“The time will come for the defense. First the arguments of the other side must be heard.”
And now Krysa, translated by Moliwda, demonstrates in intricate detail that the Talmud demands Christian blood, as the words yain adom are translated by the rabbis as “red wine,” while in the Hebrew script the very same letters (alef, dalet, vav, mem) are used both for the word adom, or “red,” and the word edom, or Christian. The two words differ only at the bottom of the first letter, alef, by dots, called “segol” and “kamatz,” by virtue of which the reader understands now adom, and now edom.
“So what one must know,” Krysa goes on, as Moliwda translates beautifully, “is that the Orah Hayyim Maginei Aretz, in which there is an order to the rabbis to get red wine for Passover, gives these words without any dots, leaving these two Hebrew words ambiguous. Thus rabbis are free to translate them for the general public as ‘yayin adom,’ or ‘red wine,’ but to understand it amongst themselves as ‘yayin edom,’ or ‘Christian blood,’ as an allegory of wine,” explains Moliwda, although it’s actually not clear if he is translating or just talking. His eyes are glued to the paper in front of him, and somewhere along the way he’s misplaced his eloquence and charm.
“What are you all doing?” someone shouts out of the crowd in Polish, and then repeats the same thing in Yiddish: “What are you all doing?”
Krysa goes on to demonstrate that that supposed “red wine” should actually be “blood memento.”
“Let the Talmudists tell us: Of what kind of blood is it a memento?” he shouts, and aims his finger at the rabbis sitting facing him. “And why is it ‘I’m giving you a hint’? A hint of what?” he says, still yelling, his face reddening. The whole church is perfectly silent. Krysa takes in a big breath and says quietly, with satisfaction, “Evidently this was an effort to keep the secret with the rabbis, and have the general public believe that it meant only red wine. And that’s how it all works!”
Now, nudged by his companions, Moshe of Podhajce stands. His eyelids are twitching:
“For their Passover, a Talmudic ceremony has been invented, and everyone is required to participate in it. On the first evening of this holiday, a glass of wine is placed on the table, and each person sitting at that table must dip the little finger of his right hand into it, and then let the droplets fall from his finger onto the ground while enumerating the ten plagues of Egypt: 1. dam, or blood; 2. tzefardea, or frogs; 3. khinim, or lice; 4. arov, or flies; 5. dever, or pestilence of livestock; 6. shchin, or boils; 7. barad, or hail, 8. arbeh, or locusts; 9. hoshech, or darkness; 10. vechoros, or death to the firstborn. This ceremony is described by the author, Rabbi Yudah, who uses three words to indicate those ten plagues: detzakh, adash, be’ahav, which consists of the initial letters of the names of each of the plagues. The rabbis give their simpletons to understand that this abbreviation refers exclusively to those ten plagues. But in these words composed of first initials, we have discovered the secret that they”—here he points again at the rabbis—“keep amongst themselves and hide before society, whereas we can now publicly show that when we put other words underneath those first letters, we actually get something else entirely: ‘Dam tzerikhim kulanu al derekh she-asu be-oto ish hakhamei bi-Yerushalayim,’ which means: ‘Everyone needs blood in the same way they did to this man in Jerusalem, those wise men.’”
There is a silence, people look around at each other, and it becomes clear that few of them are able to follow this. Whispering begins, some murmured commentaries. Some people, those most impatient and disappointed, are now shuffling outside, where—in spite of the heat—there is more air than inside the cathedral. Undaunted, Moshe of Podhajce goes on:
“I will tell you all furthermore that in the Orah Hayyim, point 460, on the baking of matzah on the first night of Easter, notes: ‘Ain lushoin matzes mitzve vailoe oifin oiso al idey akim vailoe al idey obeyreh shoyte veykuten,’ which means: ‘One should not knead or bake the Matzot Mitzvah in the presence of a gentile, a deaf mute, an imbecile, or a child.’ While on other days, as it is written, the Matzot can be kneaded in front of anyone. So tell us, Talmudists, why on that first night it is forbidden to knead and bake in the presence of a gentile, a deaf mute, an imbecile, or a child. But we know what they will say! So the dough won’t ferment. And yet we will ask them, why would the dough ferment? They shall answer that it is because those people would make it sour. But can the dough not be protected? And how exactly are they supposed to spoil it? What is really going on is that Christian blood is being added to the Matzot over Passover, and that is why there should be no witnesses to its kneading.”
Moshe calms down now, having almost screamed out his last words. The rabbi of Jaz?owiec, on the other side, holds his head in his hands and starts rocking. At first, Pinkas squirms in his seat as he listens to Moshe’s speech, but then all the blood rushes to his head, and he stands, forces his way forward, grabbed by the sides and sleeves of his coat by those who would stop him.
“Moshe, what are you doing? You’re fouling your own nest. Moshe, we know each other, we were in the same yeshiva. Moshe! Get ahold of yourself!”
Already the garrison guards are putting on their martial airs and moving toward Pinkas, and he retreats. Moshe pretends not to have noticed him at all. He continues:
“And there is a third point. In the Old Order, the blood of animals and fowl is strictly forbidden, and the use of it for food or for drink is not permitted to the Jews. And yet the Book of the Rambam, part 2, chapter 6, says: ‘Dam houdym ain hayuvin ulov,’ which means: ‘No kind of blood is permitted, but for the blood of man.’ And also in the book Masehet Ketubbot 60 it is said: ‘The blood of those who walk on two legs is pure.’ So tell us, then, rabbis, whose blood is pure? Because it isn’t the birds’! There are many such examples, which are not expressed clearly, but this lack of clarity is done on purpose, with the aim of concealing the true intention. We have revealed the truth. The rest—the frequent murders of innocent babes—can be guessed.”
When Moshe finishes, there is an uproar throughout the cathedral, and since it is already getting dark, Father Mikulski ends this session and tells the rabbis to prepare their response for three days hence. He also calls those present to keep the peace. The guards come, but people are dispersing relatively calmly. The only thing that isn’t clear is when and how all of the rabbis are going to leave the cathedral.
Of secret hand and eye signals and hints