synagogue committee. Another day makes no difference, and you know it. And what’s more, Uncle is obligated to take care of his family even if we do nothing.”
“Uncle does what Uncle wants. I know him better than you. He follows no rules but his own, and he is not generous by nature. I don’t ever want to visit your Spinoza again. He slanders our whole people.”
“That man has more intelligence than the whole congregation put together. And if you don’t want to go, I’ll speak to him alone.”
“No, if you go, I go. I won’t let you go alone. The man is too persuasive. I feel unsettled myself. If you go alone, the next thing I’ll see is a cherem for you as well as for him.” Noting Franco’s puzzled look, Jacob added, “ Cherem is excommunication—another Hebrew word you’d better learn.”
CHAPTER TEN
REVAL, ESTONIA—NOVEMBER 1918
G uten Tag ,” the stranger said, extending his hand, “I’m Friedrich Pfister. Do I know you? You look familiar.”
“Rosenberg, Alfred Rosenberg. Grew up here. Just returned from Moscow. Got my degree from the Polytechnic just last week.”
“Rosenberg? Ah, yes, yes—that’s it. You’re Eugen’s baby brother. I see his eyes in you. May I join you?”
“Of course.”
Friedrich set his stein of ale on the table and sat down facing Alfred. “Your brother and I were the closest of friends, and we still stay in touch. I saw you often at your home—even gave you piggyback rides. You’re what—six, seven years younger than Eugen?”
“Six. You look familiar, but I can’t quite remember you. I don’t know why, but I have little memory of my early life—it is all blotted out. You know, I was only nine or ten when Eugen left home to study in Brussels. I’ve hardly seen him since. You say you’re in touch with him now?”
“Yes, only two weeks ago we had dinner in Zurich.”
“Zurich? He’s left Brussels?”
“About six months ago. He had a relapse of consumption and came to Switzerland for a rest cure. I’ve been studying in Zurich and visited him there in the sanitarium. He’ll be discharged in a couple of weeks and then move to Berlin for an advanced banking course. I happen to be moving to Berlin for study in a few weeks, so we’ll be meeting often there. You know none of this?”
“No, we’ve gone our separate ways. We were never close and now have pretty much lost touch.”
“Yes, Eugen mentioned that—wistfully, I thought. I know your mother died when you were an infant—that was hard for both of you—and I recall your father also died young, of consumption?”
“Yes, he was only forty-four. That was when I was eleven. Tell me, Herr Pfister—”
“Friedrich, please. A brother of a friend is also a friend. So we are now Friedrich and Alfred?”
A nod from Alfred.
“And Alfred, a minute ago you were going to ask? . . .”
“I wonder if Eugen ever mentioned me?”
“Not at our last meeting. We hadn’t met for about three years and had a lot of catching up to do. But he has spoken of you many times in the past.”
Alfred hesitated and then blurted out, “Could you tell me all he said about me?”
“All? I’ll try, but first permit me to make an observation: on the one hand you tell me, matter-of-factly, that you and your brother have never been close and you seem to have made no efforts to contact one another. Yet today you seem eager—I would even say hungry—for news. A bit of a paradox. That makes me wonder if you’re on a type of search for yourself and your past?”
Alfred’s head jerked back for a moment; he was startled by the perceptiveness of the question. “Yes, that’s true. I’m amazed you saw that. These days are . . . well, I don’t know how to say it . . . chaotic. I saw roiling crowds in Moscow reveling in anarchy. Now it’s sweeping across eastern Europe, across all of Europe. Oceans of displaced people. And I’m unsettled along with them, perhaps more lost than others . . . cut off from
“Uncle does what Uncle wants. I know him better than you. He follows no rules but his own, and he is not generous by nature. I don’t ever want to visit your Spinoza again. He slanders our whole people.”
“That man has more intelligence than the whole congregation put together. And if you don’t want to go, I’ll speak to him alone.”
“No, if you go, I go. I won’t let you go alone. The man is too persuasive. I feel unsettled myself. If you go alone, the next thing I’ll see is a cherem for you as well as for him.” Noting Franco’s puzzled look, Jacob added, “ Cherem is excommunication—another Hebrew word you’d better learn.”
CHAPTER TEN
REVAL, ESTONIA—NOVEMBER 1918
G uten Tag ,” the stranger said, extending his hand, “I’m Friedrich Pfister. Do I know you? You look familiar.”
“Rosenberg, Alfred Rosenberg. Grew up here. Just returned from Moscow. Got my degree from the Polytechnic just last week.”
“Rosenberg? Ah, yes, yes—that’s it. You’re Eugen’s baby brother. I see his eyes in you. May I join you?”
“Of course.”
Friedrich set his stein of ale on the table and sat down facing Alfred. “Your brother and I were the closest of friends, and we still stay in touch. I saw you often at your home—even gave you piggyback rides. You’re what—six, seven years younger than Eugen?”
“Six. You look familiar, but I can’t quite remember you. I don’t know why, but I have little memory of my early life—it is all blotted out. You know, I was only nine or ten when Eugen left home to study in Brussels. I’ve hardly seen him since. You say you’re in touch with him now?”
“Yes, only two weeks ago we had dinner in Zurich.”
“Zurich? He’s left Brussels?”
“About six months ago. He had a relapse of consumption and came to Switzerland for a rest cure. I’ve been studying in Zurich and visited him there in the sanitarium. He’ll be discharged in a couple of weeks and then move to Berlin for an advanced banking course. I happen to be moving to Berlin for study in a few weeks, so we’ll be meeting often there. You know none of this?”
“No, we’ve gone our separate ways. We were never close and now have pretty much lost touch.”
“Yes, Eugen mentioned that—wistfully, I thought. I know your mother died when you were an infant—that was hard for both of you—and I recall your father also died young, of consumption?”
“Yes, he was only forty-four. That was when I was eleven. Tell me, Herr Pfister—”
“Friedrich, please. A brother of a friend is also a friend. So we are now Friedrich and Alfred?”
A nod from Alfred.
“And Alfred, a minute ago you were going to ask? . . .”
“I wonder if Eugen ever mentioned me?”
“Not at our last meeting. We hadn’t met for about three years and had a lot of catching up to do. But he has spoken of you many times in the past.”
Alfred hesitated and then blurted out, “Could you tell me all he said about me?”
“All? I’ll try, but first permit me to make an observation: on the one hand you tell me, matter-of-factly, that you and your brother have never been close and you seem to have made no efforts to contact one another. Yet today you seem eager—I would even say hungry—for news. A bit of a paradox. That makes me wonder if you’re on a type of search for yourself and your past?”
Alfred’s head jerked back for a moment; he was startled by the perceptiveness of the question. “Yes, that’s true. I’m amazed you saw that. These days are . . . well, I don’t know how to say it . . . chaotic. I saw roiling crowds in Moscow reveling in anarchy. Now it’s sweeping across eastern Europe, across all of Europe. Oceans of displaced people. And I’m unsettled along with them, perhaps more lost than others . . . cut off from
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