50
Liebermann leaned back and looked upward. The steep brick gable of the Old-New Synagogue appeared black against the bright blue sky. It was a striking piece of architectural design. The sloping edges of the gable were serrated with sharp, pointed teeth, giving it a curiously sinister appearance. There was something about its primitive execution that conveyed an impression of great age and mystery.
Your forefathers would have worshipped in the Old-New Synagogue in Prague… Go there, Herr Doctor, and pray.
Liebermann moved on and, turning along a side street, found the entrance: stairs descended to a vestibule and a closed door, the tympanum of which was decorated with intricate carvings of vine leaves and twisted branches. Liebermann opened the door and stepped inside.
His first impression was of a relatively narrow space, but with a high ceiling. Small windows admitted very little light, and most of the illumination came from bronze chandeliers. A continuous wooden bench skirted the walls. The center of the temple was occupied by a wrought-iron Gothic grille behind which stood the cantor’s platform and lectern. Liebermann advanced, his footsteps finding a resonant reply in the farthest corners of the building.
Two massive octagonal pillars rose up to a ceiling of ribbed vaults, and between these hung a red standard decorated with a yellow Star of David. Against the far wall, an eternal light drew Liebermann’s attention to a wooden ark. It looked so ancient that it might have been carried out of Egypt by the Israelites.
Go there, Herr Doctor, and pray.
Superstition!
He had no intention of praying.
Liebermann remembered something his father had told him: The ark is always positioned on a wall that faces Jerusalem.
Jews are always looking backward! thought Liebermann.
He was a man of science, a man who embraced modernity. He was a citizen of the most sophisticated city in Europe! Yet the young doctor felt a curious stirring in the depths of his being. His conversation with Gabriel Kusevitsky came back to him: cultural unconscious, endopychic myths. Was it really possible? Could people of the same race share ancestral memories that found expression in the symbolic language of dreams? And were those ancestral memories also the cause of the peculiar emotion that was now tightening his chest? It was like an experience of deja vu, but much stronger than he had ever known before.
The door opened and a man entered. He was an orthodox Jew wearing a leather vest and a collarless shirt. He was carrying what appeared to be a box of tools. On seeing Liebermann, the man smiled. He put his toolbox down on the floor, produced a skullcap from his pocket, and offered it to Liebermann.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Liebermann. “Of course…” He took the skullcap and placed it on his head with conspicuous care. It was not something he was accustomed to doing. “Thank you,” he muttered. The man simply continued smiling. “I’m a stranger here,” Liebermann added defensively. “Do you speak German?”
“Yes, I do,” said the man. His accent was slight.
“A very beautiful temple,” said Liebermann. “How old is it?”
“More than six hundred years old.”
Liebermann glanced at the man’s toolbox.
“Are you the caretaker?”
“I am indeed.”
“Such an old building… I suppose your work is never done.”
“Never. Broken door hinges, loose tiles, woodworm-there’s always something.”
“Why is it called the Old-New Synagogue? Why not just the Old Synagogue, or the Maiselova Temple?”
“It was called the New Synagogue originally-New because it replaced a much older house of prayer. Over time, more synagogues were built, all of which were newer than the New Synagogue. So to avoid confusion people started to call the New Synagogue the Old-New Synagogue, and the name stuck!” The caretaker paused and stared at his companion. “So, where are you from? Vienna?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so,” said the caretaker. “A lawyer?”
“No-a doctor.”
“Well, it had to be one or the other!” Liebermann was amused by the caretaker’s perspicacity. “It’s your coat, sir,” the caretaker added. “Only a professional man would wear a coat like that.”
Liebermann asked the caretaker a few more questions concerning the temple’s history and found him to be very knowledgeable. He was a good-humored man and evidently enjoyed acting as a guide, but Liebermann suspected that his eagerness to please was not entirely innocent. The fluency of his patter suggested frequent rehearsal and the expectation of a reward for a job well done.
“Notice the vaulting, Herr Doctor. It has five ribs instead of the usual four. This was to avoid anything that might resemble a cross. The red banner was a gift from Ferdinand the Third. He gave it to the Jews as a token of gratitude. The Jews helped him fight off the Swedes in 1648-the Battle of Prague. Without the Jews, the Swedes would have marched right into the Stare Mysto, and all would have been lost.”
The caretaker beckoned, and Liebermann followed. They walked toward the ark.
“And this,” said the caretaker, pointing at a high-backed chair, “is Rabbi Loew’s chair.”
Liebermann became aware of his heart beating more swiftly and made efforts to conceal his excitement.
“Ah yes,” said Liebermann, feigning nonchalance. “Rabbi Loew. I’ve heard of him. He was a great magician, wasn’t he?”
“Well, a wise man, and a learned scholar.”
“A kabbalist?”
“The most powerful ever-so they say.”
“When did he live?”
“About four hundred years ago. He was chief rabbi and head of the rabbinical court of the holy community. A terrible time it was for Jews, because of the fanaticism of the Catholic priests. The clergy were constantly making unfounded accusations of ritual murder. Subsequently, the goyim were suspicious of the Jews, who were wrongly arrested, abused, and mistreated.”
“I was told that Rabbi Loew performed miracles-to protect his people.”
“There are many stories,” said the caretaker, maintaining his smile but now turning oddly silent. Liebermann put his hand into his pocket and jingled some loose change. It was subtly done and had the desired effect. “Yes, many stories…” The caretaker continued as though there had been no pause. “But he is most famous for making a golem.”
“A what?”
“A golem. An artificial being. He collected mud from the banks of the Vltava and made it into the shape of a man, which he then brought to life after consulting the Sefer Yetzirah, the book of creation. The golem had supernatural strength and protected the ghetto Jews for many years. Although in one version of the story, the golem is supposed to have become uncontrollable and destructive.”
“Like in ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’?”
“Yes. Rabbi Loew had to use his most potent spells to stop the golem. Otherwise-such was the creature’s might-he would have destroyed half the ghetto. They say the golem is still here, laid out in the attic. When the Jews were no longer threatened, Rabbi Loew ordered the golem to take its bed upstairs. He made the golem sleep and covered the body with prayer shawls and holy books. Rabbi Loew forbade anyone to go up there again. He said that he was worried about someone causing a fire, but the real reason was the golem. Few people have been up there since Rabbi Loew’s time, but all have come down again gibbering like idiots.”
“Do you have a key to the attic?”
The caretaker laughed.
“It’s a story, Herr Doctor, only a story-although, to be honest, I wouldn’t want to go against the will of Rabbi Loew. Would you?”
“Mud. He made the creature out of mud? You’re quite certain of that?”
