Inglés · Textos del judaísmo
La Montaña Dorada
Parte 1
THE GOLDEN MOUNTAIN
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MARVELLOUS TALES OF RABBI ISRAEL BAAL SHEM AND OF HIS GREAT-GRANDSON, RABBI NACHMANN RETOLD FROM HEBREW, YIDDISH AND GERMAN SOURCES
BY
MEYER LEVIN
ILLUSTRATED BY MAREK SZWARC
NEW YORK: BEHRMAN HOUSE INC. PUBLISHERS
[1932]
[TWO MUSICIANS]
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TWO MUSICIANS
[Front Cover and Spine]
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Front Cover and Spine
[End Papers]
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End Papers
[Title Page]
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Title Page
The Golden Mountain
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PAGE
Foreword
ix
The Baal Shem Tov
1
BEFORE HE WAS BORN
3
ISRAEL AND THE ENEMY
10
THE BOOK OF MYSTERIES
17
THE SECRET MARRIAGE
27
THE BRIDE IN HER GRAVE
45
RABBI ISRAEL AND THE SORCERER
58
TWO SOULS
71
THE STANDING SHEEP
85
THE MAD DANCERS
86
RABBI ISRAEL AND THE HORSE
87
THE BURNING TREE
92
THE WATER-SPIRIT
93
THE RICH MAN
101
THE TRIAL OF RABBI GERSHON
109
RABBI ISRAEL'S DAUGHTER
113
PRAYER
114
THRICE HE LAUGHED
115
THE BURNING OF THE TORAH
125
THE BOY'S SONG
132
THE WANDERING IN HEAVEN
135
THE PROPHECY OF THE NEW YEAR
138
THE FALSE MESSIAH
146
THE HOLY LAND
153
HIS TORAH
163
AFTER THE DEATH
165
THE BOOK OF MYSTERIES
177
p. vi
PAGE
Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlaw
179
THE DYNASTY
181
THE LOST PRINCESS
190
THE BROKEN BETROTHAL
198
THE CRIPPLE
213
THE BULL AND THE RAM
228
THE PRINCE
240
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
248
THE RABBI'S SON
257
THE SAGE AND THE SIMPLETON
266
THE KING'S SON AND THE SERVANT'S SON
290
THE WIND THAT OVERTURNED THE WORLD
309
THE SEVEN BEGGARS
333
ILLUSTRATIONS
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TWO MUSICIANS
frontispiece
THE BOOK OF MYSTERIES
23
THE PEASANT'S BRIDE
37
THE BRIDE IN HER GRAVE
55
THE SORCERER
63
WEDDING
83
SABBATH MEAL
123
DEATH
164
THE TREE OF THE BAAL SHEM TOV
180
WEDDING FEAST
211
CIRCUMCISION
229
THE PRINCE
241
CHEDER
259
THE SEVEN BEGGARS
335
FOREWORD
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p. ix
FOREWORD
Two hundred years ago, in a remote hut in the Carpathian Mountains, there lived a wonder-worker named Rabbi Israel. Some now say that he never existed; the like has been said of King Arthur and of Jesus Christ; their legends remain with us. Some say that Israel was never a rabbi, but rather an unlearned peasant who took authority unto himself. It is told that even as a child he deserted the village schoolroom to run into the woods where he learned the speech of animals and birds, of trees, stones, and flowers.
A grown man, he knew all the secret mysteries of Cabbala; but he refused to lead the stifled life of the synagogue scholar, turned his back upon the rabbinical bickerings and pin-point disputes over minutae of the law, and withdrew to the mountains, where he earned his livelihood as a lime-burner, and where he would wander alone, sometimes for many days, absorbed in his strange reflections.
When Israel came down from the mountains to Medzibuz it was to teach men to live with abounding joy, for joy in every living thing, he said, is the highest form of worship. The woods were holy, and the fields, every stone and blade of grass contained a spark of the living Soul; every act of living: breathing, eating, walking should be accomplished with fervour, joy, ecstasy, for every act spoke to God.
Scholars who had passed their pale youth huddled over tomes of the law lifted their heads and for the first time saw the sky; he drew them out of the murky synagogue into the open fields; there, too, he said, God would hear them.
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He did not violate tradition; he enlarged it. He was observant of every point of the law, and he revered the house of prayer; but he said again that divinely simple truth that becomes lost in the ritual of every religion; he said that the full-hearted desire to worship was more important than the form or place of worship.
