Wednesday, May 11, 2011

EAST OF THE MOUNTAIN

Then they were in another place. A hospital, I think it was. But not a hospital such as you would know. This was an older sort of place. There was a big room, like a long narrow excercise room, or a gymnasium. The floor was some kind of a smooth, shiny concrete. And white painted metal beds lined the walls. I would guess that the room was about fifty feet high. It had windows, long skinny ones, up near the top. They had no curtains, for there was no other light. Sarah and Jonathon walked down the center aisle, looking at the people in the beds. Women were there to take care of them. They brought them soup, or bread or maybe a little piece of halvah (sesame-honey candy). We heard Ukranian and German and Yiddish and Polish. I don't know. I think there were some other languages too. Maybe Gypsy? Maybe Hungarian? Romanian, I know, because it sounds like Italian. And I don't think I heard that. Maybe in another ward.

Sarah asked the rabbi. She said - What is this place?.........He said - This place? This place is a reception hall. They bring them here. The new ones I mean.........Are they dead? - inquirered Jonathon.....Dead, live, sick, healthy. What's the difference? - said the rabbi. They are in the spirit. Do you want to know that? Yes, they are in the spirit. And they need help. So we help them. Look at you. Look at you two. What are you? No, don't tell me. It does not matter. I can say to you that some of them are in comas. Some are tettering on the brink. What readers of worldly books call 'a near death experience.' Them, we send back. They're not supposed to remember - he smiled. But some go back with 'souvenirs.' The ones with comas, if we have the room, we let them in.

If this is heaven, why aren't things a bit more commodious? - asked Jonathon.......If this is heaven - said the rabbi, why do they have to be?...........So they walked and they looked. The hall went on and on. Some beds held men. Some held women. Some held children. And the nurses crooned sweet songs to them. They filled their  souls with tales of better times to come. They brought them beautiful flowers and gave them fragrant nectars to drink. Jonathon stopped and stared. He knew the woman in that bed. He knew her. And she knew him, for a loving smile slowly spread upon her care-worn face........Mama? - he whispered........Yoni, my Yoni - she said......He knelt to hug her and they cried.......

Sarah asked the rabbi how it was possible for Jonathon to encounter his mother in this place, when she had been dead for almost a thousand years. He told her not to bother herself with unimportant details like time. He told her that in this place one heartbeat was the same as an eon and twentyone forevers were equal to a sigh.....It happened that as this 'day' progressed, each of them celebrated reunion with loved ones. And all past problems were reconciled. But was  this the time for eternal reunion? No, it was not. So they parted for a while, secure in the knowledge that God never forgets......... As they left that blessed place, they witnessed something else. Certain individuals 'levitated' up through their covers, drifting toward the ceiling, until finally disappearing in a shaft of warm, gold light streaming in through the windows......They watched, transfixed. In anticipation of questions yet to come, the rabbi said - Do you know that moving picture so popular on Earth these days, the one with Jimmy Stewart? The one about a wonderful life?.......Yes - they said........But the old man just smiled, as he shuffled along and added - Well, everytime the light shines, a 'nephish' (soul) learns to fly.

Soon they were back in the dim, panelled study, seated at one end of the long, oaken table. The rabbi said - What did you learn here? What  did you learn from the reconciliation of the dead and the remembrance of your time as the Golem and your wonderful reunions?.......Jonathon inhaled and answered - I  don't know......But you do know - said the rabbi.....I'm not sure - said Jonathon.......This time, the spiritual teacher just gave him an indulgent look.....Jonathon went on - But it all seems so simple. Is it really that simple?.........The rabbi smiled at Sarah and said - He asks if it is simple. Do you think it's simple?......She nodded........The rabbi said - See? She knows....Love each other. Forgive past wrongs. For some of those you killed at the gates of the ghetto were young boys forced there by their fathers........Jonathon sighed............The rabbi said - That's what comes from building fences, the tragedy of hatered.. None were made to bear a yoke like that. Then he gave them each a kiss of benediction and led them to the door. He said a prayer and they left.......

As they walked through the narrow, winding, cobbled ghetto streets, Jonathon remarked - He never told us his name. Sarah attached little meaning to that. But as they approached a man coming toward them, Jonathon said - Excuse me, sir. What is the name of the rabbi in that synagogue?.....The man barely slowed down. But he answered - Aaron, his name is Aaron.....Then he turned and added - But he's not a rabbi.....Jonathon laughed. Sarah said - What's so funny?........He said - That blessing. That little thing he whispered when we left.....It's what the First Priest of Zion (mistakenly called 'high priest') always said...and it's called Aaron's prayer, after the first one so ordained....... She sqeezed his hand........

Suddenly the sheltering byways of the ghetto were gone. They were following a path leading down from a mountain in the northern part of Spain and  continuing  into the sunny meadow below.......eastward toward the rising sun...

.

