few learned men have knowledge, and we must trust them. But he wondered why it was that most Christians did not know enough. Why didn’t they try to learn more? Why did they not have schools where they could learn to read Holy Scriptures? Why didn’t they ask and discuss hard questions?

Josef did not go directly home. He wanted time to think. Mosche had told him that people should not study to gain riches and rewards or even to earn respect. Rather they should study for love, because the Lord commanded us to love him with all our hearts. Did Christians not love the Lord? They certainly didn’t study the way Jews did. As he walked the streets, Josef wondered what it means to love the Lord. How can you love someone you can’t see, or hear, or touch? How is love connected with learning?

Before long Josef found himself in the market square, just as the Saturday market was closing down. He watched vendors pack up their remaining goods and load their carts for the journey home. It was nearly time for dinner, and the air was growing cool. Reluctantly Josef set out for his house, which was no longer the peaceful place he had enjoyed as a younger child. Now it was inhabited by a disagreeable stranger who made life more difficult for him and his mother. At least he hadn’t seen Joakim harass her in the last few weeks.

On his way down Market Street, Josef sensed he was being watched. He sighed, suspecting he would soon be confronted by those boys who were the other great annoyance in his life. He was right. One after another, the boys appeared on the edges of the street, shadowing him from a distance. What was their intention? It was harder now to make him cry, but still they had power to make him miserable. As he glanced from one to another, he saw something ominous. A couple of the boys were holding objects in their hands that flashed in the slanted light of the afternoon sun. Were they holding clubs, perhaps iron rods to hit him with? No, they had knives! This was more than annoyance—this was danger! Josef turned around and ran as fast as he could go. Four of the boys ran after him. He could feel them getting closer with each stride.

When he reached the corner, Josef turned abruptly into Jews’ Alley. The boys seemed to hesitate for a moment, then came after him. He led them down the narrow street for about a block and tumbled into the courtyard of the synagogue. Here they caught up with him. Two of them grabbed his wrists and twisted his arms behind his back. The red-haired boy pulled out a knife and waved it in front of Josef’s face. “You’re going to come with us, bastard. We need blood for our clubhouse door, and you’re going to give it to us.”

Just then the doors of the schoolhouse behind the synagogue swung open, and a crowd of men, boys, and a few women streamed out into the courtyard. All nicely dressed, they were shaking hands vigorously with each other and repeating their friendly greetings all around. The red-haired boy quickly put away his knife. An old man approached him, clasped him warmly by the hand, and said, “Shalom, my son!” The other boys received similar greetings. They were soon surrounded by a boisterous mass of humanity. Josef was able to wrench free and slip away from the others. As the crowd grew louder and more animated, Josef saw the four boys backing out of the courtyard and into the street. He smiled when he remembered what Mosche had told him about Sabbath sermons and the loud discussions that followed. This was not all scholarly talk, Mosche had said, but mostly reports of news and the latest gossip. Well, anyway, it sounded like music to his ears.

Was Mosche here? Josef looked around but did not see him. He’d have to ask Mosche sometime if he could attend a Sabbath sermon with him. But he’d better go home now (by a different route than Market Street) before his mother started worrying.

•

Now eight years old, Josef had fallen into a routine that brought a sense of satisfaction to his life. Meeting with Mosche four or five mornings each week, he had made good progress in learning Hebrew and reading Scriptures. They had read through the five books of Moses and were currently working on Psalms and Prophets, committing many passages to memory. Once a week he was meeting with Father Albert to study Christian doctrine. While Josef did not always get satisfactory answers to his questions, he enjoyed the sessions with the kindly old priest. The situation at home was not good but it was tolerable—the extra income from having a boarder live with them allowed greater variety in their diet, even occasional luxuries such as honey and butter (instead of lard) for their bread. The boys in Market Street still heckled him sometimes but no one had tried to confront him lately.

One thing had changed. Since Mosche’s sister had turned six years old, she had decided she too was going to study Torah and Mosche was going to be her teacher. Miriam’s determination led her to rise early and come with Mosche to their pre-dawn sessions at the school. To accommodate the new student, Mosche went over material Josef had already studied. This was all right with Josef—he found he gained new insights when he reviewed texts he had read before. If the boys’ delivery routes were not too long, Miriam came along and listened intently as Josef and Mosche discussed what they had read. Occasionally she added a comment. Josef had to admit she was amazingly perceptive for someone who was only six years old, and a girl!

