In the autumn, I received a letter from Leah asking for a divorce. In the hand of the local rabbi, she accused me of having become a heretic and said that I had betrayed her for all eternity. I cried while writing her the get, or the letter of divorce, but, truth be told, I also experienced relief. There was not much that was keeping us together, and my brief visits home were insufficient for the establishment of a deeper connection. I promised to support my son and take care of her until she was able to arrange things for herself, but she never answered.
When I look at these notes of mine, I see that I rarely speak in them about my wife, whom I married many years ago when I returned from studying with the Besht. I had been allotted a wife from very nearby, the daughter of a relative of my father: Leah. I wrote little about her for the simple reason that I have never been greatly interested in any of the matters that are connected with women, and I always treated my marriage as an obligation to my family and my tribe. As for children, we had one, out of the five Leah gave birth to; the others died not long after arriving in this world. Leah always insisted it was my fault, since I was rarely home, and when I was, I was always occupied with something else. But from my point of view, I fulfilled my obligations in a dutiful way. God was parsimonious when it came to our offspring, giving them to us like bait he would instantly snatch away. Perhaps I could have given her healthy, lovely children who might not have died like the preceding ones. I could have taught Leah to read, I could have built us a home and gone into business so that she would not have to work as a servant, but—this is the truth that burdens me with unrelenting guilt—having taken her for a wife, I neglected her completely.
I asked Moshe of Podhajce for his advice—he is a highly learned man, knowledgeable in matters of magic—and he told me that Leah and I have behind us other painful things arisen from our previous lives which we cannot remember, and that we must separate, so as not to bring any more pain into this world.
There are two people in my life whom I love deeply and constantly—Leah and Jacob. To my misfortune, they are opposites, and they hold one another in mutual disregard. There is no way to bring them to any reconciliation, so that I must maneuver between them.
I do not know how it happened that in the greatest unhappiness, without my wife and without Jacob, I found myself once again with the Besht, in Mi?dzybóz.. I made my way as if in a state of delirium, no doubt seeking the same thing that I obtained there in my youth—the wisdom to be able to bear my suffering.
I waited two days for a meeting and during this time did not reveal who I was nor where I had come from. Had I done so, the Besht might not have agreed to see me, for everyone knew he bemoaned our lot, that we were not keeping to the Jewish tenets in the way everyone would have wanted.
Other customs prevailed in the town, which was inhabited almost exclusively by Hasidim. Everywhere there were pilgrims in caftans that went down to their knees, dirty stockings, and shtreimels on their heads. Far from Lwów, from Kraków, all of Mi?dzybóz. was concentrated on itself, as though in some wonderful dream. The conversations on the streets were everywhere the same: on God, on names, laying out the meaning of the slightest gesture, the most minor event. They knew nothing there of life in the world, of the war, of the king. Although this way was once so dear to me, it now only deepened my despair, so blind and deaf were they. I envied them that they might ceaselessly immerse themselves in matters of the divine, for such was my nature, as well. On the other hand, I could see that they were becoming defenseless as children, while on the horizon a new storm was gathering. They were like dandelions, lovely and light.
I saw a few of our own there, too, who as a result of the sudden persecutions that came after the death of our protector, Bishop Dembowski, had also made their way to the Besht, and had been taken in without any unnecessary questions, though it was known that the Besht regarded Jacob as a pest. I was particularly happy to see Yehuda of Glinno, with whom I had made such close friends years earlier in this same place, and although he has never been a true believer, he has nonetheless remained close to my heart.
In Mi?dzybóz. it was taught that in every person there is something good, even in those who strike you as the basest of villains. I started to understand that everyone has their own self-interest to protect, and that it is by this that they are guided, and that self-interest is no failing. There is nothing wrong in persons desiring the best for themselves. And when I began to think in this way about what each of us wants, I began to understand better.
Leah wants a good husband and children, and a basic income, so that there is a roof over her head and nutritious food to eat. Elisha Shorr and his sons want to climb higher than they could as Jews. That is why, as they rise, they desire to join the society of Christians, for remaining within Judaism they would have to content themselves with who they are and what they have now. Krysa is a frustrated ruler who wants control. The bishop, may he rest in peace, wanted no doubt to serve the king and the Church and was also no doubt counting on personal glory. The same with Mrs. Kossakowska, who gave us money for our trip—but for what purpose? Did she want the credit of helping the poor? Perhaps she, too, was after glory?
And what does Jacob want? Right away I answered:
Jacob does not need to want anything. Jacob is an instrument of greater forces, that I know. His task is to destroy this evil order.
The Besht had advanced in years, but he radiated clarity and strength, and just the touch of his hand moved me to tears. He conversed with me for a long time as an equal, and I will be grateful to him to the end of my days for not sending me away outright. He finally laid his hand on my head and said: “I forbid you to despair.” He didn’t say another word, as though he knew that I had become proficient in disputation and could come up with arguments into infinity on any subject, meaning that lessons were not what I needed. Yet when I left Mi?dzybóz., a young Hasid ran up to me and pressed a tight roll of paper into my hand.
It was written in Hebrew: “Im Ata Ma’amin sheAta Yahol Lekalkel Ta-amin sheGam Ata Yahol Letaken.” If you think you are capable of destruction, think how you could build.
It was from the Besht.
How in Giurgiu we talked Jacob into returning to Poland
In the winter of 1757, the four of us made it to Jacob in Giurgiu, setting off on Hanukkah, carrying the letters of safe conduct that had been obtained for us from the Polish king. We went to find Jacob in order to convince him to return. Without him, and in the hands of others such as Krysa and Elisha Shorr, our cause had come strangely apart at the seams.
There were four of us, like the Evangelists: Moshe ben Israel of Nadwórna, Yeruhim Lipmanowicz of Czortków, my brother Hayim of Busk, and I.