The Family Moskat (44 page)

"Mistress, I have news from my Itchele!"

Hadassah started.

"Where is he?"

"In a town by the name of Zhichlin."

"So you see. You worried for nothing."

Shifra rolled up her sleeves, put on an apron, and busied herself over the pots. Hadassah went to the other room. Fishel was walking back and forth, his hands clasped behind him, murmuring something to himself. The lenses of his glasses glowed in the reflection of the gas lamp.

"You're really going out after supper?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Take my advice, don't go out."

"Why not? She's one of my closest friends."

-282-"Listen to me,

Hadassah. The holy days are coming soon, the Days of Awe. A person doesn't live forever."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You understand me. I'm warning you. You're traveling a dangerous path."

Hadassah went out, banging the door so that the glass panes shook. Fishel went over to the bookcase. He knew what he was talking about; he had heard clearly enough a man's voice at the other end of the phone. She was running off to meet him at the Saxon Gardens. Maybe they were kissing. Maybe she was carrying on a love affair. Maybe--God forgive him for the thought--

maybe she had sinned with him.

Fishel felt his heart contract in his chest. "Dear God in heaven, what can be done now? How can I save her? Help me, dear Father." He fumbled among the books in the bookcase, his hands trembling. He opened a volume of the Code of Law and read over the regulation, which he already knew by heart: a woman who commits adultery is unclean to her husband as well as to the seducer. He put the book back and took out a volume of Psalms.

He felt the need to pray, to pour out his heart to God, to confess his own sins, to plead that his beloved wife, Hadassah, the daughter of Dacha, be saved from evil. He sat down on a chair and shook back and forth, his eyes closed, his lips murmuring the verse: "Blessed is the man who walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful."

Tears welled up in his eyes. His glasses misted, and he took them off to wipe them. His hunger had gone. There were spots on the yellowed pages of the book, like tearstains and fragments of candle wax. A funeral melancholy descended on him. This was his grandfather's book of Psalms. It was from this volume that the old man had chanted when his only son, Ben Zion, Fishel's father, had lain mortally ill at the hospital. Fishel felt a sudden urge to rend his garments like a mourner, to take off his shoes and sit on the bare floor. His grandfather was gone; his father was dead, too, and as for his mother--she was somewhere in Great Poland with another husband. There was no one left to him, no kith or kin, no child of his loins. Ever since he had married and his wealth had begun to increase, even the Chassidim in the prayerhouse had become his enemies, begrudging his good fortune. And now this final blow. What was the use of -283-his life altogether? What was the good of all his prosperity? He began again to murmur the Psalm: "Lord; how are they increased that trouble me! Many are they that rise up against me. Many there be which say of my soul, There is no help for him in God.

Selah."

A FEW DAYS before Yom Kippur, Reb Dan Katzenellenbogen

reached Warsaw with his family. An apartment was waiting for him on the Franciskaner--three rooms and kitchen. Godel Tsinamon, his old pupil, had made the arrangements. As a poverty-stricken youth he had studied under the rabbi of Tereshpol Minor; he had eaten his Sabbath meals at the rabbi's house. Now that he had become a rich man, he paid his debt to his old benefactor. He put down several months' rent in advance and saw to it that the flat was furnished with beds, tables, chairs, and the necessary housekeeping equipment. For the mid-dle room he had brought in an Ark of the Law and shelves for books. He waited for the rabbi at the railroad station. With him was Finkel, the rabbi's daughter, and her son, Asa Heshel.

Godel was a red-faced man, with a white forked beard. He wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on his fleshy nose. Starched cuffs protruded from the sleeves of his coat. The rabbi hardly recognized him.

"Is it you, Godel?" he said. "An aristocrat!"

The rabbi's family made a substantial group: both his sons, Zaddok and Levi, his daughters-in-law, Zissle and Mindel, and a throng of grandchildren.

The women immediately began to prepare for the holy day. The rabbi made a minute inspection of the mezuzahs on the door lintels, and issued orders to the household not to buy any meats until he had first assured himself that the slaughtering had -284-been done

with strict ritual observance; he even forbade them to buy milk until he could be sure that all of the requirements had been observed in the milking.