Disciples gathered about him; soon legends began to grow of the wondrous deeds and teachings of Rabbi Israel, and then he was called the Baal Shem Tov, which means the Master of the Wondrous Name. By that Name, he had the power to do miraculous deeds. He went from one end of the earth to the other in the space of a single night; he conquered the wild boars that the sorcerers set upon him; he pierced the iron wings that shrouded the earth from heaven; he drew the dead bride from her untimely grave.
For a thousand years the Jewish folk genius for the creation of myth had made no new body of legend. But now the genius that had made the unsurpassable tales of the bible and the gem-like parables of the Talmud was turned back to its natural sources, and at once it began to weave the marvellous fabric of the legend of the Baal Shem Tov.
He had stood in the market-place, telling his fables to the entranced people who gathered about him while the rabbi of the town preached to an empty synagogue. In their huts of a Sabbath, his followers repeated the strange meaningful fables he had uttered, and told tales of the miraculous deeds he had done. Pilgrims came to Medzibuz, and carried home with them the tales of the Baal Shem Tov. Soon his followers numbered in the hundreds, and they became
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known as the Chassidim. The word Chassid implies intense piety, ardour, fervour, ecstasy.
Despite the opposition of many noted rabbis, who accused him of ignorance, of wizardry, of Sabbath-violation, the number of Israel's followers grew, for his teaching had that beauteous simplicity that goes directly to the hearts of the common folk. The secrets and delights of heaven were no longer reserved for the scholars who could pass all their days and nights in the house of study; the water-carrier and the mule-driver could gather around the long table in the hut of the Master, and take part in the discussion.
After several generations, the Chassidim numbered half the Jewry of Eastern Europe. They were governed by their Tsadikim, or exalted saints, to whom they came for decision on every conceivable occasion. If a merchant of Brody could not make up his mind whether or not to go to Lemberg to buy goods, he asked his Tsadik; if a housewife did not know whether or not an egg was pure, she asked her Tsadik; if a father did not know whether or not a certain match was suitable for his daughter, he asked his Tsadik. The power of the Tsadik was transmitted in his family, so that soon veritable dynasties of Chassidic rabbis were established.
Soon, too, the decline of the movement set in, for many of the latter Tsadikim took advantage of their power, lived in pomp and luxury, and even sold the honour of being seated next to them at table. The meaning of Chassidism was lost; pleasure took the place of joy, and orgy of ecstasy.
There are still hundreds of thousands of Chassidim, many of them true to the original meaning of their
p. xii
belief; and among them, true Tsadikim are to be found.
But the last to attain the exaltation of the Baal Shem Tov was his own great-grandson, Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlaw. In him, the Chassidic legend had its fulfilment and its completion.
Folk literature has two sources. The tales may grow imperceptibly as they pass among the people, each teller adding his words, until the image is complete; or they may be made in entirety by one who is so completely within his folk as to speak with the voice of the entire people. The Chassidic legend is drawn from both these sources.
The legends of the Baal Shem Tov have no single authorship; they were made partly from the Baal Shem's sayings, partly by story-tellers who went from town to town repeating the tales; one of the legends is concerned with what happened to such a storyteller. Later, the tales were written down, and to this day they are circulated by the hundreds of thousands in little penny-story-books printed in every city of Poland and Russia. Many generations of Jewish children had no other Arabian Nights than these Chassidic tales, whose glamorous adventures they absorbed while their parents discussed the deep meanings concealed in the same fables. At last scholars, philosophers, and literary men discovered the legends, and such masters as Israel Zangwill, Sholom Asch, S. Ansky, and the German poet-philosopher Martin Buber have made use of them.
But the second part of the Chassidic legend is composed of the tales of a single author: Rabbi Nachman. Here the individual speaks as the folk, and we have
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a group of seeming fairy tales that are lucid and meaningful as the parables of Christ. Over the table on Sabbath eve, or during long wagon-journeys in the Galician provinces, on walks, or when teaching his students, Rabbi Nachman would spin these marvellous illusions, in which Kings and Princes, Heroes and Demons move in colourful transparency, like majestic figures of a stained-glass window set into speech and motion. Each tale is an intricate maze; the reader follows seven different paths, only to find himself suddenly standing, bewildered and triumphant, at their common cross-roads. The meaning is hidden and yet shining clear, for each person in each tale is a symbol as abstract as a numeral, and at the end, the symbols seem miraculously to have taken their places in the pure formula of a given theorem. There is the story of the King (God) who unwittingly sends his beloved Daughter (the Shechina, Glory of God) into the place of the Evil One (Earth); then He grieves at her loss until the Prince (Israel of the Messiah) goes out to find her. Twice he meets her but fails, through his own weakness, in delivering her from the palace of the Evil One; twice he must wait in the desert (Egypt and Babylon); the third time he is sent wandering over the earth (the present exile); but at last he comes to her in the Palace of Pearls upon the Golden Mountain (the Holy Land); he remains there a long time, and then they return to the King (but how the return is effected, we do not know) .
