Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale (41 page)

CHAPTER 44
 

He was a staunch loyalist, a blind devotee to his master’s will. As assistant to Rav Schachter, he enjoyed immense prestige and honor, though the things sometimes asked of him portended neither. He rationalized, believing the righteousness of his mandate. Even in moments such as this.

The camera in his hand was an instrument of God, or so he thought, capturing the baneful sinners soon to meet their lawful reckoning. He lurked, and hid, and stalked, until he got what he’d come for: the evidence. And when it was his, a sudden surge of nausea overcame him, as if he despised both his deed and the chieftain who’d ordained it. But only momentarily, until the rationalizations returned, and once again he saw himself doing his part to uproot evil and depravity. For there was nothing else a man of such position could do.

Rabbi Isaac Weissman paced nervously in the hallway, waiting to be summoned to the inner sanctum. He had no idea why his presence had been requested, and had even been inclined to refuse, but for his curiosity.

What
could
Rav
Schachter
conceivably
want?

He heard footsteps approaching, lifted his head, and saw the assistant coming his way. It was time.

He entered a dark room and beheld what seemed like a large shadow behind the desk. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that the elder was actually turned away from him, looking out the window. A moment passed before Schachter acknowledged his presence.

“Ah, Reb Yitzchak, it has been a long time,” Schachter exclaimed spiritedly, swiveling the chair around to face his visitor.

“Yes, it has.”

Isaac recalled his encounters with Schachter, almost thirty years earlier, when he had first come to America. Isaac had been but a simple Talmud teacher from Poland, and Schachter, who had been trained in the celebrated yeshivas of the holy land, had been touted as one of the great minds of the community. Many had even regarded Schachter as a candidate to one day assume the position of
Rebbe
, considering that Rav Yosef Yitzchak, the
Rebbe
at the time, had no sons. Isaac was one of many who had attended Schachter’s lectures, and had enjoyed a peripheral relationship with the scholar. Yet even then, he had sensed something about Schachter that left him uncomfortable.

It had all crystallized after the death of the
Rebbe
. Instead of Schachter, Yosef Yitzchak’s son-in-law and distant cousin, Menachem Mendel, had been anointed to the throne. Schachter had reacted badly: irate, resentful, and eventually vindictive. Rav Yehudah Feldblum, who had been Schachter’s closest friend and confidant since childhood—also a great scholar in his own right—was forced to break from Schachter because the man’s temperament had become insufferable. A core group of students had followed Feldblum, Isaac among them.

Schachter, not yet bereft of disciples, began to rebuild his ranks. In the years that followed, he became more outspoken on issues dividing the community, and emerged as the leader of a reactionary element within the community. He was appointed to a seat on the
Bes
Din
, and gained much influence. Some even speculated that the
Rebbe
had granted all this as a consolation.

Feldblum and his followers had remained quiet for the most part. Feldblum was a soft man, more concerned with studying and teaching than politics, and he encouraged his students to behave likewise. But on some issues, as in the case of allowing outsiders into the community, or permitting rabbis to teach the unaffiliated, Feldblum had found himself forced to contradict Schachter publicly.

Over the years, divisiveness gave way to enmity, yet both men managed to maintain their respective positions as close advisors to the
Rebbe
. Perhaps, as Isaac had once mused, the
Rebbe
was able to see what others couldn’t, and thus welcomed contention among his followers.

“I’m glad you could come,” Schachter said. “Sit!”

Isaac complied, as the two men scrutinized one another. Schachter wore a solemn expression, and Isaac was not very good at hiding his own tension. Despite not knowing the purpose of the meeting, Isaac was certain it was going to be unpleasant. But that was okay; he had managed far more formidable obstacles than Schachter could possibly ever conjure up. Or so he thought.

“I’m sorry to have taken you from your busy schedule,” Schachter continued, “but there is a matter that has come to my attention, and I am sure you would want to know about it immediately.”

“And vhat might that be?”

“It concerns your daughter, Rachel.” Schachter waited a beat for Isaac’s reaction. He enjoyed watching his adversaries cringe. “And I want to say, Reb Yitzchak, that this matter came to my attention by sheer accident.”

“Vhat matter is that?”

Schachter lifted a manila envelope from his desk, and said, “In here are some photographs that someone brought me. I can’t tell you who the messenger is, only that he is a fanatic, a crazy
bal
t’shuva
who believes he is doing some sort of
mitzvah
. I can assure you that I have rebuked him sternly for his behavior, that these pictures will never be seen by anyone other than you and me.”

With that, Schachter leaned forward and offered the envelope to Isaac. “And what do these pictures show?” Isaac asked, hesitating to take the envelope.

“It embarrasses me even to describe it. Here, see for yourself.”

Isaac stared at the envelope for a moment. He was not one given to premonitions, yet was certain that the instant he opened it his life would change forever. He looked askance at Schachter, and opened the envelope.

Schachter watched Isaac remove the pictures and examine them. He allowed the silence for a few minutes, and then said, “I’m sorry, Reb Yizchak, this is truly terrible for you.”

