Zaddik, page 28
We’re lost, thought Hirsh Leib. That pig Prince Czartoryski has betrayed us to his brother and now he will kill us all and I shall never see Soreh again.
Grief lifted Hirsh Leib to his feet. Tears filled his eyes. Rage set his heart aflame, and fire coursed through his veins, making him tremble. He felt a hand grab his sleeve; he shook it off. He stared at Czartoryski.
Murderer, he thought.
“Murderer,” he cried aloud, leaping up on the table and then, throwing himself at Czartoryski, his weight carrying them both back through the sukkah’s entrance, out into the night, onto the dirt.
They landed, Hirsh Leib on top of Czartoryski and the Zaddik of Orlik’s hands closed around Czartoryski’s throat. He felt Czartoryski buck beneath him, like a fractious horse, but he was determined not to be thrown. His thumbs searched for the Pole’s Adam’s apple and found it.
It’s like a nut, thought Hirsh Leib.
Let me crack it.
He felt hands on him, weak hands, pulling at him, picking at him. No, he thought. Give me a little time. I must crack this nut.
“Stop.”
Who was that?
“Stop.”
It was the Seer.
“Stop.”
Hirsh Leib felt his rage suddenly vanish, as if the Seer’s voice had overturned a bucket of rainwater on his flaming heart. His hands relaxed. The nut slipped away and hid from his thumbs. All right, he thought, stunned in the aftermath of the storm that had swept him up and then, just as quickly, had dropped him.
But it is a pity, Hirsh Leib thought, releasing Czartoryski and standing up. He turned to the Seer and met that great, chilly, gray-blue eye.
I might have saved us, thought Hirsh Leib. In another minute I might have saved us all.
“Some things are not worth the price, Hirsh Leib,” said the Seer. “The price you were about to pay was too steep. Let someone else pay it.”
Josep Czartoryski lay on the ground, coughing and spitting, trying to get air down his tortured throat into his burning lungs. His mind could not accept what had just happened. Struck by a Jew? Beaten by a Jew? This Jew was stronger than you. He could have killed you, throttled you like a child.
Czartoryski scrambled to his feet. “You’re all dead,” he said, spitting phlegm and blood, his voice a raspy whisper. “I’ll kill you all. You”—he pointed at Hirsh Leib—“I’ll cut your heart out.”
Czartoryski ran away from the sukkah. The zaddikim watched him go. Motl stood transfixed.
“What have you done, you madman, you drunkard?” shouted David of Lelov, his eyes blazing at Hirsh Leib.
“What was he talking about?” Naftali asked the Seer. “What’s this about a diamond? What diamond?”
“A bribe,” said Menachem Mendel. “A bribe for Napoleon. A foolish bribe that the Lord despises.”
“He’s murdered us all,” continued David of Lelov, his face red, spit flying from his lips. “This meshuggeneh, this crazy man, has signed our death warrants.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Reb David,” said Naftali. “Have we made another Christian enemy? So? What’s one more? Isn’t that so, Hirsh Leib?”
But Hirsh Leib did not answer him. Indeed, he hardly heard him. He was staring at Menachem Mendel, who had known what he should not.
Hirsh Leib turned to the Seer to denounce the traitorous zaddik, but something in the Seer’s face stopped him.
He knows, thought Hirsh Leib. He has always known that Mendel would betray us. And he doesn’t care. He is using this evil, just as he is using the diamond, the pogroms, perhaps even my drunkenness and rage.
What kind of man is this? Hirsh Leib wondered, and he felt fear.
Chapter 44 The Seer’s Study
Lublin
Sunday, October 17
HIRSH LEIB STOOD in a corner of Rabbi Yakov Yitzhak’s private study, staring at his teacher’s back. The Seer of Lublin gazed out the small window that overlooked his courtyard. As it had been for days, it was crowded to bursting with chattering Hasidim.
“Like crows,” the Seer muttered. “Tell me, Hirsh Leib, is our drab dress, our black hats and black coats, a rejection of vanity, or is it a kind of self-righteousness, a kind of pride?”
Hirsh Leib did not answer. He had been trying to discuss Menachem Mendel, the traitorous zaddik, but the Seer had refused.
