The Ascent of Eli Israel by Dara Horn Jonathan Papernick Page B

said he was not hungry. When she said, “You must drink,” he called out, “More wine!”
    Finally, the rebbe called Sarah to open the door. She entered, and the dark room smelled stale and musty like old books and bedsheets. The rebbe lay on the bed with pillows propped under his legs and back.
    â€œHow does one begin a conversation with God?” the rebbe began, his voice thin and strained. “How does one start such a conversation? What does one say?”
    â€œYou are tired,” Sarah said.
    â€œWhat does one say? And in what language?” the rebbe said.
    â€œYou know what to do,” Sarah said.
    â€œI have never had such a conversation.”
    The rebbe lived every day in the shadow of his great-great-grandfather, the first Dokszycer rebbe, peace be upon him, who had summoned God to protect his village from rampaging cossacks. It is said that he stood in the village square with his eyes closed as cossack hoofbeats pounded nearer and as they reached the square hooting and howling, a giant hand reached out of the sky to pluck the riders from the horses’ backs.
    â€œI have been in the dark. Alone. No angels met me. No voice answered my calls. Elohim! ” the rebbe screamed. “ Elohim! Master of the Universe.”
    â€œOh, Israel,” Sarah said. “The Lord tests the righteous. Rabbi Jonathan said the potter does not test cracked pots, because if he tapped it even once it would break. But he does test the good ones because no matter how many times he tests them they do not break. So God tests not the wicked but the righteous.”
    â€œYou are saying that Rabbi Jonathan thinks I am like a clay pot?”
    â€œTurn on the light,” Sarah said, exasperated. “Yitzchak has been waiting to see you.”
    â€œIn my distress I cried unto the Lord and he did not hear me,” the rebbe said, misquoting the first line of Psalm 120.
    Yitzchak was the rebbe’s nephew and only heir to the leadership of the Dokszycer dynasty since the rebbe’s son had left the closed walls of the community for the greener shores of New York’s Long Island. The rebbe wore his shirt torn in the corner every day as if his only son had died.
    Yitzchak was whip thin and as tall as Solomon the Wise was said to have been, though not nearly as sharp, the rebbe often observed. He entered the rebbe’s room with an unusual spring in his step.
    â€œHow are you feeling today?” he asked. His suit was rumpled and the rebbe could see a soup stain on the front of his shirt.
    The rebbe pulled himself up, so that he sat leaning against a couple of pillows. “How am I feeling?” he asked. “Has the Messiah arrived yet?”
    â€œHow is your back? And neck?”
    The rebbe threw out his arm in a weak backhand and released from his lips a long agonized “Aaaaaaaach!”
    â€œI have found someone,” Yitzchak said, smiling and then covering his mouth with his hand. His teeth were as large as those of a horse and the rebbe often joked that he should pray with his mouth closed so he would not scare God from the world. “I have found someone who can help you, Rebbe.”
    â€œOnly God can help me,” the rebbe said, shaking his head slowly until he had to stop from the pain.
    â€œI have found someone,” Yitzchak repeated.
    â€œI’m sure you have found someone,” the rebbe said.
    â€œI met him at Zion Square,” Yitzchak said. “Demonstrating tricks concerning the back.”
    â€œNo more tricks,” the rebbe said.
    â€œHe is a healer,” Yitzchak said, picking up the edge of the rebbe’s bedside table with one shaking hand, spilling a half-full glass of water onto the floor. “Last week, I could not have lifted this.”
    An hour later Sarah entered, drew the curtains, turned on a small lamp, and led a tall pale man dressed all in white into the rebbe’s room.
    The rebbe sat propped against his