The afternoon sunlight had already weakened when we crested a hill and entered the broad expanse where the city of Rovno lies. My mother adjusted her headdress, drew herself up, and said that she just knew—it was something in the air—that many Jews lived here.
But as we galloped forward, mud spraying to both sides, the first thing that I noticed was the birds. Large and small birds of all hues were wading in the shallow marshes left by the rains, flapping and shrieking raucously. Clouds sailed through the sky, growing heavier and heavier. The shadows cast by the clouds mingled with the shadows of birds circling overhead until the entire landscape seemed somber and strange, lurching between light and shade.
I sat frozen in place, my heart beating wildly.
My mother felt none of this. Again she opened her handkerchief filled with raisins, and then her eyes curiously sought out the Jews whom she had no doubt lived in this area.
And then we saw them. In groups of just one or two at first, dressed in Jewish clothes and wearing boots, they rushed out of the courtyards of farmhouses and greeted us in broken Yiddish. Then we passed small towns, and swarms of children with sidelocks ran to us with cries of “A wedding!” and “Look at the bride!” When they reached the wagon, they fell silent.
After the children, mothers came out of the houses and stood at a distance with their daughters, pointing excitedly to me and shaking their scarf-covered heads.
The closer we got to Rovno, the greater the number of Jews we encountered, and the more daring the women. Some of them even came up to us and felt the silk of my dress.
It was only when we entered the city itself that I began to have a sense of my future father-in-law’s stature. A crowd of men and women surrounded the wagons. The men, who were wrapped in black gowns, pressed around the rabbi’s emissaries, shaking their hands and making all kinds of requests. The women and the children swooped down on my mother and me, buzzing around us like bees, blessing us, raising their hands in the air, asking me to touch them. When I did so, tears sprang from their eyes.
The final leg of the journey felt like a dream, with people lined up along the sides of the road to bless us and to praise the name of the Maggid. Along the entire length of the journey people were waiting for us by the sides of the road to bless us and to praise the name of the Maggid. Women and young girls in white dresses opened wide their arms to me and asked me to bestow upon them a small portion of my good fortune.
My mother’s sadness changed back to joy. She sat up as straight as a queen, the blue headdress hoisted like a crown on her head, her eyes shining. From time to time, she wiped the sweat from her face with a handkerchief, breathed in deeply, and in a choked voice, said to me, “Gittel, I simply can’t believe the great honor that has befallen you!”
Smiling demurely, I tried to evade the women’s fingers, their sweaty hands, their smiles and their jealousy. I was pushed into the corner of the wagon, squeezed there like a fish in a net. But a bridegroom awaited me at the end of this wondrous journey . . . What kind of man will my husband be? I wanted to shout. They went on standing by the sides of the road, excited and elated, and not one of them could hear what was in my heart.
When we reached the first houses of Mezeritch, the sun was slowly setting, and a rosy golden light was descending on the world. The light fell upon our shoulders, as soft as gold dust. The birds hid among the boughs of the trees and the quiet of evening fell all around.
We were all tired. The horses dragged their legs, the wagon drivers made clicking sounds as they shook their heads from side to side to keep awake. The road led through a large, flat field of low grass, and at the end of the field, small wooden huts could be seen. My mother went on sitting upright, looking festive, but with her eyes closed, and I, on the other hand, had my eyes open and my body slumped backward. With a vacant, sleepy gaze, I stared at the sky, and suddenly I heard a sound like flowing water, like a whisper. I sat upright in my seat and rubbed my eyes. The whole of Mezeritch seemed to be coming toward us, hundreds of men, women, and children tramping through the grass. Splendidly dressed men in their Sabbath best, with women in white dresses and white headscarves, surrounded by a swell of well-washed and festively dressed children.
My mother looked at me in wonder. “Can all this be in our honor?” The horses slowed down and then, thinking better of it, dragged the wagons into the field to graze. In the light of the sunset, the field glowed as if it were on fire.
