KADEEMA AND LORENZO

Not all of Europe is thickly populated. There are isolated empty stretches. The coasts and major river valleys hold all the people. The mountains, except for some tre-chic ski resorts, or Swiss money repositories echo with the keening of the wind. And who listens to this mournful wail? Well, in this particular valley, Kadeema and Lorenzo do. Let me tell you something about them. True, they are vampires, although unlike any you've  met so far. These two are 'noxious' and vile in every way. Lorenzo, the male, was buried 'alive.' Yes, he was a brand new vampire when it happened, but he did not know that. An English tourist, much enamored with alpine fauna found him in a lonely hostel, plied him with flagon after flagon of home-grown ale and lured him out into the night for a lung-ful of cool, crisp air, the better to clear their heads.  I suppose the freshest bit of atmosphere hovered  over a nearby copse. For they found themselves hidden deep  within its shadows. Now tourists are a funny breed and Anglo-Saxon ones even funnier. Lorenzo was (then) a fine, true Catholic boy and adverse  to foreign games. Yet this cold-skinned English dandy played a different, new charade. What could he call this strange divertisement, the cannibal and the explorer? The fox and the chicken?  This fool wanted to bite his neck! Lorenzo cursed. He shoved him. The man came back. He yelled. He punched him. But the man only laughed. And then he was lost, trapped in arms like iron, as the cursed creature broke the skin. A thin red trickle issued forth. The Englishman chuckled and lapped it up. He whispered something. But  in English . Lorenzo failed to understand and shuddered, as the warm breath tickled his ear. The man cut deeper, releasing a thick, hot rush. Lorenzo swooned. The night-guest drank in up. But now our young, Piedmontese floated, caught between the heavens and the earth. His body not yet resigned to death. His soul still fearful of the flight. In short, the perfect resting place for a vampire-yet-to-be. And the strange Englishman knew this. He pushed up his sleeve, biting down into hiw own forearm. Lorenzo inhaled a puzzling new aroma, blood, but not blood. This was something sweet. This was something hot. This was life and danger and death and resurrection. And this was his. He grabbed the arm and drew it in. He couldn't stop. He wanted it all, this drug, this absinth, this elixir of life. Heartbeats raced by. Then more heartbeats and then...it was over. The English vampire kicked him away, turned 'round and ran. Lorenzo leapt after him. He shouted. He yelled for the man to wait. He begged. He pleaded - What is this? Who are you? What am I?......And only one word drifted back - Dead...... The night-guest was gone and he was all alone, crying in the dark. Did he walk? Did he fly? Did he sublimate? Who could tell. But he found himself lying all curled up on the rough floor of a narrow, twisting cave. Then he fell asleep, lulled by the songs of dark-winged angels singing deep within the earth.

Some new vampires take to things right away. Others float in a coma-like state, waiting for their body to adapt. Lorenzo was of the second sort and still sleeping when the shepherds found him early next morning. Simple and conservative, as they who tend the flocks usually  are, they immediately recognized him for what he was. The whiteness of his flesh. The brutal, though completely healed scars upon his throat (which would soon smooth out and disappear after the shedding of the skin). Vampeer!!- they cried and ran to find the priest. Thirtyfive minutes later, they returned dragging a stout, strong dead-box and a cask full of chains. Two condemned men, freed from jail for just that purpose,  helped bind him in the tempered links and stuffed him in the fire-hardened box. They hammered in the nails, thick, black, strong ones, worthy for The Cross.

Fortyeight hours later, Lorenzo awoke, buried  under eighteen feet of hard-packed clay and awash in the gore of his own splitting skin. The darkness? You have never seen darkness like that. The silence? Stiller than ten thousand tombs. His screams heard only by vermin. His prayers heard only by the dirt. His struggle just begun.....Oh, wait. I was going to tell you about Kadeema too.....Yet even spirits grow weary. Molest me not til the morrow. Perhaps I shall speak with you then.............

