A Cobbler's Tale Page 14

  The rabbi hired Shmuel to do scribe work for the shul. After all, he could still write. “The community owes it to him after what we put him through,” the rabbi had told her.

  Turning the corner, she headed for the shul where the rebbetzin greeted her. “Come in, Clara, it’s so nice to see you. Shmuel is working in the back today. We are having a wedding tonight, and he is writing the marriage contract,” she said excitedly.

  Clara smiled and walked through the kitchen, down a hallway that connected the home to the shul. As she entered, she saw the rabbi standing at the bimah, his back to her.

  “Good morning, Rabbi,” she said.

  He turned and said, “Oh, hello, Clara. It’s so nice to see you.”

  “I came to see Shmuel. Is he here?”

  “He’s in the back office,” the rabbi said, pointing to the door.

  “Good morning, Clara,” Shmuel said, setting down his quill.

  “How are you today?”

  “I’m well,” she said, taking a seat in front of his desk that was covered with parchment paper.

  “I’m working on a marriage contract for the Benders. Their youngest son is getting married.”

  “Are you enjoying your work, Shmuel?”

  “It’s good, and it’s something I can do,” he said, lifting his disfigured left hand. “What I truly love is working for the rabbi. He’s taught me so many things.” He continued in a whisper. “Clara, I need to tell you something.”

  Shmuel rose from his chair and walked over to close his office door.

  “What I am about to tell you no one in the village knows. The rabbi shared some news with me late last night from a friend who just arrived from Warsaw.” He paused and sat down.

  “A few weeks ago the Archduke Ferdinand of Serbia was assassinated in Sarajevo. This caused the Austro-Hungarian Empire to declare war on Serbia, which moved Russia, an ally of Serbia, to mobilize its army to intervene against Austro-Hungary. Then, only three days ago, Germany, an ally of Austro-Hungary, declared war against Russia.”

  “Shmuel, what does this mean?” Clara asked, stunned.

  “We should expect that our beautiful Galicia will soon become a bloody battleground between the Austrians and Russians,” Shmuel warned.

  “Does this mean that Pincus cannot come for us? He promised me this year.”

  “I’m afraid not. The borders have been closed. All of Europe is affected. We are all stuck here until the end of the war.”

  Clara placed a palm on her cheek, rocked her head back and forth, and asked, “How can this be possible?”

  “For now we need to prepare. Soon the news will spread through the village, and there will be a run on food and supplies.” He looked directly at Clara. “Buy what you need for your family now, today, before the news reaches the village and it’s all gone.”

  Clara couldn’t speak. She stood up, turned and walked away, stunned. Shmuel called after her, but she heard nothing. The walk from the shul back home was a blur. The challenges of the past years now seemed small. How could she protect her family from war?

  CHAPTER 38

  THE TZADDIK

  Moshe couldn’t sit any longer. He rose and walked over to the hundreds of old books in the rabbi’s study. He had never been in here before, and the musty smell of old leather and decay filled his nostrils. The first book that caught his eye was the largest book on the shelves. In large gold-leaf type, the title on the binding read: The Atlas of the World. He carefully slipped it out and placed it on the large wooden desk.

  Where is America? he wondered, gently turning the large crisp pages.

  “Good morning, Moshe,” the rabbi greeted him. “What are you looking at?”

  “Oh, hello Rabbi,” Moshe said, startled. “I found your atlas, and I’m trying to find America. Is that okay?”

  “Of course, Moshe. Let me help you.”

  Rabbi Shapira stood next to Moshe and flipped the pages to the section titled North America. “The atlas is divided by continents. America is here,” he said. “Now let’s find where your father is. He’s living in New York City, isn’t that so, Moshe?”

  Moshe nodded his head. “In a place called the Lower East Side, his letters say.”

  The rabbi found the pages for New York State. “Let’s see, here it is. New York City.”

  Moshe leaned in as the rabbi pointed to the southeast corner of the island of Manhattan. He imagined his father working in his cobbler shop and wondered if he missed him or even thought about him.

  “Moshe,” the rabbi said, closing the giant book. “Come, sit. I need to speak with you.”

  Moshe sat down in an old upholstered chair with horsehair stuffing escaping from worn and torn splits in the fabric. It poked sharply at Moshe through his lightweight pants, causing him to shift uncomfortably.

  The rabbi explained to Moshe about a conversation he had with his mother about his “episodes.”

  “What’s an episode?” Moshe asked, unfamiliar with the word.

  “It’s those times when you feel sick right before something bad happens. She shared several events with me,” he said. The rabbi counted off each instance starting with his index finger. “The first time she recalled was right before you and Max stumbled upon those men in the woods, and shortly thereafter in the basement with Max. Are all these true, Moshe?”

  “They’re true, Rabbi,” he answered, feeling ashamed.

  The rabbi put his large bony hand over the boy’s. “It’s nothing to feel bad about. You have a sense of knowing when danger is imminent.”

  Moshe looked confused.

  “You know when something bad is about to occur,” the rabbi clarified.

  “Why does this happen to me?”

