The Collected Stories

them, “Brothers, don’t let the holy schlemiels get you! Give them a taste of your fists! Hey, you, big shot!”
    “Cowards! Bastards! Mice!” Beyle Tslove screeched.
    A few of the Worka Hasidim got a punch or two, but after a while the riffraff slunk off. The Hasidim burst into the room, panting and threatening the dybbuks with excommunication.
    The warden of the Worka synagogue, Reb Avigdor Yavrover, ran up to Liebe Yentl’s bed and tried to hang a charm around her neck, but the girl pulled off his hat and skullcap with her right hand, and with her left she seized him by the beard. The other Hasidim tried to pull him away, but Liebe Yentl thrashed out in all directions. She kicked, bit, and scratched. One man got a slap on the cheek, another had his sidelock pulled, a third got a mouthful of spittle on his face, a fourth a punch in the ribs. In order to frighten off the pious, she cried that she was in her unclean days. Then she tore off her shift and exhibited her shame. Those who did not avert their eyes remarked that her belly was distended like a drum. On the right and the left were two bumps as big as heads, and it was clear that the spirits were there. Getsl roared like a lion, howled like a wolf, hissed like a snake. He called the Worka rabbi a eunuch, a clown, a baboon, insulted all the holy sages, and blasphemed against God.
    Reb Sheftel sank to the floor and sat there like a mourner. He covered his eyes with both hands and rocked himself as over a corpse. Zise Feige snatched a broom and tried to drive away the men who swarmed around her daughter, but she was dragged aside and fell to the ground. Two neighboring women helped her to get up. Her bonnet fell off, exposing her shaven head with its gray stubble. She raised two fists and screamed, sobbing, “Torturers, you’re killing my child! Lord in Heaven, send Pharaoh’s curses upon them!”
    Finally, several of the younger Hasidim caught Liebe Yentl’s hands and feet and tied her to the bed with their sashes. Then they slipped the Worka rabbi’s amulets around her neck.
    Getsl, who had fallen silent during the struggle, spoke up. “Tell your miracle worker his charms are tripe.”
    “Wretch, you’re in Hell, and you still deny?” Reb Avigdor Yavrover thundered.
    “Hell’s full of your kind.”
    “Dog, rascal, degenerate!”
    “Why are you cursing, you louses?” Beyle Tslove yelled. “Is it our fault that your holy idiot hands out phony talismans? You’d better leave the girl alone. We aren’t doing her any harm. Her good is our good. We’re also Jews, remember—not Tartars. Our souls have stood on Mount Sinai, too. If we erred in life, we’ve paid our debt, with interest.”
    “Strumpet, hussy, slut, out with you!” one of the Hasidim cried.
    “I’ll go when I feel like it.”
    “Todres, blow the ram’s horn—a long blast!”
    The ram’s horn filled the night with its eerie wail.
    Beyle Tslove laughed and jeered. “Blow hot, blow cold, who cares!”
    “A broken trill now!”
    “Don’t you have enough breaks under your rupture bands?” Getsl jeered.
    “Satan, Amalekite, apostate!”
    Hours went by, but the dybbuks remained obdurate. Some of the Worka Hasidim went home. Others leaned against the wall, ready to do battle until the end of their strength. The hoodlums who had run away returned with sticks and knives. The Hasidim of the Radzymin rabbi had heard the news that the Worka talismans had failed, and they came to gloat.
    Reb Sheftel rose from the floor and in his anguish began to plead with the dybbuks. “If you are Jews, you should have Jewish hearts. Look what has become of my innocent daughter, lying bound like a sheep prepared for slaughter. My wife is sick. I myself am ready to drop. My business is falling apart. How long will you torture us? Even a murderer has a spark of pity.”
    “Nobody pities us.”
    “I’ll see to it that you get forgiveness. It says in the Bible, ‘His banished be not expelled from Him.’ No Jewish soul is rejected forever.”
    “What will you do for us?” asked Getsl. “Help us moan?”
    “I will recite psalms and read the Mishnah for you. I will give alms. I will say Kaddish for you for a full twelve months.”
    “I’m not one of your peasants. You can’t fool me.”
    “I have never fooled anyone.”
    “Swear that you will keep your word!” Getsl commanded.
    “What’s the matter, Getsl? You anxious to leave me already?” Beyle Tslove asked with a laugh.
    Getsl