of God. When it says, “I will be the Lord your God”, these are not just written words. This is God speaking. He comes down from Sinai, down from the pages, and He speaks to you in every word. Therefore, you can say, and truly mean, that the closer you are to Torah, the closer you are to our Lord. And the closest is a Talmid Chachem.”
“Exactly,” said Israel, somewhat mollified.
“But the Talmid Chachem has something you rarely find. He has the mind, the brilliance, the ability to devote his life to Torah. But what of the am ha-aretz who does not have the intelligence or opportunity to learn Torah? Is he less in the heart of the Lord?”
“That is no excuse,” said Israel tightly. “There have been many am ha-aretz who in later years, as ignorant as they might have been, turned to Torah and became lamdans or Talmid Chachems.”
“I agree with you. But again I ask, are those unable to do the same less in the eyes of God?”
“Absolutely. I am as dirt compared to a Talmid Chachem.”
Hershel was munching on a piece of golden challah. “You sound like a socialist, Jakob.” He held up his hand. “I have no wish to cross words with you. But isn’t your viewpoint somewhat drastic? It contradicts the essential belief of Judaism.”
“Yes, it is drastic, but it is our fundamental belief. As your countryman, Martin Luther, preached to the Christians that they can communicate directly to God for absolution of sins, so our great leader, the Baal Shem Tov, said that all men are equal before God. The learned and the ignorant. In the soil are most precious objects–gold, silver, diamonds. Cannot the am ha-aretz be equally as precious?”
“Is that why you dance–like the peasants?” asked Hershel shrewdly.
Jakob laughed. “I am told that I look like a scarecrow when I dance.”
Hanna was bringing over a platter, containing the gefilte fish, when he spoke. “You do not look like a scarecrow at all,” she said emphatically. “You dance beautifully.”
“What of your women?” asked Motlie, moving around the table to serve the fish. “Do they feel as you do?”
For a moment Jakob seemed nonplussed. “I don’t really know, Mrs. Barlak,” he said slowly. “I’m sure they do.”
Hanna seated herself and began to eat. “You do not sound as if your women are very important,” she remarked.
“Of course they are important,” replied the Hasid stiffly. “They are as filled with the Lord as the men.”
“You sound almost anti-Semitic when you speak of women,” laughed Hershel. “In Germany, they say some of my best friends are Jews.”
“They say that also in Minsk,” grinned Jakob. He turned back to Hanna.
“Women fit into our lives as wives, mothers, keepers of the house. We rely upon them to counsel us about our day to day living.”
Those piercing brown eyes were disconcerting to Hanna. Whenever he looked at her, she felt drawn to him. “What of the girls?” she said, breaking the spell. “Are they part of your everyday life? I mean, someone to talk with, to share your feelings and thoughts?”
It was plain that Jakob did not have the least notion of what Hanna was getting at. “Certainly they are part of our everyday lives. As I said, they are wives, mothers of our children, keepers of our homes.”
Hanna immersed herself in the food, not wishing to discuss the Hasidic women any further. They sounded more like servants than mates.
“Your rabbi,” asked Hershel. “You call him a rebbe, don’t you?”
“Yes. My rebbe is also my father.”
“I have heard that they dominate their congregations.”
A flush came to Jakob’s pale cheeks, a flush of annoyance. “They do,” he replied with some acerbity.
“Isn’t that somewhat unorthodox? A rabbi is a teacher, not a leader.”
“Yours may be, not ours. But then again, your rabbis influence your congregations, too. It is just a matter of degree.”
Hershel nodded in agreement. “Do your rebbes also…” he searched for an unobjectionable word, “…influence your personal lives?”
Jakob understood perfectly what was in Hershel’s mind, and his eyes lit with expectation. In surprise, Hershel saw that the Hasid was about to attack.
“Yes, they influence our personal lives. Daily. When we seek a job, move from our houses, take a trip, decide to marry, it is our rebbe’s guidance and permission we require before doing so.”
“I see,” said Hershel. “Can you pray directly to God yourself?”
“Of course. But it gains force and validity when it is carried by our rebbe.” Hanna had been filling glasses of tea from a samovar and handing them around. Jakob took a sip, then held up his hand as a sign to Hershel that he had more to say. “Do not compare it to Luther’s schism of personal confession. If you reach back into Jewish history, you will remember that the high priest was the only human allowed in the Holy of Holies in the Temple to pray directly to God. We do not regard our rebbes as high priests in that sense, but we do consider them divinely chosen.”
“Chosen by God?” asked Israel, incredulously.
“Why not?” said Jakob, turning his intense eyes on him. “What makes a man become a rabbi? An accident? Does not the Lord touch him in some manner to be a teacher of His laws?”
Israel made a face of concentration, his lips pursed as he considered Jakob’s remarks. What an unusual young man, he thought. He makes the most outrageous comments, bordering on anathema, then follows them up with an explanation so valid and clear that only an idiot would argue with him.
“Jakob,” said Hanna. He turned his attention to her. “You said that your rebbes guide you on your marriages. If you cared for a girl, but she did not care for you, what would the rebbe say?”
Jakob sat up straighter. “He would marry them, of course,” he replied in a manner that gave no indication that another option was possible.
Motlie leaned forward, her cheeks still touched with color from the dancing and from a discussion that she considered to be one of the most interesting in her life. “Suppose her parents did not want the marriage?” she asked.
“They wouldn’t even consider being opposed to it. The rebbe has decided for them.”
Motlie and Israel were aghast at Jakob’s answer. Said Israel, “I would never force any of my daughters to marry a man she was opposed to. What kind of a life would she have?”
“You are not a Hasid, Mr. Barlak,” said Jakob.
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Gitel came running into the kitchen. “Papa,” she said breathlessly. “The cow. I think the calf is coming.”
Israel climbed quickly to his feet and hobbled to the stable, the rest hard on his heels. Gitel had already placed the lantern near the
