The Origin of Sorrow (59 page)

Men in the audience laughed; others raised eyebrows. Despite her fifteen years in the lane, Brendel’s wit still was overshadowed by her sensuality. She winked at Guttle as she left the podium.

Alexandre Licht spoke next. Guttle braced for a personal attack; the shoemaker had disliked her ever since their confrontation over Georgi Kremm. But Licht, gray hair showing beneath his familiar beret, took a different approach.

“Today, my youngest daughter told me she hates me,” he said.

She could feel the attention of the audience quicken.

“You all know me, I make good shoes and boots. This I do without knowing what a bunch of dead Greeks wore on their feet. I was able to provide a fine dowry for my older girl, Leah, when she married our fine Cantor, Viktor Marcus. Every day in the schul I thank Adonai for their happy marriage, for their two healthy children, and a third on the way. My wife Sonia, peace be upon her, must be qvelling up in heaven. I have had a good life. Until today. Today my youngest said she hates my kishkas, my guts.” The shoemaker paused, rubbed his eyes with his scarred hands, as if brushing away tears, plunged his hands into the pockets of his apron. “What did I do to deserve this? She begged me for the third time to let her attend this new school her friends are talking about. And for the third time, I did what I had to do, what Adonai tells me to do. I told her no. If there is such a school, her two best friends will be attending, she says. I told her I didn’t care, that Yahweh’s word is more important. So thanks to talk of this so-called school, my daughter hates me.” He paused, glanced around the room. “I can see by some of your nodding faces that I am not alone.”

Licht seemed about to say more, but turned and left the platform. Guttle swallowed with difficulty. Who could respond to that? Who could tell a father it is all right that his daughter doesn’t like him anymore?

She was right; no one stood to respond. She slumped, feeling miserable, abject. Then like a lovely bird a girl’s voice flew over the audience from among those standing in the rear. “No daughter will hate a father who truly loves her!”

Amazed, knowing the voice, Guttle swiveled to look. Schönche was standing beside Meyer. Had he told her what to say? Of course not! Till now a shy girl, Schönche at thirteen was blossoming quickly. Guttle felt her own courage renewing itself.

Turning back, she saw that the cobbler had not yet taken his seat, but was staring at the rear with hard, squinting eyes.

No one else signaled to speak. Rabbi Jonah, his long white beard touching the lectern, began, raising one hand toward the ceiling and the heavens beyond, his forefinger extended.

“You have heard powerful arguments against this school,” he began. “I shall give you the most important one.” His voice seemed to be shaking with anger; his raised finger began to tremble; he resembled drawings of prophets from the Bible. His voice rose to a roar. “Ideas such as this school could mean the end of the Jewish people!”

Guttle was nonplussed by the thunderous claim; it was absurd. She wondered if his trembling was a trick he had learned. But from many in the hall came mumblings of agreement.

“Our religion, which is primary to our nature, is distinct from that of all other nations,” Jonah intoned. “We Jews, as trained by Moses and the prophets, set for the world a moral and social example. Our system is unique. It has been tested by time. The ancient Greeks are gone, and the Romans, and the Assyrians, and and a host of other civilizations. But we Jews are still here. In a ghetto, yes, but still here.

“Our religion is one of humility. ‘Thou shalt walk humbly with thy God.’ That’s all that is required of us in this life. Walk humbly with Yahweh. We do this in our daily prayers, in our devotion to study of the Torah, the Talmud, the Mishna. We need not study philosophy, or science, or other current fashions. We need only lead moral lives, and walk with our God.

“This is not a question of girls versus boys, of women versus men. In our yeshiva, of which I am the proud head — in every yeshiva in the world — we teach and study only our religion. That is what has enabled us to survive. Now a movement is beginning, of which this proposed school is a part, to change that; to study what the goyim study, so we will be able to mingle with them. The truth is, at this time in our history we are lucky to be surrounded by high walls and iron gates. They don’t permit us to mingle, we can hardly give up our Jewishness. But once the walls come down — and some day, however long in the future, they must — if we mingle, we intermarry. And then the Jewish race, the Jewish nation, disappears. Secular study will supersede Jewish studies. And in the eyes of Adonai, our Jewish hearts will be dead.