We sat in the wagon and waited. It was like watching a river overflow its banks, the water getting closer and closer. The women surrounded us like a white-capped wave. They did not shout, and did not try to grab my hands; they asked nothing of me, just looked at me with soft, gleaming eyes.
I felt a wave of dizziness. Was I riding upon a river of stars? Upon the frothy peaks of the waves? Were they spirits who had clothed themselves in the bodies of women, and if I tried to touch them, would I feel the transparency of water? Who were they? What did they want with me? My head was spinning and my body swaying from side to side.
I heard a shout go up around me, growing distant. Exhaustion came over me, and a soft, heavy screen descended upon my eyes.
When I awoke, the sounds of whispers reached my ears: “What happened to her?” “She’s only a child!” “As pink as a princess, what else can you say!” “Look, she’s opened her eyes!” “Thank God, she’s coming around!”
Smelling salts had been thrust under my nose, and my mother was bent over me. Behind her, there were excited women smiling, murmuring, and sighing. They propped me back up.
The murmuring of women hung in the air. My head was still spinning and I could barely stay seated, and yet I smiled at them apologetically for having caused such alarm. I smoothed my dress and folded my hands. The women followed my movements closely and I saw a change in their eyes, the concern replaced by something different, something that glowed and sparkled.
My mother asked if I was all right. I laughed and a wave of laughter rose from those around me, like an echo. I drew myself up, and my eyes gazed above their heads.
The two emissaries got down from their wagon and the entire large black gathering of men moved away from us and stood to recite the evening prayers. For the first time in my life, I saw the power and the beauty of prayer outside in the fields. They stood with their faces turned to the east, and I could see their profiles as they prayed. Their eyes were shut, their beards lit up with the fading hues of the sun, and their reverent gestures clearly visible against the vast, flat field of green grass tinged with gold.
They detached themselves from the world, their spirits transported to a distant and lofty place, and in that moment, I was reminded of wild geese in flight. I felt the blood flowing in my veins, I was seized by wonder, and suddenly it was clear to me that it had indeed been good fortune that had brought me here.
Two days later, at exactly the same time of evening, my mother brought me to a small room, closing the door as she left, and there I met my husband-to-be. He was standing in a corner, his back to the doorway, and he did not turn around to look at me. I was wearing a gorgeous dress made entirely of lace, and my head, which was now shaved and bare and smooth, was adorned with a white headdress.
My starry headdress, I thought, touching the delicate embroidery. And here I am, for the first time, together with my bridegroom, the two of us alone in a room without windows, and he does not look at me. A slight shiver ran down the nape of his neck, as if he were weeping or praying, or perhaps he was cold.
I made no sound, I did not take a seat on the sofa off to the side, I remained standing next to the door, standing very straight and biting my lip. I did not want to be afraid of the tall gaunt man who had turned his back to me, who in a very short while would acquire me with a ring. I wanted to come up close to him and to tell him that I was his bride, Gittel, but fear crept into my heart. I was just a little girl, and so what happened was that I began to cry.
The tears that coursed down my cheeks were sil
ent, yet he sensed them and turned to face me. I stopped crying, I felt the blood drain from my face and knew I was very pale. Rabbi Avraham, my bridegroom, tried to smile, but his eyes remained almost completely closed.
The room was dim, and a lantern spread a faint and watery light, which tinted his twitching eyelashes with a yellowish hue. The smile, which resembled a grimace, sat suspended on his lips, limp and mirthless. It passed through my mind that he looked like the people who fulfill the tradition of getting drunk on the festival of Purim, and without intending it, I rubbed my eyes and laughed up at him.
He was much taller than me, a little stooped, his face long and swarthy. His beard was soft and curly, the color of cinnamon. His eyes deterred me. They seemed to peer at me out of the mist of a dream. But his crooked lips were soft and ruddy, and despite his silence, his face spoke to me. I gathered up my courage and went to sit on the sofa. I arranged the dress all around me and waited for him to say something. He went on standing in the farthest corner, locked in his silence.
O, my husband! O, Rabbi Avraham! cried a voice in my head.
And that was how, in fearful silence, I met my future husband.
