The Collected Stories

anyone to die. There had to be admonition and at least two witnesses. The Gemara says that a court which sentenced anyone to death even once in seventy years was called a court of murderers.”
    “Grandfather, these people have sentenced themselves. Their time is past, but they refuse to give up peacefully. So they’ll be made to leave by force.”
    “Fulie, Raphael, you are a Jew!” Reb Mordecai Meir choked on the words. “Esau lives by the sword. Not Jacob.”
    “Old wives’ tales. Jews are made of the same stuff as Gentiles. It’s all foolish chauvinism. This business about the Chosen People is sheer nonsense. Grandfather, I’m going.”
    “Don’t leave! Don’t leave! If they catch you, God forbid, they might …”
    “I know, I know. I am not a child.” Fulie put the revolver into the pocket of his pants. He took a package wrapped in newspaper with him. Probably some bread for a bite. He let the door slam as he left. Reb Mordecai Meir remained standing on unsteady feet. He leaned against the wall to keep from falling. “Have things gone so far?” he asked himself. Sleep was out of the question, but it was too early for morning prayers. The morning star was not yet in sight. Night and day still ruled in confusion.
    On wobbling feet, Reb Mordecai Meir walked over to the window. To the right the sky was still black. But to the left, in the east, it had become like daylight. All the stores on the street were shut. A baker’s apprentice passed by, barefoot, in white pants, carrying a tray of cakes or rolls on his head. “Well, baked goods are needed,” Reb Mordecai Meir murmured.
    He expected to see Fulie appear on the sidewalk, but he didn’t come through. The gate was probably still locked. He must have friends here in the yard, Reb Mordecai Meir decided. Woe, woe, what has become of my people! For the first time he was envious of Beyle Teme—she had not lived to see these calamities. By now she was certainly in Paradise. Until today, Reb Mordecai Meir had seldom thought of his wife during prayers. A Jew was supposed to pray directly to God, not to any saintly man or woman. But now Reb Mordecai Meir began to talk to Beyle Teme’s soul. “He is your grandchild. Intercede for him. Let nothing evil happen to him, and let him, God forbid, do no harm to others.”
    To the right, the moon was still visible and Reb Mordecai Meir looked up at it, the lesser light which, according to the Talmud, begrudged the greater light, and as compensation was given the stars. That meant that there was envy on high, Reb Mordecai Meir half asked, half stated. He could not bring himself to leave the window, hoping to see Fulie once more. The thought crossed his mind that Abraham also had an Esau for a grandchild. He had Ishmael for a son and the sons of Keturah. Even the saints couldn’t bring forth only good seeds. Suddenly the street was flooded with a reddish glow. The sun had risen over the banks of the Vistula. There was a clatter of horseshoes on cobblestones and the twittering of birds could be heard. Reb Mordecai Meir saw soldiers, their swords gleaming, riding on horses. The riders kept glancing at the upper floors.
    Is it against them that Fulie went to wage war? Reb Mordecai Meir pondered. He felt cold and shuddered. Never before had he wished to be rid of this world. But now he was ready to die. How much longer would he have to wander in the valley of tears? Better to go through the pains of Gehenna than to see this futile turmoil.
    The shouting and confusion began in the early morning. Right here in the street, it seemed, the rebels tried to conquer the forces of the Russian czar. Youths stormed out of every gate, shouting, waving their fists, and singing. Policemen, their swords bared, chased them and fired shots. A red flag was raised with more singing and shouting. The stores remained shut. Gates were closed. The shrill sound of police whistles could be heard. First-aid wagons appeared, and for a while the street became empty. The red flag, which someone had just held aloft, now lay in the gutter, torn and dirty. The street soon began to fill up again. Another flag fluttered. There was renewed shouting and the stampeding of many feet.
    Reb Mordecai Meir could not bear to watch any more. God’s light certainly had to be dimmed and His face hidden before there could be free will, reward and punishment, redemption; but couldn’t the Almighty find another way to reveal His power? These youths with