The Family Moskat (14 page)

Israel Eli opened the door slowly and put in his head. He was a plump man, with red cheeks, deep-set eyes, and a round beard. His velvet hat was perched square on top of his head.

"Rabbi, Reb Meshulam Moskat has come," he announced triumphantly. "His youngest son, Nyunie, is with him."

"So."

"Also Reb Simon Kutner, with his grandson, Fishel."

"
Nu
!"

"It's said that there'll be a match between Fishel and Nyunie's daughter, Hadassah."

"
Nu
, a good match."

" Reb Zeinvele Srotsker is here, too."

"Aha! The
shadchan
."

"And I hear that the girl doesn't want the match."

"Why not? Fishel is a decent youth."

"She went to those modern schools of theirs--she's probably looking for a modern husband."

The rabbi shuddered.

"Yes! First they poison them with heresy--and afterwards it's too late. They lead their own children to the slaughterhouse."

"They probably want you, rabbi, to intervene in the match."

"How can I help them when I am helpless myself? My own daughter a wanton--"

"God forbid, rabbi! What are you saying! Maybe she's one of their 'enlightened' ones--but a pure Jewish daughter."

"If a married woman runs away with a man she's a wanton!"

"But--may even the suspicion of the words be forgiven me--

they don't live together."

"What difference does that make? If they've lost all faith, then what else matters?"

-82-Israel Eli

hesitated a moment, then said: "Rabbi, they're waiting for you."

"There's no hurry. I'll come down later."

The beadle went out. The rabbi got up and went over to the reading-stand. He enjoyed looking at the complicated, symbolic tablet that hung on the eastern wall. Although it had been painted almost a century before, the colors were still bright. Above were the names of the seven stars. In the comers were the figures of a lion, a stag, a leopard, and an eagle. Around the edges ran the symbols of the twelve signs of the zodiac--the Ram, the Bull, the Twins, the Crab, the Lion, the Virgin, the Balance, the Scorpion, the Archer, the Goat, the Water-bearer, the Fishes. Over the side was inscribed a verse:
Why do you weep for your gold that is gone, But
not for your days that depart one by one! Your
gold goes not with you beyond the bourne, And the
days that depart will never return
.

When the rabbi stood like this at the stand, the Ark of the Law, with its scrolls on one side, the bookshelves on the other, and in front of him the Unutterable Name of God, he felt safe from all storms and tempests, from all the temptations and lusts of the flesh. He put his lips to the fringes of the curtain that hung before the Ark and kissed them. With his fingernail he scratched off the wax drippings that had gathered on the Menorah stand. He closed his eyes and with both hands clutched the stand, as though it were the horns of the altar, which give the sinner sanctuary from the judgment of death. His body shook to and fro. His lips moved in prayer--for himself, for his daughter in the outer darkness of the world, for the faithful who had journeyed to his court, and for all of Israel scattered among the nations, among the uncircumcized and the unbelievers, the prey of plunderers and assassins. He raised his clenched fists and cried out: "Dear Father!

Dear God! Is the cup not yet full?"

He remembered a wry remark of his father: "Cancel out, dear Father in heaven, the capital You've invested in Your people Israel. For surely it is plain, almighty God, that it will return You no profit."

-83-

2

The night had fallen and the stars were high when the rabbi repaired to the prayerhouse. To maintain the pretense that it was still twilight and thus not too late for the afternoon services, the naphtha lamps had not been lighted. Only the stump of a memorial candle flickered in one of the uprights of a Menorah stand. As the rabbi came in, the faithful crowded around him, each of them eager to be the first to extend greetings. In the gloom the rabbi could see Moshe Gabriel Margolis, Meshulam Moskat's son-in-law. The rabbi took the other's soft hand in his own and held it for a few moments. Moshe Gabriel, a smallish, neat man, in a glossy alpaca coat and a silk peaked hat, was si-lent. His face was pale; his tobacco-colored beard, in the glimmer of the single candle, took on an amber glow. His gold-rimmed spectacles were circles of light.

"Peace to you, Reb Moshe Gabriel; how are you, Reb Moshe Gabriel?" the rabbi said. He repeated the name twice, a mark of affection.

"God be praised."

"You came with your father-in-law?"

"No. I came alone."

"Come to me after the lighting of the Channukah candles."

