!632: Joseph Hanauer

by Eric Flint

  "Where does it say that in Torah?" Moische asked.

  Yitzach answered, quoting Torah. "You shall not place a stumbling block before the blind."

  Twenty-seventh of Iyyar, 5391 (May 29, 1631)

  The travelers came in sight of Hildburghausen on Thursday afternoon as they descended into the valley of the Werra. The hills of the Thüringerwald rose to the northeast beyond the town, far higher than the rolling uplands they had crossed since leaving the valley of the Fränkische Saale.

  Much of the land they had crossed had been croplands. At every stop, they had purchased whatever grain they could, until they had filled the small wine barrels Moische had bought. In a period of only two days, they had seen a noticeable rise in price as news of southward troop movements became more widely known.

  "So Yossie," Yitzach asked, as the two walked beside the pair of horses pulling his wagon. "You and Rav Yankel used to work for the same printer, but there seems to be more than that between you."

  Yossie nodded. "Reb Yitz, I was an orphan, and Rav Yankel was my teacher in the Hanau Cheder."

  "What happened to your parents?" Yitzach asked. Moische fell back to join them, leaving his wife and daughter in charge of their cart.

  "We were in Frankfurt when Fettmilch drove us out. You have to ask Reb Moische about that, I was too young to remember. After we were driven out, we came to Hanau, and then war came and there were hard times. I was five, young and strong enough to survive. My folks died that winter."

  "Reb Moische?" Yitzach asked.

  "I was seven when Fettmilch ruined Frankfurt. We fled just ahead of the mob into the cemetery. Everyone who didn't make it there was killed. I was old enough to know the story of the Book of Esther, so I knew that when Fettmilch called himself the new Haman, he would be hanged just like Haman was in the Bible. In that, my childish faith was eventually rewarded. We had almost nothing after that, but I remember the charity of complete strangers in the days that followed. Even Christians were ashamed of what Fettmilch had started."

  "It seems that we Jews are doomed never to live in one place for very long," Yitzach said.

  Nobody responded, so they walked in silence beside the horses for a while, until they were on the bridge across the Werra.

  "Reb Yitz," Moische said, "I didn't come back to you to relive that awful day. What I wondered is, how do we find the one Jew who you say lives here? Do we just walk up to people and ask where is the Jew?"

  "That would work," Yitzach said, "but he has a name, Gutkind, I think. Was it Samuel Gutkind?"

  Hildburghausen had grown too big for its walls, so they were already in the town before they reached the city gate. The guard there sent them around the street that ringed the wall, and in short order, they found their destination.

  Samuel Gutkind, as it turned out, was a half burgher, entitled to live within the city but outside the walls. He was not the only Jew. He had a son, and there was an elderly couple living with him as servants. The household reminded Yossie of some of the wealthier Jewish households of Hanau, but without the students and other boarders that filled those houses to the bursting point.

  Over dinner, they learned that Samuel was emphatically Samuel or even Herr Gutkind, not Reb Schmuel. He made his living as banker to the merchants and petty nobility of the area. Technically, he was a Schutzjude, but he seemed to think of himself as a minor court Jew.

  They spoke at length about the news from the North. They heard that General Pappenheim had moved to Halberstadt. It was a town none of the travelers had heard of, but Samuel said that he had heard that it was in the Harz mountains. The travelers were alarmed to hear that there had been news from as far south as Erfurt and even Rudolstadt of trouble. Erfurt had been on their intended agenda only a week ago.

  "So tell me," Moische said, after they had exhausted the news from the north. "Have you heard any other strange tales recently?"

  "Moses, there are always strange tales," Samuel said. "What leads you to ask?"

  "Wednesday noon we stopped to do business in Königshofen and we heard quite a tale. The man who told it said that he heard it here in Hildburghausen. What he told us is that the pit of Hell has opened up beside some town to the east of here."

  "Schwarzburg," Yossie added. "He said that the very pit of Hell opened there on Sunday." Yossie didn't mention the flash he had seen in the east that day, but he couldn't help but wonder.