When the door was opened again, the tumult of the outside world rushed in. My mother hugged me, and some young men surrounded Rabbi Avraham. Shouting “Mazel tov!” and singing “How to Dance before the Bride,” they brought us to the wedding canopy.
Everything was prepared for the ceremony, and yet we were delayed all the same.
“The Maggid is closeted in his room,” someone whispered in my ear, her eyes rolling upward to invoke higher powers.
A white veil, almost transparent, hid my face and no one could see how pale I was. My mother was anxiously wiping perspiration from her forehead. A large crowd of women milled around behind me, and there was an even larger crowd of men, most of them wearing round fur hats. They filled the benches that were set out around three sides of the wedding canopy.
The sound of low voices, relaying secrets and whispering, filled the air and buzzed in my ears. “Like a living doll . . . an angel . . . the Rebbe knows . . . who knows that . . . hush, shush . . .”
Suddenly, all the voices fell silent and it was as if everyone sighed together with sheer amazement.
I stood on tiptoe and craned my neck, but was too short and could see nothing. I blinked angrily beneath the veil, and then I saw him pass like a flashing sword. My father-in-law approached us limping, and an azure light, like that of the morning star, radiated from his eyes and forehead.
Could that be the Maggid? I was amazed. Short and weak? Dragging his left leg? Why was he wearing a white robe as if it were Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement? And how he looked at me! Could he see inside me? My body started to squirm. I placed one of my hands firmly upon my belly and, with all the strength I could muster, restrained myself from breaking into a scream.
The Maggid hastened his steps, leaning his right arm on the man at his side, and dragged his infirm leg with small but rapid movements. At last, he stopped opposite me, his head only a little higher than mine, and without saying a word, opened one of his palms in front of my covered face. A tremor went through the fine fabric, as if a breeze had blown across it, and my body began to relax. Then he laid his hand on my head, lightly and carefully. The blue light flowed toward me and I lowered my gaze. He whispered, “Maydele” so softly that only I could hear. And from that moment, I was entirely his. I wanted nothing else, nothing but to feel his affection.
But my groom, Rabbi Avraham, confused me. His almost-closed eyes were distant and wrapped in meditation, and when they asked him to say the blessing over the goblet of wine, he froze for an instant and an expression of repugnance passed over his face. I looked at him attentively. Despite my youth, I comported myself gravely, and whenever I felt a moment of weakness, my eyes searched out the Maggid. Only he sees me, I’d thought, only he knows how my face went ashen as I felt another presence make an entrance. The Angel of Death had arrived. He was clothed in white, and was standing like an attendant under the wedding canopy. Had he come for me? For Rabbi Avraham? Why wasn’t the Maggid calling out that the ceremony must be stopped, suspended immediately on account of the immense present danger?
My mother, on the other hand, was brimming with happiness. She stayed in Mezeritch for all the days of hosting and feasting by the most important townsfolk. In the chamber where we were sitting, she made sure to hear what was said around the men’s table and everything moved her to tears. She did not so much walk, but rather skipped or floated about, decked out like a peacock at all hours of the day, eating incessantly. Anything that was served, she ate with great relish, and between one meal and another, stuffed herself on almonds, raisins, apples, and various sweets.
At night, we lay huddled in one bed. Sometimes I awoke to find her sitting in the dark, among the pillows, munching on something. On her last night in Mezeritch, she did not let me sleep, but ate and spoke, recalled all the festivities that were held in our honor, all the speeches that were given, the splendor and glory of the wedding, the size of the house and the merits of my father-in-law, who made even the substantial men of the town look like children beside him. “You married into greatness!” she declared, embracing me out of sheer amazement.
I breathed in the scent of my mother, her large limbs, her soft breasts, the dishes she had eaten, and I buried my head in her lap and said, “I want to go home.”
“Hush, hush . . .” She stroked my shorn head. “It is the Master of the Universe who brings couples together. And a Jewish daughter, well . . . at her wedding, she becomes a queen.” Her body trembled around me as if the earth were shaking.