“Vhat do you vant?” Isaac asked, his face crimson, his body trembling.

Schachter feigned innocence. “What do you mean, what do
I
want?”

“It is obvious that you are showing me these for a reason. Otherwise, you vould have burnt them and forgotten about them, so v
hat
do
you
vant
?”

“Reb Yitzchak,” Schachter said, “I understand you are upset and, therefore, not thinking clearly, but I can assure you that my intentions are only to shield you from harm. You are correct, I could have burnt these and forgotten about them, but then the situation between your daughter and this man would have continued. Who knows, eventually the pictures might have landed in the hands of someone less discrete than I. I thought it my obligation to inform you, that is it.”

Isaac wasn’t buying, but knew he had no option other than to play along. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to calm himself. “I am upset.”

“Please, Reb Yitzchak, there is no reason for you to apologize!”

Isaac looked silently at the elder.

“It is devastating when something like this happens,” Schachter said. “
Truly
devastating
! I feel your pain, Reb Yitzchak, as I always feel the pain when any of our children are led astray. That is why I fight so hard to keep our community safe, to keep our children protected from the poisons of the world. We have not always agreed, I know, but now I am sure you will see the value and importance of what I have been trying to teach. Now, that you have personally experienced the anguish that comes from leniency with our ways,
you
will understand why it is crucial to be stern, to keep our gates closed and corruption from our midst.”

Isaac contained the rage welling within. He wanted to lash out, to grab Schachter, to strike him. But he did nothing, for he knew that if he lost control, he and his family would forever be marked. He sat there, praying for God to help him hold his tongue.

“I’m sorry this had to happen,” Schachter added. “But it is at moments like this when
Hashem
gives us the opportunity to examine our ways and see that we can truly grow. I am sure you don’t need to hear this now, but when you go home and think about things, I know you will agree with what I am saying.”

“And vhere are the negatives?” Isaac asked, ignoring the sermon.

“Excuse me?” Defensive.

“The negatives, vhere are they?”

“Reb Yitzchak, of course I have instructed the fiend who took these pictures to destroy them. And I can guarantee you that he has done just that.”

Isaac didn’t bother pressing for the identity of the photographer, for he knew who the real devil was. He replaced the pictures in the envelope, and dropped them on Schachter’s desk.

“Don’t you want to take them?” Schachter asked.

“No, I don’t.”

“Then
I
will burn them.”

“Yes, I’m sure you vill.”

Pictures of his daughter with Joshua flashed through Isaac Weissman’s mind as he walked the street. He understood Schachter’s agenda clearly enough, even though it had been couched in code:
Change
your
alliance,
join
me,
or
else
! But Rachel with Joshua, he couldn’t begin to fathom that. Where had he gone wrong? What horrid sin had he committed to warrant this? And what was he to do about it?

He walked, and he remembered—painful memories, of which he had more than enough. They came vividly, as they always did, as if they were occurring then and there.
A
two
year
old
boy
on
his
lap,
a
Sabbath
melody;
flames,
soldiers;
a
cattle
car,
a
woman
beside
him,
a
boy
in
his
arms;
a
line,
a
man
with
a
list,
struggle,
screaming;
darkness
.

He tried once again to reach beyond the darkness, to capture those final images of the boy and woman being dragged away. But there was only darkness. And Rachel with Joshua.

He walked on, heading nowhere, faltering, unaware of the world around him, images battering him with unrelenting force: Rachel as a little child on his lap at the Sabbath table, singing, rocking in his arms. He hears her voice and feels the softness of her hair against his cheek. He kisses her head. How she has blossomed, so beautiful, so brilliant, so filled with love and life. And now this.

The darkness returned. He stumbled, leaned against a wall, and didn’t know where he was. All he could see was the darkness; all he could feel was a great hunger, unlike anything he’d ever known. It was a hunger for air, as he gasped and struggled to fill his lungs. But it was not to be.

He felt himself slipping downward, the hunger subsiding as he merged with the darkness. Almost blissful, even comforting, he relinquished the last morsel of suffering connecting him to this world. He was going someplace else, beyond the darkness, where there was light, luminous and redeeming. And the lost faces of a young boy and a woman, waiting.

Hannah and Rachel raced into the emergency room. The phone call had come just ten minutes earlier, and had provided no information aside from the fact that Isaac had been brought in by ambulance. They hurried to the reception desk, gave their names, and were asked to wait while the clerk called for the doctor.

Marcia Schiffman suddenly appeared, her face revealing what her tongue could not utter. Rachel and Hannah looked at each other and knew. Rachel turned toward Schiffman again, praying to be wrong, hoping for any words that would dispel the dreadful reality. But all the doctor could say was, “I’m sorry.”

Rachel’s legs gave way as she collapsed. Schiffman dashed to her side, caught her, and eased her into a chair. Hannah helped, almost forgetting her own despair. Rachel regained consciousness quickly, but was still unable to hold herself up. She fell into the chair, limp, deadened.