One Sunday afternoon on a hot summer day, Josef was playing with Anna and Lotti, daughters of his mother’s friend who lived near their house. Lotti was a bit younger than he was and Anna a couple of years older. They seemed to Josef rather silly, always wanting to play house. Anna was usually the mother, and he was cast in multiple roles: father, older brother of Lotti, infirm uncle, or soldier returning from battle. Today he was the uncle, and the girls practiced their nursing skills. They made him a potion by crushing nettles and red currants together and brewing tea from the mixture. It tasted horrible. Once the cure was complete and their play ended, the children sat down to eat soft, warm buns, freshly baked by the girls’ mother. After eating four of them, Josef thought he’d better go home to supper.

It was nearly dark but still sultry when Josef entered the courtyard of his house. As he climbed the stairs he heard some odd sounds, like bumping and scuffling. He ran up the last few steps and pushed the door open. What he saw made him grow pale.

Joakim was gripping his mother by the wrist and trying to pull her into the back room. Part of her dress had been torn off at the shoulder, and one breast was exposed. She was struggling and crying. The place smelled of wine. Several empty bottles were strewn around the room, and another bottle, tipped over on the table, was dripping the remainder of its contents on the floor.

It took Josef only a moment to apprehend the situation. He ran to a corner, picked up a broom, and started beating Joakim on the head and back. Without releasing his grip on Josef’s mother, the man turned and kicked Josef vigorously so that he slammed against the wall. Josef came back, grabbed Joakim’s free hand, and tried to pull him away. The mingled smell of alcohol and sweat was repugnant. After Josef dodged another kick, he pulled close to the man and bit his hand as hard as he could. Joakim howled in pain and finally let go of Josef’s mother. He came after the boy, hit him repeatedly in the face, and threw him down. Then he stormed out of the room, cursing as he went.

Josef lay on the floor throbbing with pain. He put his hand on his cheek and felt blood. He wasn’t sure if it was his own; perhaps Joakim had hit him with a bloody hand. In any event, the man was gone, and now he could rest. He would just lie on the floor for awhile and sleep.

When he opened his eyes, his mother was leaning over him, weeping and calling his name. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she sobbed over and over again. When he was awake enough to understand, she said through her tears, “I thought I could keep him off. Please, please forgive me.”

“Yes, Mutti,” said Josef. “Will he come back here to live with us?”

“No. Never. I promise we will never have another boarder like that man.”

•

Josef remained at home for a few days, tended by his mother. One morning, quite early, they heard a tapping on the door. Josef’s mother went to open it and there stood a young boy, several inches taller than her son.

“Is this where Josef lives?” asked the boy.

“Yes. Who are you?”

“I’m Mosche. Is Josef here?”

“Mosche!” shouted Josef from the corner where he lay. “Come in!”

Josef’s mother nodded and stepped out of the way. Mosche came in, glanced around the room, went to the corner where his friend lay, and knelt beside him. He flinched at the sight of Josef’s face, still swollen and bruised. “What happened?” he asked.

“I got in a fight with the man who used to rent the back room over there.” He pointed to the door leading to the second room. “He’s gone now.”

“Well, I didn’t know what happened to you. Miriam and I waited at the school a couple of mornings and then we went searching for you in the streets.”

Josef’s mother was standing over the boys, looking somewhat perplexed. Josef suddenly remembered she had no idea who Mosche was, or Miriam, and how they came to know each other. “Mutti, Mosche is my friend. We make deliveries together every morning and he’s teaching me to read.”

“To read?”

“Yes, Mutti! It’s the most wonderful thing in the world, to look at marks on a page and see real words. And the words make sentences, and sometimes songs and prayers! And Mosche’s sister is learning to read too. She’s six years old and her name is Miriam.”

Mosche pulled something from the front of his shirt and said, “I brought along a little scroll if you’d like to read it to your mother.”

Josef took the scroll and gently unrolled it. He read a few words in Hebrew and translated them for his mother.

“Josef, you are a scholar! We must tell the priests.”

Josef winced. “No, Mutti. Please don’t tell the priests. It’s different from what they teach, and they might not understand.”

“Well, I don’t know . . .”

“Please, Mutti. Mosche is my best friend, and reading is what I like to do best.”