  "And what did you make of the story?" Samuel asked.

  "We thought little of it until evening when we heard another tale in the small crossroads village of Trappstadt, or was it Drebstadt," Moische said, and then paused. "There, we met a merchant going south from Suhl. He said he'd heard the story from the east of Suhl. What he had heard was that on Sunday, the whole world to the east exploded with a flash and a roar like cannon fire. When the noise was finished, where there had once been mountains, there were valleys and where there had once been valleys, there were now mountains."

  Moische paused. "After hearing two different tales, we wonder if perhaps something has happened in the Thüringerwald. You see why we ask?"

  "I do, Moses Frankfurter, I do," Samuel said. "And I can add to the tale. When I first heard about the pit of Hell opening at Schwarzburg, I thought it was nonsense, of course. But you must know something. I have occasional dealings with the Count. I know some of his men from Schleusingen."

  "And?" Moische asked.

  "I was in town today. I ran into a man I know, a guard. He said that they had a message from Schwarzburg. An official message, mind you, not just some rumor from an ignorant shepherd."

  "So?" Moische asked, after the silence had drawn out for too long. "What did it say?"

  "How do I know? Am I privy to the Count's mail? No. But the story is that the pit has swallowed the whole road from Schwarzburg to Rudolstadt, and that it is many miles around. They say that the guards at Swarzburg have sent spies into the pit, and these spies say that they have seen things there that cannot be of this world."

  "So is this pit really Hell?" Gitele asked.

  Yakov sighed. "These spies are supposed to have gone into the pit and then returned to tell of what they saw. Does that sound like Hell?"

  "No, Rav Yankel," she said.

  He nodded. "If this was the Christian Hell, I doubt their devil would have let them return. Not only that, but I doubt that the Christians are right about Hell, anyway. Whatever wonder this is, we can be sure that God made it and that, like all of the rest of creation, it contains sparks of the divine as well as any temptations or threats there may be."

  Yossie expected Yitzach to object to the Kabalistic reference the old Rabbi had just made. In the last week, he had objected to most such references to what he called 'the absurd kabalistic creation myth.' He would not accept the idea that God's first attempt at creation had ended in failure, with shards of the broken divine spheres scattered through the world.

  "Anyway," Samuel went on, "I think that whatever has happened and whatever threats come from this pit, it could be good for us. If the road east is cut, the garrison at Schwarzburg will have to buy supplies from this side of the Thüringerwald. That will bring good silver to the local farms. It is also good news to find that this pit, whatever it is, has blocked the most direct path from the Saxon plains."

  "Reb Samuel," Moische asked. "What is good about blocking the road east? We need to go that way."

  "The path we need to block is the road south," Samuel said. "There are too many stories of Catholic mercenaries coming south. There are stories of farms burned as far south as Rudolstadt and Badenburg. Where there are raids, I would expect there must be whole mercenary companies not too far behind. If you want to go east, stay well south."

  Samuel Gutkind had arranged for their carts to be safely stored in the barn of a townsman who owed him silver. There were enough cats living in the barn that they didn't fear rats getting into their supplies. As a result, they slept securely that night and through the weekend, although not in great
comfort. Samuel Gutkind's house had room enough for them, but only one spare bed, and that was taken by the women.

  The men talked into the night Thursday after dinner. They wondered what to make of the story of the pit in the Thüringerwald, but that story was so strange that they focused most of their attention on the news of the war. The speed with which the Catholic mercenaries had come south was particularly troubling. Yossie participated in the discussion, but he found it frustrating. They needed more than rumors if they were to find any useful answers to their questions.

  Friday, Basya and Gitele made a disturbing discovery about their host. The men were in town, seeing what there was to be bought and sold while they listened for news. The two girls had volunteered to help in the kitchen with the preparation of their Sabbath dinner. There, they found that their host did not keep kosher.

  "What do you mean, not kosher?" Yakov asked, when the men had returned to the house to bathe and get ready to greet the Sabbath.

  "His bread," Basya said. "After we braided the challah for Shabbat dinner, the cook took it to the Christian baker down the street to be baked in his oven."