This might be the place for an essay on Chassidic doctrine; I am no scholar, but merely another storyteller who, from a far land and through a strange tongue, has come upon a saga of his own people, and
p. xiv
recognized it, and felt that he must tell it again. Chassidic doctrines have been explained, beautifully so by Martin Buber, whose essays on Chassidism, together with his versions of some of these same tales, have recently been published in an English translation by Lucy Cohen.
And yet it has seemed to me that an outline of doctrine would be superfluous as an introduction to these tales, for the tales themselves were used by the Chassidic rabbis to explain that very doctrine. Rabbi Nachman's fable of the Princess lost in the palace of the Evil One is an example of their magnificent clarity and beauty.
For we may explain the Chassidic conception of the Soul as embracing all things and beings on earth: for God sent his Living Glory, called the Shechina, down to earth, and the sparks of Living Glory are in all things: the rocks, the trees, the grass of the field, the caterpillar, the eagle, and the lion, and in man. The soul of each thing and of each man is part of the Universal Soul, and at the awaited time, when Messiah comes, the sparks will flow together, and return to unite with God. The flaw is in man, and the Evil One prevents his arriving at the time of perfection that will bring down Messiah. But is not all this told in Rabbi Nachman's tale?
The Evil One himself is part of Universal Glory, for he has known suffering. Then all that happens on earth, even evil, should be met with joy in the universality of the Soul, for the descent is part of the rise, and sin is necessary to purity. But this, too, is beautifully made clear in the tale of Rabbi Israel who as a boy held the twitching black heart of the Enemy in his
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hand, and would not destroy it, because he saw that it, too, suffered. And again, in Rabbi Nachman's tale of the Prince Who Was Made Entirely of Precious Stones, but had to become a leper before his gem-like beauty was revealed.
We may explain the Chassidic belief in the union of souls predestined for each other, but that is beautifully and dramatically told by Rabbi Israel in "Two Souls"; we may tell of the Chassidic conception of the voice of the soul, or the Melody in each Thing, but Rabbi Nachman's story of the "King's Son and the Servant's Son" almost makes us hear that very melody; we may repeat the Chassidic principle that the form of worship is insignificant beside the emotion, but no abstract words can ever make that as clear as the tale of the shepherd who worshipped God by leaping back and forth over a brook!
These are the imaginings of obscure rabbis who lived long ago in remote villages along the River Dneister and the River Bog, and yet the work of our modern men of intellect and sophistication does not go beyond their fundamental conceptions, for no one can go beyond truth. The modern conception of Time as non-existent, elaborated in Professor Einstein's formulae, is exquisitely stated in Rabbi Nachman's "Tale of the Seven Beggars"; and so sophisticated an author as Professor Erskine bases his latest novel upon the fable of the man who was sent back from the gates of heaven to complete whatever good deeds or bad he had left unfinished on earth, for order is the universal key; and that, too, is part of Chassidic doctrine, and is told in the story of the Baal Shem and the little horse.
p. xvi
To my knowledge, this is the first attempt to tell the Chassidic legend in English. I have read the tales in many collections in Yiddish, Hebrew, and German; and I have tried to be merely another story-teller, receiving the legends from his forebearers, choosing of the many tellings of the same tales those that please him most, adding his own little turns and touches to the fables, and telling them again, but trying always to keep in them the spirit of the tale told in a warm hut to many eager hearers.
In the more mystical portions of some of the stories of Rabbi Israel, the interpolations of Martin Buber have seemed so just as to become an integral part of the myth, and I have therefore followed closely his versions of "Israel and the Enemy," "The Book of Mysteries," "The Wandering in Heaven," and "The Prophecy of the New Year," and have used his story in combination with tales from other sources in the account of the Baal Shem's attempted voyage to Palestine.