Mindel complained tearfully. "What shall the children eat in the meanwhile?" she wept. "Coals?"

The rabbi wandered about the flat confused. It was on the second floor, with windows facing on the courtyard and the street. The rattling of the tramcars and wagons and the shouts of the stallkeepers came in from the outside. Street musicians were blaring away. Children were howling at the tops of their voices. The rabbi now comprehended the full significance of the Talmudic phrase: "In big cities life is difficult."

It was hard to become accustomed to Warsaw. There was a prayerhouse opening on the courtyard, but the ritual bath was on the other side of the street, and crossing over was an adventure that was attended with danger to life and limb. In the kitchen the cooking had to be done over a gas flame, and who could know whether the gas was manufactured under orthodox supervision?

Water came from a tap, but who could know through what uncleanliness the pipes stretched their length?

Nevertheless, in spite of all difficulties, the preparations for
Yom Kippur
were completed.

The day before the holy day Rabbi Dan went to the prayerhouse for morning prayers, and after the prayer drank a glass of wine and nibbled at some cake with the other worshippers. At home his wife had prepared a breakfast of some carp, dumplings, and a stew of carrots. In the afternoon, the rabbi put on his silk gaberdine, his white rabbinical robe, his prayer shawl with the gold-embroidered edge. His wife put on her best dress and wore a pearl-embroidered shawl over her head. His daughter and daughters-in-law, too, were dressed in their holiday clothes. After the rabbi had pronounced the blessings, he went off to attend the
Kol Nidre. The
courtyard was noisy. Women whose husbands had been taken off
into the army wailed and wept. Bewigged and beshawled matrons,
carrying gold-stamped prayerbooks under their arms, exchanged
fervent wishes for the new year. It was still early, but the lights
already blazed inside the prayerhouse. The floor was strewn with
hay and sawdust. The sexton showed the rabbi to a seat near the
east wall.

He did not approve of the style of the services here. They were
different, not so strict as those he was accustomed to in Tereshpol
-285-
Minor. There

was less weeping, less groaning. Near the door a group of young men talked to each other while the reader read. In Tereshpol Minor the rabbi would have banged his fist on the

pulpit and ordered silence. He wrapped his prayer shawl over his head and leaned against the wall. For the Eighteen Benedictions he remained standing for a long time. Reb Dan did not usually weep when he prayed, but when he recalled that on this holy evening Jewish soldiers were wandering about, God knows where, eating unclean food, suffering God knows what tortures, the tears came to his eyes. At the confessional prayer he enunci-ated each phrase distinctly and beat his chest with fervor.

The worshippers began to go home, but Reb Dan and a few other old men stayed on to spend the night in the prayerhouse. The rabbi pored over an ancient volume through the long night, brooding over Israel's old glory.

The priest kept watch at three places in the temple: at the
Chamber of Abtinas, at the Chamber of Flame, and at the Chamber of the Hearth. . . .

This was the singing which the Levites used to sing in the
Temple. On the first day they sang: "The earth is the Lord's and
all that therein is." On the second day they sang: "Great is the
Lord and highly to be praised." On the third day they sang:
"God stands in the congregation of God." On the Sabbath Day
they sang a Psalm, a song for the time that is to come, for the
day that shall be all Sabbath and rest in the life everlasting
.

But the iniquities of our fathers have caused the desolation of
the Temple, and our sins have prolonged our captivity. We have no
burnt offering, nor the trespass offering, nor staves of the Ark,
nor Holy of Holies. . . .

