We were tired and half frozen from the journey when he first glimpsed us, for the winter was severe, and along the way we had been attacked and lost our horses, though then when I saw the Danube, I was greatly moved, as if I had reached the very heart of the world, and immediately felt warmth and brightness, although there was much snow.
Jacob had us come close and touch our foreheads to his, and then he held the four of us so tightly to him that it was as if we four and he, at our center, had joined together to create a single man, and we breathed a single breath. We stood for so long that I felt completely united with them, and it came to me that this was not the end, but rather the beginning of our journey, and that he, Jacob, would lead us onward.
Then Moshe, the eldest among us, said: “Jacob, we came here for you. You must return.”
Jacob, when he smiled, had the habit of raising one eyebrow. When he answered Moshe, he raised one eyebrow, and I was flooded with an extraordinary warmth—moved by seeing him again, by how beautiful he was, how his presence brought out the best feelings in me.
Jacob said: “We’ll see.” He took us on a tour of his domain, and his family and neighbors crowded around us, for he enjoyed great respect here, and they did not even know who he truly was.
How well he had arranged things! He had purchased a house and had already begun to move into it, though we were to stay in the old home, which was also nice, Turkish, with painted walls and floors covered in carpets. And since it was winter, there were everywhere small portable stoves, tended by the serving girls, from whom we could scarcely look away, especially Hayim, who liked women above all else. We went to see the new home, with its view of the river; behind the home extended a vineyard, quite sizable. Inside, the home was arrayed with large carpets, filled with beautiful Turkish things. Hana had gained weight since the birth of their little son, Leyb, also called Immanuel, which means “God is with us.” She had grown lazy. She spent all day lying around on ottomans, here, there, while the wet nurse attended to the child. She had learned to smoke a pipe, and although she did not speak much, she was with us for almost the whole time, looking at Jacob, following his every move, like our Podolian dogs. Jacob was always carrying around little Avacha, a sweet, calm, obedient child, and it was clear to everyone how attached to her he was. After we had looked around and sat together talking until late at night, I found myself feeling somewhat troubled and confused. I did not understand whether Jacob was trying to show us that he wanted us to leave him alone, or whether he had some other plan about which we knew nothing, and what this would mean. I must confess that when I lay my head against my pillow, before I fell asleep, the image of my wife came back to me, and I was overcome by terrible grief, for my wife was now growing old alone, working hard, ruined, and eternally sad, felled by the hardships of this world. I was reminded of all the people suffering, and all the animals, until an internal sob tugged at my heart, and I began to pray feverishly for the end of this world, in which people merely lie in wait for one another to kill and steal and demean and do harm. And suddenly I realized that I might never go back to Podolia, as there is no place for us there, for us who wish to follow our own path, boldly, freed from all the trappings of custom and faith. And that while the paths we take are never set in stone—I for one have lost my bearings—still we know that the direction is right.
On the third day, after we had already discussed the whole situation, the machinations of Krysa and the silence of the Shorrs, and once we had read him the letters from our fellow true believers, Jacob said that, as the Turks had welcomed our people, offering real aid and not just empty talk, and there being no alternative, we would be obliged to stick with them. We needed to apply for Turkish protection.
“Be smart. We have been talking about this for many years, and yet when it comes to actually doing something about it, you all balk,” he said. Then he lowered his voice so that we had to lean in to hear him: “It’ll be like getting into cold water: your whole body balks, but then you get used to it, and what seemed to you terribly foreign starts to seem nice and familiar.” He told us about a mufti he knew, with whom he did business, who owed much of his wealth to making deals with the Sublime Porte.
Although there was still a great deal of snow, the four of us took sleighs, Hana and little Avacha, as well as Hershel, who was in their service, and farmhands for the sleighs, and, packing gifts, wine, and exquisite Polish vodka, we went to Ruse where the mufti, Jacob’s close acquaintance, lived. When we got there, Jacob went out for a word with the agha, who seemed almost like a brother to him, and talked with him a bit, while we, polite guests, relished the sweets that were offered us. They came back happy. And the next day, all of us who were there, along with more of our true-believer brothers and sisters from Ruse, where there were indeed a great number of us, turned up at noon in the mosque. There we all converted to the Islamic religion, putting green turbans on our heads. It all took just a moment; the only thing we had to do was say “Allahu Akbar,” and Jacob gave us all new Turkish names: Kara, Osman, Mehmed, and Hasan, and his wife and child would be Fatima and Aisha, like the wives of the prophet. Thanks to this, the faithful reached the number of thirteen, which was necessary if we wanted to found our own camp, as Baruchiah had done.
Suddenly we were safe again. For the second time, Jacob became our hakham, and our Lord. We recognized him as our Lord in everything with complete trust and would have been delighted if he’d said he wanted us all to go to Poland.
As we were returning home from the mosque on our sleighs, we were all in a good mood, and as though it were a kulig, we sang our songs at such a volume that our throats got sore. Then I felt better, and the logic of my thoughts returned. We are progressing toward God through three religions: Jewish, Ishmaelite, and Edomite. So it was written. And long ago I translated into Turkish from Hebrew my favorite prayer, and when I said it in the evening, everyone liked it and even wrote it down for themselves to remember in this new language. This is the prayer:
Underneath my gray robe I have nothing but my soul, Which is there for a moment but will more than console.
It will bounce off every shore, putting up a white sail, Nothing can stop it—squalls of the heart are too frail.
And so it will go, drifting in and out of your ports, Send your watchmen—nothing will put my soul out of sorts.
Build new walls—my soul will go right through them, When intentions are good, it will rightly construe them.
And amidst your borders it will fast get its bearings, Counter your words with wiser ones at any hearings.
Pedigree and permanence do not interest my soul, Nor courtliness, breeding, or the exercise of control.
If you try to calculate its vastness in a poem, It will break free, unable to sit and stay at home.