The Family Moskat (62 page)

There's a devil inside me. Why isn't the moon shining? It's mid-month, I'm pretty certain."

Was he still in Otwotsk or had he reached Shvider? Where was the boundary? There was a house! There was no lamp at the entrance.

He stood before the door, which had a sign over it. Was it Rozkosh? The first letter was definitely an
R
. Or was it a
K
? If he only had matches. There was a light upstairs. That might be Hadassah's bedroom. Was the outer door open? Yes, it was open.

"I'll be taken for a thief. That would really be funny, if I got arrested for trying to rob Fishel's villa." He suddenly remembered the night when he had sneaked across the Austrian frontier.

He half opened the door and called out: "Hadassah!"

It seemed to him that the light in the upper room had moved. She was there! It was she! "We'll see in a moment if I have intuition!"

He waited awhile and then called again: "Hadassah!"

A roaring and thundering gradually filled the air; a train was rounding the rails toward the house. The headlights threw two -404-pillars of light

on it. He saw everything as if it had been suddenly projected on a screen; the house, the veranda, the paths between the flowerbeds, the stunted pine trees marked with white numbers. He looked up at the sign; yes, it was Rozkosh! The train passed and darkness returned. From afar came a distant screech, as of a demon who had played someone a low trick and then vanished into the night.

PREPARATIONS for the Sabbath were under way at Finkel's flat on Franciskaner Street. Dinah had already carried the Sabbath stew to the baker's and had washed and combed the children.

Tamar and Jerachmiel. In the middle room Finkel was setting the table, fixing the candles in the seven candlesticks, silver and brass. She performed the ritual blessing over two candles, for herself and Asa Heshel. Dinah blessed the other five, for herself, Menassah David, Tamar, Jerachmiel, and the newborn child, named after his departed great-grandfather, Dan. The food was already prepared in the kitchen, the soup with rice and beans, the stewed meat in its savory gravy, the carrots. The gefuelte fish was cooling on a large platter, garnished with onions and parsley. In front of the candles Finkel placed two freshly baked loaves, covered with an embroidered cloth. Near them lay a pearlhandled knife. On the blade the words "Holy Sabbath" were engraved. In the middle of the table stood a carafe of currant wine and the special beaker for the ritual blessing. On the beaker was engraved a likeness of the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. Finkel and Dinah lived a thrifty life. The family income was earned from the -405— sewing Dinah did and the lessons her husband, Menassah David, gave. But poverty never shamed the Sabbath. Finkel put on her silk headkerchief, her wide-sleeved blouse, and the flowered dress that she still had from her trousseau. Dinah tied a velvet ribbon around her matron's wig. After both women had lighted the candles, they covered their eyes with their hands and recited the prayer that had been handed down in the family from mother to daughter for generations. "Exalted God, let the glow of Thy coun-tenance shine upon Thy handmaid, my husband, my children, and protect them from all evil. In the merit of the Sabbath candles which I here do light in Thine honor, illuminate us with Thy holy light, pour Thy grace on our Sabbaths and our weekdays, bestow upon us the strength to abide by Thy commandments. And quickly, oh quickly, speed Messiah, the son of the house of David, so that he may redeem us, speedily and in our days, amen, se-lah. . . ."

While the women were performing their rituals Menassah David dressed himself in his Sabbath clothes. His coarse boots were polished in honor of the holy day. He donned his threadbare satin gaberdine and mangy fur hat. He was a short, broad-boned man with a reddish beard and pale-yellow sidelocks. His hands and feet were too large for his undersized body. In his early youth he had studied religious law, hoping to become a rabbi. Because of the war he had not received his diploma. Further, he had be-come a follower of the highly mystic and controversial Rabbi Nachman Bratslaver, whose disciples were known as "Dead Chassidim." A "Dead Chassid" could not easily obtain employment as a rabbi. As he dressed, he smiled and murmured to himself, finally calling out aloud: "Man must not resign himself. Resignation exists not."

"What is it you're shouting, Papa?" little Jerachmiel asked. The boy was three years old. He wore a yellow skullcap, and his curled sidelocks dangled beside his tiny features.

"I say that man must rejoice. Dance, my son! Clap your hands!

Joy will triumph over all evil."

