Big League Dreams (Small Worlds)

by Allen Hoffman

Sammy hesitated and looked at his father. His father was very strict about not eating anything before the benediction over the Sabbath wine. But Boruch Levi himself didn’t know what to say.

  “Thank you, but we haven’t made kiddush yet,” Sammy said politely.

  “Yes, I know, but the rebbe might not bless the wine for several hours. Women and children always had candies in my father’s house, and he was the Grand Rabbi of Bezin,” she added.

  Sammy looked at his father, who nodded. After reciting the appropriate blessing, the boy popped the light caramel into his mouth.

  “I see you like the light ones. So do I. Reb Zelig, would you please pass me the caramel box?”

  Very pleased at having something to do, Reb Zelig moved with great alacrity.

  With a regal movement, she deigned to remove a light caramel and place it into her mouth.

  They all sat in silence as Sammy and the rebbetzin chewed their candies. Although he felt slightly uncomfortable, Sammy did enjoy the sweet. It was the very expensive kind that his father gave the police chief’s wife when he gave the chief himself a bottle of whiskey for Christmas. Apparently, the Krimsker Rebbe and rebbetzin must be very important people. Although his father’s stern, stubborn visage expressed disapproval of the rebbetzin, it was a very polite disapproval, and Sammy felt confident that he could safely eat the second caramel, since he would be receiving more.

  “Occasionally, being a woman has its small advantages,” the rebbetzin said aloud, and then she added, “Reb Zelig said that you have recently visited Krimsk.”

  Boruch Levi nodded.

  “Did you have a good trip?”

  “Yes, thank God,” Boruch Levi said, trying to avoid a discussion with her. After all, he had come to see the Krimsker Rebbe. What possible use could he have for the rebbetzin? Still, she was the rebbe’s wife, and Boruch Levi made a mental note to send Sammy over during the week with a box of good caramels. “Yes, I had a good trip, thank God,” he expanded, meanwhile wondering why the wives of great men all ate caramels. The chief’s wife did, and so did Yitzhak Weinbach’s wife Polly. He reflected ruefully that his Golda had no appetite whatsoever for candies. He had always found that very sensible and admirable, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  “By any chance did you see my daughter, Rachel Leah, or her husband, Hershel Shwartzman?” The rebbetzin’s voice had risen higher and was strained. Her throat colored, but not her face, as she fought to maintain her composure.

  Boruch Levi was surprised that she, too, seemed to have no idea where they were.

  “No, I didn’t. I asked about them, of course, but no one seemed to know,” he replied.

  “Yes, I see,” said the rebbetzin quietly.

  It was clear even to Sammy that the rebbetzin was very disappointed and did not see at all. Her eyes seemed to quiver as if she were on the verge of tears. Hoping that she wouldn’t cry, Sammy offered her his remaining caramel.

  “No, it’s for you,” she said softly. She stroked Sammy’s hand gently and said, “You know, you’re a very good boy.” She turned to Boruch Levi. “You must be proud.”

  Instead of answering, Boruch Levi jumped off his chair and stood up straight. Reb Zelig, too, rose to his feet, murmuring, “So early!” and looked around in confusion as if hoping someone would explain to him what was happening. Imitating the men, Sammy slid off his chair and stood at attention.

  Standing at the head of the table with a disapproving eye, the rebbe tapped the large empty silver kiddush cup. Reb Zelig didn’t seem to understand what the rebbe was telling him and turned to the rebbetzin for help.

  “Kiddush,” she said. “The rebbe wishes to sanctify the Sabbath.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” the sexton mumbled in embarrassment as he ran to the cupboard for the wine.

  Reb Zelig filled the cup to the very brim and then placed it carefully onto the rebbe’s outstretched palm. As he balanced it uneasily, some wine slipped over the rim and in small rivulets streamed down the gleaming sides onto the rebbe’s hand. Not seeming to care, the rebbe burst into kiddush. After he had finished, he sipped some wine and poured a small amount into little glasses, which Reb Zelig passed to Boruch Levi and to Sammy, who was still sucking his caramel. The mix of the wine and candy created a heavenly rich, syrupy taste.

  Reb Zelig turned to bring a cup and bowl so the rebbe could perform the ritual ablution prior to blessing the braided Sabbath loaves.

