Читать книгу A Jewish Journey - Sheldon Cohen - Страница 24
CHAPTER 7 One evening there was a knock on the rear door of the synagogue while the rabbi was there with the children. It was Kolakoff. His face was grim. He said, “I need to talk to you, Rabbi. I have something to bring to Prushkin’s house, and I was sure you would want to come along.”
ОглавлениеThe look on Kolakoff”s face frightened the rabbi for whereas it was always glum, tonight a look of anger combined with the glumness. He knew he was in for bad news.
“What do you have to bring to Prushkin’s house?” he said squinting through the darkness.
“Come, Rabbi, see.”
Kolakoff directed the rabbi to a horse drawn cart. On the cart was a blanket that was covering what had the shape of a human form. The form was Isaac Prushkin.
The look of death was there: mouth agape, chin dropped, eyes open, contentment written on a thin face. The rabbi touched Prushkin’s cheek: cold, waxy—the feel of death.
“Oh, my God,” whispered the rabbi, “what happened?”
As if giving a report to a commissar, Kolakoff said, “He went crazy, Rabbi. He tried to kill one of my men just doing his duty. My man acted in legitimate self defense.”
The rabbi stared at Prushkin, while his lips formed the words of the Kaddish, an automatic reflex. No one would hear Prushkin’s side of the story.
Kolakoff continued. “One of our agents told us that this man was telling his neighbors to revolt against the Czar. He was making threats that would put the whole community in danger. Stupid man. What does he think he could do against the might of the Czar? When we questioned him, he tried to choke one of my men. That was his last act in this world.”
The rabbi stood there with bowed head. He knew better then to say anything. Prushkin: tried and sentenced. Case closed.
“Did you know anything about this attempt at resistance, Rabbi? Is this the way you Jews show appreciation for what the Czar is trying to do for you?”
Grief stricken, Shepsel whispered, “I don’t know anything.” His prediction had come true. Prushkin could not control himself and his statement about preferring death had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. No one would ever know what happened as Kolakoff’s version would be accepted, and there would be one less Jew for the Czar to worry about.
“Anybody else thinks like Prushkin?” sneered Kolakoff.
“Not that I know of,” lied Shepsel.