"What sort of nonsense is he talking to the child?" Dinah complained from the bedroom. "Are you trying to make him one of your Dead Chassidim?"

"And what about it? The souls of all God's children were assembled at the Sinai mount. Come here, my son. Let me hear you sing the rabbi's melody.

-406—

Listen not to Satan's voice, Dance, my little one--

rejoice."

Finkel came into the kitchen. "As true as I live, Menassah David,"

she said, "you're making yourself foolish. An innocent dove! He's got plenty of time to learn such things."

"Mother-in-law, I tell you there's no time. The Messiah is at our heels. Come, my son, sing with me: If you have sinned, do not be sad.

Repent, and live again, my lad. . . ."

Finkel looked at her son-in-law with an expression compounded of amusement and dismay and laughed, showing her toothless gums.

Dinah came in from the bedroom with the infant in her arms, carrying a black ribbon to tie in little Tamar's braids.

Tamar, the five-year old, had brown hair, a wide little nose, and a face full of freckles. She was clutching a piece of egg cake in her fist. "I don't want the black ribbon," she shrieked. "I want the red one."

The door from the outside corridor opened and a hand set a valise on the floor. Dinah turned pale. "Mamma!" she cried in a startled voice. "Look!"

Finkel turned, confused. Asa Heshel stood inside the doorway.

"My son!"

"Mammal Dinah!"

"Asa Heshel!"

"Blessed is he who comes! I'm Menassah David. My! To come in right on the eve of the Sabbath!"

" Tamar, this is your Uncle Asa Heshel. This is Jerachmiel--

named after the Yanov grandfather. This is little Dan--"

Asa Heshel kissed his mother, his sister, and the children, including the infant in Dinah's arms. Dinah bent down to pick up the valise, but Finkel shouted: "What are you doing? It's the Sabbath!"

"I'm so confused," Dinah said, blushing. "I don't know what I'm doing! So unexpected!"

"Do you know what?" Menassah David interrupted. "Come pray with me. The prayerhouse is right here in the courtyard.

Your grandfather--of blessed memory--prayed there."

Menassah David smiled, revealing a mouthful of widely spaced -407-and uneven

teeth. An unworldliness that Asa Heshel had long ago forgotten seemed to radiate from his fleshy face.

Dinah showed her impatience. "You're starting that already?

He'll say his prayers here at home," she said.

"What harm am I doing him? All I want is to take him to God's holy place. It's never too late to come to God. One good deed out-weighs a multitude of sins."

"He's one of those Dead Chassidim," Dinah said apologetically.

"You've probably heard of them."

"Yes. The Bratslaver."

"Well, you see," Menassah David remarked, "my rabbi is renowned over the whole wide world. Take my advice and come pray with me. Or, you know what, let's dance."

"Have you gone crazy?" Dinah shrieked. "He'll think you're a lunatic."

"Who knows what is madness and what isn't? A man mustn't be sad. To be melancholy is to be an idolater."

Menassah David raised his thumb and index finger and snapped them. He lifted his foot and began to sway from side to side. It was all Dinah could do to make him leave for his prayers.

Finkel's expression was a mixture of tears and laughter. "That I have lived to see this day!" she murmured. "Praise to the Blessed One."

"Don't cry, Mamma," Dinah pleaded. "It's the Sabbath."

"Yes, I know. I'm weeping for joy."

"Look, children, I've brought presents for you," Asa Heshel said. "And for you, Dinah. And, Mamma, for you."

"No. Not now. After the Sabbath."

Little Tamar put a finger in her mouth in embarrassment and held on to a fold of her mother's skirt. Jerachmiel ran to the kitchen-table drawer and took out a spoon. The infant, who had been staring with his wide-open baby gaze, shook his too large head and began to cry. Dinah soothed him.

"Sh--sh. Your uncle has brought you a cookie. Nice, nice cookie."

"The child is hungry. Give it the breast," said Finkel.

Dinah sat down on the edge of the metal bed, near the covered sewing-machine, and fumbled with the buttons of her blouse.

Finkel took hold of Asa Heshel's wrist. "Come into the other room. Let me look at you."

She led him into the living-room and closed the door after -408-them. Standing

near him, tiny and shrunken, she was like a dwarf alongside a giant. She wanted to spit out as a charm against the evil eye, but she restrained herself. The tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks.

