his arms and began whirling, the boy screaming with joy.
Hershel watched with a smile on his lips, then it came over him, the belly tingling warmth of belonging. He sprang to his feet, his deep voice picking up the tune and words.
Israel sat there with delight on his face, the cane tapping at the floor. He slowly rose and began hobbling in a circle, singing with happiness. Motlie smiled at him and danced over, her arms held outright, courting him while she turned, never touching, for that was custom, with a radiance on her face that Israel had not seen for months.
They danced and twirled and sang until they finally fell onto their chairs, puffing, yet smiling with pleasure.
Hanna rested for only a few seconds, then brought over the food.
“I haven’t had this much exercise in years,” said Hershel happily. He looked across the table at Jakob, his face animated, a gleam of bliss in his eyes. “Do you believe that God is here with us?” he asked. “You know what I mean. Is He especially here?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Jakob, winded. “The Lord actually joins us here. With Him are two angels, the good and the bad. If a man sits down to a happy table with a devoted family, the good angel will say, “May all your Sabbaths be like this,” and the bad angel will say, “So be it.” But if this day is not dedicated to God, the bad angel will say, “May all your Sabbaths be like this one,” and it will be from that day on. The orthodox believe that the world is merely a place formed by God. We believe that God resides here, that the world becomes a sacrament because of His indwelling.”
Hershel sat forward, captivated. “Is that the crucial belief of the Hasids?”
“More than that. We know that since God is present in everything, there can be no evil.”
Hanna and Reba began serving the chicken soup. Jakob swallowed a couple of spoonfuls and continued. “All men are equal. You hear that remark everywhere you go, but most of it is just talk. To a Hasid, all men are truly equal.”
“The am ha-aretz, the ignorant one, and the Talmid Chachem, the wisest of the Jews?” asked Hershel, a smile on his lips.
“Even so,” said Jakob.
Motlie saw Israel’s eyes harden as he pushed away his bowl of soup, so she coughed gently as a warning to hold his temper. All at the table had abruptly stopped talking. What Jakob had said was blasphemous.
“Are you saying,” said Israel in a strangled voice, “that a Talmid Chachem is no more in the eyes of the Lord than, God forbid, me?”
“No more, no less.”
“Shame!” exploded Israel. “How can you say such a terrible thing?”
Jakob raised his hand. “Please, let there be no anger at this table. Forgive me if what I said offends you, but let me explain. We all agree that Torah is everything. It was before, it is now, and it will be.” He leaned closer to Israel. “Torah is the voice of God. When it says, “I will be the Lord your God”, these are not just written words. This is God speaking. He comes down from Sinai, down from the pages, and He speaks to you in every word. Therefore, you can say, and truly mean, that the closer you are to Torah, the closer you are to our Lord. And the closest is a Talmid Chachem.”
“Exactly,” said Israel, somewhat mollified.
“But the Talmid Chachem has something you rarely find. He has the mind, the brilliance, the ability to devote his life to Torah. But what of the am ha-aretz who does not have the intelligence or opportunity to learn Torah? Is he less in the heart of the Lord?”
“That is no excuse,” said Israel tightly. “There have been many am ha-aretz who in later years, as ignorant as they might have been, turned to Torah and became lamdans or Talmid Chachems.”
“I agree with you. But again I ask, are those unable to do the same less in the eyes of God?”
“Absolutely. I am as dirt compared to a Talmid Chachem.”
Hershel was munching on a piece of golden challah. “You sound like a socialist, Jakob.” He held up his hand. “I have no wish to cross words with you. But isn’t your viewpoint somewhat drastic? It contradicts the essential belief of Judaism.”
“Yes, it is drastic, but it is our fundamental belief. As your countryman, Martin Luther, preached to the Christians that they can communicate directly to God for absolution of sins, so our great leader, the Baal Shem Tov, said that all men are equal before God. The learned and the ignorant. In the soil are most precious objects–gold, silver, diamonds. Cannot the am ha-aretz be equally as precious?”
“Is that why you dance–like the peasants?” asked Hershel shrewdly.
Jakob laughed. “I am told that I look like a scarecrow when I dance.”
Hanna was bringing over a platter, containing the gefilte fish, when he spoke. “You do not look like a scarecrow at all,” she said emphatically. “You dance beautifully.”
“What of your women?” asked Motlie, moving around the table to serve the fish. “Do they feel as you do?”
For a moment Jakob seemed nonplussed. “I don’t really know, Mrs. Barlak,” he said slowly. “I’m sure they do.”
Hanna seated herself and began to eat. “You do not sound as if your women are very important,” she remarked.
“Of course they are important,” replied the Hasid stiffly. “They are as filled with the Lord as the men.”
“You sound almost anti-Semitic when you speak of women,” laughed Hershel. “In Germany, they say some of my best friends are Jews.”
“They say that also in Minsk,” grinned Jakob. He turned back to Hanna.
“Women fit into our lives as wives, mothers, keepers of the house. We rely upon them to counsel us about our day to day living.”
Those piercing brown eyes were disconcerting to Hanna. Whenever he looked at her, she felt drawn to him. “What of the girls?” she said, breaking the spell. “Are they part of your everyday life? I mean, someone to talk with, to share your feelings and thoughts?”
It was plain that Jakob did not have the least notion of what Hanna was getting at. “Certainly they are part of our everyday lives. As I said, they are wives, mothers of our children, keepers of our homes.”
Hanna immersed herself in the food, not wishing to discuss the Hasidic women any further. They sounded more like servants than mates.
“Your rabbi,” asked Hershel. “You call him a rebbe, don’t you?”
“Yes. My rebbe is also my father.”
“I have heard that they dominate their congregations.”
A flush came to Jakob’s pale cheeks, a flush of annoyance. “They do,” he replied with some acerbity.
“Isn’t that somewhat unorthodox? A rabbi is a teacher, not a leader.”
“Yours may be, not ours. But then again, your rabbis influence your congregations, too. It is just a matter of degree.”
Hershel nodded in agreement. “Do your rebbes also…” he searched for an unobjectionable word, “…influence your personal lives?”
Jakob understood perfectly what was in Hershel’s mind, and his eyes lit with expectation. In surprise, Hershel saw that the Hasid was about to attack.
“Yes, they influence our personal lives. Daily. When we seek a job, move from our houses, take a trip, decide to marry, it is our rebbe’s guidance and permission we require before doing so.”
“I see,” said Hershel. “Can you pray directly to God yourself?”
“Of course. But it gains force and validity when it is carried by our rebbe.” Hanna had been filling glasses of tea from a samovar and handing them around. Jakob