Shira (46 page)

Sacharson draped his cane over his arm and said, “I see, Dr. Herbst, that your ears didn’t accommodate you by taking in my words. I’m not offended, and I don’t want to appear offended. That’s how people are: some talk, others don’t hear. It’s often better not to hear than to hear what wasn’t said. No need to show signs of displeasure. I don’t intend to offer clever aphorisms. I’ll get right back to the beginning of the story, and you’ll hear what you missed before.” Herbst said, “Tell me, Mr. Sacharson, do tell me. This time I will pay attention.”

Sacharson cleared his throat because of the stiff collar that pinched him, because of the bits of fingernail that were caught in his throat, because of the story he was about to tell. He jerked his thumb at Herbst and said, “It happened during the war between Russia and Japan.” Herbst said, “Then it’s an old story.” Sacharson said, “What I mean to tell is not a war story.” Herbst said, “If it’s not a war story, then what do you mean to tell? Whatever it is, tell it, Mr. Sacharson. Tell it. So, it occurred during the Russo-Japanese War. I don’t think you said what the story is about yet. Or am I mistaken? Anyway, no need to go back to the beginning. So, it happened during the Russo-Japanese War.” Sacharson said, “Yes, during the Russo-Japanese War.” Herbst said, “An unnecessary comment, Mr. Sacharson. I remember every word you said. If you like, I can repeat it. Now then…”

Sacharson repeated, “So, I was on my way to America. I was escaping, Mr. Herbst. Escaping from Russia, like many of my people who had no wish to risk their lives for the brutal czar. You people from the liberal countries can’t imagine the pain of young Jews in Russia. Denied all civil rights, members of a battered and trampled people burdened with harsh rules that were becoming worse with every passing day, all of a sudden we were told: ‘Rise up and join hands with your persecutors to fight a nation you don’t know, that has done you no wrong.’ Anyone who could, escaped this war, as I did. I won’t subject you to the entire story. Imagine it for yourself: fellow Jews, brothers in misery, who ought to stand by each other in time of distress – not only did they not stand by me, but they treated me like merchandise, an object to exploit. They stole my last penny, leaving me with nothing. I’m not here to accuse them, nor do I mean to suggest that Jews have no compassion. But compassion is one thing, and avarice is another. Those Jews who are willing to skin a poor man for a price are the same ones who contribute to charitable causes and, of course, to anything holy. In the great synagogue in my town, there is a Torah scroll donated by a renowned philanthropist. Who was he? A man who used to snatch poor orphans and hand them over to Nicholas’s soldiers in place of the sons of the rich. And the rich men – those same rich men – were God-fearing, performed all of the rituals and commandments, and contributed to every cause. Some built synagogues and seminaries or funded schools. Others supported assorted charities, especially those with a sacred purpose. Jews are attracted to that sort of thing. Remember the Kishinev pogrom? When it was over, a fund was set up for the victims, who were without food or clothing. A famous rabbi – one of the most famous in your country – was among those who responded. How? By sending them a very large supply of
tefillin.
” Herbst said, “Please, Mr. Sacharson, tell me, how are
tefillin
related to Norway?” Sacharson said, “You’re joking, doctor. Wait and you’ll see that it’s all one subject –
tefillin
and Norway, or Norway without
tefillin.
As you see, Dr. Herbst, Sacharson can joke too when he wants to.” Herbst said, “Excuse me, Mr. Sacharson. I wasn’t joking. I merely asked a question. Since you began with Norway, I was reminding you about Norway.” Sacharson said, “I’m not fussy. Still, let me remind you that I didn’t begin with Norway. Before I said anything about Norway, we were discussing something else: the Russo-Japanese War and the escape of poor Sacharson, who is now privileged to join you on your walk, a short walk as befits a short tale. Now I’m coming to Norway in my story. After many difficulties, I reached Norway. I arrived with swollen feet and torn shoes; hardest of all, empty-handed. The money my mother had given me for expenses was extorted by our Jewish brothers who were supposed to smuggle me across the border. Actually, those swindlers didn’t get rich on me. My mother was poor. She plucked feathers for a living. How did she have money to give me? She skimped on meals, filling the gap with fast days. If I told you how much she gave me, you would laugh. But all I ask of you is that you hear my story without making fun of me. I ask one further thing: a bit of patience. I’m getting back to the heart of the matter. So I arrived in Norway empty-handed. My paltry sum of money had been stolen at the border. I was allowed to keep my other possessions: three faded shirts, an old set of
tefillin
, and a frayed prayerbook inherited from my father, whose merit must have worked in my favor. You can’t imagine my misfortune. Empty hands, empty stomach, aching legs. Still, I did not despair. My physical anguish didn’t allow me to indulge in a spiritual response such as despair, but it nonetheless glared forth from my eyes. Some fellow from Norway noticed and said, ‘Come with me.’ He was a merchant who had dealt with Russian Jews and had learned some Yiddish. I went with him. He took me to a hotel and ordered a meal for me on his account. Even if you were never in Scandinavia, you have probably heard that it is the custom in most of the big hotels to offer a great assortment of food for breakfast, twenty or thirty varieties at a time, mostly meat and fish. I couldn’t eat meat, because it wasn’t kosher; nor could I eat fish, because it could have been cooked with shellfish. The sardines had been preserved in wine, so I avoided them too, for fear the wine was un-kosher. I took some of those thin crackers called Norwegian bread and ate until my throat felt scratchy. I was still hungry. My benefactor, who had invited me to eat, was confident that a starving man about to faint from hunger would eat whatever he was offered and didn’t notice what I was eating and what I was rejecting. But the waiter noticed and reported to the kitchen. The cook came and asked, ‘Why aren’t you eating any of the good things we’re providing for your pleasure?’ I told him they were forbidden by our religion, et cetera, et cetera. He listened, astonished. Finally, he glared at me, outraged, and this is what he said: ‘Who are you, and what sort of religion is it that forbids you to enjoy the good food any decent person enjoys?’ At the end, my dear Mr. Herbst, at the end, if you will excuse me, he spat in my face. Those northern people are very fine, but there is something in the Jewish religion that enrages even the best Gentile. And rage, my dear Mr. Herbst, leads to ugly deeds, such as spitting in someone’s face.”

