immediately be redeemed.”
“Amen to that,” said Rabbi Loew. And he proceeded to fill me in on the local politics, telling me how the wealthy burghers get elected to public office because of their high standing in the community. But their standing is largely determined by their wealth, so the evil twins of money and power feed off each other in an endless cycle, while everybody else gets left out in the cold.
“I didn’t know things had gotten that bad.”
Rabbi Loew’s eyes glowed with satisfaction, as if I had made the most remarkable statement. “I see that you are like the great Rabbi Hiyya bar Abba, who was never ashamed to admit when he had not learned something from his teachers. I think we are going to work very well together, Ben-Akiva.”
This was my first taste of meaningful praise from Rabbi Loew, and my eyes dropped to the pavement. It was still cold out, but the temperature had climbed past freezing and the frost had long since melted with the passing of so many feet. I studied the wet footprints on the paving stones.
“What is it, my shammes?” asked the rabbi, following my gaze.
A faded mental picture was forming. “There were footprints in the frost outside of Federn’s shop. When I first got there, before the crowds came.”
After a moment, I added, “They were definitely men’s boots. Much bigger than Federn’s feet.”
“Which way were they pointing?”
“They were entering the shop.”
“Are you sure?”
I tried to bring the picture out of the watery fog.
“No,” I said. “I’m not sure.” But I had a pretty strong impression. As if that would sway the magistrates.
“The frost will be long gone by now,” said Rabbi Loew. “We’ll have to reexamine that from a more intuitive perspective later. Right now we need to be strictly logical.”
The rabbi filled me in on the essentials of our strategy, while the breeze carried the tantalizing aroma of driftwood fires and the yearly ritual of matzoh preparation. The bakery’s sooty windowpanes blurred the combined motions of the meal-master measuring out guarded flour, the vasser-gisser adding cold water for the kneader, and the redler making holes with a matzoh roller three-and-a-half-feet wide—really a huge rolling pin embedded with hundreds of iron spikes. It would make a formidable weapon, if such a use were permitted.
I shook off the thought.
The rabbi sensed that I had something important to say.
“Yes? What is it?”
I hesitated, my feet tingling with cold. I didn’t know why it was so hard to speak about this. “Early this morning…I let myself get into a situation where I almost defiled the kleperl by using it to defend myself. First against dogs, then with rats.”
“Well, in these exceptional times, we may be called upon to do exceptional things. It’s just a piece of wood, after all. It’s not worth losing your life to preserve its kashres ,” said the rabbi.
My breathing came back to me as if I had stepped away from the edge of an abyss. A different rabbi might have condemned me on the spot, depending on his inclination. Whenever a Jew seeks answers, he will find that Rabbi So-and-So says this , but Rabbi Such-and-Such says that . We are constantly introducing other interpretations of the passage under discussion. Even on the subject of resurrection, the Talmud refuses to provide a definitive answer, saying, “We will consider the subject when the dead come to life again.”
In other words, we’ll believe it when we see
“Amen to that,” said Rabbi Loew. And he proceeded to fill me in on the local politics, telling me how the wealthy burghers get elected to public office because of their high standing in the community. But their standing is largely determined by their wealth, so the evil twins of money and power feed off each other in an endless cycle, while everybody else gets left out in the cold.
“I didn’t know things had gotten that bad.”
Rabbi Loew’s eyes glowed with satisfaction, as if I had made the most remarkable statement. “I see that you are like the great Rabbi Hiyya bar Abba, who was never ashamed to admit when he had not learned something from his teachers. I think we are going to work very well together, Ben-Akiva.”
This was my first taste of meaningful praise from Rabbi Loew, and my eyes dropped to the pavement. It was still cold out, but the temperature had climbed past freezing and the frost had long since melted with the passing of so many feet. I studied the wet footprints on the paving stones.
“What is it, my shammes?” asked the rabbi, following my gaze.
A faded mental picture was forming. “There were footprints in the frost outside of Federn’s shop. When I first got there, before the crowds came.”
After a moment, I added, “They were definitely men’s boots. Much bigger than Federn’s feet.”
“Which way were they pointing?”
“They were entering the shop.”
“Are you sure?”
I tried to bring the picture out of the watery fog.
“No,” I said. “I’m not sure.” But I had a pretty strong impression. As if that would sway the magistrates.
“The frost will be long gone by now,” said Rabbi Loew. “We’ll have to reexamine that from a more intuitive perspective later. Right now we need to be strictly logical.”
The rabbi filled me in on the essentials of our strategy, while the breeze carried the tantalizing aroma of driftwood fires and the yearly ritual of matzoh preparation. The bakery’s sooty windowpanes blurred the combined motions of the meal-master measuring out guarded flour, the vasser-gisser adding cold water for the kneader, and the redler making holes with a matzoh roller three-and-a-half-feet wide—really a huge rolling pin embedded with hundreds of iron spikes. It would make a formidable weapon, if such a use were permitted.
I shook off the thought.
The rabbi sensed that I had something important to say.
“Yes? What is it?”
I hesitated, my feet tingling with cold. I didn’t know why it was so hard to speak about this. “Early this morning…I let myself get into a situation where I almost defiled the kleperl by using it to defend myself. First against dogs, then with rats.”
“Well, in these exceptional times, we may be called upon to do exceptional things. It’s just a piece of wood, after all. It’s not worth losing your life to preserve its kashres ,” said the rabbi.
My breathing came back to me as if I had stepped away from the edge of an abyss. A different rabbi might have condemned me on the spot, depending on his inclination. Whenever a Jew seeks answers, he will find that Rabbi So-and-So says this , but Rabbi Such-and-Such says that . We are constantly introducing other interpretations of the passage under discussion. Even on the subject of resurrection, the Talmud refuses to provide a definitive answer, saying, “We will consider the subject when the dead come to life again.”
In other words, we’ll believe it when we see
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