The Collected Stories

of the wagon she sank over her ankles in mud. They arrived in Izbica late in the evening. The whole village was a swamp. The huts were dilapidated. Someone showed Akhsa the way to Zemach the teacher’s house—it was on a hill near the butcher shops. Even though it was winter, there was a stench of decay in the air. Butcher-shop dogs were slinking around.
    Akhsa looked into the window of Zemach’s hut and saw peeling walls, a dirt floor, and shelves of worn books. A wick in a dish of oil gave the only light. At the table sat a little man with a black beard, bushy brows, a yellow face, and a pointed nose. He was bending myopically over a large volume. He wore the lining of a skullcap and a quilted jacket that showed the dirty batting. As Akhsa stood watching, a mouse came out of its hole and scurried over to the bed, which had a pallet of rotting straw, a pillow without a case, and a moth-eaten sheepskin for a blanket. Even though Zemach had aged, Akhsa recognized him. He scratched himself. He spat on his fingertips and wiped them on his forehead. Yes, that was he. Akhsa wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. In a moment she turned her face toward the darkness. For the first time in years, she heard her grandmother’s voice. “Akhsa, run away.”
    “Where to?”
    “Back to Esau.”
    Then she heard her grandfather’s voice. “Akhsa, he will save you from the abyss.”
    Akhsa had never heard her grandfather speak with such fervor. She felt the emptiness that comes before fainting. She leaned against the door and it opened.
    Zemach lifted one bushy brow. His eyes were bulging and jaundiced. “What do you want?” he rasped.
    “Are you Reb Zemach?”
    “Yes, who are you?”
    “Akhsa, from Krasnobród. Once your fiancée …”
    Zemach was silent. He opened his crooked mouth, revealing a single tooth, black as a hook. “The convert?”
    “I have come back to Jewishness.”
    Zemach jumped up. A terrible cry tore from him. “Get out of my house! Blotted be your name!”
    “Reb Zemach, please hear me!”
    He ran toward her with clenched fists. The dish of oil fell and the light was extinguished. “Filth!”
    The study house in Holishitz was packed. It was the day before the new moon, and a crowd had gathered to recite the supplications. From the women’s section came the sound of pious recitation. Suddenly the door opened, and a black-bearded man wearing tattered clothes strode in. A bag was slung over his shoulder. He was leading a woman on a rope as if she were a cow. She wore a black kerchief on her head, a dress made of sackcloth, and rags on her feet. Around her neck hung a wreath of garlic. The worshippers stopped their prayers. The stranger gave a sign to the woman and she prostrated herself on the threshold. “Jews, step on me!” she called. “Jews, spit on me!”
    Turmoil rose in the study house. The stranger went up to the reading table, tapped for silence, and intoned, “This woman’s family comes from your town. Her grandfather was Reb Naftali Holishitzer. She is the Akhsa who converted and married a squire. She has seen the truth now and wants to atone for her abominations.”
    Though Holishitz was in the part of Poland that belonged to Austria, the story of Akhsa had been heard there. Some of the worshippers protested that this was not the way of repentance; a human being should not be dragged by a rope, like cattle. Others threatened the stranger with their fists. It was true that in Austria a convert could return to Jewishness according to the law of the land. But if the Gentiles were to learn that one who went over to their faith had been humiliated in such a fashion, harsh edicts and recriminations might result. The old rabbi, Reb Bezalel, approached Akhsa with quick little steps. “Get up, my daughter. Since you have repented, you are one of us.”
    Akhsa rose. “Rabbi, I have disgraced my people.”
    “Since you repent, the Almighty will forgive you.”
    When the worshippers in the women’s section heard what was going on, they rushed into the room with the men, the rabbi’s wife among them. Reb Bezalel said to her, “Take her home and dress her in decent clothing. Man was created in God’s image.”
    “Rabbi,” Akhsa said, “I want to atone for my iniquities.”
    “I will prescribe a penance for you. Don’t torture yourself.”
    Some of the women began to cry. The rabbi’s wife took off her shawl and hung it over Akhsa’s shoulders. Another matron offered Akhsa a