MOVIE TRAILERS OF HORRORS YET TO COME

this is not johannan. I am another soul. the state of my salvation is none of your concern. you may like to absorb what I say. the old world is different than your candy flavored nation. our history is real history. yes, yes, yes, I know you have 'old' cities. I know all about philadelphia and the aztecs and beverly hills. so do not think I am a stupid. If you do I will see that you suffer. and I am very proficient at that. I came to share information. I came to tell you of the noxious ones. you have not met them yet. so forget about these matinee idols. forget about their luscious, pampered whores. I spit on them. If I had hands to grasp a bull whip, I would whip them all to death. I would whip them til the air was sprayed with blood. And then, if I had feet, I  would dance. Just like the Wham-O Slip and Slide it would be. Ooh, I love de American toys.

but the noxious ones, what makes them so? what makes them wild and  real  and  visceral? oh, come on. do not make me have to kill you now. there are those I could call.  you do not want to hear the quiet knock.  but why is a wolf different than a pomeranian, or a leopard fiercer than a sleek, soft siamese? do we have time ? no, we do not. but I will tell you what I can. how joyful would you be, had your dam dropped you in the woods? how would you look if you had to scrach and fight and claw for every scrap of food? hide from the scortching sun deep within the bowels of a dead and bloated horse. imagine the tomb. contemplate the silence of the grave.. a new vampire, a novice, ignorant of life-eater ways. bound in chains and bundled in a coffin. thrown into the Earth and buried in the clay. would it take you hours to break free, or days? and what about your mind, or what was left of it, how pretty would the dreams inside it be? hate would be your blood and death would be your food. Revenge would be your soul and the cold, dark, lonely places your only grudging refuge........the footstep in the forest. the laughter on the moor. a stranger to the world of men. the scratch upon the door......you know what they are?.....they are to the noble vampires what that breed is to squealing, panty-clad  sorority girls........get ready for the fight..........a spiritual 'boy' and his equally innocent wifey-kins, on pilgrimage to far judea?...what chance do they have? oh, God who rules the Universe, what help will you provide?

'LIFE' is LIFE

Annie's been wanting to go to Disney World. But Papa and 'mama' vampire (Luna, I mean) are not about to do that. So they compromised and took her to Dave & Busters. Not that they were gonna stuff her up with cheese burgers and chicken fingers. And when a friendly staffer noticed they weren't eating, 'Mama' smiled her most selfcentered version of a sincere smile and said - Oh, no, ..peanut allergies. Papa quickly added - We just come for your great games!.....He showed that staffer a cup filled with tokens (probably fifty bucks worth), so she was all happy. You know the type, bucking for an assistant managership, or somethin'.

They played skee-ball and whack-a-mole and some shoot the ducks game. The little 'six' year old vampire shit head won a few coupons. She traded 'em in for a plastic water pistol and a pack a 'sea monkeys.' Only when they got home and added water, she threw a coniption fit 'cause they didn't look like no monkeys to her. So Papa called her an ungrateful, troubled child. But Edith didn't like that, because she knew what Annie could do. And they don't need no cheap-suited bitch from Department of 'Human' Services comin' 'round, wiping the spit from the corners of her mouth while she's givin' them the fish eye. So Luna gave her a 'C' note to keep her quiet. Annie said she wanted two of 'em. Papa crumpled up the second one and threw it at her. But she didn't care. She just scooped it up and ran away. Locked herself in her sleeping cabinet downstairs. She's got a mess a fashion magazines from the CVS thrown all over the place and a bunch a free pens one a the Red Paint guys gets at the bank. Little whats'is uses the pens like knives to X out all the eyes and fancy boobies in them glossy pages. Who they gonna take her too? You don't happen to know of any vampire-child head shrinkers do ya? They try to get her to mix in with the elves, only they don't want no parts of her. Them cherubs cry when she comes 'round. Edith says she pinches 'em. Nobody knows what to do. Baylah comes by when she's not runnin' to the shore. Takes her into Center City. Buys her new sneakers, some black, tight whorey lookin' outfits for them Barbies, maybe a couple aroma candles. That works for a few hours. Over thirty thousand years (total) a vampire 'abbra-ka-whoosis'  at our disposal and this all we can do. It is pitifull.

Now they're lookin' for some regular child psychologist who maybe got converted  to vampirism. wilkravitz thought he found one on the computer. But it turned out to be some whack job eleven year old with  a colorful assortment of  her own problems. Annie got all excited. Wanted to go meet her. Wanted to go kill her is what she did. So we're still lookin'. It is hard. Apparently you won't find too many of 'em advertising in the Philadelphia Magazine. Maybe we will have to look in some other publication.