  “I have been thinking about what happens to you, and I believe I have found an answer in the Talmud,” he said, pointing to the large leather-bound volumes resting on the desk in front of him.

  “You are a tzaddik, Moshe.”

  “I’m a what?”

  “A tzaddik, a healer. Not a healer like a doctor, but a healer of souls. A tzaddik provides solace to those in despair. Your ability to foresee danger is a clue. The teachings tell us that the tzaddikim first begin their journeys as empaths. That’s why you feel sick when danger is looming. It’s the raw expression of your empathy, Moshe. You have an ability to literally feel the pain of others. The empath is affected by the energy of other people. This is just the seed of your abilities yet to be developed.”

  He thought about the times when the sickness came. Are these really signs that foresee danger, as the rabbi says?

  “I am a tzaddik,” he said. He did like the way the word sounded.

  The rabbi smiled. “Yes Moshe, I believe you are.”

  Moshe took another look at the impressive volumes lying in front of him.

  “The books say that there are only thirty-six tzaddikim on the earth at any one time. The teachings also say that the journey of the tzaddikim offers two paths, one of light and one of darkness,” he warned. “The evil ones prey on weak souls, sucking out what they need for their own use until their prey wither and die.”

  “I want to help people, Rabbi,” said Moshe.

  “You will, Moshe. But you will need to study with me so I can teach you the ways of the tzaddik and start you on your journey.” The rabbi rose from his chair and moved to stare out the window.

  “Our time is short, Moshe. There are many dangers. Not only is war at our doorstep, but within the year you will be a bar mitzvah. Once you cross the threshold into manhood, you will be a target for recruitment by the dark side.” He turned to look at the boy. “This is why you need to be strong and prepared.”

  Lost in thoughts racing through his mind, he didn’t notice Max joining him on his walk home.

  “I’ve been calling your name since you left the shul. Are you okay?”

  “Sorry, Max, I’m okay,” he said unconvincingly.

  “You sure, are you sick again? Like the time in the basem
ent?” Max asked.

  Moshe did feel sick. He sat on the walkway and leaned against of the wall of the butcher shop. “Something bad is about to happen,” Moshe said ominously.

  Then it began. Soft low booms sent gentle vibrations that rattled the butcher shop windows. Gradually, the booms became louder, and the rumbles intensified. A faint smell of sulfur drifted past the boys.

  Moshe looked at Max with wide eyes. “It’s the war. It’s begun.”

  CHAPTER 39

  IT’S TOO LATE

  Pincus marched down Ludlow and turned onto Grand, heading to the Landsman Society’s office in a foul mood. He thought the society’s president should not be the one to greet the new families arriving from Krzywcza. Mendel usually handled such interactions, but today he had a meeting with his son’s teacher at school that he couldn’t miss.

  On top of that, the renovations at the shop had now stretched into months instead of weeks. It had all started with that fiasco of the triple homicide. The shop was closed for the police investigation, even before the renovations could begin.

  He still didn’t believe what Jakob told him about that night. How he had met this Jewish gangster called the Monk. This so called Jewish Monk wanted to meet that Jewish gangster Gorpatsch, who was dating Jakob’s girlfriend, Nita. Jakob said that he’d planned to set up this meeting at the shop and inform the police about it, with the intention of getting them both arrested. The end result would be that he’d have Nita all to himself.

  But not surprisingly, things didn’t go as planned, because Gorpatsch had shot the Monk and the DA, and for some unexplained reason, there had been no arrests. How could something like this happen in a simple cobbler shop, of all places, he thought and decided to discuss it further with Jakob.

  And what would Clara think? She is expecting me to be creating a good wholesome life for our family. I need to get things under control.

  The Hertzbergs were already waiting for him at his office. He recognized Chaim and Gussie and their three boys as he walked down the hall. He took a breath as he entered and forced a smile.

  “So nice to see you, Chaim,” he said, shaking his hand. “Gussie, you look wonderful. How was the journey?” Before anyone could answer, he continued, “Look at your boys, how much they’ve grown. Please sit and tell me everything.”

  He had no patience for ceremony. He made it quick, giving them the welcome package that included the list of services the society provided, a directory of housing in the Lower East Side, a sheet listing local employment opportunities, the names and addresses of community synagogues, a brochure about the society’s cemetery, and a box from the Landsman’s Sisterhood packed with an assortment of useful items such as blankets, a frying pan, and bars of bath soap.

  “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask,” he said, ushering them out the door and on their way to their new life.

  Finally, Pincus had time to relax and maybe grab an early lunch. He decided to get a bite to eat at Katz’s Deli. On the way, he gave the newsboy a nickel for The Forward. As it was late morning, the deli had many open tables, and he found a seat next to the large window facing Delancey Street. He ordered his favorite corned beef sandwich with cabbage on rye bread and a cream soda. Sitting back, he folded his newspaper for easy reading, grabbed half a sour pickle from the jar on the table, took a bite, and nearly choked. The headline emblazoned across the banner of the newspaper read: “War Declared. All of Europe in Turmoil.”