She smiled doubtfully, shook her head, and went off to fix breakfast. Mosche sat down close to his friend. He spoke into Josef’s ear quietly but with great excitement. “I have some news! Remember I told you about Rabbi Scholomo? He’s coming here in November! The granddaughter of his old teacher is getting married, and he’s going to help with the wedding.”

“Can we meet him?”

“I don’t know. But we can see him in the wedding parade and maybe hear him in the schoolhouse. My teacher told us more stories about him, and we all went to see the place where the wall gave way to save his mother.”

“Will you show me?”

“Yes, and I’ll tell you the stories, too, as soon as you get better and come out again.”

A few days later Josef was well enough to go out, and the boys resumed their lessons. One morning Mosche took Josef to see the indentation in the wall where Rabbi Scholomo’s mother had been protected from a runaway horse and carriage. Afterwards, as they walked their accustomed route, the boys talked about the famous rabbi.

“When he was studying in Worms, he was a very poor man, “said Mosche. “My teacher said he had only a little food and no decent clothes.”

“Didn’t he have a mother or someone in his family to look after him?”

“He was already married, but his wife’s family had no money either. Rabbi Scholomo wanted to understand Torah even more than he wanted to eat. He said students in search of knowledge are like doves going from one shelter to another looking for food. Except the students go from one Jeschiba to another to gain understanding.”

“Did Rabbi Scholomo go to more than one school?”

“Yes, he studied in Mainz before he came here. After living here for ten years, he went to Troyes where his family was and started his own school. But his learning is so great that people say he must have traveled all over the world and talked with scholars in every country.”

“If he could go all over the world, why did he want to study here?”

“He didn’t come here at first. He went to Mainz because that’s where the famous Rabbi Gershom had taught. Gershom was called ‘light of the exile.’ One thing that made him famous was his collection of books—he had all the Bible texts and the commentaries on the Law, and he wrote some new ones, too. His library was the best in the world, and his Jeschiba became the center of all Jewish learning.”

“Did Rabbi Scholomo study with Gershom?”

“No, the learned rabbi died before he arrived. But Rabbi Scholomo’s uncle was one of Gershom’s students, and there were lots of his students who went to other cities to teach and start new schools. Two of them ended up at the Jeschiba here. That’s why Rabbi Scholomo came to Worms.”

“Do you know his teachers?” asked Josef.

“They’ve already died. But I knew one of them, the one whose granddaughter is getting married. His name was Rabbi Isaak haLevi.”

“When Rabbi Scholomo is here again, will he study at the Jeschiba? Do you think he can learn anything from the new teachers?”

“It’s more likely the other way around—the new teachers will learn something from him. Even when he was young as I am, Rabbi Scholomo asked really hard questions, and he told the teachers if he thought their answers were wrong. That made them mad! They asked if he thought he was smarter than they were. In the end he did become wiser than most of his teachers, except maybe Rabbi Jakov ben Yakar.”

“Who’s he?”

“He was Rabbi Scholomo’s first teacher in Worms, the one he came to study with. Even after Scholomo had studied with many other great scholars, he still called Rabbi Jakov his ‘master’.”

“He must have been a really good teacher,” said Josef.

“He was. But he never wanted anyone to praise him for his work. He said only the Lord deserves to be praised. Rabbi Jakov loved the Lord so much, he swept the floor in front of the altar with his beard. That’s what the old people say, the ones who remember him.”

“I wish we could have met Rabbi Jakov.”

“Me, too. But at least we’ll get to see his greatest student. There will be other scholars coming to the wedding, too. In fact, lots of guests will be coming from all different places.” He paused. “You know, they’re all going to need places to stay.”

On his way home, Josef thought how wonderful it was that such an important event would take place only a few blocks from his house. He had never seen a wedding before, and this one promised to be festive and grand. People would be coming from faraway places, wearing strange clothes and speaking languages he’d never heard. Suddenly Josef remembered what Mosche had said, that the guests would need places to stay. Did Mosche mean to imply that visiting Jews might stay with him and his mother? Were there not enough empty rooms in the Jewish quarter? Would his mother be willing to take in a Jewish boarder, maybe a poor one who could not afford a larger place? He would talk it over with Mosche. There was still plenty of time to raise the subject with his mother—the wedding was four months away. It would be hard to contain his excitement that long, but he would study more and try to be ready when the scholars came to town, in case he had a chance to talk with a man of great learning.