He stood up, stared at me and breathed heavily.

“A Jew who has wandered into the enemy’s camp, but who has never in his heart accepted the enemy’s gods.”

“Adonai be praised! But is it really true what you are saying, my son?”

I raised my arm. “I am Isaac Ben Jehuda who has wandered from land to land, without renouncing in his heart the faith of his fathers.”

He approached and embraced me. “Sholom Alechim.”

“Alechim Sholom,” I answered.

“And your companion, Isaac?”

“He is neither a Jew nor a Christian, but an adherent of Ishmael.”

“A cousin…”

“A cousin and a friend.”

He extended his hand which Kotikokura raised to his lips.

“Rabbi,” I said, “I am weary of travel. I am weary of being a stranger. I yearn to return to the fold. Will you accept me?”

“Israel is like an aged father waiting into the late hours of the night for the arrival of his wandering son,” he said smiling.

“Rabbi, the wandering son has come with an impoverished heart, but not with an empty purse. May he be permitted to show his joy by helping his brothers crushed by the cruelty of the enemy?”

“Isaac, my son, had you returned as poor as a beggar, the joy of your brothers would not be less. But if you can help us in our misery, it is God Himself in His unbounded wisdom who chose the right hour.” He clapped his hands. The sexton entered.

“Rejoice, Abraham, the lost sheep has returned to the fold! Make it known to all that Rabbi Sholom is as happy as when his daughter was born unto him! Let all men and women come to his synagogue where they shall receive wine and cake in honor of their brother! Blow the shofar in praise of the Lord.”

Abraham ran out.

Rabbi Sholom drew aside the curtain and called out: “Esther, Esther, my daughter.” The girl came in, frightened a little. “What is it, father?” He kissed her forehead. “Do not fear, my dear. The Lord has led the steps of a lost son back to our house.”

She looked at me, lowered her lids, and blushed.

LIV: THE BOOK OF ESTHER—THE VENGEANCE OF DON JUAN—KOTIKOKURA THE GOLEM—THE PLAGUE—THE SUICIDE OF JOSEPH—I ABJURE ISRAEL

THE feast lasted several days. I ordered unlimited food and drink and distributed gifts to all. Tables were spread in the yards and streets. Musicians with improvised instruments—pots, pans, iron and wooden sticks, flutes, one-string harps, made a ceaseless noise to which men and women, old and young, danced, their feet raised to their chins, or waved wildly in the air, clapping their hands the while. Only the morning and evening services interrupted the merry-making. The prayers were mumbled, the words half pronounced or omitted. Years of hunger and dreariness were smothered and stamped under foot.

“Rabbi Sholom,” I said one evening, “you have received me as a son.”

“You are my son.”

“Are not the arms of woman as the ivy which winds itself about the trunk of the tree, keeping it rooted to the spot? Is not a single man like a bird always ready to fly away?”

“A single man is indeed as a bird.”

“Rabbi, be my father indeed. Give me your daughter Esther as wife. Let me be rooted to my people for all time.”

Rabbi Sholom smoothed his beard and meditated. “Isaac, my daughter is more precious to me than the apple of my eye. I tremble before I open my mouth to say: ‘Take her,’ lest– —” He closed his eyes.

“Father, she shall be no less precious to me than to you.”

Esther entered. Rabbi Sholom rose. “Approach, my daughter.”

She obeyed.

“I love you more dearly than my life. You are my comfort and my joy. But the time has come when God commands you to be a mother in Israel…”

“Father,” she said, pressing her head in his bosom.

I could not tell whether her voice denoted sorrow or joy.

“Our son Isaac—Isaac Laquedem—has asked for your hand in marriage. It is in my power to command you to take him. But he who uses his power against the will of his subordinate is a tyrant, not a father.”

He patted her hand.

“Esther, do you desire to be the wife of Isaac?”

She nodded.

Rabbi Sholom embraced me. Greater than the delight of possessing a beautiful woman was the vanity of having vanquished Don Juan. Poor Don Juan!

Esther was as gentle and as faithful as Lydia, but found passion’s rites, save those sanctioned by custom, abhorrent. The nuances of love, the subtle delicacies of the senses, she refused to learn. She clipped her beautiful hair much against my wishes, and covered her head with a black wig which seemed dusty always. Her meticulous insistence upon every trifle of the dogma palled upon me and her daily prayer that I raise a beard irritated me immensely.

Kotikokura who observed this, seemed to wait for a sign to dispose of her as he had disposed of some of my women in the Harem of a Thousand Graves.

Esther, with a woman’s intuition scented his enmity. “Isaac, Kotikokura is not one of our people. Why should he remain with us?”

“He has saved my life on several occasions when the Gentiles discovered that I was a Jew.”

“Pay him and let him go. Our people hate him. He has desecrated the synagogue by his bare head, and the Sabbath by riding on a donkey.”

“He is not a Jew. It is lawful for him.”

“Why should the daughter of Rabbi Sholom harbor one who is not a Jew, Isaac? It is for this reason, no doubt, that God refuses to give us children. We are tempting the Lord, Isaac! The women whisper that I am unfruitful… I shall soon be ashamed to face the world.”

Every day and several times a day, she found occasion to speak against Kotikokura. “Kotikokura, I have become a proverbial husband, disputing with his wife. Don Juan is avenged.”

Kotikokura grinned, tightening his fists.

“No, no, my friend. It is not necessary—not yet.”

My only friend was Joseph Ben Israel, the student I had met when I entered the Ghetto. We discussed for hours the bigotry of our people. He himself was not entirely free. Once I mentioned the beauty of images and the art of the Gentiles.

“You lived too long away from the truth,” he exclaimed, “and you have become too tolerant of blasphemy.”

I smiled sadly. “Joseph, it is too difficult for a man to cast off his environment. Having breathed the mouldy air of the Ghetto you cannot fully appreciate the deliciousness of fresh air…”

He stayed away for several days. One evening he returned. He pressed my hand to his lips. His face was drawn and white. “Forgive me, Isaac. I have contradicted my wise brother. I am a fool and an ingrate.”

I patted his hand. “Isaac bears no ill will.”

“I have repented for it. For three days I fasted.”

“That was quite unnecessary.”

“It was, on the contrary, very necessary.” He kissed my hand again.

“Joseph, have you no desire to go beyond the gate?”

“I desire to be with you always.” He covered his face and wept quietly. The shape of his head, his curls, reminded me of John, of Damis and of Walhallath, a boy whom I had known in Palmyra.

He looked up. “Isaac, you will leave, and I shall be forsaken…”

“Why do you say I will leave?”

“I know it. You are cramped here as a man in a tomb.”

“It does not matter. I shall remain. I shall try to break the walls of the tomb. Both my people and I shall breathe more freely…”

He sighed and shook his head. “Our people are obstinate, Isaac, and they mistrust you.”

“Have I not given them money? Have I not helped the widows and the orphans?”

“They do not understand why you are good to them. They do not know how you obtained the money. Some consider you a spy and others regard you as a magician. Your companion they fear. They think he is a golem—a creature you have made out of yellow clay who obeys you like a machine and who is strong enough to destroy the town… One saw him uproot a tree, another raise a donkey with one hand, a third one, hurl a rock against the ground, and the rock disappeared.”