I have tried to put the scattered legends of the Baal Shem Tov together so as to form a legendary life-story of Rabbi Israel, who was born in 1700 in Okup and died in 1760 in Medzibuz. His great-grandson, who was born in Medzibuz in 1772, and died in Uman in 1810, left thirteen tales, which were written down by his pupil, Nathan. Of these, I have here translated eleven; the other two are fragmentary and confused.
Many of these tales I first heard from the lips of Marek Szwarc, of Lodz and Paris, a true Chassid and a great artist. To him I am profoundly grateful. I wish also to thank the Jewish novelist, Sholom Asch,
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for the loan of his excellent collection of Chassidic literature; and to express my indebtedness to Leo Schwarz, of New York, for his scholarly aid, especially in relation to the Rabbi Nachman sources.
MEYER LEVIN
New York, 1932
THE BAAL SHEM TOV
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p. 1
THE BAAL SHEM TOV
RABBI ISRAEL, MASTER OF THE HOLY NAME
p. 2
p. 3
BEFORE HE WAS BORN
HERE IS THE STORY OF HOW ELIJAH CAME TO GOD, AND ASKED HIM TO MAKE RABBI ELEAZER THE FATHER OF RABBI ISRAEL; AND OF THE MARVELLOUS TRIALS OF RABBI ELEAZER
When God was about to create Adam, a number of souls, knowing that all of the souls then living in heaven would share in the sin of created Adam, fled to a far place outside the boundaries of heaven, and hid themselves in a corner of chaos. There they waited until after the first sin was done.
Only that band of hidden souls escaped the evil touch of Adam's sin. And they are the Innocent souls.
When the Enemy becomes powerful on earth, and stretches mountains of black clouds between man's earth and heaven, when men become knotted with evil and lose their Godly form, then the Almighty goes up to the highest of his regions, and seeks out one of his Innocent souls.
He says to the Innocent soul, "Go down and purify the earth."
Such were the souls of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob; such was the soul of Noah; such were the souls of the great prophets, of the great scribes, and of the great rabbis. The soul of the Messiah is prince among this band of Innocent souls; and when the time of Redemption arrives, Messiah himself will come down from the highest of heavens. Then the Enemy will disappear forever.
The soul of Rabbi Israel, the Baal Shem Tov, was one of that band of innocents who escaped the sin
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of Eden. And this is how he came to be born on earth.
In a hamlet in the district of Moldau there lived the pious Rabbi Eleazer. His wife was a virtuous woman; she was the daughter of a pious Jew of the city of Okup.
Tartars attacked the valleys of Moldau, pillaged the villages, slaughtered many Jews, and carried off others into slavery. Rabbi Eleazer was one of those taken captive.
His wife said, "I will wait for his return until the end of my days, and if he does not return to me in this world, I will meet him in the next world."
In heaven, Elijah came to God and said, "See how the Jews suffer. It is time to send an Innocent soul down to earth, to sweeten the lives of the Jews."
God said, "Not yet."
For many weeks Eleazer voyaged with the barbarians. On land, he was forced to carry heavy burdens. On sea, he was chained to an oar and made to row as a galley slave.
At last, coming to a strange shore, the Tartars took the Jew into the city and sold him in the marketplace as a slave.
He was purchased by the King's Grand Vizier, who soon perceived that the slave, though of a race unknown to him, was a person of unusual intelligence.
Rabbi Eleazer had kept count of the days. When Sabbath came, he begged his master to permit him to
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rest on that day. This the Vizier granted, and Rabbi Eleazer did not work on Sabbath.
The only duty of Rabbi Eleazer, when he was a slave, was to watch for the time when his master the Vizier returned from his audience with the King; then Rabbi Eleazer would wash the feet of the Grand Vizier.
Thus, the slave had a great deal of time to pass. Rabbi Eleazer knew by heart the Psalms of David, and he passed his days singing the Psalms.
He was not happy, for he felt himself alone away from his people, and he prayed God that he might be released to go home to his wife and to live among other Jews.
At last he could bear his life in the court no longer, and he thought of flight. One night he crept from his bed and made his way through the halls of the palace, until he reached the gate. There he saw the guard asleep. His naked sword, fallen from his hand, lay at his side. The keys were bound to his girdle.
Rabbi Eleazer looked at the sword and said to himself, "To take the keys I must lift the sword and slay the man."
Instead, he returned and remained in captivity.
One year, the King besieged a neighbouring city. The city was strong and withstood his attack. Then the King did not know what to do; he asked of his advisers whether his army should continue to stand in their boats on the river before the walls of the city, becoming themselves weaker while they waited for the enemy to weaken, or whether he should risk all of his men in a charge upon the walls.
