I grew accustomed to losing myself in unvoiced thoughts and wistful conjectures, sometimes trying to see myself as the son of another woman, since a "change" of mother would naturally entail a change of fate. I had already secretly "adopted" Mr. Gurevitch, of my Mondays, as my father. I had no qualms about it since, after all, my father died and I knew that this fact was irreversible. But the unarticulated thought of "changing" Mother for another one was at once inviting and forbidden.
No mother from among the women of my "days" seemed a beneficial change. But what about Ba'she?
As I followed the speculative train of this thought, I realized all of a sudden the undesigned and unintended consequence, frightening even in its improbability. I was panic-stricken by the knowledge of where a mere idea might lead, even one that started only in the playfulness of daydreaming. In the context of my religious upbringing and the supremacy given to thoughts and ideas, the eventual result of my supposedly innocent and harmless speculation was a powerful shock, as it suddenly dawned on me that if Ba'she were my mother, even if only by secret "adoption," this would have meant not only a change of fate, but also a change of faith...
I asked myself whether I was such a heathen and unbeliever that a thought so low and dreadful could have nestled in my mind for weeks and months. True, I was already shaken a number of times by fits of unbelief, doubting the usefulness of a child's suffering, questioning even whether this was really the will of God. But each time such doubts and questions overtook me, I forced myself to return, through double portions of prayers and determined good intentions, to my previous unquestioning religious beliefs. This calmed my mind and heart, and quietly, with renewed faith, I could tell myself to accept without questions my beggarly lot in life.
That a remotely harbored thought should mask a wish that would eventuate in an apostasy of such dimensions made me feel deeply unworthy, undeserving of my "days" and of the trust my "day" donors and my teachers set in me. I also took it as a sign that, notwithstanding the shower of praise which I continuously received for my supposedly strong mind, I was not, apparently, in its complete control. Where might it lead me? How in the world would I ever be able to honor the "promissory notes" that I shall be a learned Jew, notes that Mother and teachers had issued on my behalf and, although never signed by me, were constantly presented to me for collection? . . .
The harder I tried to dislodge from my mind and totally disown the very idea of a double change of fate and faith, the more persistent I found the speculative merits of such a preposterous presumption. The idea intrigued me with the remarkable fascination that a change of faith would at the same time also have spelled out, in large and glaring letters, a bitter protest and sweet revenge . . .
And so I was glad that my tempting Friday—tempting in so many strange, imperceptible ways—was limited to breakfast and lunch only.
To help silence the thoughts which the contact with my Friday, particularly with kindhearted Ba'she, may have provoked in me, and to banish and exile any alien ideas even before they found anchorage in my mind, I would go promptly after lunch to the big yeshi've. There I joined one of my teachers-in the chanting of King Solomon's Song of Songs, preparatory to the glorious coming of Queen Sabbath.
The day of Sabbath, like a great national tranquilizer, was totally sundered from the rest of the week. All worries were stilled, all economic concerns cast aside, a day set apart for inner calm and peace.
The majestic image of the day of Sabbath was so intensely and signally embedded in the consciousness of the Jewish people and so much part and parcel of the texture of their reality, that every man, woman and child literally sensed, physically and spiritually, the hour of its approach. The air in Jewish towns and townlets on Friday evenings took on an exquisite, almost unearthly fragrance. Everyone made ready to greet and extol the Glory of Sabbath. The recitation of the Song of Songs from beginning to end was one of the many initiatory traditions, a custom observed especially among the more pious Jews.
Aloud, with a clear, melodious voice I would recite in unison with my teacher:
According to Jewish tradition, every human being is endowed with a yey'tzer Tov, a good inclination, and a yey'tzer Ra, an evil inclination. And it was up to the individual to help his good inclination battle and conquer the bad inclination within him.
Thus, when the detailed delineation of the dark
yet comely Shulamite brought forth in my thoughts the image of Ba'she,
I compelled myself to think of the rabbinical commentaries on the love
song of the wisest of all men. The two breasts were but a symbolic representation
of Moses and Aaron, the founders of the Israelite people. The entire book,
verse for verse, was only a metaphoric discourse, a sweet and subtle allusion
to the everlasting bond between God and His people.
I was very proud of these Friday afternoons, chanting with my teacher chapter and verse of the Song of Songs, and certain of his trust in my knowledge and true interpretation of its contents. And I was extremely happy to add my voice to the grand chorus exalting the regal coming of the day of Sabbath.
During such moments I often wished that my teacher would hold my hand, even for a brief moment, like Father used to do in the synagogue. But I quickly drowned my boyish and filial longing in the greater intensity of preparing myself, in a grown-up, manly fashion, for the services of her majesty, Queen Sabbath . . .
In my imagination I could see the stately procession: barefooted young maidens, with flowing black hair and clad in white satin and silk dancing before the Queen . . . A band of Levites with all manner of instruments—candelabrum-shaped bagpipes, trumpets of ram's horn, harps and timbrels... And as the great impending hour drew nearer, I could hear the heavenly music: the joyful encounter of cymbals in midair, strings of harps and lyres vibrating with ecstasy, and the solemn pealing of trumpets and horns . . .
Presently worshippers started to assemble, everyone washed and bathed in honor of Sabbath and dressed in his best. Long white candles were lit, dozens of them, and their tiny flames flickered in anticipatory bliss. In a moment special poems and selected chapters from the Psalms would be intoned, "Come, my friend, to meet the bride; let us welcome the Sabbath" and "A psalm, a song for the Sabbath Day"—a joyous prelude to the evening services.
Sabbath is here! My heart, unshadowed by doubts and with its perplexities gone, is tranquil now. I feel inwardly warm, happy, reaffirmed everlastingly in my faith, and Queen Sabbath, like a mother, is embracing me, her faithful son . . .