JONATHON STEPS INTO THE BREECH

The old rabbi said - Would you like to continue, my boy?.......And Jonathon went on. He quietly explained - I remembered the blind hatred of the Crusaders. I saw what they did. They almost burned me alive. If it wasn't for 'Papa,' I'd be dust. Oh, I survived the fire (he looks around). A prayer house much like this one. But my lungs were gone. I could hardly breathe. If Johannan hadn't pushed me under the stone 'bima' (Scriptural reading table) I would have endured the flames...like all the others. You know, death in a fire, oblivion, does not always come quick. The heart continues to beat for quite a while. I did not want those of this city to face that. Now you must understand that as a traveller, these events could have transpired without my knowledge. True, I may have heard of them after the fact. But a wealthy, young Castilian gentleman, an 'hidalgo' (gentry or noble) frequents loftier surroundings. I had letters of credit forwarded to ranking Bohemian bankers. My English 'familiars' were worth every 'pound.' But my mind was not a purely human mind. And I felt things. I heard things. So I wandered into the ghetto  and the rougher environs nearby. That's how I learned of the massacre yet to come. That's how I found you, rabbi, the Maharal, the revered Biblical scholar of Prague, the man who verged on sainthood. You did not know I was there. Sometimes I'd sublimate through the walls while you were studying or planning a Sabbath sermon. It was late. It was always late....(the rabbi nodded).....I'd fade into the shadows and listen. To your mind, I mean. A vampire can do those things. I saw the tears. I knew your pain. You would never have attemped that. You would never have resorted to such quasi-Kabbalistic conjuring. ...(the rabbi is truly pained).....But what choice did you have? So the tragically comic ramblings of an ignorant eavesdropper, the spell of an idiot based on half remembered gossip took hold of you. I saw you shape that thing. I saw you dig the clay and mix the dust. I saw you search for the proper vellum and write the blessed letters. And I knew it had to work. So when the clay remained clay. When the dust remained dust, I stepped forward . Do you remember what I said?................You said, 'Fear not. Your petition has been heard. I am here to keep you safe.' I asked who sent you and you said Michael the Archangel. And............And what, rabbi? - said Jonathon........Then I fainted dead away - mumbled the graybeard.

The important men of the ghetto heard the good news. They dressed their heavenly-vampiric-golem-champion in the garments of a Maccabean (2nd century b.c.e. Judaen warrior) captain, the short kilt, the sleeveless tunic, the silver breastplate, a rolled head scarf round his brow. Quite dashing, I must say. and we disembodied spirits see a lot. Someone ran to fetch an old tarnished iron sword. They gave it to their newly minted defender. To Jonathon, I mean. But he put it down and said - I fight with other tools. Then they asked God to bless him yet again. I presume Michael the Archangel's recommendation was not good enough. Each man hid his family the best he could, picked up whatever was at hand (clubs, sticks, knives and the like) and formed 'ranks' behind their miraculous leader.

First they heard the rumbling. Then they heard the singing and laughing and cat calls and curses. Company was coming. Their neighbors were here to kill them. What a fitting end to a day of prayer and celebration. But prayer meant little to men like these and to be fair, even the true priests and bishops up in The Cathedral, spirited away all religious valuables, including themselves. God would decide. Let Him judge the outcome. Well maybe, after a fashion, He did.

The ghetto was sealed in. Strong, gray rocks formed the walls. But the gate was weak and the guards were gone to take their own positions among the rabble. CRASH! The old beams trembled. BOOM! The bands began to snap and break., as iron shards of shrapnal  found their rest in human flesh. ROAR! The rotted wood fell dead. And those valiant 'knights' in the rear took care not to trample their brethren, as they streamed in through the breech.

Fortyeight cubits hence, the ghetto defenders stood. Ready to do what? They did not know. Though none would turn. And Jonathon? Well, lets just say that a vampire's heart can race with the best of them. And then there was silence. The enemy stopped, the better to study their prey. Some of them grinned. Others laughed. What an easy chore this would be. A piece of streudl.. Men slowly inched forward. Knives were drawn. Jaws were set. The 'divinely ordained' action would take place.

A heartbeat later, Jonathon had an epiphany. He remembered. A gutteral growl came up from his chest, as he raced toward them and SUBLIMATED into their midst. Now when a vampire transforms into that nebulous state, his 'particles of being' slice into living tissue  with a keenness like razors. And bloody pulp rained down into the dirt. Those yet untouched saw this. They pointed and pushed in a mad sramble, attempteing to fall   back. Some escaped. Many  did not. And the ghetto was left unmolested. Those in the marketplace whispered of what transpired. Men in the taverns drank in silence. But people in the narrow, winding streets of this  formerly defenseless quarter remembered and the legend of the Golem was born.

Funny, but when you think about it, Jonathon's original family name was ben Macabi, son of the Maccabees. The uniform was right. And if he had not been there, if this vampire had not stepped into the breech, the families that gave rise to Einstein and to Mahler and to Heine and yes, even to Wagner too,  would havve disappeared. Strange when you think about it like that...........

Yet what is the lesson in all of this? Look, you,ve been reading long enough. Go eat a cookie. Have a cold drink. We'll meet again (God willing) tomorrow..........