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The Vizier did not know what advice to give, and fell therefore into disfavour with the King. When the Vizier came home, Eleazer saw that he was troubled. He began, as every day, to wash his master's feet. The Vizier sighed and said, "Would that my own task were so simple."
And then, out of the heaviness of his heart, he talked to his slave and told him of the problem that was before the King.
Rabbi Eleazer said, "Perhaps God will show me a way to help the King. Take me to the King tomorrow."
That night the Rabbi Eleazer prayed to God. And he had a dream.
In the dream he saw the walls of the neighbouring city, and the river that flowed before them. At the edge of the river he saw a great stone, round as the earth. The stone moved, and rolled into the water. Where the stone had been, there was a hole.
In the morning Eleazer said, "Let the King take me aboard his ship, and I will show him what he must do."
The Vizier told the King of the request of his slave. "He comes from a far land, and is a wise man among his own people," said the Vizier.
"Is he a sorcerer?" said the King.
"He prays constantly to his God."
"Let him be brought before me," said the King.
When he was brought before the King, Eleazer said, "It is natural that you should doubt my wisdom, for I am only an unknown slave. I say to you that the enemy army is strong, and will destroy your army if you attack the walls of the city. If you would test
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my words, take from your galleys men who are already condemned to death, and put them in the first boat, and send them to attack the walls of the city."
The King did as Rabbi Eleazer advised. Convicts were chosen, and sent against the enemy. No sooner had they neared the wall than their boat was overwhelmed with a storm of arrows, spears, and darts of fire. Every man of them was instantly killed.
The King despaired, and cried, "What is there for me to do?"
"Wait until night," said Eleazer.
In the night, he guided the ship of the King through darkness across the water to a spot at the edge of the river where they found a great rock. This rock they rolled away, and the mouth of a tunnel was revealed. Rabbi Eleazer took a candle in his hand, and crept into the tunnel, and after him, one by one, came soldiers. Silently and slowly they went along the narrow, tortuous passage that was hewn through stone and digged through earth. At last they came up within the walls of the city. Thus a great army came up into the city, and attacked the enemies, and overthrew them.
When the King had captured the city he said to Rabbi Eleazer, "I will give you my daughter as your wife, and I will make you the highest man in the kingdom, after the King."
He placed Eleazer in a palace, and sent him slaves and riches. The princess who was given to him was beautiful and young.
But the Rabbi remembered that he was already married.
One morning when he sat at table with the princess
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she asked of him, "Why is it that you are not with me as a husband is with his wife?"
Then Eleazer said, "If you will promise not to reveal my secret, I will tell you."
She promised not to betray him, and then he told her that he was a Jew, and he told her of all the things that had befallen him.
Because the princess loved Rabbi Eleazer she took all of her jewels, and all of the gold that she possessed, and loaded a ship with her treasures. Then she said to Rabbi Eleazer, "Go on this ship, and find your way home."
He was joyous; day and night he sang his praises to the heavens.
But on the sea the King's ships overtook him.
Rabbi Eleazer cried, "Take the treasures from me, all the jewels and the gold. Leave me only with my God; he will guide me home."
Just then, God looked over all the earth, saying, "Where shall a man and woman be found who are worthy of bringing into the world an uncontaminated soul, the soul of Rabbi Israel?"
Elijah said to God, "There is Rabbi Eleazer, alone on the sea. He is worthy of being the father of such a son. In a village in Moldau, his wife has waited for him for seventeen years."
God called to the soul of Rabbi Israel, and showed him his father.
Rabbi Eleazer wandered homeward. He was naked and hungry.
p. 9
On a path in a forest Elijah met him and said, "A son will be born to you who will be a light to all Israel."
In the little city of Okup, beneath the mountains, Rabbi Eleazer found his wife. Nine months after his return, she bore him a son, and they named the child Israel.
When the child had been circumcised, the mother died.
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ISRAEL AND THE ENEMY
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p. 10
ISRAEL AND THE ENEMY
A STRANGE TALE, FILLED WITH HIDDEN MEANING, TELLING HOW ISRAEL HELD IN HIS HAND THE HEART THAT WAS THE KERNEL OF DARKNESS
When Israel was five years old, his father Eleazer was dying. On the day of his death Rabbi Eleazer talked to his son. Eleazer was old, and the wandering that he had done over the earth had creased his body with pain. His eyes were weary, for they had stared many days upon thick clouds to see one instant of heaven. And now he was glad that his death was come.
