It takes several long days before what follows can be clearly established:
1. That the prophecies of all the prophets on the coming of the Messiah have already been fulfilled.
2. That the Messiah was the true God, whose name is Adonai, and he took our body and according to it suffered to attain our redemption and salvation.
3. That since the coming of the true Messiah, sacrifices and ceremonies have ceased.
4. That every person should be obedient to the order of the Messiah, for in it lies salvation.
5. That the Holy Cross is an expression of the Holiest Trinity and the seal of the Messiah.
6. That it is impossible to accede to the faith of the Messiah and the King in any way other than through baptism.
When they put the first six theses to a vote, Krysa is against the baptism one, but seeing the raised hands, he realizes that nothing can be done about it now. He waves his hand violently and sits with his head down, his elbows resting on his knees, looking at the floor, where little clumps of mud carried into the room on people’s shoes reluctantly sink into the sawdust.
“You have to come to your senses! You’re making a big mistake.”
Despite his ugly face, Krysa is a good speaker, and as such, he is able to unfold before the eyes of those gathered a vision so calamitous that they begin to lean toward his suggestions. According to him, their future will gradually and inevitably come to resemble the life of a peasant. By the afternoon, when they have eaten and their warmed bodies grown sluggish, when twilight is falling outside the little windows, taking on the steel color of a knife’s blade, and looks like it will last into infinity—at that point the argument begins to hold. Krysa manages to introduce some conditions for baptism in writing:
The baptism will not take place before the festival of Epiphany of 1760. They will not be required to shave their beards or cut their payot. They will be able to go by dual names—both a Christian name and a Jewish one. They will continue to wear Jewish clothing. They will be able to marry only amongst themselves. They will not be forced to consume pork. In addition to Sunday, they will also be allowed to mark their Shabbat. And they will get to keep their Hebrew texts, the Zohar in particular.
This reassures them, and they stop paying attention to Krysa now. Especially since Old Shorr and Hayah are arriving.
Shorr drags his legs, and Hayah leads him in. Although no external wounds can be seen on him any longer, it is clear he has undergone some sort of trauma. He does not bear any resemblance to that ruddy old man, full of vim and vigor, of a year ago. And perhaps the new concern that arises is connected with the arrival of Elisha and Hayah—no one really knows—or perhaps it has been there all along, awaiting its turn in line. At this point it’s hard even to tell who was the first to formulate this notion for their final reckoning with their enemies. When they say “enemies,” they mean Rapaport, Mendl, Shmulewicz, and all the rabbis, from Satanów, Jaz?owiec, Mohylew—all of them, along with their wives, who still spit on the heretics in the street and throw stones at their women.
This enemy is familiar, even close, which means the enmity is that much greater. Knowing your enemy well, you know exactly where to strike him, how to hurt him most. Though he may wound you, too. There is in this struggle with a close enemy a strange sort of twisted pleasure, for it is like striking oneself, yet simultaneously dodging every blow. In any case, when the notion does arise (who knows from whose mind), a silence falls, and they all think it over in that silence. No one knows what to say. They add the seventh point to the supplication:
7. That the Talmud teaches that Christian blood is needed, and anyone who believes in the Talmud must demand said blood.
“There’s nothing like that in those teachings,” says Nahman grimly.
“The teachings contain all things,” Jacob answers him.
They sign the supplication in silence. It is also signed by the newest members of their group: Aron ben Shmul of Czernowitz; Meyer ben David of Szegirt, here with his whole family; Moshko ben Jacob of Bucharest; as well as Anczel, who has been tittering so. The supplication will be delivered by Moliwda, and if the archbishop agrees, they will send an official delegation.
Finally, after they all put in their signatures, Nahman convinces Moliwda to add a final sentence in his beautiful writing, so replete with swirls:
We are all awaiting, as we would much-coveted water, the day when the holy alef, now curving, straightens to bless and unite the four corners of the world.
On the last night, Tanna, the very girl he had liked, comes to Moliwda. For a brief moment he thinks that it is Hana, for it might be said that they are strikingly similar—the same wide hips and flat stomachs. She is a little bit shy, and he is, too. He makes room for her close to him, and she lies down quietly, with her hands over her face. He starts to caress her back, which is like silk.
“Do you have a fiancé?” he asks in Turkish, since the girl looks to be Wallachian.
“I did, but he stayed behind.”
“Will you take another?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me?”
“I do.”
He gently removes her hands from her face, and she embraces him and clings to him with her whole body.
Of the everlasting interconnectedness between divinity and sinfulness
“Why is the biblical Jacob so important to you?” asks Moliwda, as Nahman accompanies him on horseback to Kamieniec. “I don’t get that.”
Nahman explains in a convoluted way. Moliwda has to sift it through the sieve of his own language, since they are speaking a little in Hebrew and a little in Polish. In Hebrew, things can get complicated by virtue of being so ambiguous. But in Polish, the things that Nahman says in his singsong voice, as though reciting books from memory, are also difficult to understand. The Polish language lacks the words for such questions. It has little experience with them, and knows little of theology. This is why every heresy in Poland has been unleavened and bland. In fact, no real heresy could ever come about in Polish. By its nature, the Polish language is obedient to every orthodoxy.
“But this was a blessing received through deception and theft,” Moliwda interjects.
“Exactly. Jacob himself defied the law and deceived his father. He went beyond the law, and because of it, he became a hero.”
Moliwda is silent for a moment.
“But later, Jacob, once he was himself a patriarch, guarded the law. That is so perverse: when you need to be, you are against the law, and when it serves your purposes, you’re for it . . .” He laughs.
“That’s true, too. Remember how Jacob didn’t allow Rachel to take her idols, the teraphim,” says Nahman.