Wechsler barely had time to open the door from outside and already he was closing it from inside. His arms dangled, his face was agitated, his glasses were at an angle — the left lens high and the right one low, or the reverse. He himself was also agitated. He was never a relaxed person, and that night he had a special reason. Bihlul’s Grammar was the alleged reason, but really it was because of his compassion. Professor Wechsler, as you know, was not excited by books. He was content with the files I have already mentioned. If I haven’t already mentioned them, I am ready to do so now. Apart from those files, he had several reference books and several dictionaries, among them Bihlul’s Grammar. Sitting there for a thousand and one years, Bihlul was never disturbed by Wechsler. Nor was Wechsler disturbed by Bihlul. All of a sudden Hitler appeared, confusing everyone, most of all us. Those who could, escaped from Hitler’s land and came to the Land of Israel. Wechsler was occupied with his own affairs, as usual — sorting amulets, seals, and family emblems; making files for each object — leaving Hitler to kill, the Jews to deliver themselves. Now we get to the heart of the matter. Those who maintain that politics is one realm and scholarship another — that a scholar can withdraw from the events of the world and concentrate on his research — don’t know how things work. Whether the scholar is willing or not, he becomes involved. If he doesn’t involve himself, others involve him. I will offer one example out of many. Many of those exiled because of Hitler came to Jerusalem. Those who brought money were well off, while those who came with a craft were sometimes well off, sometimes not. I can’t say that a rich man is well off wherever he goes, because everyone pursues his money. But a craftsman has to pursue potential employers. Just such a craftsman came from Germany or Austria, perhaps Czechoslovakia — can one mention all the countries conquered by Hitler? So, this craftsman came to Wechsler and told him, “I am a bookbinder. Surely the professor has some books that need to be rebound?” Wechsler was filled with compassion for this man, compelled by fate to search for work. There was another reason, which you may already know. In his childhood, Wechsler had been sort of a bookbinder, and he had destroyed more than one pair of shoes to get leather for a binding. If not for his mother’s ambitions, he probably would have become a bookbinder rather than a professor, and he probably would be like this man who was searching for work. So his heart went out to him, and he took about half a meter of books and handed them over to be rebound without even looking to see what they were. After the bookbinder left, Wechsler had second thoughts and realized he had behaved rashly, allowing his emotions to prevail over his good sense and ordering bindings for books that didn’t need them. He tried to remember which books he had given out. He thought of one, of another, and finally of Bihlul’s Grammar. He realized that he needed that particular book. He decided to borrow a Bihlul from Ernst Weltfremdt. On the way, he thought to himself: When Weltfremdt lends a book, he expects it back in three weeks. Actually, he had only one word to look up in Bihlul, but he hated any transaction that was conditional. So, instead of borrowing Weltfremdt’s Bihlul, he went to borrow a Bihlul from Herbst.
Herbst brought him his Bihlul. Wechsler said to him, “You’ve earned my envy. When I need Bihlul, I search through half of Jerusalem without finding it. When you need it, you come up with it instantly. Furthermore, your Bihlul is torn and tattered, and you haven’t sent it to the binder, whereas my Bihlul is good as new, yet I sent it to be rebound. I’ll go now.” Wechsler barely had time to open the door from inside and already he was closing it from outside.
Wechsler never lingered anywhere longer than his business required. Since that amulet fell into his hands, he was even more careful not to waste time on conversation, though it is more useful than thinking. If so, why did he run off? We know only too well the limits of scholarship and that new discoveries are not made every day. If Taglicht and Herbst do discover something new, it would be best for the two of them to clarify it together, and in a day or so we will have word of it. Then we will copy what we hear from them and file it away.
Having mentioned Wechsler, let me mention a few things about his history. His father was from Bessarabia. He was employed by the baron and ought to have educated his son in Paris, as everyone else did, but Leonid was educated in Germany. His mother came into an inheritance in Germany and went to collect it, taking her small son along to present him to her family.
When she came to Germany, she learned that her father’s will, which favored her — a stepdaughter born to his second wife during her first marriage — was being contested by his sons and daughters. She saw that the court was not likely to reach a swift verdict and enrolled Leonid in a German school, so he wouldn’t be idle.
The case dragged on. She hired other consultants and lawyers whose conduct was like that of their predecessors, which is to say that, except for a slight shift in reasoning and argument, the later round behaved much like the earlier one. Every month her husband sent money for living expenses, as well as legal fees, and once a year, during vacation, she would visit her husband briefly, taking her son along, so he wouldn’t forget his father.
Back to the subject I began in the preceding paragraph. The case dragged on. Leonid did well. He advanced from class to class, from elementary school to secondary school, from secondary school to the university. Too bad about his father, who died in the meantime and didn’t live to see his son grow up. And too bad about the mother, whose resources dwindled, for, after her husband’s death, she no longer had an income.
As her income declined, so did her appearance. She was no longer the Zenia Wechsler who wore a different outfit every day, with a thin chain of precious jewels adorning her graceful neck, which was without a trace of a wrinkle. Now the wrinkles were everywhere. Her face was prematurely wrinkled, her soul even more so, because of the anguish of the lawsuit. And, if not for her son, who was about to receive his degree, she would have been lost in grief.
Not many relatives remained. Some had left the land of the living; some had left the land of Germany to seek a life in those countries where it was still possible for Jews to live. She had only one relative in Germany, and he, too, was planning to leave.
When he parted from her, he said, “Go back to your home while you can still afford the trip. Your stepfather’s children are obstinate. You’re worn out and no longer have the strength to fight. It’s not only love of money but hostility to the woman who took their mother’s place that drives them to prevent you, at all costs, from getting a cent of their father’s. The lawyers will extract your last penny, and you’ll find yourself in an alien land, alone, without support.”
She took these words to heart, having suffered from the case, and settled with her stepfather’s legal heirs. She got what she got and didn’t listen to the lawyers, who said, “Be patient and see what we do to your adversaries.” At this point she went to the Land of Israel, and Leonid stayed in Germany to finish his doctoral work.
When he received his doctorate, he too went to the Land of Israel. The country did well by him, and he was appointed a research member or lecturer at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Shortly thereafter, he was promoted to associate professor. When his name became known in the world on account of the amulet he discovered, he was made a full professor. A country whose gifts are carefully calculated can also be generous. So it was in the case of Wechsler and the amulet. Were it not for this amulet, he would still be low-level professor, with only his name, rank, and salary to speak for him.