The candles flickered and spluttered. An old man with a parchment-yellow face and a bushy white beard stretched out on a bench and dozed heavily. The star-faded sky and a three-quarter moon looked in through the windows. As he sat here in his prayer shawl and white robe Reb Dan could forget that he had been driven out of Tereshpol Minor. He was in a sanctuary, among his own people and among the familiar volumes of sacred law. No, he was not alone. There was still a God in heaven, angels, seraphim, a throne of grace. All that he needed was to stretch out his hand and he would touch one of the holy volumes whose words were the voice of the living God, the letters -286-with which God had created the world. A sudden wave of pity swept over him for the unbelievers who wandered about in outer darkness, shooting and killing one another, looting, stealing, raping. What were they seeking? What would be the outcome

of their endless wars? How long would they go on sinking into the morass of iniquity? He recalled the words of the prayer: "And therefore inspire, O Lord our God, all Thy work with Thy name, and extend Thy dread over all Thou hast created, that all Thy work may reverence Thee, so that they may all unitedly perform Thy will with an upright heart, and be convinced like us, O Lord our Lord, that dominion appertaineth unto Thee, that strength is in Thy hand, might in Thy right hand, and that Thy name is tremendous over all Thou hast created."

Reb Dan leaned his forehead against his closed fist and fell into a doze. When the sun's rays came through the window he woke up.

He poured water over the tips of his fingers at the bucket. Purple shadows wove in the corners of the prayerhouse, as at sunset. The candle stubs had grown small, the flames flickering and pale.

Outside there could be heard the crowing of a cock. Reb Dan had not noticed how far the morning was advancing, or that the worshippers were gathering for the day's devotions. Zaddok, his older son, came up to him.

"How are you, Father?" he asked. "Here. Take a pinch of snuff."

Reb Dan regarded him with a bewildered gaze. "See how old he has grown," he thought. "A gray beard. In his sixties." He took a pinch of snuff.

"Thanks." And suddenly he shouted angrily: "Enough! It is time! High time for the Messiah!"

-287-

THE OPINION of the Moskat family was that it was Leah's own

fault that Masha had wandered off to the paths of unrighteousness. The girl was twenty-five years old now, but she had been associating with older men ever since she was in the fourth class.

Queen Esther and Saltsha, her sisters-in-law, had warned Leah countless times that a girl as pretty as Masha should not be left to her own devices. But somehow or other Leah had no power at all over her daughter. Everything Masha did was strange to Leah.

Leah was fat and big-boned; the girl was lean and slender. Leah had an enormous appetite; Masha pecked at her food like a bird.

Leah had been a poor student at school; Masha had graduated with a gold-medal award. Leah talked loudly, with violent gesticulations and abandoned laughter; Masha was reserved and delicate. On the coldest winter days the girl insisted on wearing a light coat; it was a wonder to everyone that she did not catch her death of cold. In the summer, when the family went out of town, Masha remained alone in the hot city. Just like her father, she was full of hidden ways. She would leave the house in the morning, no one knowing whither she was bound. She would come home late at night, when the rest of the family was sound asleep. She had made many acquaintances, visited wealthy homes, gone to balls and parties--but of all this Leah would find out only later, or from other people. For some time Masha had gone around with a student, Edek by name, the son of a wealthy family in Vlotzlavek, but Leah had never seen him. Then the girl had given him up and Leah had never known why the two had separated.

Whenever the mother ventured to talk things over with Masha, the girl would smile and say:

"Don't worry, Mamma. Everything will be all right."

The range of Masha's talents left her mother in awe. Almost by herself she learned French, how to play the piano, dancing, -288-drawing,

painting, and how to make a sort of rag marionette for which rich ladies paid as much as twenty-five rubles. She designed her own hats, she had her clothes made by Polish seamstresses in the gentile section of Warsaw. She spoke the Polish of the aris-tocracy.

Once Abram had encountered her riding horseback in Lazhenki Park, and when he asked her where she learned to ride, she had answered: "Oh, there's nothing difficult about it."

Leah, who was noisy and vituperative toward everybody, treated Masha with reserve. When the maid cleaned Masha's room Leah watched carefully to see that she disturbed nothing belonging to the girl. Masha kept an aquarium with goldfish, and Leah always made sure that the water was changed regularly. Whenever the subject came up, Leah said: "I'm not her mother, I'm her servant."

For months there had been whisperings in the family that Masha was going around with a gentile, but Leah could not figure out how to approach the subject. When at last she plucked up enough courage to ask Masha if the rumor was true, Masha answered in Polish: "I'm of age and I'm able to take full responsibility for my own actions."