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frightening astonishment, as though he had been told that the laws of
Copernicus no longer applied and chaos reigned in the world. After re–
gaining his composure he said, "What brought you to do it?" If I knew
what brought you to it, I'd forgive you for everything. I want to un–
derstand."
"Faith in God."
"Do you believe in special providence?"
"Indeed."
"So you believe that the Torah was given on Mount Sinai."
"Indeed."
"So we must keep the six hundred and thirteen commandments."
"Correct. "
"Where does that madness of yours come from? Who infected you
with that folly?"
"It's a feeling, Father. It's hard for me to explain it. "
"A feeling, you say. Where's logic? Common sense? Science? The
new discoveries? Feelings only deceive you, they only confuse you."
From then on they never conversed again, nor did they argue. When
he returned home from the seminary on vacations, his father's face would
close. He asked no questions and took no interest, as though Kurt were
not his son but a ghostly shade. His mother tried at first to reconcile
them, but seeing the abyss yawning between them, she ceased.
Later, too, when he had retired from business and grown old, lying
in his sickbed, they didn't exchange words. Sometimes he would fix him
with his gaze as though seeing the traces of his son who had left the
world before his time and left that golem in his place. His father willed
his body to science, and of course there was no funeral. His mother re–
mained faithful to her husband and donated her body to the medical
school of her native city. The pain was strong, but Kurt didn't allow
himself to show emotions. He was certain that he was a soldier at the
front. He must surpress his feelings, dwell in the provinces, teach mer–
chants Bible and Gemara, and return them to their Father in heaven.
It had been a long time since he had seen his dead parents with such
clarity. Once they were revealed to him, the old pain returned to sear
him. He sipped two drinks and immediately felt better.
From that station, not many years ago, he used to set out for the
villages to celebrate weddings or officiate at funerals. Now no more
weddings were held in villages. Sometimes he was summoned to a village
for a funeral. "The Jews are dying, and other Jews are not being born in
their places." A year earlier an elderly village Jew had said that. His wife
had passed away, and he was standing in his courtyard as though the soul
had been plucked from his body. Kurt remembered his face, his stature,