  “Wait. We’ll talk first. Their family must be waiting for them. This is not Krimsk,” the rebbe said.

  At the mention of Krimsk, Boruch Levi moved forward eagerly to the edge of his chair. “Yes, this is not Krimsk,” he repeated, as if it were a liturgical response.

  “The river was pink this afternoon?” the rebbe asked.

  “Yes, that’s what I saw,” Boruch Levi answered.

  “But you do not trust what you see?” the rebbe inquired.

  “No, I don’t. I used to, but ever since I returned from Krimsk, most of our people here seem possessed. In Krimsk, where they are poor, they would never dream of working on the Sabbath, but here in St. Louis, where they are well off, they work like slaves on the Sabbath.”

  All of this came tumbling out; Boruch Levi had finally found someone who, he believed, could understand these things. He sat back, pounding his fist into his hand, then moved forward as if he had more to say. The rebbe, however, spoke first.

  “And how does Krimsk appear when you are in St. Louis?”

  “That’s just the thing!” Boruch Levi exclaimed. “When I’m in St. Louis, Krimsk doesn’t make much sense. I know they are far away from each other, but distance is only part of it. It’s something else. They don’t seem to be in the same world.”

  “How can they be? In America, there is no Sabbath,” the rebbe said.

  Boruch Levi sat thinking about the rebbe’s words.

  “Then they’re not in the same world?” Boruch Levi mused aloud.

  “Our presence brings them closer,” the rebbe declared.

  “Then they’re not two different worlds?” Boruch Levi asked.

  “Since there is no Sabbath here, think of it as Egypt, and you won’t go too far wrong,” the rebbe said.

  “But I don’t know anything about Egypt,” the junk-man said in distress.

  “All the Jews will learn. I can assure you,” the rebbe replied, obviously bored with the topic. “Now tell me about the river, the Mississippi.”

  Boruch Levi sat still, trying to digest what the rebbe had said about Egypt.

  “The river,” Reb Zelig urged him. “The rebbe asked you about the river.”

  “Ah, yes,” Boruch Levi said, bestirring himself. “I crossed the River Nedd when I took a walk to Krimichak.”

  “No—” Reb Zelig started to interrupt and explain that the rebbe had inquired about the St. Louis river, but the rebbe silenced him. Sensing something amiss, Boruch Levi paused.

  “Go on,” the rebbe urged. “What happened in Krimichak?”

  “I met Wotek the herdsman. I couldn’t convince him who I was until I told him that I left Krimsk when Grannie Zara died and the Angel of Death synagogue burned.”

  “What did he say to that?” the rebbe asked.

  “He asked about the burning devil who saved the Torah.”

  Here Boruch Levi paused. He pictured again the ashcovered young man, Hershel Shwartzman, known as Grisha, who had emerged from the burning synagogue carrying the precious Torah. The rebbe had immediately declared Grisha a suitable groom for his daughter.

  “And?” pressed the rebbe.

  “And he said that it wasn’t right that the Jews had burned the cats.”

  “You knew about that?” the rebbe asked.

  Boruch Levi was surprised that the rebbe knew.

  “Yes—no,” he mumbled. “Yes, but that’s not the real problem. It’s that ... It’s uncomfortable to talk about it in America.”

  The rebbe rose and motioned for Boruch Levi to follow.

&nbs
p; CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE KRIMSKER REBBE’S VISION OF THE BLOOD-RED Mississippi when he came to America in 1903 had filled him with awe and dread. Just as Egypt had once been the world’s most powerful nation, so America was developing into the world’s mightiest modern state. Into such important places God thrust his Jews. The insight that the simple Jews must be on center stage filled the rebbe with awe. Awe can inspire reverence, humility, and holiness, but the river of blood filled him with recurring dread.

  The Krimsker Rebbe had succeeded only too well in leading his flock into the depths of the Exile. He had led them into the modern Egypt! The Talmud taught that ten measures of magic were given to the world; nine were given to Egypt. With nine-tenths of the world’s magic, Egypt was the seat of witchcraft and demons, and pharaoh himself was the universal source of impurity. His unswerving purpose was to cause the Jews to sin, thereby defiling the holy nation.

