The Collected Stories

their shaven beards and short coats bellowed like peasants. Once in a while the sound of female shrieks came through. A policeman was beaten up, a horse had fallen and lay on the pavement, apparently with broken legs. In what way was the poor animal guilty? Unless it was a soul in reincarnation, atoning for some transgression committed in a former life.
    Reb Mordecai Meir began to pray. There was no possibility of going to the synagogue on such a day. He wrapped himself in his prayer shawl, kissed the fringes, placed the phylacteries on his arm and head. He could hardly stand through the Eighteen Benedictions. While he prayed, the din in the street grew louder. He heard the cries of those who were hit and injured. Blood was spattered on the wall across the way. Children, whom mothers had carried, borne, nursed, worried over their slightest whim, now lay in the mud writhing in the agonies of death. “Woe, my punishment is greater than I can bear!”
    Usually after morning prayers Reb Mordecai Meir washed his hands, had a bite to eat: a piece of bread, a slice of cheese, sometimes a bit of herring, a glass of tea. But today he could not eat; the food would stick in his throat. He reminded himself of the passage in the Midrash: “When the Egyptians drowned in the Red Sea, the angels wanted to sing songs of praise, but the Almighty said to them, ‘My creatures sink into the sea and you want to sing!’ ” The Creator had pity even on the Egyptian oppressors.
    Reb Mordecai Meir felt dizzy and lay down on the couch. To keep the light of day out he put the hat with the big brim over his eyes. For a time he was neither awake nor asleep. Finally he fell into the deep sleep of those who have not rested for many nights and are utterly exhausted. He dreamed, but later could not recall his dreams.
    The tumult from the outside became even wilder. He awoke with a start. Screams and shots reverberated. Reb Mordecai Meir imagined that multitudes of women were wailing and dogs were howling. During a moment’s lull, Reb Mordecai Meir heard the singing of birds, which in the midst of this total madness fulfilled their mission. These creatures ignored the humans with their schemes and ambitions even while they built their nests under man’s eaves, ate his leftovers, hopped about on his telephone wires. People too are helped by beings they cannot comprehend.
    Reb Mordecai Meir got up with the intention of brewing himself a cup of tea. He went into the kitchen, found some matches, filled a kettle of water from the spout. There was a quarter of a loaf of bread which Fulie must have bought last night, as well as a piece of stale cake. The old man was about to strike a match when he suddenly remembered that he had decided to fast. “Today it is Tishe b’Av for me. I’ll eat and drink nothing,” and he put the match down.
    The living room had a book closet and he began to rummage through it. He had no strength to study the Talmud, but he wanted to look through a Hasidic volume. Maybe
The Generations of Jacob Joseph
? He pulled out a thin little book,
The Waters of Shiloh,
written by the first of the Radzym dynasty. He was surprised; he didn’t even know he owned this book. Reb Mordecai Meir turned to a page in the middle. There he read that the way to grasp the greatness of the Creator was to recognize one’s own nothingness. As long as man considers himself important, his eyes are blinded to Heaven. Reb Mordecai Meir took hold of his beard. The flesh forgets. The Evil Spirit and the Lord of Forgetfulness band together. Perhaps they are one and the same?
    Suddenly it occurred to him that it was strangely quiet outside. Were they tired? He went to the window and saw that the street was empty, the shops still closed. Dusk was setting in. “Have they already gotten, what do they call it, the constitution?” he wondered. It was weird to see the stores closed on an ordinary weekday. The square, which was usually teeming with boys, girls, assorted peddlers, and urchins, was as empty as in the middle of the night.
    Then he heard the tread of heavy steps on the stairs and in an instant knew that they were coming to him, and that it was with bad news. He trembled and his lips began to move in prayer, even though he realized that it was too late now to ward off what had already happened. For a few moments there was no sound and the thought flashed through his mind that maybe he was mistaken. Then the thumping on the door and the bang of a