"Why did you come so late? It's a shame before the neighbors."

"The train just came in," he lied.

"Well, sit down, my child. Here, on the sofa. Your mother has become an old woman."

"In my eyes you're still young."

"Cares and worries have aged me. How can you know the things that have gone on here? It's a miracle that we're alive. But all that is past and now you are here. Blessed be the Name I am not fit to mention."

She took a handkerchief from the folds of her dress and blew her nose. Asa Heshel looked around the room. The walls were ragged and peeling. Although it was summer, the double windows were closely drawn. There was a sour smell of soap, soda, and diapers.

Finkel opened the old prayerbook and then closed it. "My son, my son! Now it's the Sabbath and you've just arrived. My joy is boundless. God forbid that I should cause you pain now, but still I can't keep quiet."

What have I done?"

"What you are doing is wrong. You have a wife and a child.

It is to them you should have gone first. Woe is me, you don't yet know your own son. A treasure, a sage, may no evil eye--"

Mother, you know that everything is over between us."

"She's still your wife." Finkel fell into a silence. She folded her hands in front of her and shook her head disapprovingly from side to side. "What have you got against her? She's a dear, devoted woman. And, God help me, she's suffered so much on your account. If you only knew what she has done for us in these hard years, you would realize how you wrong her."

"Mother, I don't love her."

"And the child-- Is it the child's fault?"

Finkel opened the prayerbook again and her lips began to move silently. She went over to the eastern wall, where she swayed and bowed. The flames of the lighted candles sputtered and cracked, petals of tallow dripping down their sides.

After the silent prayer Finkel took three steps back from the wall.

"Asa Heshel," she said, "since you are here, I wish you too -409-would read the

Welcome of the Sabbath. It will certainly do you no harm."

She brought him the prayerbook, the one she had received from her mother-in-law, Asa Heshel's grandmother, the pious Tamar.

2

It was Fishel's long-established custom to close his shop at noon on Friday. He went to the ritual bath and then repaired to the Bialodrevna prayerhouse, where he remained until the Sabbath had set in. Because of the unsettled times and the constant fluctuations of money exchange, Anshel, Fishel's assistant, often came to him in the prayerhouse to ask whether to buy or sell.

Fishel would grunt, make vague gestures, and turn away. Nevertheless, Anshel understood what was the proper thing to do. After the evening prayers Fishel would go home, and Anshel would as a rule accompany him. The elderly serving woman, a distant relative of Fishel's, would have prepared the Sabbath meal for both men. Anshel, short and dark, with nearsighted eyes and a beard that almost covered his entire face, had been a widower for years.

Fishel's status was like that of a divorced man, for his wife was rarely in Warsaw. Both men would recite the blessings and eat the Sabbath feast, discussing Chassidic matters. In the Bialodrevna prayerhouse the unmarried men would exchange jokes about Fishel, and the women could not seem to understand why he did not put an end to the situation. Surely he could make a brilliant match if he wanted to. Even the Bialodrevna rabbi had more than once let it be known that in his opinion what was happening was not proper.

On this Friday, when Fishel and Anshel reached home after the prayers, the serving woman met them in the corridor and announced that Hadassah had come to Warsaw. Anshel hesitated on the threshold. Fishel showed some confusion, but he quickly recovered his poise. He held fast to Anshel's sleeve, refusing to let him retreat. "Idiot, where are you running to? There'll be enough food for you too."

In the dining-room Fishel and Anshel murmured: "Good Sabbath" to Hadassah. Then they began to pace back and forth over the room, crossing each other's paths. In the traditional fashion they welcomed the good angels who accompany every Jew to his home on the Sabbath. They chanted the verses in praise of the -410-Virtuous

Woman from the Proverbs. Fishel sat down at the head of the table, Anshel to his right and Hadassah a little distance away from him at his left. Fishel made the benediction over the wine and handed the beaker to Hadassah so that she might sip of it. He cut the Sabbath loaf and gave a slice to his wife. After the fish both men began to sing Sabbath songs. Fishel poured some brandy for Anshel and took some for himself. "Health!"

"Health, prosperity, and peace!"

"How about your? Fishel asked, looking toward Hadassah. These were the first words he had spoken directly to her. Hadassah shook her head.