Trail of Miracles by Smadar Herzfeld

Author:Smadar Herzfeld [Herzfeld, Smadar]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503943001
Publisher: Amazon Crossing
Published: 2017-05-01T18:30:00+00:00

On the morning after the dream in which I vanquished the elders, the Maggid sat by himself at the dining table, humming a tune. In the corner stood his aide, Rabbi Feilet, his hands crossed over his chest and his eyes almost closed. When Froumeh came from the kitchen, she called me, “My young mistress!” When the Rebbe wanted me to come sit with him, he also called me this, patting the cushion of the chair next to him. He laid his hand on the back of the chair and, with his free hand, tapped his knees.

“I bless you, my daughter, for the beautiful things you said. You have won the gift of twelve years for my son! My dear one, there is no one like you.” He stroked my small child’s back. He leaned over to me, his blue eyes radiant, and the sweetness of his words mingled with the porridge I had eaten. I sat up straighter and felt warm and good and sweet.

“How did my master know what I dreamed?” I asked in a voice laden with the chocolate porridge.

“You and me”—he winked—“we already have our past.”

I felt the blood rush to my face when I recalled the conversation next to the linen closet.

“And we will yet have the future,” he added. A smile suffused his lips and radiated to his cheeks and his eyes. “A splendid future awaits you, Gittel, and it is my voice and eyes that will follow you every moment.”

I laughed, reminded of none less than God himself. He enjoyed my laughter, and took up humming his tune once more.

On that morning, a bond was formed between the Maggid and me. I was now one of the ladies of the house. And he was waiting for me the next morning too. So it was every morning: he and I, our chairs next to each other. I had my porridge and he had his tea. I said whatever came into my mind, and he smiled at me with his wide, radiant gaze.

I was his little daughter, his little friend. Rabbi Feilet bowed to me when I passed by, signaling that he was aware of what had happened that night. Rivke’leh kissed my hands and said that I was an incarnation of the biblical prophetess Devorah.

Only my husband—the husband given to me as a gift—knew nothing. And if he knew, he did not say anything. He was silent, always silent. The more silent he was, the more I fluttered and chattered. I learned to flutter from the butterflies in the garden that passed from flower to flower, from one person to another, aimless but for curiosity. As for the chattering, I did not learn that from anyone; the words simply burst out of me like little hummingbirds.

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