“Ah, they are just men,” the Seer said, his hand taking in the Hasidim. “The Lord judges, not us. They are men like all men. Some mostly good, others mostly bad, all of them both good and bad.
“Can men such as we are ever please the Lord most High?” the Seer wondered aloud. “Is it folly to expect men such as we to unite the upper and lower worlds? Is it vanity to think that we can hasten the coming of the Messiah? Is it madness to put our trust, our lives, in the hands of that monster, Napoleon?”
The Seer shuddered. “What we are doing is mad,” he said, “but what choice do we have? To remain here, in Lublin, until some drunken Pole fires a bullet through my window? To remain here, in Lublin, until Count Czartoryski or some other nobleman decides to throw all the Jews out of Poland? To remain here, in Europe, until some king or emperor or tsar decides to put all our homes to the torch?”
“You could go to Zion,” Hirsh Leib said. “You yourself could lead us to the Holy Land.”
“But what of those I leave behind?” asked the Seer. “And what will the Lord think, blessed be His name? He showed me the Corsican, waging war on the plains outside the Holy City of Jerusalem. He gave me the stone. How can I deny what He has revealed to me?”
Beyond the courtyard, the Seer could see the wooden and tin roofs of Lublin. The market square, he knew, would be deserted. The people were afraid.
The Seer lifted his eyes, and there, on top of the hill, almost touching the clouds, he could see that crucified man on the roof of the church.
“They believe we killed him, Hirsh Leib,” the Seer said. “A rabbi. They believe we held the hammer and drove the nails.”
“They say their Jesus was betrayed by a man named Judas,” Hirsh Leib said. “We have been betrayed also.”
“If Menachem Mendel told Czartoryski of our plan, it was because he feared for the Jews. It was because he thought he was following a righteous path. And from righteousness, no evil can come.”
The Seer sighed. He knew Hirsh Leib did not understand.
Their mass will soon be over, Hirsh Leib thought. Will the Poles come spilling out to continue their pogrom? Or will they be calmed by praying to the soul of that tortured rabbi?
So much hate has gathered around us, so much anger. Help me, Lord, Hirsh Leib prayed.
Help me, Lord, the Seer of Lublin prayed. Help me to see what is to come.
The door to the Seer’s study opened, and Khaye, the rebbetzin, poked her head in. “Can I get you anything, Yakov?” she asked. “Oh, excuse me, Reb Leib. Can I bring you something, too?”
“Thank you, dear,” the Seer said. “A glass of tea would be nice.”
“Nothing for me, thank you,” said Hirsh Leib.
The door closed, and the Seer turned back to the window. He saw the clouds thicken, billowing up. “Look, Hirsh Leib,” he said. “Look there. Can you see two horses upon whose backs ride three men?”
“You know I cannot,” said Hirsh Leib.
“He comes,” said the Seer. “He will be here tomorrow. By tomorrow evening we will know if we have succeeded or failed. We will know if we live or die.”
The Seer took the diamond from his coat and placed it on the windowsill.
“What do you see in the stone?” asked Hirsh Leib.
“It carries my eye in a spiral,” the Seer said. “It is this and not this, that and not that. It cloaks and reveals. It is clear, and yet it is obscure. It is a picture of the world. It is like the sefiros, the ten hidden attributes of the Lord. This will be a good exercise,” said the Seer. “This will quiet my mind and help me see. Do you mind if I think aloud?”
“Of course not,” said Hirsh Leib.
“First,” said the Seer, holding up one finger, “the stone reveals its surface—oil floating on water, rainbows swimming through the oil. That’s its t’feres, its beauty.”
The Seer reached out and tapped the diamond. “Its surface is hard,” he said. “That’s its strength, its g’vurah. Beauty and strength, that’s its glory, hod.”
The Seer ran his finger over the top of the stone. “That’s its crown,” he said, “keter. From the crown, it flares out. That’s the foundation, yesod. The combination of the crown and the foundation define malkhus, kingdom.
“Now my eye is drawn inside. It is so deep. It has no bottom. Just facets reflecting facets infinitely. One can get lost in its recesses as one can get lost in Talmud. But to see what is hidden in its flashing lights requires khokhma, wisdom; bina, understanding; and khesed, grace.”
The Seer glanced at the stone. “Something’s missing,” he said.
“Netzakh,” said Hirsh Leib. “Victory.”
