The Tale of a Niggun Read online

  a wondrous niggun,

  a niggun without words,

  a niggun that neither the Besht

  nor anyone else

  has ever sung before,

  a niggun that

  confers

  hidden powers and privileges

  that even angels and seraphim

  do not possess;

  he sings, the Besht,

  and his face is shining,

  for he is sure

  that,

  with this song,

  he will be able

  to break the chains

  of evil

  and malediction.

  But

  woe unto him

  and woe unto us,

  his niggun

  is but a song of weakness,

  a cry for help,

  and not a weapon.

  I know why this is so,

  says the Besht

  to the rabbi in the ghetto;

  I know why

  my powers have left me,

  I know why:

  my heart is heavy with pain,

  too much pain,

  and God dwells in joy—

  in joy alone.

  Help me,

  young brother—

  aren’t you a rabbi in Israel,

  the way I was?

  Help me drive my sadness away,

  and you will see,

  you will see what can be

  accomplished

  with joy,

  help me bring joy

  into my heart!

  But

  the rabbi in the ghetto,

  overcome by sadness,

  is unable to help the Besht.

  Well, says the Besht, then

  I shall do it alone.

  Let us start from the beginning.

  I want to be joyous,

  exuberant,

  I want to sing in ecstasy

  and dance,

  and dance with all my being,

  and shout my happiness

  of being Jewish,

  of being God’s creature

  participating in His work

  and occupying His thought,

  I want to open the gates of joy

  and make it flood

  the world below

  and the world above,

  and then

  the murderer will be stopped

  and the murder averted.

  He tries, the Besht,

  oh yes,

  he tries hard,

  he sings with all his strength,

  he sings

  and dances,

  and calls for joy

  to come

  and take him

  and free him

  and us—

  but

  woe unto him

  and woe unto us,

  joy refuses to enter

  his heart

  and refuses to penetrate

  his song.

  Then the Besht,

  his gaze extinguished,

  admits his failure:

  Forgive me

  my young brother—

  you are so near

  and yet so far—

  forgive me:

  I am unable to help you—

  someone does not want me

  to help you.

  Am I then to give up?

  shouts the rabbi

  in the ghetto.

  No, says the Besht.

  I must give up,

  not you.

  Be stronger than I am,

  you are more needed

  than I.

  Nearing despair,

  the rabbi knocks

  at the gates

  of the Besht’s neighbor

  and friendly rival:

  Rabbi Eliyahu,

  he says,

  you help me!

  My community has appointed me

  its judge—

  and I am helpless.

  And so the Gaon Eliyahu

  closes his books

  and breaks his isolation,

  and looks at the rabbi.

  The light in his eyes

  is the same

  as that which enveloped Sinai

  long ago:

  Who are you? he asks.

  I am a rabbi.

  Where do you come from?

  To what book do you belong?

  I live in a ghetto,

  says the rabbi.

  I have a question

  which no one is ready or able to answer—

  perhaps this is a question

  to which there is no answer.

  Impossible, says the Gaon of Vilna.

  All questions have answers!

  Have you looked well?

  Have you consulted

  the proper sources?

  Have you studied the Poskim

  and their rulings?

  Have you scrutinized the right texts?

  And found nothing?

  No sign,

  no hint?

  No?

  Well—let us see,

  let me think…

  Ten names,

  you said

  the enemy demands

  ten names,

  right?

  Yes, I see,

  wait,

  I see what is to be done,

  wait—

  here is the answer,

  take it!

  And the Gaon Eliyahu of Vilna

  hands him

  a piece of paper;

  and the rabbi of the ghetto

  takes it

  and reads it,

  incredulous,

  and reads it again

  and again:

  one name,

  always the same,

  written ten times—

  Eliyahu,

  Eliyahu,

  Eliyahu of Vilna,

  ten times,

  as is written

  his own name, ten times…

  Shattered and moved,

  the rabbi whispers:

  Thank you,

  thank you

  for showing me the way.