He said to the boy, "My child, know that the Enemy will always be with you, he will be in the shadows of your dreams and in your living flesh, for he is the other part of yourself. There will be times when like a lightning-stroke you will pierce into his farthest hiding-place, and he will fade before you like a fleeing cloud; and there will be times when he will surround you with walls of darkness, and you will stand alone as upon a raft in the midst of a sea of night. But remember always that your soul is secure to you, for your soul is entire, and he cannot come into it; your soul is a part of God.
"Before you were born it was made known to me that God would always be with you, for within you there lives one of the Innocent souls of heaven. Then go fearless through your life on earth, do not be afraid of man, and do not fear the Enemy, for the highest power is in you."
p. 11
After the death of Rabbi Eleazer, the Jews of the village cared for his child. Israel was sent to the cheder. But soon he found he could not bear to remain within the schoolroom; he would glide through the door and go into the woods, there he would remain all day long, walking under the trees, sitting among the flowers, or by the running river, absorbed with joy.
The schoolmaster would find him and take him back to the cheder. For a few days Israel would attend dutifully, but then again an urge would come into him, and he would run to the woods.
At last the schoolmaster lost patience with the boy, and left him to do as he pleased.
Then Israel lived joyously, he was brisk as a squirrel. He made himself a mossy place within a cave, and there he slept, or he slept in the branches of the trees, he lived on berries and fruit, he talked with the birds, he played with the untamed beasts, and sometimes he stood very still, and listened. So Israel grew.
When he was ten years old he came out of the woods to the village of Horodenka, and became a helper to the schoolmaster there. It was Israel's duty to go from one house to another early every morning, to wake the children and lead them to the cheder. In the evening he led them home.
Soon the Jews of Horodenka began to feel that the children were changed. They were like no other Jewish children. Often, they sang.
And this is how it happened that the children of Horodenka sang.
At dawn, the boy Israel went from house to house, calling to his followers. When he had gathered all his
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herd, he would lead them toward the fields, quite in the opposite way from the cheder. And then he would begin to sing. And the other children would also begin to sing; so they would go a long way through the fields and through the woods, going in a great circle until they came to the schoolhouse. In the late afternoon he would lead them again singing through the woods and the fields, they would come carrying green branches in their hands, with flowers woven in their hair.
Often they sang, "Praised be his Holy name, Amen!" For Israel knew no other song.
The voices of the singing children rose like arrows upward and broke against the heavy clouds of evil that the Enemy had spread over the earth. Each day the voices beat against the clouds, until they pierced into them. Soon a crack was made, and the voices reached the blue sky, and flew toward heaven.
Then the exiled and wandering Spirit called the Shechina, hearing the singing of the children, raised her head in the hope that the time had come when she might flow back into her Creator, and again be One with Him.
But Satan rose in furious hate and strode straight into heaven.
"Someone there below is interfering with my work!" he cried.
Elijah said, "It is only a band of children singing."
"Let me strive against the children!" Satan demanded of God.
And God nodded his head, saying, "Strive."
Then Satan went down to the earth.
He went to the wood where the boy Israel had
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lived, there the Enemy crept over the ground, peering at every insect and crawling into the bosom of every flower; of insect and blossom he asked, "Will you carry my poison into the heart of the child Israel?"
But no living thing would turn against the child.
In that wood lived an aged charcoal-burner, who had been born without a human soul. His body lived, and ate, and slept. He did not know what was right and what was wrong. He was afraid of humans, and therefore hid himself in the forest; some people thought he was a sorcerer, and they feared him.
It was true that often at night a demonaic power would creep into the flesh of the old charcoal-burner; then he would feel himself becoming an animal. He would crouch, and sink onto his four paws. His limbs would become covered with fur. Then he would be a werewolf, and prowl under the trees.
Those who went late into the woods were often frightened by the werewolf's moan. But none had felt his teeth.
The charcoal-burner's simple heart shrank under the terrible urge that made him into werewolf; when he had howled his pain and shame, he would creep under a bush and lie there panting, unable to flee his self, until at last he slept.
So the Enemy found him sleeping.
Satan reached his hand into the breast of the sleeping creature, and took his heart out from his body. That heart Satan buried in the earth. And within the breast of the human werewolf he placed his own heart, that was the innermost kernel of darkness.