Evelyn from next door still snoops around. But a little squirt a vampire blood every now and then takes care a her. Cleared up her adult onset acne pretty good. Oughta be happy 'bout that.

Ooh, before I forget. Papa knows what's happening over in the old world. He can feel it. He can see it. Even knows what went on in that 'Other Place.' What, you think in twentyeight thousand years he ain't never been no where? Nothing is new to him. Sure he misses 'em. Jonathon really is the same thing as a son to him. So I guess he just looks at this as his son's semester overseas. They'll be back. Maybe bring him some a them nice cashmere scarves they sell over in Italy. They oughta be headin'  that way soon anyway. Better stay away from them 'noxious' types. You know who they are? Kinda like them hissy-faced, nasty, trifflin' muthas  you see on TV. Look like they escaped from some vampire ghetto somewhere. Shit, when will people learn?..........

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..........

BOHEMIAN RAPSODY

I am so tired. I want to sit in front of the television and doze. It is me, wilkravitz. And I do not even know who is scurrying through my neurons. I cannot tell you who is squatting in my skull. But I will enscribe their tale. Hopefully, they will talk fast. And I will yet be able to nod off during The Larry David Show..

Jonathon and Sarah sat in an old dark study. Two or three sputtering candlles gave out a weak, none to steady light. The old man with the gray beard, the rabbi, was with them. He smiled indulgently to see a female at his table, even a vampire female. But he shook his head  said a prayer and began to speak. ... He said - Those around us were cruel back then, very cruel. It was no crime to kill one of our children, or defile any of our women or to destroy and mutilate the men. But the rulers of the city usually protected us. Not because they felt spiritually compelled to do so, but rather because we paid taxes. Why burn your own fields? Only this timme it was different. Occasional murders we were used to. Strangled toddlers, disemboweled mothers...We endured and we went on. Yet this individual lived for death. Not just any death. Our death. He commandeered a church. Was he a priest? Some said so. He claimed to be. Yet no proof was ever forthcoming. And he drew many followers. They rallied around, cheering every speech and spitting with red hot rage.

Now life was complicated...complicated for everyone. The Turks were on the march. Old Serbia fell. The lands of the Hellenes were absorbed. And storied Budapest kneeled at the foot oof the Purple Throne. Courtiers of the sultan were everywhere. And the word from Istanbul...was 'the word.'..We expected to be invaded at any time.. People were nervous. How could Bohemia prevail against such a foe? Would we (or those of us permitted to bear arms) die in battle?  Does slavery await us? You know many were kidnapped and sold off to the East over the cennturies. Many...countless. Fear gnawed at every heart. All felt helpless...And we of the ghetto were most helpless of all. Some of us did look to the Turks for salvation. They took in refugees from Inquisitional Spain and P:ortugal  after all. Both communities could agree on the Allah Ahkbar...the part about who was and who was not a thoroughly credentialed Heavenly spokesman was a bit problematic...But we could live with that. Their dietary laws and Sabbath customs were also quite familiar. The Land of Israel was in Ottoman hands, yet the Holy Ciity of Safed was thriving. But God would decide. We lived in Prague. And we loved this place.

Still, the misguided 'priest' did not love us. He blamed us for the Turks. He blamed us for the Hapsburg tax collectors. He blamed us for his sharp-tongued, cross eyed sister. And he rallied the coarser element against us. Not a difficult task, to be sure. But he built things to a fever pitch...We had 'money.' They could righteously grab it. We had homes and livelyhoods. They would confiscate them. We had lives. They would crush them. And God would bless them. And that would be the end of it. Isolated perversions had already begun, when we learned of their true plans. A huge massacre, to coincide with their spring Resurrection  Festival. Where could we hide? Nowhere. Who would help us? No one. Even if we did barricade ourselves into the cellars, they'd burn everything anyway. Well, no more killings. No more human torches. I'd heard testamony from survivors of the Chmelnitzki Raids in 'Little Russia.' The same would not befall us here. So I went to work. I 'created' a champion. I shaped and contructed a 'superman' if you will.