The rebbetzin entered with the Seer’s tea. “Are you all right, Yakov?” she asked.
“Yes, Khaye. I’m fine.”
“May I speak?”
“Yes, of course,” said the Seer.
Khaye glanced at Hirsh Leib. “I’ll go,” he said.
“Nonsense,” said the Seer. “Is it so private we must be alone, Khaye?”
“I’m frightened, Yakov,” she said. “Is that private? I don’t think so. Hirsh Leib is frightened, too. I can see that. You think women don’t see. We see more than you think.”
“Tomorrow is Simkhas Torah, Khaye. We will dance with the holy words, and no harm will come to us.”
“I wish you would bury that,” she said, pointing to the diamond on the windowsill. “Bury it in the woods, far away. It frightens me.”
“I will do that, Khaye. Tomorrow.”
“With you, it’s always tomorrow. And you, Hirsh Leib,” she said. “You look like a sick man. You’re so pale. I think you should leave Lublin.”
“Khaye,” said the Seer, angrily.
“I don’t care,” Khaye said. “It’s the truth, and since when does it make you angry to hear the truth? The way you attacked the count,” she said to Hirsh Leib, “like a crazy man. You know the count won’t forget. He’ll tell his brother, the prince, and that will make trouble for you, for all of us.”
“Shush, Khaye. Hirsh Leib is suffering. What kind of friend would I be if I sent him away? Besides, he’s strong, and we need his strength.”
“You’re wrong, Yakov. You know it, don’t you, Hirsh Leib. There’s something terrible happening inside you. You’ve changed. I don’t know you anymore. Wednesday, when you came to the hoyf, the day those poor people were shot, there was an old beggar riding with you?”
“That’s right,” said Hirsh Leib.
“I think,” Khaye said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “it was ‘That One.’ ”
“Khaye,” the Seer said, laughing, “you couldn’t be more wrong. That old beggar was Elijah. I saw him in the study house just the other day.”
“It was the Angel of Death, Yakov, I’m sure of it. His beard was the color of tin. And then I took a needle from my dress. I looked at him through its eye, and I saw him holding a wooden sword over his head. I closed my eyes, and when I looked again, he was gone. But, right where he was standing, there was a black cat that Hirsh Leib kicked. You know what that means. Wasn’t there a black cat, Hirsh Leib?”
“Stop, Khaye,” said the Seer. “I don’t know what you saw, but you know as well as I do that if it was ‘That One,’ and you saw him, you’d be dead now, and Hirsh Leib, too.”
“Maybe. Maybe not, Yakov. Maybe he’s waiting to get us all at once.”
“Enough of this,” the Seer said, kissing his wife on her forehead. “It was Elijah. I know. Now go. Leave us alone to discuss these things.”
“Yes, Rebbenyu,” said Khaye, closing the heavy wooden door softly behind her.
The Seer turned back to the diamond. “Why else would you be given to me,” he asked, “if not to save us?”
“Could you have mistaken the Angel of Death for Elijah?” asked Hirsh Leib.
The Seer closed his eyes and recited the prayer “Blessed be He who in His holiness gave the Torah to the people of Israel.” Then he began rocking silently.
“What do you see now, my teacher?” asked Hirsh Leib.
“I see what I have seen dozens of times before,” the Seer said in a voice as soft as the sound of the wind ruffling the feathers of birds in the trees.
“I see the Hasidim dancing in the streets of Lublin.
“I see the silver crowns of the Torahs bouncing up and down above the throng.
“I hear the singing and rejoicing.
“I see hands reaching up to touch the Torah.
“I hear children screaming happily.
“I see myself, my tallis over my head, my face covered, moving through the crowd.
“I hear my Hasidim whispering as I pass: ‘Where is our rebbe? Where is our Seer? Why is he not with us?’
“I see myself coming face to face with a short, fat man with a curly black beard and a battered black hat.
“It is the emperor Napoleon.
“I hear Napoleon say, ‘I have come.’
“I see myself reaching into my coat.
“I feel the hardness of the diamond.
“I see myself extending my hand toward Napoleon, the diamond shining in my palm.
“I hear myself saying, ‘In the name of the Lord, blessed be He, take this from the Jews of Lublin. Take this as a sign of victory.’
“I see Napoleon reach out.”