When Israel came at dawn with his singing children
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toward the forest, the Werewolf broke from the bush and rushed with snorting nostrils and teeth that flashed like knives toward the flock of children. The children screamed in fright, some fell insensible, some ran into the forest, some into the field, some clung to each other and cried, and some were taken with fever.
The Werewolf disappeared.
Israel called to the boys who had been with him, but they were run home crying.
Then the whole village was taken with fright. The children told of the terrifying wolf that had come out of the forest upon them, they shivered and whimpered and trembled, and some lay in the houses, sick with fright. The mothers and fathers said, "It is the fault of the boy who led them into the forest. We will not send the children with him any more."
When the other boys had run to their mothers and fathers, Israel went into the forest. He thought of the words his father had spoken to him, and he knew that what the other children feared, he need not fear.
He walked all morning in the forest.
Then he returned to the village, and went from one house to the other, speaking to the parents of the children.
"Let them come out with me again," he said. "No harm will befall them. A wolf ran by in the field, he was himself frightened of the children. Let them come with me again tomorrow, and you will see how they will no longer be frightened."
And the eyes of the boy were so earnest, and his
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pleading was so strong, that the parents trusted him and said, "Come for the children in the morning."
At dawn of the next day Israel once more gathered his band about him. He spoke to them earnestly of many things, as a man speaks to his fellows. "Come behind me," he said, "and whatever happens, do not be taken with fright, do not run."
Then he began to sing, and the children followed him singing "Yiskadal …!"
He led them across the fields, to the very edge of the wood. There he stopped and said, "Remain here."
He went alone into the forest. At once the Beast emerged from behind the trees, and came toward Israel.
The boy saw the Beast becoming larger, he saw the Beast grow until his back was a scowling cloud arched beneath the heavens, and his paws clutched the whole earth, and the bloody vapour that issued from his mouth covered the rising sun.
But the boy was not afraid. He walked straight forward, going into the very body of the Werewolf, and nothing stopped his steps. He came to the dark glowing heart of the Beast. Round and shining like a black mirror it lay before him; all of the knowledge and all of the desire of the world were drawn into its gloomy depths, and all of the evil and all of the untruth in the world were reflected outward from its surface, reflected with such a black and universal brilliance of hatred that only his universal love of God saved the boy from being blinded, and drawn into the mirror, to become a part of its evil.
That black heart was given into his hand.
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He closed his fingers tightly over it, he held it fast.
But then he felt it palpitating within his hand, shivering and jerking like a fish out of water, he felt the blood drop from it, and he knew the immeasurable pain that was in that heart: pain that began before time began, and would endure forever.
Then he took pity, and gave freedom to the heart.
He placed it upon the earth; and the earth opened and swallowed the black heart into itself.
Israel looked around, and saw that he was alone. He went and found his band of children and led them on to the cheder.
At the close of the day, townsfolk found the charcoal-burner lying dead under the bushes in the woods. A smile of simple innocence was on his face. His eyes were closed.
Then, they did not understand why they had ever feared him, saying he became a werewolf at night in the woods. For in death he was like a child.
From that day forward the children of Horodenka ceased to sing as they went after Israel through the fields; they began to be like their fathers, and the fathers of their fathers, with their heads bowed between their shoulders.
THE BOOK OF MYSTERIES
[figure]
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THE BOOK OF MYSTERIES
IN THIS STORY WE LEARN HOW THE BAAL SHEM TOV RECEIVED THE BOOK OF ADAM, AND OF THE FRIGHTFUL END THAT CAME TO THE SON OF RABBI ADAM
When the children of Horodenka ceased to sing, Israel was no longer content to remain in that place. He wandered again, and returned to the town of Okup, where he had been born. There he became the watcher of the synagogue.
The desire for knowledge came into him; and the joy that was given him by flowers and beasts in the forest was no longer sufficient. His mind was afire and thirsty, but his thirst could be quenched only by those waters that had cooled for ages deep in the deepest wells of mystery, and the fire within him was of the sort that burns forever, and does not consume.
The innermost secrets of the Cabbala were for him, and they were only as stars of night against the sun. For to him would be revealed the Secret of Secrets.
The boy lived in the synagogue. But since the time for the revelation of his power was yet far away, he did not show his passion for the Torah to the men of the synagogue. By day, he slept on the benches, pretending to be a clod. But as soon as the last of the scholars blew out his candle and crept on his way toward home, Israel rose, and took the candle into a corner, and lighted it, and all night long he stood and read the Torah.