In a low voice, she told me that she’d heard all kinds of things in the marketplace, for example, about the peasant women who use herbs to rid themselves of the impurity in their bellies. Then they go down to the river and in the chill waters, they give birth to those impurities, and how rarely the child who is born remains alive and rises up and floats upon the water. How they leave it at the entrance to the church. “That baby is a child of God,” the peasant women whisper, crossing themselves. But they do not speak about the babies that sink, only saying how, in the dark of night, screams and wails and cries rise from the water, as if a herd of pigs were drowning.
“The peasant women are wicked animals,” my mother sighed, “but all the same, they are so wretched, almost barbaric . . . you can’t help but pity them . . .”
I started to groan, to plead with her not to leave me here alone.
“Are you even listening to me?” she railed. “I only told you those things to show that our way is not like theirs. The Torah fills our hands with work, so we have no leisure for the lusts of the flesh.”
Her lips quivered. She pushed me forward a little and, from under a pillow, pulled out a bag of raisins. She whispered, “The Jews you have married into are different from us. Their spirit is different . . . go with that spirit, my little Gittel.”
“But my husband . . .”
“That’s enough! You have been blessed with a good match, a family of Hasidim. As for complaints—ouff—they’re from Satan!”
The next day, at dawn, she left Mezeritch. I stood at the window, like my father two weeks previously, and I watched her wagon disappear into the distance. It was cold in the room. I sat trembling on the bed for a long time before I finally stuck my head out of the door and cautiously sniffed around.
The house was quiet. I went to the kitchen, and there I found Froumeh the cook and her daughter Rivke roasting liver over the fire and frying onions. Froumeh ran to the samovar and poured me some tea, sat down in front of me, and gazed at me with her huge tired eyes.
I drank slowly and I fought back my tears. Rivke, who was around my age, smiled at me shyly and went back to working by the stove, flushed and sweating.
I turned away from her and stretched out my neck like a stork. Tears filled my eyes and almost overflowed. I wiped my face with a cloth that reeked of onion, the
n jumped up and fled.
I did my weeping inside a large closet full of pressed sheets. I lay on the white pile and I begged God to give me back my old life. Please cancel the marriage, wipe away everything that has happened! Sorrow covered me like a blanket, and slowly, very slowly, I fell asleep.
In my sleep, I saw myself standing naked on the shores of a quiet lake. Suddenly, a fat golden fish leapt from the water with a gurgling sound. I stretched out my hand, with a great longing to touch it, and tumbled face-first into the lake. The dark, freezing water was all around me. I thrashed at the water, shouting, “Help! Gevald!” As my mouth filled with water, I continued to scream. In the blink of an eye, I saw the fish leap up and disappear among the rays of the sun. I lay on the sand on my back, in the place where I had previously stood, and a deep, wordless voice, like the cooing of doves, was in my ear.
On awakening, some moments passed till I realized where I was: Mezeritch, in a closet, on a pile of sheets, alone. I picked myself up and gave thanks to the Holy-One-Blessed-Be-He for restoring my soul to me. But the voice from the dream continued to reverberate. Someone was standing outside the closet, speaking almost in a whisper, like someone talking to himself.
I pushed the door of the closet till it opened a crack and creaked on its hinge. There I discovered the Rebbe, my husband’s father, sitting upright on a tall-backed chair. His fingers forcibly gripped the armrests and his eyes were closed. His pale lips, overgrown with the white hairs of his beard, murmured so gently and slowly that had I not heard him, I would not have thought he was speaking.
I slowly emerged from the closet. After I had slithered from the pile of sheets, with great caution, I placed one foot on the wooden floorboards. They creaked, so I froze and tried not to breathe. I waited for the beating of my heart to calm, and then slowly, slowly and warily, raised my right leg to take another step. It was like walking through a field of thorns, of snakes and scorpions. And that was how I moved toward the doorway, frozen in place and then creaking, frozen and then creaking again. The doorway was covered with a curtain, and on the way to it, I had to pass the Rebbe’s chair. He continued sitting with closed eyes, sunken amid the high armrests, distant and mumbling.
Trail of Miracles Page 3