Once more, Herbst’s attention wandered. Sacharson didn’t notice and kept on talking. Sacharson said, “You can’t imagine the contempt of the hotel workers. I myself took a hard look and began to analyze the rules. It wasn’t the crucifixion of Christ that aroused hatred toward Jews. Even if we accept the lie, which we know by now is a lie, and say the Jews betrayed Christ, it was without the people’s knowledge that he was betrayed. It was the high priest Caiaphas, a Roman lackey, who betrayed him, and it is an accepted fact that Caiaphas was killed by the Jews for delivering Christ to the Romans. It is the Gemara and our legal codes that arouse hatred, setting Jews apart from other nations through rules governing food and drink and every other human function, training Jews to consider themselves so refined, excellent, superior, and attractive that it would be beneath the dignity of such aristocrats to eat at a table with Gentiles, much less marry them. All this in the name of a religion invented by the rabbis.”

Herbst said to Sacharson, “I’ll make a confession, if you promise not to report it to the Orthodox authorities. I don’t avoid forbidden foods.” Sacharson sighed and said, “You’re teasing me, Mr. Herbst. You’re joking. It’s not fair to tease a person when he exposes his wounds.” Herbst said, “Forgive me, Mr. Sacharson, I’m no theologian. Religious faith and practice are not my subject.” Sacharson smiled bitterly and said, “Of course, of course. Religion and faith are of no interest to the learned Dr. Herbst. The renowned scholar Dr. Herbst, is engaged in study. As we all know, Dr. Herbst is engaged in…in…Forgive me, Mr. Teacher, but I have never inquired or been informed exactly which department you are in. I don’t distinguish between disciplines, and academicians are all the same to me, in that they know everything. Except for one thing: what that highest element in us is after, the wretched soul lent to us by our Creator to endow us with generosity and mercy.” Herbst shrugged his shoulders as he calculated how many meters it was from here to his home and how much chatter he would have to endure from the convert before being rid of him. Sacharson kept talking. “A
schnorrer
, afflicted with boils, begs at every door and gives thanks to God every morning for not having made him a Gentile. The Gentile he deplores is a workingman whose labor supports those Jews who throw occasional coins to beggars. Were it not for that Gentile, who allows those Jews to support themselves at his expense, the philanthropists who serve Abraham’s God would starve to death, and the rabbis would have to do without that daily blessing directed to God, who has ‘not made me a Gentile.’ Isn’t that so, Mr. Herbst?” Herbst said to him, “I’m not very knowledgeable when it comes to prayer.” Sacharson added, “A Jewish whore who makes herself available to every British soldier for three or four shillings is certain that God values her more than a Christian nun who devotes her life to God’s work, good deeds, and curing the sick and caring for orphans.”

