Herbst knew the story, and Sacharson had added nothing to it, except for his drone. He told it as if chanting a sacred text. From the moment Sacharson latched onto him, Herbst was irritated. Now his irritation was compounded. At a time when there are so many victims, singling out one to mourn ignores the common plight. As for the brother who converted, his decision probably had very little to do with a quest for God. So why did he do it? To change his circumstances, because he was having a hard time. He was sick of it and began to cast about for alternatives. Whatever it was that he lacked seemed to exist in those other settings. He began to compare his own situation with what they offered. Meanwhile, he found an opening there, went in, and never came out. You want to know if his new faith was a success. Even if he tells you he’s happy, if you look at his face, it’s obvious that he’s dejected. Perhaps because his new faith requires that he believe what he doubted to begin with, and now he is lost in both worlds. Near the train tracks, in Lower Baka, Herbst used to see a sign with the names of two doctors, a husband and wife. He was in general practice, she was a gynecologist, and they had a Jewish name. One day, he noticed that a Christian name had replaced theirs. Several days later, he happened to be at Bamberger and Wahrmann, where he found some books with those two doctors’ bookplate, giving the name he had seen on their sign before it was changed. Bamberger told him he had bought the books from an Orthodox doctor who came from Frankfurt, that he and his wife had converted and purged their household of all Jewish books. If they had not been forced to leave their homeland, they would have lived their lives as Jews. They might have become leaders of the community. But, since they were uprooted and unable to thrive in the new environment, their spirits were low, their minds vulnerable, their hearts despondent. When the riots broke out and there were so many casualties, they began to have second thoughts about their Jewishness, which seemed to be a constant source of trouble. Because they were Jews, they had to leave Germany; and, because they were Jews, they were being persecuted in the Land of Israel. They finally said, “We don’t need all this trouble,” and converted, since being Jewish was merely a matter of religion to them. We have learned from Sacharson’s experience that their Arab neighbors won’t necessarily make a distinction between them and other Jews.
Sacharson felt sorry for himself as well as Herbst, since they had almost been killed together. He said to Herbst, “Dear sir and brother, come home with me, and let’s sit together and reflect on what happened to us, so we can recover from the shock. I said ‘recover from the shock,’ when I really should have said ‘thank, praise, celebrate the One who wrought a great miracle and saved us from death, keeping us alive so we would be grateful to His name.’ I am bowed by sin and don’t deserve to recognize the full glory of the miracle. My Creator has allowed me merely the privilege of noting it, nothing more. It seems to me, brother, neighbor, that I’m not asking too much of you. Come home with me, and we’ll sit for a while. Then you can go home with a tranquil heart and a joyous soul.” Herbst remained silent. He didn’t answer. Sacharson changed his tone and said, “If you come in, Mr. Teacher, I can return the Baedeker. You were asking for it. I don’t need it any longer. That sort of guide, made out of paper and words, is not what I need.” Sacharson’s face was distorted by pride and disdain. He feels the sting of my words; a guide made out of paper and words — that’s what I told him. Paper and words. He knows, that stuffy academic knows just what I mean. As long as he doesn’t convert, any Jew, even one who violates all of their strictures, is, nonetheless, a pharisee. Herbst shrugged his shoulders and said, “There’s time for that tomorrow.” Sacharson sighed and said, “How many years have we been neighbors, yet I haven’t had the privilege of seeing Dr. Herbst cross my threshold. Neither he nor Mrs. Herbst, nor the two young ladies. Even now, when our lifeblood came so close to being mixed, even now Mr. Herbst refuses to come into my house. But I have nothing against Mr. Herbst, and I am sincere in wishing you, my dear Mr. Herbst, a good night. Good night, Mr. Herbst. I’ll send over the Baedeker tomorrow.”
When they had taken leave of each other, Herbst turned back and said to him, “Just one word, Mr. Sacharson. Please don’t say anything to my wife about what happened. No need for her to know I was in danger. There is a further reason to forget the matter. Mrs. Herbst has invested her youth in the house we live in and in the garden she has planted. If she hears what happened to me, she won’t rest until we move, though she’ll never find a place like this one. It would be hard for me to move as well. It’s not easy, Mr. Sacharson, to transport more than three thousand volumes. You can understand, Mr. Sacharson, why I’m asking you to conceal the incident from my wife. Actually, it is something that happens in these times, nothing more than an event that never took place. Isn’t that so, Mr. Sacharson?” Sacharson nodded in silence. At this point, Sacharson was content to be silent and to allow Herbst to be the one to leave, albeit without an answer. Sacharson didn’t report what had happened, and Herbst tried to avoid thinking about it. Whether or not he was successful, he never spoke of it.
Chapter sixteen
Zahara came, and Avraham-and-a-half was with her. We knew Zahara had found a mate, but we didn’t know who he was, for events had given us pause to question whether, in the interim, some other kvutza member might have claimed Zahara’s heart. Now that she had come with Avraham-and-a-half and was pregnant by him, there was no room for doubt, and the impression that Avraham-and-a-half was indeed her mate was confirmed.
Father Manfred sees, but doesn’t grasp, that little Zahara is a fullblown woman; not merely a woman, but halfway to motherhood. Having barely become accustomed to the fact that she was growing up, he now has to see her as a woman about to be a mother. What did Zahara do, and why did she do it? Such a charming little one, her father’s pet… She has shed all her graces and become a woman like the others.
Father Manfred sits talking to his daughter, as always. But in the course of conversation he notes that his voice is different; something is missing, and something else has been introduced. This is true of her voice as well. Where is the lilt that used to be so refreshing? He had a daughter once, who belonged entirely to him, but someone came and took her away.
Father Manfred sits and talks to his daughter, thinking to himself: How did this transformation occur? It had nothing to do with him, that was certain. It took place before he became aware of it. Father Manfred smoothed his temples. He smoothed them again, thinking to himself: First I smoothed my temples unconsciously; I smoothed them again, deliberately. He looked directly at Zahara to see if she was responding to the message. She hadn’t even noticed that her father had smoothed his temples twice. Father Manfred was accustomed to having Zahara question everything he did in her presence. He had just now smoothed his temples twice, and she hadn’t reacted.