The Collected Stories

war with Japan cost millions. Thousands of soldiers were lost. In the West they worry about the hygiene of the workers, but here a worker is worse than a dog. If we don’t get a constitution, all of Russia will go down in blood.”
    Reb Mordecai Meir put down his prayer book. “Are you a worker?”
    “What I am is not important, Grandfather. We are fighting for something, an ideal. Here is the letter. Put it in the drawer. Perhaps I will be back tomorrow. If not, a girl by the name of Nekhama Katz will come. Give it to her.”
    “Don’t run, don’t rush. He who is above governs the world. He determines that there will be wealthy and poor people. If there were no poor people, no one would want to do the ordinary work. One is a merchant and another a chimney sweeper. If everyone were a shopkeeper, who would sweep the chimneys?”
    “We are striving to give chimney sweeps the same rights and the same means as merchants. Merchants aren’t necessary. In a socialist world, production will be apportioned according to need. We won’t let a middleman skim off the cream for himself.”
    “What! We Jews must not interfere. Whoever rules will persecute Jews.”
    “Anti-Semitism was created by the capitalists to divert the wrath of the masses against the regime. The Zionists want to run to Palestine, to the Tomb of Mother Rachel, but it’s all just fantasy. We Jews must fight, together with all other oppressed people, for a better tomorrow.”
    “All right, all right, give me the letter. Leave me in peace. ‘Except the Lord build a house, they labor in vain that build it.’ It is written: ‘No one should be punished before he is warned.’ The Gemara says: ‘If you go into a spice shop you smell good, and if you go into a tannery the stench stays with you.’ ”
    “Grandfather, what are you calling a stench, the people’s fight for their rights? Are you on the side of the exploiters?”
    “Give me the envelope.”
    “Good night, Grandfather. We’ll never understand each other.”
    Fulie left. Reb Mordecai Meir took hold of the envelope by one corner and put it into a drawer. He began to recite anew: “A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping, Rachel weeping for her children, refusing to be comforted.” A kerosene lamp was burning and Reb Mordecai Meir’s figure cast a large shadow on the wall. His head climbed the rafters. Reb Mordecai Meir grimaced and swayed back and forth. Can they possibly be made to understand the truth? he asked himself. They read a few books and repeat the gibberish. Constitution, schmonstitution! It’s a battle between good and evil, God and Satan, Israel and Amalek. Esau and Ishmael refused to accept the Torah. The slave enjoys being abandoned. But when Jews cast away the Law, they become like pagans and maybe even worse. How could the Messiah come? Possibly, God forbid, the whole generation would become entirely guilty. He wiped his brow. “Oy, Father. The water reaches up to the very neck!”
    After finishing prayers, Reb Mordecai Meir went back to bed. But this time he could not fall asleep. He heard the boy moving about in the kitchen. He banged the dishes, turned the faucet on. It seemed to Reb Mordecai Meir that he heard a sigh. Could that be Fulie? Who knows, perhaps he had thoughts of repentance. After all, on his mother’s side, he stemmed from righteous men. Even among his Litvak forefathers there were probably some devout Jews. Reb Mordecai Meir could not remain in bed. Maybe the boy could be persuaded to stay home. What he said that evening was like a last testament. Reb Mordecai Meir got out of bed with trembling feet. Once again he put on his slippers and robe. When he opened the kitchen door he saw something so bizarre that he did not believe his own eyes. Fulie was standing completely dressed, holding a revolver in his hand. Reb Mordecai knew what it was. On the Feast of Omer children were given such guns, not real ones, only toys.
    When he noticed his grandfather, Fulie laid the weapon on the kitchen table. “Grandfather, what do you want? Are you spying on me?”
    “What kind of an abomination is this?” he asked. He began to shiver and his teeth chattered.
    Fulie laughed. “Don’t be afraid, Grandfather. It’s not meant for you.”
    “For whom is it?”
    “For those who want to hold back progress, to keep the world in darkness.”
    “What?
You
will sentence them to death? Seventy judges were required in the Sanhedrin to condemn