How did I know this thing? There was a man, latelly returned from the mystical towns of The Galilee (where Safed is). He was an unlearned sort, but his dealings in those places brought him into contact with true disciples of the Kabbalah, the Road of The Righteous, a traveller' guide into the very heart of God. Yet what he overheard and who he heard it from, I do not know. Was it truth, or was it something else? What did I care? I was desperate. The choice was mine.

So I fashioned a figure, a large figure in the shape of a hulking brute. I used the clay of the Earth and the dust of the field and I made it. Then I said the prayers. I wrote the word. I wrote the most sacred Name of The Lord upon a small piece of parchment, upon a small portion of lambskin. and I pressed it into the figure's mouth. I fed it to the golem (unformed one). After that I stepped back, waiting for him to quicken....But he did not quicken.......The old rabbi fell silent, his eyes resting on Jonathon.....The 'young'  Spanish vampire cleared his throat and took up the thread.....

No, in a manner of speaking he did not. - Jonathon said. But I did. For at that instant, I stepped out of the shadows, a co-religionist of sorts. And I offered you my assistance........Tears dripped from the rabbi's eyes, as the vampire went on.......The blessed magic did work.- he whispered. You said prayers and God sent me...

Did you help him? - asked Sarah.......Yes, - he said.......Did you kill for him?..... He just nodded......And the three souls in the dim study in the Prague which was not Prague, sat there in silence.........

THE GREAT IMPERIAL CITY OF PRAGUE

The life-eater couple left the warm room with the velvet chairs. They had eaten well. Human fare, mortal human fare. And it still tasted good. Jonathon had not so indulged for almost one thousand years. For Sarah the time was shorter. As they walked through the streets of this Other Worldly city, the buildings took on a rich, golden hue and the rooftops all shone red with natural, baked clay tiles. Fine, black iron lamp posts punctualed the gloaming with nebulous clouds of light. Music flowed out from the dwellings. And ornate broughams pulled by matching white horses progressed along the thoroughfares. Then, bit by bit, their physical bodies began to evaporate, til they were naught but moonbeams dancing in the night. Did this thing scare them? No, it felt quite natural. They were still together. They could still communicate. And if the vehicle for their thoughts was more ephemeral than before, the clarity of the conversation, never the less, improved. They spoke soul to soul and that was very pleasant indeed.

Jonathon said - I know this place. I was here........Where are we? - asked Sarah.......In the great, imperial, Hapsburg City of Prague. - said her companion.......She asked if this was the real Prague, or just a spiritual fabrication.....Jonathon laughed and said - I will find out.....So he called to a passing coachman, who saw nothing strange in responding to a disembodied spirit. And when that spirit inquired as to the provenance of the place, just laughed and said - Does it matter?.....The two ghostly life-eaters realized that it did not. They continued on their way...passed a church with a choir chanting beautiful songs....passed a palace lit for a ball...passed a pair of lovers kissing in the shadows...and a tiny tribe of pigeons nibbling pumpernickle crumbs from the cobbles. The streets grew narrow. The path more twisting. The sights more ancient, in a moldering, charming way. And then Jonathon stopped. For he saw it straight ahead, the dark stone Alt-Neu Schule. The Old-New School, the venerable synagogue of Bohemian Jews, a faithful bastion of belief..

He whispered, or rather his soul did, - It was just a genertation or two before my crossing to the New World, an excursion made from London, a chance to clear my head of all that frou-frou Restoration (or practically Restoration) nonsense. For yappy lap dogs and shoulder length wigs of persian lamb can grow exceedingly tiresome. So I drifted over here and learned important things.

The heavy oak door to this place of prayer cracked open, allowing a thin, trickle of light to flicker out beyond. A man stood in the entrance, an old man with a gray beard. He held a square, glass and copper lantern and wore the black robes (such as a judge might wear) of the Hebrew  clergy, his head covered by a dark, satin prayer cap.....And who is that man? - asked Sarah. Did you learn anything from him?.....Yes, I did. - said Jonathon. That worthy, old rabbi  taught me a lot.......

If you are unaccustomed to these tales, search out histories of the Golem. For we venture into Kabbalistic waters and there are certain things you must know.....Go on. I'll wait. You won't get lost.............