  CHAPTER 40

  AN EYE FOR AN EYE

  Jakob looked forward to Gorpatsch’s business trips to Berlin and Warsaw, as they gave him and Nita free rein to frolic in the city. Normally they would rendezvous in secret places, which added spice to their budding romance. But with each month that passed, Jakob yearned more and more for the day when they could be together like a normal couple. Whenever he pressed Nita, however, she only smiled, gently touched his cheek, and told him to be patient.

  But with the borders closed because of war waging across Europe, all travel plans were cancelled indefinitely. This had several unpleasant consequences. He and Nita would need to find new and innovative ways to spend time together. It seemed that the entire city, from the police to the street sweepers, were the eyes and ears of the city’s most powerful gangster. Sneaking around would be futile.

  Anyway, there was little time for romance. He worked all day for Pincus, and most evenings for Gorpatsch. After the brutal killing of the Monk, Gorpatsch had taken control of the city’s most lucrative rackets. Some nights, Jakob would coordinate liquor deliveries to the brothels. Other times, Gorpatsch sent him to visit those who were in arrears of their high-interest loans.

  He had no idea why Gorpatsch had summoned him to his office today. The mustached man had stopped by the shop earlier that day and told him that the motorcar would be waiting for him around the corner at six o’clock.

  “I’m leaving now,” Jakob said, poking his head into the workroom. Pincus glanced up and gave a brief wave goodbye.

  “You okay, Pincus?” Jakob asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  Ever since the shop reopened, Pincus had refocused his efforts on the business.

  He imagined that Pincus didn’t want to talk about his wife and four children being stuck in a war zone. He should have gone back years earlier. Now it was too late. Hopefully they would survive, and he could get them when the war ended.

  Jakob kicked off his shoes as usual. The white carpet still looked as perfect and unsoiled as the last time he’d visited.

  “Go right in. Mr. Gorpatsch is expecting you,” said the assistant, gesturing to the door behind her.

  “Jakob, thank you for coming. Please sit,” he said, indicating the unoccupied chair in front of the desk.

  As he approached, the person sitting in the other chair turned around.

  “Hello, Jakob. It’s good to see you.”

  “Captain Becker,” Jakob said in surprise.

  “I asked the captain to join us,” Gorpatsch explained.

  Jakob nodded to the captain and sat down next to him.

  “As you know, Europe is at war. This has temporarily shut down my business interests in Berlin and Warsaw. When one doors closes, another opens,” he said, smiling, leaning back in his chair, and cupping his hands behind his head.

  “Germany is at war with Russia, and as you know, there is no love between the Jews and the Russians. It looks like we have an enemy in common with Germany. War always makes for strange bedfellows.”

  “As Jews, Jakob, it is our duty to assist our friends.” He pointed toward Captain Becker. “The German-born captain and I have been talking about how we can help the war effort in defeating the Russians,” he said in a serious tone and looking directly at Jakob.

  Jakob, who had no idea what Gorpatsch was talking about, sat there dumbstruck.

  Gorpatsch deliberately spoke more slowly then so Jakob could understand. “We are going to smuggle guns to the Jews in Galicia, where the fighting is most fierce. I have heard from my connections in Warsaw that the rabbis are encouraging young men to take up arms against the Russians. They have openly declared this as a holy war, classifying the Russians as the most hated enemy since biblical times.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” Jakob asked.

  “Several wealthy and influential Jewish friends have approached me about getting weapons into Galicia.” Gorpatsch stood up and walked over to a table where a shotgun lay.

  “The captain has procured five hundred Remington pump-action shotguns, a very deadly weapon at close range,” he said, lifting the gun and handing it to Jakob.

  “We have made arrangements with the Hamburg-Amerika Line to take our shipment to the docks at Hamburg. That’s the line you took here, isn’t it, Jakob?”

  Jakob nodded.

  “With immigration grinding to halt because of the war, they are desperately looking for business. Of course, they cannot legally transport arms in a passenger liner, especially i
n wartime. That’s why we have hidden them in crates with shipments of coats and blankets from my factories being donated to the soldiers. If anyone opens the crates, that’s what they will find.”

  Gorpatsch then walked over to the large map of Eastern Europe that hung on the wall and pointed to a series of connected highways marked in red. “The guns will be loaded onto a wagon in Hamburg and will travel this route to Krakow, where we’ll make our delivery.”

  “And you’re telling me all this because?” Jakob asked hesitantly.

  “The captain and I want you to personally take these guns from here to Krakow.”

  “Me?” Jakob asked. “This sounds crazy and dangerous.”

  “I know, and if you refuse, I’ll understand, and I won’t hold it against you. But you should remember that these Cossacks have subjected our people to countless acts of rape, murder, and unheard-of brutality for way too long. It’s time to exact revenge, Jakob. An eye for an eye.”

  CHAPTER 41

  A SECOND CHANCE

  Pincus looked around at his tools—the leather press, hammers, punches, and pliers—and thought of his father. He would be proud of me, proud of the shop I’ve created here, Pincus thought. With just my clothes and these tools in my valise, I’ve built a successful business. But then he scowled as his thoughts took a dark turn. But at what cost? Could the lives of my wife and my four children be the price I have to pay for the choices I’ve made?