  The rebbe knew that the sojourn in the American land of modern witchcraft had begun with his arrival at demonic Ellis Island. America’s sorcery proved quicker and more dangerous than the rebbe had ever dreamed. The rebbe had prayed that redemption would come quickly, with his wife the rebbetzin giving birth to the new Moses that they had conceived on that last fateful Tisha B’Av in Krimsk. But the large, florid-faced immigration official had glanced down at them with a row of shiny brass buttons on his tunic that flashed evil eyes upon the pregnant rebbetzin, driving the soul of the redeemer to heaven and leaving the holy rebbetzin’s womb bare and barren. All of this the rebbe came to understand several months later, when the rebbetzin neither grew with child nor had her fertile cycle return.

  In distant Krimsk the rebbe had dueled privately with the Polish witch Grannie Zara, just as Jacob had wrestled with Esau’s angel. In America he faced sorcerous evil itself, abominable and ubiquitous. The material scale of America was unmitigated greatness; nothing was small. Endless trains slid over a monumental bridge that soared airily over the mighty Mississippi, greater than the pharaoh’s Nile! A sure sign of magic, the rebbe knew, for the impure spirits cannot create anything smaller than a barleycorn.

  And, most tragically, there was no Sabbath in America. How could there be? It was too busy; almost everyone worked on Saturday. The Jews of Krimsk had not come to America to rest; they had come to improve their lives. Through hard work anyone could become a Rockefeller, a Vanderbilt, or a Morgan. There was no tsar, and there were no violins; there was something much better: opportunity for those with ingenuity, intelligence, and no fear of hard work—especially on Saturday. No one worked harder on the Sabbath than the ex-Krimskers did.

  America was a busy land; the Krimsker Rebbe knew that, but he also knew that such industry was only a superficial manifestation of the deeper reality—or the lack of it, for magic denied the deepest reality of all, God’s total sovereignty over creation. The world was created to praise God, but there had been no time in the industrious week of creation. The world came to fruition on the first Sabbath, when every creature rested and praised the Creator. God and Israel testify to the sanctity of the Sabbath. The first six days formed three pairs; the seventh day, the Sabbath, remained alone and complained of her plight to God. He answered that the Congregation of Israel would be her betrothed. Since the reward for observing the Sabbath is inheriting the World to Come, the rebbe was not surprised that the American land of material magic seduced the Krimsk Jews into violating their holy Sabbath, thereby rejecting God’s sovereign creation, denying the world its purpose, repudiating Israel’s betrothed, and losing the World to Come.

  All of this was nothing new. Ancient pharaoh had refused to permit the Jews to rest on the Sabbath, since he knew that was the day they studied scrolls telling of their redemption. In America they willingly worked and were torn away from the holy Torah, the fount of redemption, sanctity, and life itself.

  The discovery that the lawless area across the Mississippi River from St. Louis, practically on the city’s doorstep, was called “Little Egypt,” and that its principal city was none other than Cairo, Illinois, confirmed the rebbe’s theory of the neo-Egyptian exile.

  The rebbe had arrived in America during Theodore Roosevelt’s presidency. In keeping with biblical parallels, he anticipated that a “new pharaoh” would arise in America, whose “face would not be the way it was yesterday” and who would afflict the Jews. Taft and Wilson, however, had not led to any appreciable changes, and the rebbe began to suspect that he was too literal in his search for prophetic signs. After all, in busy, industrious America, the Jews already slaved on the Sabbath. True, they received financial compensation and no law said they had to, but nonetheless they served greed. They were, in fact, as dull as slaves. All they talked about was money—money as automobiles, money as buildings, and money as success.

  The rebbe had long ago ceased holding personal interviews. He couldn’t keep awake as one Jew after another who had more than enough to eat asked for his blessing for financial success. In America the Jews of Krimsk had become as boring as the goyim. It was a shame, because the Krimsker Rebbe himself was no longer averse to an interesting conversation. Especially about America. Although the Jews, enslaved to success, held no interest for the rebbe, impure America did.

  The Krimsker Rebbe wanted to discover the essence of America. The rebbe was not confused by the hustle and bustle of the country. That was in some special splendid way American, but it was also recognizably Old World as well. No, for all the talk about new Americans, American whites and blacks were either mentioned in the Bible or known to the sages of the Talmud. The rebbe, with his keen kabbalistic instincts, turned to the indigenous American Indian, autochthon of the New World, for it was through creation that the kabbalah revealed the secrets of God Himself.