  Now the rabbi is happy,

  almost happy,

  but suddenly

  he hears someone calling him

  with a caressing voice. It is Levi,

  Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev.

  I do not like that solution,

  says the Berditchever Rebbe;

  it pushes you into solitude

  and this displeases me.

  A Jew is never alone,

  you ought to know that.

  Even when he dies,

  he does not die alone.

  Self-sacrifice is not the answer,

  my young brother

  and peer.

  When a Jew thinks he is lost,

  he must find himself

  within the community of Israel;

  it must be strengthened

  by him

  and not divided;

  if the enemy wishes to kill,

  let him kill—

  and do not tell him

  whom to kill.

  Your role,
r />   my young brother and colleague,

  the role of rabbi

  is to be with his Jews,

  not facing them.

  Should they be summoned

  by God

  or the enemy,

  should they choose

  to respond,

  do as they do,

  walk with them,

  pray with them

  or for them,

  howl with them,

  weep as they weep;

  share their anguish

  and their anger

  as you have shared their joy;

  see to it

  that the sacrifice

  imposed by the enemy

  unites his victims

  instead of separating them;

  as rabbi,

  there is only one call

  you must issue:

  Jews stay together,

  Jews

  stay together

  as Jews.

  And so,

  the next morning,

  the rabbi receives

  the eldest of the ghetto

  and solemnly

  informs them

  of his decision:

  the enemy will kill—

  but his victims

  will not be

  our victims;

  we shall remain

  together

  and together

  we shall confront the enemy

  as one person

  linked by the same breath.

  A few hours later

  the word goes around

  the sick streets

  of the ghetto

  somewhere

  in the East

  under hostile

  and cruel skies.

  And shortly before dusk,

  at the hour when,

  on the other side,

  Jews everywhere gather

  in their houses of study

  and prayer,

  to recite with gratitude

  the miraculous events

  surrounding Mordechai

  and Esther

  and their Jewish friends,

  the enemy drives the inhabitants

  of the ghetto

  into the courtyard

  of the old synagogue,

  where the oldest of the old Jews

  is ordered to make his decision known:

  Who are the ten martyrs?

  Who shall live, who shall die?

  Taking one step forward,

  showing no fear,

  his entire being reflecting

  dignity,

  the oldest of the old Jews

  declares firmly:

  None of us

  deserves

  more than the other

  either to live

  or to die.

  He waits a moment,

  a long moment,

  as though he wanted

  to add

  an explanation,

  but changes his mind;

  he takes one step backward

  and is already

  surrounded

  by friends and allies.

  Is the enemy disappointed?

  Impossible to tell.

  He moves his sleepy gaze

  over the inhabitants

  of the ghetto: young and old,

  learned and not,

  men and women,

  children and their teachers,

  all are here.

  Is the enemy satisfied

  that no one is missing?

  Impossible to tell.

  He looks at his victims

  and says

  simply,

  coldly:

  In one hour,

  exactly one hour,

  you will all be

  dead.

  And all the Jews,

  in a single movement,

  turn toward their rabbi

  as though to ask for confirmation:

  Is it true?

  Is it a dream perhaps?

  A nightmare? A farce?

  Some cry,

  others smile,

  staring into emptiness.

  Let us be ready,

  says the rabbi.

  He does not say

  ready for what;

  everybody knows.

  Let us recite the Vidui,

  all together,

  says the rabbi,

  and then

  Sh’ma Yisrael,

  all together;

  let the Almighty hear our appeal,

  perhaps He doesn’t know

  what is happening here below.

  Therefore,

  my friends,

  my brothers,

  we shall sing

  loudly,

  louder and louder,

  do you hear me?

  We shall sing so loud

  that our song will fill

  heaven and earth…

  Some look at him

  but do not understand;

  others understand

  but do not dare

  to look at him;

  there are those who wonder:

  Sing?

  You want us to sing,

  rabbi?

  Here? Now?

  Yes! Now!

  commands the rabbi.

  I want you to sing now!

  I am going to teach you

  a song,

  a niggun

  that I have learned today—

  a niggun meant

  for this day!

