Yitzhak protectively and reassuringly rubbed his stillhealthy right hand. The rebbe turned to leave.
“Sexton!” the rebbe called.
“Yes?” Reb Yechezkal answered.
“No, not you. The one I’m taking with me.” The rebbe glanced around until he found Reb Zelig. “Oh, there you are. Come here.”
Reb Zelig stepped forward.
“Listen carefully, what I am going to tell you is very important. Stay close to me now. I don’t want you to leave this Torah alone. You are going to stay with it day and night until we bring it to America.”
Reb Zelig nodded, and together they turned toward the beis midrash. They had taken only two or three steps when the wall of the Angel of Death collapsed inward in a massive cracking of burning timber and an accompanying crashing swirl of sparks and smoke. Neither the Krimsker Rebbe nor his new sexton, Reb Zelig, turned back to watch. His eyes on the Torah, Reb Zelig was already conscientiously executing his rebbe’s orders. The Krimsker Rebbe’s gaze was turned inward, but his eyes sparkled in concentration and discovery. The rebbe was observing a scenario with perfect clarity: the great Napoleon was crossing the River Nedd at Krimsk on his way out of Russia!
THE BRIDGE
CROSSING THE RIVER NEDD AS HE DEPARTED KRIMSK, the rebbe had the visionary experience of treading in the footsteps of Napoleon. Looking down at the water, he saw a cloud reflected as a pyramid and knew that Napoleon had crossed the river like a modern, steadfast pharaoh. The knowledge that he was emulating mighty pharaoh gave the rebbe confidence that he was traveling in the correct direction, for he understood that Israel’s post-Temple exile had not gone far enough. To ensure that it would, the Krimsker Rebbe wanted to imitate the Shekinah, the glory of God’s presence, by burying himself in the depths of exile and thus spreading the messianic redemption. On the throbbing steamship that crossed the Atlantic Ocean to the demonic Other Side, presentiments of diaspora impurity encouraged him.
A glance at the map told the rebbe that the city in which previous Krimsker immigrants had settled—and promised help—was the correct place. Saint Louis, buried in the middle of the continent, sat astride a river. These similarities with the old home comforted him and held the promise of a new Krimsk. In contrast to the simple Nedd, the new river had such an astonishing name, the Mississippi. On the train west, the rebbe eagerly anticipated crossing the Mississippi, in the belief that this initial encounter would inspire the same prophetic talents that his departure from Krimsk had. Repeated inquiries elicited the response from the conductor that the train was on schedule and would approach the river at sunset. To the rebbe’s surprise, they did not get off the train. The train itself began to climb onto a massive masonry and iron bridge, which carried it across the river. And the river? Yaakov Moshe rushed to the window, leaning close to the pane, to examine the Mississippi in mystic intimacy, but the Eads Bridge was so high that he could barely see the barges floating impossibly far below. The river, like an ocean, stretched away as far as the eye could see. The rebbe ran across the car to the window on the opposite side, and the Mississippi stretched away even farther and grander. Suddenly he realized that the seemingly small chains of barges lost on its mammoth surface could hold all of Krimsk, Krimichak, and the pond in between. Seeing his terrified amazement, the conductor came over to announce with unbounded American pride that the American Mississippi River is greater than the Nile in ancient Egypt.
The rebbe turned back to the unbelievable sight. In the interim the setting sun had shifted slightly, and the great majestic Mississippi reflected the red dying rays; the rebbe gazed upon a boundless stream of blood like pharaoh’s lesser Nile during the ferocious first plague. Yaakov Moshe turned away from the window and fell into his coach seat.
Reb Zelig, clutching the redeemed Torah, leaned toward him to ask if they should recite the blessing upon seeing a wonder of nature. The rebbe leaned forward and kissed the holy scroll’s blue velvet cover, which was the color of real life-giving water and not the bloody lifedepleting crimson that drained a continent through the empty void beneath. With tears in his eyes, he turned to the sexton and said, “In America there is no Sabbath, only magic,” but Reb Zelig could not hear him because the bridge echoed and reechoed the metallic clatter of the wheels, mocking any attempts at speech.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALLEN HOFFMAN was born in Saint Louis and received his B.A. in American History from Harvard University. He studied the Talmud in yeshivas in New York and Jerusalem, and has taught in New York City schools. He and his wife and four children now live in Jerusalem. He teaches English literature and creative writing at Bar-Ilan University and is the author of a collection of stories, Kagan’s Superfecta.
We hope you enjoyed this book from Abbeville Press. To write to the author or see our other titles, click here. (This link will open your device’s web browser.)
“FROM THE HAD ARRIVED THE REBBE knew that he was involved in mortal combat With the witch of Krimichak. She ruled the Jews of Krimsk. Even among his own hasidim, pregnant wives furtively sought out the witch to forestall any miscarriage or birth defect. The Krimsker Rebbe struggled unceasingly to convince the Jews that the witch had no cures; rather, she herself was the disease. Grannie Zara, as representatives of the Other Side often do, masqueraded as a life force.”
from Small Worlds by Allen Hoffman
Small Worlds
is the first novel in the series SMALL WORLDS
EDITOR: SALLY ARTESEROS
DESIGNER: CELIA FULLER
PRODUCTION EDITOR: ABIGAIL ASHER
PRODUCTION MANAGER: BECKY BOUTCH
COPYRIGHT © 1996 ALLEN HOFFMAN. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED UNDER INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT CONVENTIONS. NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED OR UTILIZED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS, ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL, INCLUDING PHOTOCOPYING, RECORDING, OR BY ANY INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEM, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER. INQUIRIES SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO ABBEVILLE PRES, 137 VARICK STREET, NEW YORK, N.Y. 10013. THE TEXT OF THIS BOOK WAS SET IN MINION AND CHEVALIER. PRINTED AND BOUND IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
eISBN : 978-0-789-26004-8
The print edition of this book is cataloged as follows:
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
HOFFMAN, ALLEN.
SMALL WORLDS / ALLEN HOFFMAN.
P. CM.
eISBN : 978-0-789-26004-8
1. JEWS—EUROPE, EASTERN—FICTION. I. TITLE.
PS3558.034474S58 1996
813‘.54—DC20 96-5768
For bulk and premium sales and for text adoption procedures, write to
Customer Service Manager, Abbeville Press, 137 Varick Street, New York, NY
10013, or call 1-800-ARTBOOK.
Visit Abbeville Press online at www.abbeville.com.
Small Worlds Page 22