  The Krimsker Rebbe had plunged into studying the Indian. He began by sending Reb Zelig to the city library for books. After he had exhausted the printed word, he sent Reb Zelig to interview eyewitnesses who had worked or, better yet, lived among them. The most promising were invited to visit the rebbe in his home. Eventually he demanded that his sexton acquire an automobile and drive him southwest of the city into the Ozarks to the Osage Indian reservation, where he could study his subjects at first hand, conversing with them and even camping among them for a few days at a time. However, the rebbe positively refused to spend a Sabbath among them, no matter how fast or how far Reb Zelig had to drive the Model T Ford to return them to St. Louis by sundown Friday night, when the Sabbath began.

  Initially the rebbe encountered the beguiling theory that the Indians were one or all of the ten lost tribes of Israel—some form of primitive, open-air hasidim—but he rejected this after ascertaining two pertinent facts. None of the Indian tribes circumcised their children. In various biblical epochs circumcision had lapsed among the Jews, but the Indians’ traditional ways precluded the loss of such a fundamental rite as the covenant of Abraham. Still, this was not the most convincing evidence. Their silence was more telling. This was such a salient characteristic that they were referred to as the “silent” red men. Often quiet for long periods, they spoke very little and to the point. Jews, in contrast, from Abraham to the hasidim, were a gregarious, noisy bunch.

  The question remained: who was the American Indian? The answer would give the rebbe the key to impure, magical America itself and the knowledge that could help effect Israel’s redemption from it.

  The rebbe developed two theories. Either they were the sons of the concubines, or they were magic men. In Genesis it is written that after Sarah’s death, Abraham took other women, but as his death approached, he decreed that only Isaac was to inherit the seed of Abraham. “But the sons of the concubines, Abraham gave them gifts and sent them ... to the East, to the Land of the East.” According to the Talmud, the gifts that Abraham bestowed upon them were the Impure Names of magic, witchcraft, and sorcery.

  The latest “scientific” theories maintained that the Indians had migrated from Asia across the Bering Strait; the continents o
f America and Asia had then been connected by a land bridge. Thus they had arrived in the New World by a continuous migration to the East; America was none other than the Land of the East. In addition, they seemed to have faithfully remembered the Impure Names; the Indians were steeped in idolatrous, animist magic. Their chief was often the medicine man, who led such public rites. Magic and impurity suffused their lives. They were continuously chanting to spirits and inanimate objects, dancing around small idols, and offering incense sacrifices to all of them.

  Their very names were imbued with such witchcraft—Running Wind, Singing Sky, Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Little Buffalo, Flying Cloud, Standing Bear, Don Eagle. At first the rebbe thought the names might simply be descriptive, but on further inquiry it became clear that they believed they were bestowing upon the receiver of the name specific forces inherent in the name. After the rebbe had participated in his first rain dance, they had spontaneously begun to call him Jumping Frog; that thoroughly convinced him of their magical powers. Magical or not, the Krimsker Rebbe thought their generous hospitality might well be a legacy of the patriarch Abraham.

  The children-of-Abraham theory, however, did not explain the Indians’ silence. Why should the sons of the concubines be more taciturn than other men? As Abraham’s descendants, they should have been more loquacious than the norm, not less.

  The Krimsker Rebbe’s magic-men theory, which maintained that the Indians were living men created through magic, explained their silence very well. The talmudic scholar Rava created a man and sent him to his colleague, Rav Zeira, who spoke to him, but the man did not answer. Rav Zeira then said, “You are a creation of the initiated. Return to your dust.” The Golem of Prague, the famous magic man created by the great Maharal in the Middle Ages, was similarly silent. The Talmud states that if it were not for their sins, the righteous could create the world. The Krimsker Rebbe understood that the talmudic teacher Rava and the medieval saint the Maharal, although righteous, certainly had sinned. Therefore they could not re-create themselves completely by magic. And that sin-induced flaw in their souls inhibited their ability to re-create precisely that feature closest to the divine, the soul of speech. For it was through the spoken word that God had created the world.