"Yes, rabbi."

The rabbi exchanged greetings with Meshulam, Nyunie, Simon Kutner, and Fishel, Simon Kutner's grandson, but he spent no time conversing with them; it was not his habit to show favor to the wealthy among his followers. Immediately after the combined afternoon and evening services the rabbi officiated at the lighting of the candles. When his wife was alive and Gina was still a child, they had come to witness the ceremony; but it was years now that the rabbi had been alone.

The ritual was performed quietly and somberly. Aizha poured the oil into the copper container and trimmed the wicks. The rabbi chanted the prescribed blessing and applied the flame. An aroma of hot oil and scorched canvas filled the air. The rabbi began to cantillate the phrases of the Channukah song. It was not a tune he sang, but a murmuring, a mixture of sighs and fragments of melody. The worshippers chanted along with him. When the ritual was over, the youngsters hurried to the long tables to play their games. Some of the Chassidim permitted themselves to -84-join in. This was no sacrilege; benches and tables are not holy in themselves; the important thing is the feeling in a man's heart. For the man of piety is not the whole world a house of prayer?

Later the rabbi left for his own quarters, while most of the faithful returned to their lodgings, where the evening meal was waiting for them--soup, meat, bread, and cracklings--and where they could begin their meal with a swallow of brandy and a bite of egg cake. The wealthier Chassidim paid for those who could not afford so lavish a repast. For all that there was no moon in the sky, the night was bright in the light of the stars and the brilliance of the snow. Columns of smoke rose from chimneys. A sudden frost had descended, but there were plenty of logs for the stoves and a goose or two stored away in every pantry.

Meshulam, Nyunie, Zeinvele Srotsker, Simon Kutner, and his grandson, Fishel, were staying at the same inn. A common reason had brought them together to Bialodrevna. Dacha, Hadassah's mother, was squarely opposed to the match between her daughter and Fishel. Hadassah herself had flatly refused to marry him.

Zeinvele Srotsker was known for being able to talk to young people in their own language. For all his staunch Chassidic piety he was a daily reader of the
Warsaw Courier
, a Polish paper, and knew all about the affairs of the Polish gentry. He had even arranged a match between two gentile households. He had argued with Hadassah until his throat was dry, but had accomplished nothing. All the girl would do was flush and murmur some half-intelligible arguments. She was more of a
shikse
than any of the gentile girls he had ever had anything to do with, Zeinvele complained. He would go away from her exhausted and bathed in perspiration.

"Stubborn as a goat," he announced, and he informed Meshulam that he refused to humiliate himself any further.

It looked very much as though Meshulam would not be able to make good his intention of settling the match by the Sabbath eve.

But he refused to admit defeat. In his long career he had overcome more formidable opponents than Dacha and Hadassah. Besides, he had convinced himself that his long life was the result of all the victories he had won in the countless struggles in which he had engaged. If he were to lose a single one, it would be the signal for his death. The stubbornness of his -85-daughter-in-law and granddaughter threw a sort of terror into him.

After a good deal of thought Meshulam found the way out. He would go to the Bialodrevna rabbi with Nyunie, Simon Kut-ner, and the prospective groom and there draw up the preliminary engagement contract. The bride's signature was necessary for the final contract, but the preliminaries could be arranged without her.

Later he would find some way to deal with these stiff-necked females.

Both Meshulam and Simon Kutner were sure that if the rabbi were a witness to the preliminary arrangements and approved them, Dacha would certainly give in. Her own father, the Krostinin rabbi, had been a staunch follower of the Bialodrevner. Surely she would not dare to put herself in opposition to the wishes of personages like these.

The four now sat at the table eating the evening meal. Simon Kutner, broad-shouldered and with a fan-shaped white beard and a ruddy face, was dipping pieces of bread in the gravy of the roast, heaping horseradish on them with the point of his knife, and exchanging comments with Meshulam. Fishel, with red cheeks and black eyes that darted constantly from side to side, was wearing a slit coat, a small hat, and well-polished boots. He threw in a remark now and then. The talk had to do with some Talmudic observations concerning an accidentally extinguished Channukah candle. Fishel had some knowledge of the point in question. His grandfather skillfully managed the conversation so that whenever the talk roamed, Fishel was able to interject an appropriate remark.