In another city the Tsadik Rabbi Adam, master of all mysteries, waited the coming of his last day. For
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in each generation one is chosen to carry throughout his lifetime the candle that is lighted from heaven. And the candle may never be set down. And the soul of the Tsadik may not return to eternal peace in the regions above until another such soul illuminates the earth.
Rabbi Adam was even greater than the Tsadikim who had been before him. For in the possession of Rabbi Adam was the Book that contains the Word of eternal might.
Though Rabbi Adam was not one of the Innocent souls, he had led a life so pure that this Book had been given into his hands. Before him, only six human beings had possessed the knowledge that was in the Book of Adam. The Book was given to the first man, Adam, and it was given to Abraham, to Joseph, to Joshua ben Nun, and to Solomon. And the seventh to whom it was given was the Tsadik, Rabbi Adam.
This is how he came to receive the Book.
When he had learned all Torah, and all Cabbala, he had not been content, but had searched day and night for the innermost secret of power. When he knew all the learning that there was among men, he said, "Man does not know." And he had begged of the angels.
One night Rabbi Adam arose from his sleep. He walked into a wilderness. Before him stood a mountain, and in the side of the mountain was a cave. And that was one mouth of the cave, whose other mouth was in the Holy Land. It was the cave of the Machpelah, where Abraham lies buried.
Rabbi Adam went deep into the cave, and there he found the Book.
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All of his life Rabbi Adam has guarded the secret of knowledge. Gazing into it, he had grown old, and he had come to see with the grave eyes of one who sees to the end of things.
And when he saw himself growing old, he began to ask, "What will become of my wisdom?"
Then he rose, and looked to the Lord and said, "To whom, Almighty God, shall I leave the Book of Wisdom? Give me a son, that I may teach him."
He was given a son. His son grew, and became learned in the Torah. The Rabbi taught his son all that there was in the Torah. And he said, "My son learns well." He began to teach his son the Cabbala. His son was sharp in understanding. But when the boy had learned the secrets of the Cabbala, he asked no more. Then the old heart of Rabbi Adam was weary and yearned for death. "My son is not the one," he said.
Night after night Rabbi Adam prayed to the Almighty that he might be relieved of the burden of knowledge. And one night the word came to him, saying, "Give the Book into the hands of Rabbi Israel, son of Eleazer, who lives in Okup."
Rabbi Adam was thankful, for now he might give over his burden, and die. He said to his son, "Here is one book in which I have not read with you."
His son asked, "Was I not worthy?"
"You are not the predestined vessel," said Rabbi Adam. "You would break with the heat of the fluid."
Then he said to his son, "Seek out Rabbi Israel, in the city of Okup, for these leaves belong to him. And if he will be favourable toward you and receive you as his servant and instruct you in his Torah, then
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count yourself happy. For, my son, you must know that it is your fate to be the squire who gives into the hands of his knight the sword that has been tempered and sharpened by hundreds of divine spirits that now lie silent under the earth."
Soon Rabbi Adam died. His son did not think of himself, but thought only of fulfilling the mission his father had given into his charge. He deserted the city of his birth and, taking with him the leaves of the Book, went in search of that Rabbi Israel of whom his father had spoken.
The son of Rabbi Adam came to the town of Okup. He wished to keep secret the true reason of his coming, so he said, "I am seeking a bride. I would marry, and live my life here." The people of the town were delighted, and felt greatly honoured because the son of the Tsadik, Rabbi Adam, had chosen to live among them.
Every day he went to the synagogue. There he encountered scholars, and holy men, and rabbis. He asked their names of them. But he did not meet with any one called Rabbi Israel, son of Rabbi Eleazer.
Often, when all the others had gone from the synagogue, Rabbi Adam's son remained studying the Torah. Then he noticed that the boy who served in the synagogue also remained there, he saw that the eyes of the boy were bright with inner knowledge, and that his face was strained with unworldly happiness.
Rabbi Adam's son went to the elders of the house of prayer and said to them, "Let me have a separate room in which to study. Perhaps I shall want to sleep
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there sometimes when I study late into the night. Then give me the boy Israel as a servant."
"Why has he chosen the boy Israel, who is a clod?" the elders asked.
Then they remembered that Israel was the son of Rabbi Eleazer. "He has chosen him to honour the memory of his father, Eleazer, who was a very holy man," they said.
When the boy came to serve him, the son of Rabbi Adam asked, "What is your name?"
"Israel, son of Eleazer."
The master watched the boy, and soon came to feel certain that this was indeed the Rabbi Israel whom he sought.