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Unformatted text preview: '178- THE]. L. PERETZ READER worn away and now it’s impossible to make out the names The
records of the burial society were destroyed in the third ﬁre, and no
one can remember whether it was Uncle Shakhne who was buried
0n the right and Aunt Yakhne on the left, or whether it was the
other way around. My former wife Chavele and I will not be lying in the same
cemetery—but again that's not part of the story. 1895 (translated by Golda Werman) \
IF NOT HIGHER
V Early ever Frida mornin at ' ' '
the rabbi onyemirbv wouldgi/anisli‘.e “me Of the Penitential Prayers,
He was nowhere to be seen—neither in the synagogue nor in the
two study houses nor at a minyan. And he was certainly not at home
His door stood open: whoever wished could go in and out‘ no one
would steal from the rabbi. But not a living creature was within
Where could the rabbi be? Where should he be? In heavenino
d0ubt. A rabbi has plenty of business to take care ofjust before'the
Days of Awe. jews, God bless them, need livelihood, peace health
and good matches. They want to be pious and good, but our sins
are so great, and Satan of the thousand eyes watches the whole earth from one end to the other. What he sees, he reports; he denounces
informs. Who can help us if not the rabbi! I That‘s what the people thought. But once a Litvak came, and he lau hed. You k w '
They think little of the holy books but guff themseli/l; will:f Taft/fit:
and law. So this Litvak points to a passage in the Gemara—it sticks
In your eyes—where it is written that even Moses our Teacher did
not ascend to heaven during his lifetime but remained suspended two and a half feet below. Go argue with a Litvak!
So where can the rabbi be? ‘ “That’s not my business " said the Litvak shr '
. . , , u in . Yet all th
while—what a Litvak can do!——he is scheming to ﬁgrigd gut. 6 That same night right after the evenin '
. ., , . g prayers, the Litvak steals
into the rabbis room, slides under the rabbi’s bed, and waits. He'll IfNot Higher '179' watch all night and discover where the rabbi vanishes and what he
does during the Penitential Prayers. Someone else might have gotten drowsy and fallen asleep, but a
Litvak is never at a loss; he recites a whole tractate of the Talmud
by heart. At dawn he hears the call to prayers. The rabbi has already been awake for a long time. The Litvak
has heard him groaning for a whole hour. Whoever has heard the rabbi of Nemirov groan knows how much
sorrow for all lsrael, how much suffering, lies in each groan. A man’s
heart might break, hearing it. But a Litvak is made of iron; he listens
and remains where he is. The rabbi—long life to himl—lies on the
bed, and the Litvak under the bed. Then the Litvak hears the beds in the house begin to creak; he
hears people jumping out of their beds, mumbling a few jewish
words, pouring water on their ﬁngernails, banging doors. Everyone
has left. It is again quiet and dark; a bit of light from the moon
shines through the shutters. (Afterward, the Litvak admitted that when he found himself alone
with the rabbi a great fear took hold of him. Goose pimples spread
across his skin, and the roots of his sidelocks pricked him like needles.
A triﬂe: to be alone with the rabbi at the time of the Penitential
Prayers! But a Litvak is stubborn. So he quivered like a ﬁsh in water
and remained where he was.) Finally the rabbi—long life to himl—arises. First, he does what
beﬁts a Jew. Then he goes to the clothes closet and takes out a
bundle of peasant clothes: linen trousers, high boots, a coat, a big
felt hat, and a long, wide leather belt studded with brass nails. The
rabbi gets dressed. From his coat pocket dangles the end of a heavy
peasant rope. The rabbi goes out, and the Litvak follows him. On the way the rabbi stops in the kitchen, bends clown, takes an
ax from under the bed, puts it into his belt, and leaves the house.
The Litvak trembles but continues to follow. The hushed dread of the Days of Awe hangs over the dark streets.
Every once in a while a cry rises from some minyan reciting the
Penitential Prayers, or from a sickbed. The rabbi hugs the sides of
the streets, keeping to the shade of the houses. He glides from house
to house, and the Litvak after him. The Litvak hears the sound of
his heartbeats mingling with the sound of the rabbi’s heavy steps.