“You may think I exaggerate. I know that the fine women who propose to run this school for girls — this secular school, which is the larger point — I know they do not intend such consequences. But throw a single pebble, and the entire pond ripples. Let us cling to Adonai, who supported us under the severest trials, who conducted us safely through numberless perils, who smoothed our passage through the most tempestuous paths, and let us be impressed with the radiant message, that the beauties of nature shall fade, that science will bring catastrophe, that the whole visible world will sink into endless night — but that Israel shall survive, and be ‘saved an everlasting salvation.’ That we have been promised. That we must accept as sufficient. We must reject this school as we would reject tossing a match into a river of oil. All we need in our lives, men and women both, is the eternal flame of Yahweh’s grace.”

The Rabbi stopped, drank water, was done. The lecture hall filled with applause, men and women stood at their seats. “Thank God for Rabbi Jonah!” someone yelled. Guttle’s chin sunk. She shook her head, battled the need for tears. How could she follow that?

Her father nudged her shoulder. “It’s your turn,” he whispered.

“I can’t. He’s right.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“They do. Listen to them.”

“They had their moment. Now it’s your moment.”

“What I had planned to say — it will sound petty after that.”

“Then say something else. Open up your heart. The words will come.”

“Guttle Rothschild?” Rabbi Jonah was calling her name for the second time. “Do you want to speak, or not?”

“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse, the word came out as a croak. She cleared her throat so hard it hurt. “Yes!” Her knees felt soft as fresh challah as she climbed the two steps to the podium.

Challah! A new idea lit her face. She would choke them on challah!

She poured herself water with a shaky hand while the crowd quieted. Her thoughts were born as if independent of herself. She would pick them out one by one, like beetles.

“Give her a coffin to stand on, that’s what she likes!” a woman’s voice cried out

“The coffin of the Jewish people,” a man yelled.

Their words stung like lashes across her face. Looking out at the audience, she saw a pack of snarling dogs, like those in the rubble beyond the walls, teeth ready to devour a mother hare. She wanted to step down, go home. Who was she to oppose their will? Who was any woman?

The thought stiffened her. But she must not harangue them. She must be reasonable.

“I agree with Rabbi Jonah to a large extent,” she began quietly, “just as most of you do. I agree that the essence of our being as Jews is our Jewishness. Our devotion to Adonai as the only God. Our moral qualities as expressed in our deeds, and in our prayers, and in our following of Jewish law as set forth in the Torah and the Halakah. Why then, do I stand before you now to advocate a secular school for girls?

“When I was young I worked in the bakery. I picked the beetles out of the flour, before my mother and the other women baked our bread and challah. It was a necessary job. But it did not occupy my mind very much. I hope you will concede that Yahweh did give us women minds.” She paused to let nervous laughter pass among a few in the crowd. “What did I think about as I picked out the beetles so we would all eat pure challah on Friday nights? Not of the pain in my knees from kneeling on the stone floor, or the strain in my eyes from wanting to spot every insect. I am fortunate to have a wonderful father, who goes out into the world most days as the Court Jew in Sachsen-Meiningen. I would point out, in passing, that his business with the outside world has not corrupted his faith. Nor has it corrupted the faith of my husband, Meyer Rothschild. My Papa used to bring home German newspapers. He taught me to read German from them. This opened to me the world of books, in addition to our fine religious teachings. It enabled me, while cleaning the flour for your challah, to think of worlds beyond our walls — to escape into them, just as you men escape in schul into the ancient world of the Israelites.

“Now I am married, I have six children. You can see that another is on the way. I cook for them, I clean house, I do whatever is required. I light the Sabbath candles, I go to the mikvah every month. Am I less of a Jew, then, because I also know the names of the Roman emperors? Am I less of a Jew because I have studied the French kings? As long as I follow Halakah, am I less of a Jew because I have read a book called Don Quixote?

“As a grown woman I no longer pick out beetles. Some other girl does that. But, like picking the beetles, cleaning house and cooking for my family does not fill all of my mind. The rest of my brain needs to be used for something, or Adonai would not have given it to me. I don’t think this makes me less of a Jew. But I shall tell you what does.

“I am less of a Jew than you men because I am not allowed to study Talmud. According to the Torah, men have an obligation to study Torah and Talmud day and night, and have to account for every second ‘wasted’ on matters not involving Torah. We women are exempt from this obligation, because our other duties take so much time. At least, that is the reason usually given. More likely, our forefathers thought we were not smart enough. So we are taught only enough Jewish law to run our homes.