  The old rabbi sighed. "For a moment, I thought we were having ham for our Shabbat dinner, or bloodwurst, or sour cream in our chicken soup. The bread dough was kosher?"

  Basya nodded.

  "What about the meat?"

  Gitele answered. "Rav Yakov, Saul took care of that. He killed two chickens."

  "Well?" the rabbi asked. "Did he do it right? Your father is a shochet; you've seen it done."

  "I saw no errors, but the knife he used was just a good carving knife."

  "Did he check that the knife edge was perfect first, and did he make the cut in one swift and painless stroke?"

  She nodded. "As nearly as I could tell."

  Yitzach grumbled, "I should have volunteered my services as a shochet."

  The rabbi paused, thinking. "We all knew when we started this trip that it would be hard to keep all of the commandments after we left Franconia. If I were still in Hanau, I wouldn't eat such food, but we aren't in Hanau, or even Kissingen. Rabbi Hillel said we should not judge people until we have been in their place. Tractate Sanhedrin says that we hold people to a lower standard when they live in border towns where they are influenced by non-Jewish neighbors."

  The rabbi paused. "Could I keep kosher this well if I lived here bemidbar, in the wilderness? I don't know the answer because I've never tried. In other times, I would have recommended that no Jew should willingly live in a place like this. Now, I find that I would be much worse off if there were no Jews here in Hildburghausen. In any case, it would be wrong to embarrass our host. Yitzach, before the sun sets, bring one of those excellent sausages of yours from the wagon. It will make a good cold lunch tomorrow for all of us, including our host. Bring bottles of your wine for Kiddush and Havdalah."

  Rabbi Yakov ben Pinchas of Hanau led services that Sabbath, at the invitation of Samuel Gutkind. Of course, without ten men to make a minyan, they had to skip some of the prayers, but the rabbi had the quotation in hand to comfort them.

  "It says in the Torah that in every place where my name is mentioned, I will come and bless you," Yakov reminded them. "The Talmud tells us that Rabbi Chalafta concluded from this that when even one person studies Torah alone, the holy spirit is there."

  The travelers devoted Saturday afternoon to study. They were nervous about news from the north and east, but for the duration of the Sabbath, they could escape their concerns. Tradition allowed the Sabbath to be set aside in the face of mortal danger, but only when the threat was immediate. Lacking an immediate threat, all of the travelers welcomed the opportunity to escape into study.

  They had only known Yitzach for two weeks, but it was becoming clear that he and Yakov were two of a kind, despite their disagreements over almost everything having to do with the Kaballah. Yossie was fascinated by the chains of argument they wove, and he noticed Moische following the discussion with equal interest.

  Their host, on the other hand, was not the studious type. While his guests sat down to an afternoon of study, he excused himself and left for a walk. Yossie was a bit surprised by that. In the towns where he had lived, Jews and Christians never mingled on the weekend.

  The freedom to walk the streets on Sunday was even more of a surprise. On Saturdays, the gates of the Hanau and Frankfurt am Main Jewish quarters had been closed by the Jews to keep out the Christians, but on Sunday, it was the Christians who had barred the gates. When Samuel invited them out Sunday afternoon, Yossie had to ask.

  "Joseph," Samuel answered, using what Yossie could not help but consider his Christian name. "In the morning, when the Christians are supposed to be in their churches, I would never go out. In the afternoon, though, so long as I don't do anything they will notice as a violation of their Sabbath, there are no real problems. So come with me, gentlemen. I want you to hear with your own ears what I heard yesterday afternoon."

  Samuel led the four men on a pleasant stroll around the outer reaches of the town, never leading them into the walled town proper. Their destination was an inn where the road to Schleusingen came down into the town. Yossie doubted the wisdom of entering such a place on the Christian Sabbath, but their host seemed unconcerned. In spite of that, he did urge them into a dark corner before excusing himself to go get the man he wanted them to meet.

