male.’
‘Rascal.
Shaddai kra Satan
,’ the rabbi exclaims. Grabbing both of his sidelocks, he begins to tremble as if assaulted by a bad dream. ‘What nonsense am I thinking?’ He takes his ear lobes and closes his ears. I keep on talking but he doesn’t listen; he becomes absorbed in a
difficult passage and there’s no longer anyone to speak to. The little imp from Tishevitz says, ‘He’s a hard one to hook, isn’t he? Tomorrow he’ll fast and roll in a bed of thistles. He’ll give away his last penny to charity.’
‘Such a believer nowadays?’
‘Strong as a rock.’
‘And his wife?’
‘A sacrificial lamb.’
‘What of the children?’
‘Still infants.’
‘Perhaps he has a mother-in-law?’
‘She’s already in the other world.’
‘Any quarrels?’
‘Not even half an enemy.’
‘Where do you find such a jewel?’
‘Once in a while something like that turns up among the Jews.’
‘This one I’ve got to get. This is my first job around here. I’ve been promised that if I succeed, I’ll be transferred to Odessa.’
‘What’s so good about that?’
‘It’s as near paradise as our kind gets. You can sleep twenty-four hours a day. The population sins and you don’t lift a finger.’
‘So what do you do all day?’
‘We play with our women.’
‘Here there’s not a single one of our girls.’ The imp sighs. ‘There was one old bitch but she expired.’
‘So what’s left?’
‘What Onan did.’
‘That doesn’t lead anywhere. Help me and I swear by Asmodeus’s beard that I’ll get you out of here. We have an opening for a mixer of bitter herbs. You only work Passovers.’
‘I hope it works out, but don’t count your chickens.’
‘We’ve taken care of tougher than he.’
III
A week goes by and our business has not moved forward; I find myself in a dirty mood. A week in Tishevitz is equal to a year in Lublin. The Tishevitz imp is all right, but when you sit two hundred years in such a hole, you become a yokel. He cracks jokes that didn’t amuse Enoch and convulses with laughter; he drops names from the Haggadah. Every one of his stories wears a long beard. I’d like to get the hell out of here, but it doesn’t take a magician to return home with nothing. I have enemies among my colleagues and I must beware of intrigue. Perhaps I was sent here just to break my neck. When devils stop warring with people, they start tripping each other.
Experience has taught that of all the snares we use, there are three that work unfailingly – lust, pride, and avarice. No one can evade all three, not even Rabbi Tsots himself. Of the three, pride has the strongest meshes. According to the Talmud a scholar is permitted the eighth part of an eighth part of vanity. But a learned man generally exceeds his quota. When I see that the days are passing and that the rabbi of Tishevitz remains stubborn, I concentrate on vanity.
‘Rabbi of Tishevitz,’ I say, ‘I wasn’t born yesterday. I come from Lublin, where the streets are paved with exegeses of the Talmud. We use manuscripts to heat our ovens. The floors of our attics sag under the weight of Cabala. But not even in Lublin have I met a man of your eminence. How does it happen,’ I ask, ‘that no one’s heard of you? True saints should hide themselves, perhaps, but silence will not bring redemption. You should be the leader of this generation, and not merely the rabbi of this community, holy though it is. The time has come for you to reveal yourself. Heaven and earth are waiting for you. Messiah himself sits in the Bird Nest looking down in search of an unblemished saint like you. But what are you doing about it? You sit on your rabbinical chair laying down the law on which pots and which pans are kosher. Forgive me the comparison,
but it is as if an elephant were put to work hauling a straw.’
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ the rabbi asks in terror. ‘Why don’t you let me study?’
‘There is a time
‘Rascal.
Shaddai kra Satan
,’ the rabbi exclaims. Grabbing both of his sidelocks, he begins to tremble as if assaulted by a bad dream. ‘What nonsense am I thinking?’ He takes his ear lobes and closes his ears. I keep on talking but he doesn’t listen; he becomes absorbed in a
difficult passage and there’s no longer anyone to speak to. The little imp from Tishevitz says, ‘He’s a hard one to hook, isn’t he? Tomorrow he’ll fast and roll in a bed of thistles. He’ll give away his last penny to charity.’
‘Such a believer nowadays?’
‘Strong as a rock.’
‘And his wife?’
‘A sacrificial lamb.’
‘What of the children?’
‘Still infants.’
‘Perhaps he has a mother-in-law?’
‘She’s already in the other world.’
‘Any quarrels?’
‘Not even half an enemy.’
‘Where do you find such a jewel?’
‘Once in a while something like that turns up among the Jews.’
‘This one I’ve got to get. This is my first job around here. I’ve been promised that if I succeed, I’ll be transferred to Odessa.’
‘What’s so good about that?’
‘It’s as near paradise as our kind gets. You can sleep twenty-four hours a day. The population sins and you don’t lift a finger.’
‘So what do you do all day?’
‘We play with our women.’
‘Here there’s not a single one of our girls.’ The imp sighs. ‘There was one old bitch but she expired.’
‘So what’s left?’
‘What Onan did.’
‘That doesn’t lead anywhere. Help me and I swear by Asmodeus’s beard that I’ll get you out of here. We have an opening for a mixer of bitter herbs. You only work Passovers.’
‘I hope it works out, but don’t count your chickens.’
‘We’ve taken care of tougher than he.’
III
A week goes by and our business has not moved forward; I find myself in a dirty mood. A week in Tishevitz is equal to a year in Lublin. The Tishevitz imp is all right, but when you sit two hundred years in such a hole, you become a yokel. He cracks jokes that didn’t amuse Enoch and convulses with laughter; he drops names from the Haggadah. Every one of his stories wears a long beard. I’d like to get the hell out of here, but it doesn’t take a magician to return home with nothing. I have enemies among my colleagues and I must beware of intrigue. Perhaps I was sent here just to break my neck. When devils stop warring with people, they start tripping each other.
Experience has taught that of all the snares we use, there are three that work unfailingly – lust, pride, and avarice. No one can evade all three, not even Rabbi Tsots himself. Of the three, pride has the strongest meshes. According to the Talmud a scholar is permitted the eighth part of an eighth part of vanity. But a learned man generally exceeds his quota. When I see that the days are passing and that the rabbi of Tishevitz remains stubborn, I concentrate on vanity.
‘Rabbi of Tishevitz,’ I say, ‘I wasn’t born yesterday. I come from Lublin, where the streets are paved with exegeses of the Talmud. We use manuscripts to heat our ovens. The floors of our attics sag under the weight of Cabala. But not even in Lublin have I met a man of your eminence. How does it happen,’ I ask, ‘that no one’s heard of you? True saints should hide themselves, perhaps, but silence will not bring redemption. You should be the leader of this generation, and not merely the rabbi of this community, holy though it is. The time has come for you to reveal yourself. Heaven and earth are waiting for you. Messiah himself sits in the Bird Nest looking down in search of an unblemished saint like you. But what are you doing about it? You sit on your rabbinical chair laying down the law on which pots and which pans are kosher. Forgive me the comparison,
but it is as if an elephant were put to work hauling a straw.’
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ the rabbi asks in terror. ‘Why don’t you let me study?’
‘There is a time
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