“The Tsar again set out for Moscow.
“He left his native Peterhof, waved goodbye to the Tsarevna and the Tsaritsa, went on his white horse Roman — the noble Romanov on the noble Roman, an English thoroughbred with a university degree in equitation.
“None of us sitting here has ever sat so high as did Nicholas, this Tsar of Romanov descent.
“Friends, that’s called riding your high horse.
“Nicholas arrived at Moscow, avoiding the dive in which he’d met Aaron. He wasn’t in disguise. Instead, he headed with his entourage to the barracks for an inspection.
“And believe me, it was thorough, the Tsarist inspection.
“He made the whole garrison stand in line. He cracked his moustache like a cat-o-nine-tails, and eagle-eyed any breach of discipline in a soldier’s uniform or gear, making to immediately harass the offender.
“Until he approached our Aaron. Next to Aaron stood Moshe, whose tunic was missing a button.
“He’d given it to Rebecca the day before. ‘Rebecca, I know how much you like to unbutton them. Here you are, one as a keepsake,’ he’d told her.
“But the Tsar had little understanding for either Moshe or Rebecca. ‘Button, button, button!’ he roared as other people might roar: ‘Help, help, help!!’ or ‘Murder, murder, murderrr!!!’ Well, as if a whole war would depend on a button. Tsar Nicholas, with malice in his eyes, turned to Aaron and commanded him: ‘Soldier, chastise this private whose button is missing. Unsheathe your saber and stab him!’
“Yes, the absolutist emperor behaved just like this.
“None of his subjects would have had the courage to say a word. They wouldn’t have had the pluck to utter their own names, to babble even a letter. They all simply shut up. Luckily, Aaron immediately recognized the Tsar as the unknown drunkard; needless to say, he knew which way the wind was blowing.
“He’d had enough presence of mind before the arrival of the inspection to have made a wooden replica of the saber, which was sheathed in his scabbard.
“To the eye it looked like a fine sword and real enough, but he wouldn’t be able to kill with it, even if he’d wanted to. Poor Moshe didn’t know this; sweat trickled down his forehead. He thought he’d be killed for the sake of a stupid button.
“ ‘Allow me to speak, Your Majesty,’ Aaron said as he clicked his heels.
“ ‘Speak, soldier,’ Nicholas replied benevolently, with the sneer of a smile.
“ ‘I’ll unsheathe the saber and kill, as you command, Excellency, but only if Private Moshe is truly guilty. If he is innocent, let this saber of Kuban steel transform into wood!’ As he finished his speech, he unsheathed his wooden saber and poked a petrified Moshe in the chest.
“Moshe stared. A miracle! The saber didn’t pierce the flesh he was in the habit of nourishing, or the skin he often risked, but more often brought to Miss Rebecca, who clung to it as if she were a scented ointment.
“ ‘Haha, pierce me, brother, stab me, kill me, ha ha ha, I’m innocent,’ Moshe screamed, then danced the saber dance around Aaron, who couldn’t restrain himself and began to laugh along with him.
“Soon, the whole garrison was laughing, too.
“Even the Batushka Tsar himself was laughing.
“The horse Roman, he gave a whinny!
“ ‘Well, you amused me, soldier,’ the Tsar said to Aaron in private. ‘I forgive you the saber.’
“ ‘But tell me, since you’re so clever — would you like to become commander-in-chief of my army?
“ ‘I need skilled people. My generals have grown stupid from vodka, whores and gluttony. You with your cunning will lead my army to victory.’
“Aaron didn’t waver. Should he controvert the Tsar and tempt his patience yet again?
“No, what got him off once won’t get him off again.
“He accepted the Tsar’s offer.
“He opted for an army career.
“ ‘But tell me,’ the Tsar asked again, ‘what an odd name you have — Aaron — it’s not an Orthodox name.’
“ ‘No, it isn’t, Your Excellency,’ answered Aaron, ‘it’s Jewish.’
“ ‘A damn shame, boy, the popes christen our weapons; the highest patriarch of the Orthodox Church will bless you — you can’t be a Jew and at the same time command the Tsar’s army. Can you renounce your Judaism, change your name and be christened, my boy?’
“ ‘Yes, Your High Excellency,’ answered Aaron. ‘I have nothing left of my Judaism save the name given to me by my mother. I was not raised in the Jewish faith or with its customs; indeed, to be a Jew means nothing to me. There is nothing easier than to renounce something that is nothing — and actually less than nothing, because I’m at least conscious of nothing, but this I’ve never been conscious of. I’ll be your Ivan, Batushka, your commander-in-chief of the armed forces, your Russian, your Orthodox.’
“ ‘That’s what I call a speech, Soldier Ivan,’ the Tsar rejoiced, embracing the future convert.
“ ‘I still have some things to take care of here, Ivan,’ the Tsar informed Aaron, ‘but you’ll go to Petersburg with my safe-conduct. I will write to the Patriarch regarding your conversion and by the time I come to see you again, you’ll be a real Russian — just like my horse Roman.
“ ‘Yes, he was formerly an English thoroughbred, but today? Real Romanov. Well, aren’t I right?’
“The English thoroughbred gave a neigh.
“And so the carriage of the Batushka Tsar himself drove Aaron to Petersburg — originally a circumcised boy dragged into the army cadet school, a smart young man today, a future commander-in-chief of the army, which defeated even Napoleon.
“ ‘What’s it to me, this being a Jew?’ Aaron thought.
“ ‘Nothing, nothing, nothing at all… I don’t know the customs of my people; I don’t know what makes them suffer, what makes them laugh, what gives them consolation in their despair! I don’t know the language my mother used to sing to me in. I don’t know by whose hand my father perished. Did he have payos — was he Samson or a moneylender?
“ ‘O, such indifference.
“ ‘Where are my roots? Everything I know I learned at the cadet school of the Tsar — I’ve been invited to the heights by the Tsar and his God.
“ ‘What is Yahweh, that strict old Father, to me?
“ ‘In Mexico, it is said, in a desert grows a plant that doesn’t have roots — where to look for sustenance in the sand, anyway? And so the plant has its roots in the air. From the air, it takes everything it needs. And the wind, which races over the sand, blows this plant without roots from place to place.
“ ‘This is me! A plant in Mexico.
“ ‘So I, chased by the wind, can drive in the carriage of the Tsar from Moscow to Petersburg, and I can transform the steel saber into wood, and I can command the corps, too — me, who yearns only for peace…’
“And suddenly the carriage passed over the bridge over the Volga and the God of the Jews, the God Yahweh, saw his son jumping out of the carriage, jumping over the railing of the bridge and disappearing into the wide stream.
“ ‘Such is a Jew. He doesn’t have to know he is a Jew until someone takes from him that which is hidden. Which is what? Small but firm roots in the heart,’ ” Rabbi Glick finished, then looked right at me.
“I quivered. Ráchel Šmidtová translated. Then even she looked at me. It was a translated look. Actually, her look was more than that, gentlemen — hers was the look of a woman.
“ ‘What is hidden within?’ I asked myself with caught breath.
“She revealed it. She unlocked me. She undid my buttons one after another like Rebecca from the legend. And only when I was standing before her naked did she catch sight of that that was hidden.