  Yossie looked around the dark room nervously while they waited. He had been in similar inns along the road from Hanau, and with very mixed results. In some, they had been rudely treated. In others, tolerated for their silver. Sometimes, the owners were friendly enough but other guests had made things difficult. The fact that they could not eat the landlord's food never helped.

  "Here, friends," Samuel said, leading a small man to their table. "This is Johann. If you want to leave for the east tomorrow, you need to hear what he has to say. I suggest you buy him a good drink and make the landlord happy."

  Johann, as it turned out, was a dispatch rider from Schleusingen. It also turned out that his definition of a good drink was closer to a full meal. He claimed to know every road in the region, and there was little reason to doubt his claim.

  Much of Johann's story duplicated what they had already heard, but there were some new details. "We had a messenger from Schwarzburg Friday, asking about buying grain and supplies from this side of the Thüringerwald. That's why I'm here. They say that the pit that has opened blocked their normal supply route from the east, and that even if the road can be reopened, there is a new town in the pit."

  "A town?" Moische asked. Yossie noticed that Moische was imitating the local accent surprisingly well. "Why is that a problem?"

  "Because," Johann said, "this town is big. The garrison at Schwarzburg has sent spies into the pit, and they say that there is no way this town can feed itself. They say that there isn't enough farmland in the pit to feed the town. It is mostly hills and forests."

  "Ah," Moische said, "so they will drive up the price of food all around, whether they buy or steal what they need."

  "Right," Johann said. "And there are raiders in the valley of the Saale. Even if the pit had not opened, I think Schwarzburg would be buying food on this side of the hills fairly soon."

  "Well," Yakov said, with a smile. "Now, at least, we have proof that it's not the pit of Hell. Even if spies could enter Hell and return, they wouldn't find a town there."

  Johann laughed. "Trust a Jew to see the logic of that. The town has a name too. They call it Grantville."

  "A French name? How do you know this?" Moische asked.

  "I ate with the messenger from Schwarzburg," Johann said. "He hadn't been into the pit himself, but he watched from the wall while a delegation came up out of the pit to speak with the Captain of the guard. After that, before he returned to Schleusingen, the Captain showed him a letter from inside the pit."

  "And?" Moische prompted.

  "For this much, you owe me another drink," Johann said, raising his emp
ty mug with a grin.

  After Johann's request had been satisfied, and after a bit of prompting, he continued his story. "What about the letter from inside the pit? I didn't see the letter myself. What I heard, though, was that it was printed like a book, not written, and that it was signed by a woman with a Jewish name."

  He paused briefly, but before they could ask, he waved off their questions. "No, I didn't hear the name. Apparently it was a name the Captain of the guard at Schwarzburg knew, though. Some famous court Jew's name."

  "Why are we wasting our time on this?" Moische asked, and then paused to answer his own question. "It is an amazing story, but we are trying to go to Poland. What we really need to know is, what road to the east is the safest?"

  Johann paused only briefly. "You can't go through the pit, that is sure. From what I hear, it is straight down except for a path that no horse could follow, much less a cart. To go north of the pit, you would have to go north to Suhl and Badenburg, and the war threatens that route. If I were you, I'd go south. Take the road to Eisfeld, and then either continue south of the Frankenwald, or take the hill road east from Eisfeld until you meet the Saale south of Saalfeld."

  "What about the mercenaries in the valley of the Saale?" Moische asked.

  "Well, there perhaps, this new town of Grantville will be of some use. There are stories of skirmishes between men from Grantville and Catholic mercenaries from the north. I'm not sure that I believe the stories, but they say that armies will not pass Grantville without paying a price. Even if these are just stories, they might delay the Catholic push south, and if they are true, all the better."

  Fourth of Sivan, 5391 (June 4, 1631)

  "Why in heavens did you buy goats?" Basya asked shortly after they set out on Wednesday morning. She was annoyed at having to help deal with the animals again.

  "We had to buy something with the profit from what we sold in Eisfeld," Moische said. "Yitzach said the goats were a good buy, and it seems that anything edible we can take east will bring a premium. Don't forget what Chava did with our first day's worth of milk last night. That was a good meal."