Herbst scratched his head and said, “Mr. Sacharson, I don’t get the drift of your words. I hear only one thing: you want to justify the fact that you abandoned the religion of your fathers and took on a more permissive one that lightens life’s burdens.” Sacharson’s smile was erased, and he said sadly, “Dr. Herbst, you know where my words are headed, and you know what I mean. You and your friends, having cast off all the rituals, are no different from a Gentile or a heretic, yet you consider yourselves superior to me. If you please, Dr. Herbst, in what way are you superior? Is it because you are without religion and without faith? Do you think it’s possible to exist without God? Let’s assume that an individual can get by for a while without faith. For an entire lifetime, it is definitely not possible. Even if he could live a lifetime without faith, no community, no nation could survive. Without religion, anarchy takes over. Anarchy allows evil to prevail, which, in turn, leads to annihilation.” Herbst answered calmly, “Then are you saying that all Jews lack faith? Anyway, Sacharson, I don’t deal with these issues. I don’t mean to offend you when I say that your entire conversation is superfluous to me.” Sacharson sighed and said, “My conversation is superfluous to you, but not to me. It is the welfare of my brethren that I’m after. You are good people, Herbst. You and Mrs. Herbst. And it goes without saying that you wouldn’t exploit anyone. Still, ask yourselves: how does your Firadeus support her family, whose breadwinner was killed over the garbage of Talpiot? Yes, he was killed over the garbage of Talpiot. Do you know what that means? This is what it means. A band of bourgeois Jews – let us call them devoted Zionists – build themselves a special neighborhood far from the city and from the stench of other Jews in order to enjoy the fresh air, or, in their words, to rebuild the country. They live in new houses, in a healthy environment, eating and drinking, enjoying life, and filling their bellies with delicacies. The surplus – what they don’t manage to deposit in their intestines – spoils and is put in garbage cans, which they hire a poor man to dispose of. You have a term for him in modern Hebrew, in your Hebrew that invents new words and puts the old ones out of mind, so that those who are proficient in the new language can’t understand a line of Scripture. The garbage man goes from house to house, clearing away the garbage. He is often disheartened by what he sees in those garbage cans, because what a Talpiot housewife throws out is enough for a poor man and his family to live on contentedly. Patience, Mr. Herbst. I’ll get back to Firadeus. You hired her for three lirot a month, and you pay her promptly, like the university, which pays its professors promptly. And, for this sum, she is allowed to expose herself to those dangerous armed marauders. Your conscience is clear because, after all, you are paying her. If Firadeus is killed, you and Mrs. Herbst will call on her grieving family, and I have reason to assume Mrs. Herbst would bring something from her own kitchen and leave some money on her way out. My words are not directed only to you, honored doctor. They are directed to all the just and righteous souls in Jerusalem and elsewhere who see their brethren wasting away and leave them to starve. You know, honored doctor, were it not for us, disciples of Christ, who stand by them, scores of Jews would have been erased from the world.” Herbst said, “Once again, I must inform you that you’ve come to the wrong address. I don’t do social work, and this sort of conversation goes in one ear and out the other.” Sacharson said, “Let me repeat what I said: I strive to improve the lot of my brothers, though you see me as someone who has sold his soul and his God for financial gain. Isn’t that so, Mr. Herbst? I don’t deny that among my friends there are some who have no conscience and convert for material gain. I am not one of those. I am definitely not one of them. Whatever I do is directed toward spiritual improvement, and I am especially eager to rescue Jews from oppression by the rabbis. Israel has suffered at the hands of Esau and Ishmael, but Karo’s Code of Law, preceded by the Talmud and the writings of Maimonides and, above all, the dictates of the rabbis, have been even more harmful. Those sadists, in the name of the dot on an
i
, because of a trace of impurity in the Passover food, see fit to starve an entire city, forbid contact between man and wife, doom an abandoned young woman to a solitary life, and…and…I’ve already forgotten the teachings and the villainy that are heaped on our unfortunate people through the righteousness of the rabbis. The rab – “ Before he could complete the syllable, he grabbed Herbst’s arm, shouting, “Get down, all the way down!” Herbst dropped to the ground, thinking: Why is he yelling at me, and why did I get down? While he imagined he was asking Sacharson this question, or that he had already asked him but hadn’t heard his answer, the air was pierced by an explosive sound. He smelled gunpowder and realized a bullet had been fired. His thoughts were arrested, his hair stood on end, and he felt a chill that seemed to run between his skin and his flesh, as if the skin had been peeled back and a chill had been trapped in the exposed space. His perceptions were clouded by an odd sensation. Odder still, the very sensation that clouded his perceptions made him more alert. “We’re safe,” Sacharson whispered. He took off his hat and wiped his brow, then his head, looking to see if there was any blood on his hand. Then he whispered to himself, “It was foolish to walk.” He took Herbst’s hand and repeated, “We’re safe, we’re safe, but it was foolish of us to walk.”