Sunday afternoon on a hot summer day, Josef was playing with Anna and Lotti, daughters of his mother’s friend who lived near their house. Lotti was a bit younger than he was and Anna a couple of years older. They seemed to Josef rather silly, always wanting to play house. Anna was usually the mother, and he was cast in multiple roles: father, older brother of Lotti, infirm uncle, or soldier returning from battle. Today he was the uncle, and the girls practiced their nursing skills. They made him a potion by crushing nettles and red currants together and brewing tea from the mixture. It tasted horrible. Once the cure was complete and their play ended, the children sat down to eat soft, warm buns, freshly baked by the girls’ mother. After eating four of them, Josef thought he’d better go home to supper.
It was nearly dark but still sultry when Josef entered the courtyard of his house. As he climbed the stairs he heard some odd sounds, like bumping and scuffling. He ran up the last few steps and pushed the door open. What he saw made him grow pale.
Joakim was gripping his mother by the wrist and trying to pull her into the back room. Part of her dress had been torn off at the shoulder, and one breast was exposed. She was struggling and crying. The place smelled of wine. Several empty bottles were strewn around the room, and another bottle, tipped over on the table, was dripping the remainder of its contents on the floor.
It took Josef only a moment to apprehend the situation. He ran to a corner, picked up a broom, and started beating Joakim on the head and back. Without releasing his grip on Josef’s mother, the man turned and kicked Josef vigorously so that he slammed against the wall. Josef came back, grabbed Joakim’s free hand, and tried to pull him away. The mingled smell of alcohol and sweat was repugnant. After Josef dodged another kick, he pulled close to the man and bit his hand as hard as he could. Joakim howled in pain and finally let go of Josef’s mother. He came after the boy, hit him repeatedly in the face, and threw him down. Then he stormed out of the room, cursing as he went.
Josef lay on the floor throbbing with pain. He put his hand on his cheek and felt blood. He wasn’t sure if it was his own; perhaps Joakim had hit him with a bloody hand. In any event, the man was gone, and now he could rest. He would just lie on the floor for awhile and sleep.
When he opened his eyes, his mother was leaning over him, weeping and calling his name. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she sobbed over and over again. When he was awake enough to understand, she said through her tears, “I thought I could keep him off. Please, please forgive me.”
“Yes, Mutti,” said Josef. “Will he come back here to live with us?”
“No. Never. I promise we will never have another boarder like that man.”
•
Josef remained at home for a few days, tended by his mother. One morning, quite early, they heard a tapping on the door. Josef’s mother went to open it and there stood a young boy, several inches taller than her son.
“Is this where Josef lives?” asked the boy.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“I’m Mosche. Is Josef here?”
“Mosche!” shouted Josef from the corner where he lay. “Come in!”
Josef’s mother nodded and stepped out of the way. Mosche came in, glanced around the room, went to the corner where his friend lay, and knelt beside him. He flinched at the sight of Josef’s face, still swollen and bruised. “What happened?” he asked.
“I got in a fight with the man who used to rent the back room over there.” He pointed to the door leading to the second room. “He’s gone now.”
“Well, I didn’t know what happened to you. Miriam and I waited at the school a couple of mornings and then we went searching for you in the streets.”
Josef’s mother was standing over the boys, looking somewhat perplexed. Josef suddenly remembered she had no idea who Mosche was, or Miriam, and how they came to know each other. “Mutti, Mosche is my friend. We make deliveries together every morning and he’s teaching me to read.”
“To read?”
“Yes, Mutti! It’s the most wonderful thing in the world, to look at marks on a page and see real words. And the words make sentences, and sometimes songs and prayers! And Mosche’s sister is learning to read too. She’s six years old and her name is Miriam.”
Mosche pulled something from the front of his shirt and said, “I brought along a little scroll if you’d like to read it to your mother.”
Josef took the scroll and gently unrolled it. He read a few words in Hebrew and translated them for his mother.
“Josef, you are a scholar! We must tell the priests.”
Josef winced. “No, Mutti. Please don’t tell the priests. It’s different from what they teach, and they might not understand.”
“Well, I don’t know . . .”
“Please, Mutti. Mosche is my best friend, and reading is what I like to do best.”
She smiled doubtfully, shook her head, and went off to fix breakfast. Mosche sat down close to his friend. He spoke into Josef’s ear quietly but with great excitement. “I have some news! Remember I told you about Rabbi Scholomo? He’s coming here in November! The granddaughter of his old teacher is getting married, and he’s going to help with the wedding.”
“Can we meet him?”
“I don’t know. But we can see him in the wedding parade and maybe hear him in the schoolhouse. My teacher told us more stories about him, and we all went to see the place where the wall gave way to save his mother.”
“Will you show me?”
“Yes, and I’ll tell you the stories, too, as soon as you get better and come out again.”
A few days later Josef was well enough to go out, and the boys resumed their lessons. One morning Mosche took Josef to see the indentation in the wall where Rabbi Scholomo’s mother had been protected from a runaway horse and carriage. Afterwards, as they walked their accustomed route, the boys talked about the famous rabbi.
“When he was studying in Worms, he was a very poor man, “said Mosche. “My teacher said he had only a little food and no decent clothes.”
“Didn’t he have a mother or someone in his family to look after him?”
“He was already married, but his wife’s family had no money either. Rabbi Scholomo wanted to understand Torah even more than he wanted to eat. He said students in search of knowledge are like doves going from one shelter to another looking for food. Except the students go from one Jeschiba to another to gain understanding.”
“Did Rabbi Scholomo go to more than one school?”
“Yes, he studied in Mainz before he came here. After living here for ten years, he went to Troyes where his family was and started his own school. But his learning is so great that people say he must have traveled all over the world and talked with scholars in every country.”
“If he could go all over the world, why did he want to study here?”
“He didn’t come here at first. He went to Mainz because that’s where the famous Rabbi Gershom had taught.