“What else makes me less of a Jew? Not that I know the story of a Catholic girl called Joan of Arc — but that I cannot sit in the schul, I have to stand in the back. Not that I can read a German newspaper — but that I am not allowed to read from the Torah, as you men do every week. Perhaps if I were allowed to study and argue Talmud in the schul, my mind would be fully occupied, and I would not long for other knowledge.

“So I have a simple proposal to make. I will gladly withdraw our plans to establish a secular school for girls, if you will allow me and my daughters and all the women in the lane to be complete Jews — to sit in the schul with you, to pray with you, to attend heder and yeshiva, to do all the religious things you do. Then perhaps our minds will be filled with Adonai, as our hearts already are, and we would need nothing else.”

“Noooo.” The audience seem to moo like a herd of cows. Guttle looked down at the lectern and waited before continuing; she had anticipated some such response.

“Just say this will be so, that we can study Halakah as you do, and we will start no school. But until you say that, we must proceed. We women and girls, your mothers and your wives and your daughters, are looked upon as lesser beings. We are viewed as the beetles in God’s flour. Especially here in the Judengasse, where we all suffer confinement together, that is no longer enough. We are not intruding insects. Like you men, we are the flour itself. We must be allowed to rise. Our school will be a bit of yeast, nothing more.”

The horses in her breast were running wild. In the small of her back her chemise was soaked. Her head was perspiring under her sheitl, her gray hat. Her legs were shaky. She stepped from the lectern and managed to walk to her seat. There was no applause.

Rabbi Jonah declared a brief recess. People stood in small knots and talked, debated, joked. Brendel and Yussel congratulated Guttle on her speech. Meyer approached, Schönche beside him. He nodded at Guttle, and said, “That was superb strategy. You and Rebecca would do well in business.” His highest compliment.

“What do you mean, Papa?” Schönche asked.

“They offered up an expensive antique. Simcha can please the crowd by refusing it — then buy what your Mama wanted to sell him all along.”

“How do you know?” the girl asked, as Rabbi Simcha approached the lectern and motioned for all to be seated.

“Listen,” Meyer whispered.

The Chief Rabbi waited for silence. When he spoke, his voice was calm. “We have heard an interesting discussion,” he said. “I shall not respond to each argument, but will simply present my decision, and the reasons for it. At first we had one question before us; now, after the last speaker, we have two. I will address the second question first — the question of admitting girls to heder and yeshiva, women to read from the Torah. I have been Chief Rabbi for a short time. Whatever merit might be in these suggestions — I am not indicating if they have merit — it is not my place to overrule the traditions of our people for five thousand years. That will not happen.”

The audience was silent. Guttle had expected nothing less from Simcha, from any Rabbi.

“This also relates to the question of the evening — shall a school for girls be established in the community room. That room is part of the synagogue. It belongs to the community, as its name suggests. While educating girls and women might not violate the letter of the Torah, it once again would overturn long practice, and would clearly go against the will of the majority. That, too, I am not going to do. My ruling is that such use is inappropriate, and is denied.”

Applause rolled though the room like thunder, with lightning shouts of praise for the Rabbi. People stood, began to put on their coats, while others still applauded, shouted, shook hands. The majority was thrilled, as if the Messiah had come.

Simcha banged the gavel on the lectern, banged it again, restored a curious quiet. “Please,” he said. “I have not finished.” The remaining talkers settled down.

“If the school in question were planning to teach the Talmud to females,” the Chief Rabbi said, “I would have to consider whether an absolute prohibition were appropriate. But it is my understanding that what is proposed is secular studies. The synagogue and its facilities are no place for that, so, again, that request is denied. Beyond that, secular questions are not in the purview of the rabbinate.” He paused. “Now I have finished. Shalom to you all.”

More applause, also whispers, cheers. In the front row on the left, Alexandre Licht turned to Jacob Marcus. “A fair man, the new Chief Rabbi, a wonderful man. An important victory.”

“Victory? We lost,” Marcus said.

“What do you mean, we lost? We won.”

“Didn’t you hear his last words? He gave them permission to run their school anywhere else but the synagogue.”

“There isn’t room for a school anyplace else.”

Marcus looked across the aisle, where the female Doctor was talking quietly with Guttle Rothschild. “If they didn’t already have a place,” he said, “they wouldn’t have put us through all this meshugas.”