Elie Wiesel by The Forgotten

Author:The Forgotten [Forgotten, The]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literary, Fiction, Holocaust, History
ISBN: 9780307806420
Publisher: Schocken
Published: 2011-09-01T05:00:00+00:00

Father and son often strolled the sidewalks of New York, exploring exotic neighborhoods and meeting colorful characters: a synagogue for black Jews in Harlem; a Chinese restaurant whose customers spoke Yiddish; Times Square and its passersby lost in the neon maze; the Village and its too rich or too poor street people in search of money, pleasure, danger; Brighton Beach with its Russian cabarets and cafes; a square for the lonely and uprooted, a forum for visionaries; a restaurant for jazz-lovers, a movie for jazzhaters. Malkiel knew the big city as well as his father had known his hometown.

“We too had our madmen,” Elhanan said. In Brooklyn he was reminded of Feherfalu. In the American version of a shtetl, Jews lived in a sealed-off world. No business on the Sabbath, no school on Jewish holidays. They taught Talmud and mathematics in Yiddish. Life proceeded by the ancient Jewish calendar.

Once Malkiel took his father to the home of a great Hasidic master, who received visitors only after midnight. Impressive and even majestic, radiating strength and faith, arms stretched out before him on a bare table, the rabbi listened to Malkiel but gazed steadily at Elhanan.

“Rabbi,” Malkiel cried, “I turn to you because ordinary medicine is powerless.”

“Doctors are only God’s messengers,” the rabbi replied calmly. “I, too, am only His messenger. Men may be powerless; God is not.”

Anxious, tormented, Malkiel crossed and recrossed his legs, trying to catch the master’s gaze, which was fixed on Elhanan. “Isn’t it a rabbi’s duty to speak to God in our name?”

“God needs no intermediaries.”

“But we need them!”

“Why do you speak for your father? If he has something to say, let him say it himself.”

Elhanan heard and understood all of this. He opened his mouth, looked for the right words, found them. “Rabbi,” he said, “I’m going under.”

The rabbi’s gaze remained steadfast. Abruptly he looked away.

“Is it hopeless?” asked Malkiel.

“God commands us to hope,” said the rabbi, straightening his shoulders before hunching again in concentration. Outside, a drunk sang out his woes while policemen shouted, chasing a thug. Would the world’s violence break and enter this room? The rabbi’s voice deterred it: “Elhanan son of Malkiel, listen to me. In our prayers on the high holy days we beg the Lord to remember the near sacrifice of Isaac. What an idea! We beg God to remember? Can you imagine the God of Abraham as an amnesiac? The truth is, we make such requests in the name of memory to prove to Him that we ourselves remember. Next Rosh Hashanah you will go to synagogue; I command it. And you will remember. That too I command.”

Outside, thirty disciples besieged them. “What were your impressions? What did he say to you? Which of his words struck you particularly?”

“It’s confidential,” Malkiel said.

Next day Malkiel told Tamar about the visit.

“You should have taken me along. I’ve never seen a Hasidic master.”

“Next time you’ll come.”

Tamar pondered what Malkiel had told her. “I have every confidence.”

“In him?”

“In your father. If he believes in the rabbi, that can only help.

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