Nahman scrupulously recorded them all:
Led from room to room, he floated through the air, on either side of him a beautiful maiden. In the rooms he saw many women and men, and in some of the rooms he noticed religious study groups, and from above he heard what they were saying and understood everything perfectly from the very first word. There were so many of these rooms, and in the last one he glimpsed the First, Sabbatai (of blessed memory)—he was dressed in Frankish clothing, like our own, and around him were gathered many students. The First said to Jacob: “So you are the Wise Jacob? I have heard that you are powerful and brave of heart. That makes me happy, because I have made it all the way here and have no strength to go farther. Many have taken on this weight before, but they have collapsed beneath it. Are you not afraid?”
And the First showed Jacob the abyss that looks like a black sea. On the other, distant shore, a mountain rose. Then Jacob cried: “Let it happen! I am going!”
The news of this vision travels around Salonika, passing from ear to ear, often with some new detail. It spreads around the city like news of arriving ships carrying extraordinary wares. Even more people come to listen to Jacob out of curiosity, his school is bursting at the seams. People clear the way for him with reverence and respect. Some, bolder, extend their hand to touch his robes. They have already begun to call him hakham, or wise man, though this makes him angry, and he tells everyone he is a simpleton. Even the older ones, who knew the old Kabbalah well, now recognize his greatness. They crouch in the shade and discuss him, and these sages discern the secret signs told by the ancient prophets.
Jacob also dreams of divine palaces. He has been where the First is. He has seen that same door. He has gone after him. He has walked the same path.
They begin every day by listening to Jacob’s dreams. They wait for him to wake up, are there at his first movement. He is not to rise or touch anything, instead he must speak right away, straight out of sleep, as though bringing news from those worlds, greater, more distant, closer to the light.
Students of Baruchiah’s son Konio—the one who wouldn’t receive them—come, too, and they also listen to Jacob, which pleases Reb Mordke most of all. Most of them, however, listen to Jacob with some suspicion, coming in with their opinions formed. They treat him as the competition, like someone who brazenly set up a salvation stall right next to theirs, that is just like theirs but with better prices. They ask, loudly and theatrically: Who is this stray?
But the ones who most adhere to Jacob are the Jews from Poland, those who do business in Salonika or who got stuck here and can’t go back to their families, having squandered all their money. They are easy enough to recognize. Nahman, for instance, can immediately sniff them out in a crowd, even if they are wearing Greek or Turkish clothing and striding quickly down the cramped little streets. He sees himself in them—they make the same gestures, have the same bearing and the same slightly uncertain, slightly impudent step. The poorer ones tend to wear nondescript, dully colored clothing, and even if one of them has gotten himself a scarf or a better coat, Rohatyn still leers out from under it, or Dawidów, or Czernowitz. Even when, to protect against the sun, he wraps his head in a turban, Podhajce and Buczacz still jut out from under his pant legs, Lwów from his pockets, and his slippers, seemingly Greek, still clap as though stepping straight out of Busk.
Of why Salonika does not care for Jacob
Then the situation changes. One day, when Jacob is teaching, some bruisers armed with sticks come into the classroom. They go after those standing nearest the door. They strike blindly. Nussen gets hit, he’s bleeding, his nose is broken. On the floor, streaks of blood, and shouts—a clamor that can be heard from everywhere. The students flee outside, and soon they are afraid to return—for this all happens again the next day. Everyone knows it’s followers of Konio, Baruchiah’s son, who are trying to chase off Jacob, insisting that only they can offer instruction in Salonika. Some of them have familiar faces, the faces of friends—they are, after all, also true believers, but now those old friendships don’t count. There isn’t room in Salonika for two contenders for Messiah. Nussen places guards outside the midrash, to stand there all day and all night. Even so, someone sets fire to it twice. Several times Jacob is attacked on the street, but he is strong, able to defend himself. Nussen, as he is doing the shopping, nearly loses his only eye in an attack. And—this is the strangest one—the Salonika Jewesses have conspired against Jacob; angry women, young and old, attack him as he is going to the baths and throw stones at him. After that, he limps for several days, but he is ashamed to admit it was women who did it.
From one day to the next, the local merchants stop doing business with them as well. Now, when Jacob’s men enter their stalls, they treat them like strangers, turning away and vanishing among their wares. This makes their situation very uncomfortable very quickly. In order to sell or to buy anything, they have to go to the bazaars on the city’s outskirts, where no one knows them. Konio’s followers have declared war on Jacob and his entourage. They conspire against him with the Greeks, meaning the Christian merchants, and they, too, turn away at the sight of them. Nussen’s guards at the beth midrash are no help when Konio’s people post theirs as well, who beat up anyone who attempts to enter Wise Jacob’s school. The money runs out very quickly, and unfortunately, the school has to be closed.
In addition, an unexpectedly severe winter set in—
Nahman writes later. They do not have money for even the worst fuel. They sit shut inside their rented home, fearing for their lives. Jacob coughs.
I have often thought about how success and good fortune can suddenly transform into misery and humiliation.