Meshulam knew the trick, but he also knew that all prospective bridegrooms went in for the same

mild deceit. Not all bridegrooms were geniuses. What pleased Meshulam about the youth was his calmness and poise, his shrewd business head. He could feel confident that Fishel was the kind who would add to his worldly goods after his marriage and would remain a loyal Chassid at the same time. He turned to Fishel and remarked: "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's have your interpretation"--and he poked Zeinvele in the ribs as a sign that he, Meshulam, was not the man to be taken in by a hoax.

While this was going on, Aizha informed Moshe Gabriel, who was waiting in the prayerhouse, that the rabbi was ready to receive him. Moshe Gabriel patted his curled sidelocks, tugged at the sash he wore around his waist, and followed the beadle. The -86-way led

through a small courtyard. In the rabbi's room a lamp and a candle were burning. The rabbi was smoking a long, curved pipe. He waved Moshe Gabriel to a chair.

"Tell me, Reb Moshe Gabriel, what is this business with Nyunie's daughter? I am told that she refuses Fishel."

"What is there to be surprised at? Her mother sent her to these modern schools; the books they read are full of adulteries and abominations. And now she's not content with a Chassidic youth.

Like the rest of them she's taken the bit between her teeth."

"Maybe she's fallen in love--God forbid."

"I don't know. Some young man came to Warsaw, a youth from Tereshpol Minor--a prodigy they say, but already spoiled, the grandson of the rabbi of Tereshpol Minor."

"That would be Rabbi Dan Katzenellenbogen."

"Yes."

"A great man."

"What good does it do? This young man goes around with my brother-in-law, Abram Shapiro. Hadassah is giving him lessons of some kind. Abram and my father-in-law are at daggers' points.

Nyunie's wife, again, does nothing without him. He's using them to prick the blister."

"What has he against his father-in-law?"

"It's an old quarrel."

"
Nu
. . . . But it is wrong to compel a child. Gina Genendel was opposed to Akiba, too. But her mother, may she find peaceful repose, forced her."

"It's bad one way and it's no good the other."

"Man has free will. Without free will what is the difference between the throne of glory and the depths of the nether world?"

The rabbi put the stem of his pipe between his lips and be-gan to puff. He made up his mind to warn Meshulam that if the girl proved firm in her refusal she should not be compelled to go through with the match. Better that she remain single for a few years more than that she depart from the path of righteousness after the wedding.

-87-

In the middle of the night Rosa Frumetl heard her husband groan. She asked him what troubled him, but Meshulam grumbled impatiently and said: "Go to sleep. Don't bother me."

"Maybe you'd like some tea," she persisted.

"I don't want any tea."

"Then what is it you want?"

Meshulam thought for a moment. "What I want is to be thirty years younger."

Rosa Frumetl sighed tenderly. "A silly idea! There's nothing wrong with you, thank God. Like other men of fifty--may no evil eye."

"Pah, you're babbling nonsense," Meshulam growled. "Anyway, leave me alone. What bothers me is none of your business."

"I honestly don't understand you," Rosa Frumetl said mournfully.

"I don't understand myself," Meshulam said in the darkness, half to himself, half to his wife. "I spin and I spin and nothing comes out of it. I've had two wives, seven children, given out dowries, supported sons-in-law. It's cost me millions! And what have I got out of it? A bunch of enemies, gluttons, parasites. A fine generation I've spawned."

"Meshulam, it's a sin to talk that way.

"Let it be a sin. As long as I've got a tongue I'll speak, and -88-if God

wants to lash me for it, it'll be my behind that gets the whip, not yours."

"Feh! Meshulam!"

"Feh as much as you please! You've got one child, I've got seven--

and in every one of them there's a worm gnawing--" He broke off, as though undecided whether to voice his complaints to this woman who was so unexpectedly his wife, or whether it was below his dignity. "That my children are worthless," he resumed, "is nobody's fault. I myself am a hard man, stubborn, spiteful, something of a villain. I don't deny it. And the apple, they say, doesn't fall far from the tree. And my wives weren't any bargains either. The first one--may her spirit not hold it against me --was a common woman. The second one was plain unlucky. But at least I could expect to have decent sons-in-law. Those, at least, you can buy for cash as you buy cattle in the market."