  And he begins to teach them

  the niggun

  that the Besht,

  with his desperate fervor,

  had sung for him

  hours earlier.

  And suddenly

  the rabbi notices,

  with joy mixed with anguish,

  that the community,

  his own,

  is larger than he had thought.

  From everywhere

  Jews have come

  to join it.

  From Babylon

  and Spain,

  from Provence

  and Morocco,

  they have left the Talmud

  to come here;

  they have left the Tosafot

  to come here;

  they have left history

  and legend

  to be here,

  present at this

  upheaval of history;

  they have left

  their resting places

  to come into this ghetto

  to sing and dream

  with these Jews

  who are walking to their death.

  Akiva and his disciples,

  Bar Kochba and his warriors,

  the sages

  and the rebels,

  the beggars and the princes,

  the Holy Ari and his companions,

  the Maggid and his disciples,

  and the Gaon of Vilna,

  strange,

  he sings,

  the Gaon of Vilna

  sings the Besht’s niggun,

  as does the entire community,

  as does the Besht himself,r />
  while weeping

  and dancing,

  and celebrating

  the Jew’s loyalty

  to his people

  and to his song.

  The enemy begins the massacre

  but the niggun escapes him;

  the slaughterer slaughters

  but his victims,

  one minute before their death,

  aspire to immortality

  and achieve it

  with their song,

  which does not,

  cannot weaken,

  cannot die:

  it continues

  and will continue,

  until the end of time

  and beyond.

  Glossary

  AKIVA (c. 50 CE–135 CE): One of the preeminent rabbinical scholars of the Mishnaic period (approximately the first two centuries of the Common Era) in the Land of Israel during its rule by the Roman Empire. He was executed by the Romans for refusing to stop teaching Torah to his students.

  BAR KOCHBA (??–135 CE): Nom de guerre of Simon ben Kosevah, the military leader of the Judeans’ final, ultimately unsuccessful revolt against the Roman Empire’s rule; he kept the Roman Army at bay from his fortress in Betar for three and a half years. His nom de guerre, which means “son of a star,” was given to him by Rabbi Akiva, who at one time believed him to be the Messiah.

  BESHT (c. 1698–1760): Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, also known as the Baal Shem Tov (“master of the good name”) or Besht (its acronym). A mystic born in what was then southeastern Poland (now part of Ukraine), he was the founder of Hasidism, a sect of Judaism that emphasizes the spiritual, mystical, ecstatic, and populistic aspects of Jewish religious philosophy and practices.

  BNEI BRAK: A city in ancient Israel, believed to be northeast of what is now Tel Aviv. Initially mentioned in the biblical Book of Joshua, it was known as a center of biblical scholarship in the Mishnaic period. Also a city in Israel today, founded in 1924.

  ESTHER (fifth century BCE): The eponymous heroine of the biblical Book of Esther. The Jewish wife of Ahasuerus (believed to be Xerxes I), a fifth-century BCE king of the Persian Empire, she famously and dramatically saved the Jews of the empire from government-mandated genocide by revealing her Jewish origins to her husband in the presence of Haman, the king’s vizier and anti-Semitic architect of the genocidal decree. Established the holiday of Purim with her cousin, Mordechai. See also HAMAN, MORDECHAI, and PURIM.

  GAON OF VILNA; RABBI ELIYAHU (1720–1797): Rabbi Eliyahu ben Shlomo Zalman was the Lithuanian-born preeminent biblical scholar, Talmudic commentator, and decisor of Jewish law in eighteenth-century Europe. His scholarship influenced generations of rabbis who came after him.

  HAMAN (fifth century BCE): The anti-Semitic vizier of the Persian king Ahasuerus and the villain in the Purim story, as narrated in the biblical Book of Esther. Haman was the driving force behind Ahasuerus’s decree of genocide against the Jews of the Persian Empire; his plot was foiled by Esther, the king’s Jewish wife, and he and his ten sons were hung on the gallows he had prepared for Mordechai. See also ESTHER, MORDECHAI, and PURIM.