The Seer fell silent. He stopped rocking.
“And then?” asked Hirsh Leib.
“Nothing. I lose the vision.”
“Does it ever change?”
“Never. Sometimes the faces are a little different. Sometimes Napoleon does not have a beard. Sometimes Prince Czartoryski is there, sometimes not. Sometimes, different faces.”
“How can you not go mad?” asked Hirsh Leib. “I feel I am going mad.”
“I am afraid you have had very little peace since you’ve come to Lublin, my friend.”
“My sickness grows, Rabbi,” Hirsh Leib said in a low, hollow voice. “Khaye is right. I feel him stalking me, Death. Only the brandy seems to make him go away.”
“We need you, Hirsh Leib,” said the Seer. “Tomorrow evening, when the scrolls are removed from the ark, when the tribes of Israel participate in the seven hakkafot, dancing seven times around the great shul with the Torah, Prince Czartoryski will bring Napoleon into our midst. We will go to him to hand him the jewel. You must be by our side. Together, we will recite the kohanim’s first hakkafah: ‘O Lord, save us; O Lord, prosper us; O Lord, answer us when we call. God of all souls, save us; Examiner of hearts, prosper us; Mighty Redeemer, answer us when we call.’
“You must guard us from harm, Hirsh Leib. Your eyes must be clear, your ears open.”
“Choose someone else, Rabbi Yitzhak,” said Hirsh Leib. “Hashem has turned His face from me.”
“No, Hirsh Leib. Hashem has not turned from you. You have turned from Him. Now you must turn your face back to the Lord. That turning, that teshuvah, will create a prayer so sweet that all the angels in all the heavens will join you in praising the Lord.
“What is the greatest mitzvah, Hirsh Leib? What is the holiest deed a man can perform?”
“The ransoming of captives,” Hirsh Leib answered.
“Exactly,” said the Seer. “Today, Hirsh Leib, you are a captive. Tomorrow, with the help of the Lord, blessed be His name, you, and all of Israel, will be ransomed. Tomorrow, we will all be freed.
“So prepare yourself, Hirsh Leib,” said the Seer. “There is very little time.”
Chapter 45 The Church
Lublin
Sunday, October 17
WHEN THE SEER was again alone, his soul went forth, and this, as he would later tell Hirsh Leib, was what he saw and what he understood:
Thin clouds raced overhead as Count Josep Czartoryski stood chatting with Father Karol Wojtyla, congratulating him on his sermon. Its theme, suggested to Father Wojtyla by Czartoryski earlier in the week, had been the sins of the Jews.
“The sin that towers over all the others,” the young priest, expanding on his sermon, was explaining to Czartoryski, “is the sin of pride. Of course, the peasants do not understand that, nor do they need to. They simply know the Jew as our Savior’s executioner, and that is sufficient. But as sophisticated men, Count, we shun the Jew not because he crucified our Lord—all men share in that sin—but because in the face of Revelation, in the face of the Resurrection, the Jew in his pride refuses to accept Christ as his savior. That is why the Jew is damned.”
“Of course,” said Czartoryski, whose voice was still hoarse and whose throat, hidden by a white silk scarf, bore the purpling bruises left by Hirsh Leib’s fingers.
The mood of the men leaving the church was sullen. Tomorrow was Anders Shmielewicz’s funeral. After that, there was talk of heading into Lublin and killing Jews.
Josep Czartoryski had heard their mutterings and could sense their mood, but he had no desire to speak with them. Let them stew, he thought, mounting his horse and riding back to the castle. If they kill a few Jews today, good. Tomorrow we’ll kill a lot more.
The Seer’s soul flew over the trees.
When Czartoryski returned to the castle, a groom took his horse and told him that his brother had arrived. Czartoryski made for the library, where he knew the prince would be warming himself by the fire after his journey. He entered the room and saw his brother and a short, stout Jew standing in front of the hearth.
“Now you bring them into our home!” shouted Czartoryski. “You’ve lost your mind, Adam. The peasants will first kill the kapotes, and then they’ll turn on us.”
“Be quiet, Josep,” said Adam Czartoryski. “Try using your brain before you open your mouth.”
“Get him out of here,” said Josep. “I’m serious. I won’t stand for it.”
“You won’t stand for it? You? Since when are you the master here?”