But he keeps on going and follows the rabbi to the outskirts of the
town. 180 THE I. L. PERETZ READER A small wood stands just outside the town. The rabbi-—long life to himl—enters the wood. He takes thirty
or forty steps and stops by a small tree. The Litvak, overcome with
amazement, watches the rabbi take the ax out of his belt and strike
the tree. He hears the tree creak and fall. The rabbi chops the tree
into logs and the logs into sticks. Then he makes a bundle of the
wood and ties it with the rope in his pocket. He puts the bundle of
wood on his back, shoves the ax back into his belt, and returns to
the town. He stops at a back street beside a small, broken-down shack and
knocks at the window. “Who is there?" asks a frightened voice. The Litvak recognizes it
as the voice of a sick jewish woman. “I," answers the rabbi in the accent of a peasant. “Who is I?" Again the rabbi answers in Russian. “Vassil.” “Who is Vassil, and what do you want?” “I have wood to sell, very cheap.“ And not waiting for the woman’s
reply, he goes into the house. The Litvak steals in after him. In the gray light of early morning
he sees a poor room with broken, miserable furnishings. A sick
woman, wrapped in rags, lies on the bed. She complains bitterly,
“Buy? How can I buy? Where will a poor widow get money?" “I’ll lend it to you," answers the supposed Vassil. “It’s only six
cents." “And how will I ever pay you back?" asks the poor woman,
groaning. ‘ “Foolish one," says the rabbi reproachfully. “See, you are a poor,
stck jew, and I am ready to trust you with a little wood. I am sure
you’ll pay. While you, you have such a great and mighty God and
you don’t trust him for six cents." “And who will kindle the ﬁre?” asks the widow. “Have I the
strength to get up? My son is at work.” “I’ll kindle the ﬁre," answers the rabbi. As the rabbi put the wood into the oven he recited, in a groan,
the ﬁrst portion of the Penitential Prayers. As he kindled the ﬁre and the wood burned brightly, he recited,
a bit more joyously, the second portion of the Penitential Prayers.
When the ﬁre was set, he recited the third portion, and then he shut
the stove. The Litvak who saw all this became a disciple of the rabbi. And ever after, when another disciple tells how the rabbi of A Conversation - 181 ' Nemirov ascends to heaven at the time of the Penitential Prayers,
the Litvak does not laugh. He only adds quietly, “If not higher." 1900 (translated by Man}: Syrkin) A CONVERSATION
V The day was warm, as beﬁtting a holiday, and two men set out for
a walk outside the town—Shakhne, tall and lean, among the last of
the old followers of the rebbe of Kotsk, and Zerakh, also lean, but
short, a relic of the old Hasidim of Belz.l As young men they had
been sworn enemies. Shakhne had led the Kotsk Hasidim in their
ﬁght against the Belzers; Zerakh, the Belz Hasidim against the
followers of Kotsk. Now that the dynasty of Kotsk was no longer in
its glory and Bell too had lost its ﬁre, the two old men had quit
their factions, leaving their study houses to younger men, stronger
in body but punier in spirit. They had made peace beside the study-house stove, in winter.
Now, on the ﬁrst of the intermediate days of Passover, they were taking a stroll together.
The sun shone in the distant blue sky. Flocks of birds ﬂew about looking for their last year‘s nests. Grass sprouted from the ground,
the attendant angel almost visible in his presence, encouraging each
new blade to shoot up and grow! Shakhne opened the conversation: “The Hasidim of Kotsk—I
mean the Hasidim of old, there’s no point talking about today’s—
authentic Kotsk Hasidim don't put much stock in the Haggadah." “They don’t care much for the Haggadah, only for the kneydlakh,
the matza balls in the soup," Zerakh smiled. “Don't joke about the kneydlakh," said Shakhne earnestly. “Do you
know the relevance of the text “You shall not return a runaway slave
to his master".>2 “For me,” said the Belzer with proud humility, “it's enough to know the intention of the prayers."
Shakhne pretended not to hear. “The plain meaning of the text
is clear: When a slave, a servant,,a serf, runs away, the Torah forbids us to catch him, tie him up, and return him to the nobleman, to his ...
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- Spring '08