by Rena Rossner
It glitters, black and menacing, arching across the sky.
Hannah
29 Kislev 5122
Jakob and I sat with Eema and Abba tonight to discuss wedding plans. “I don’t want my mother to know I’m back,” Jakob said. His voice was strong and steady, but my heart broke.
“I’m not the same person I was,” he said. “I have a new family now.” His eyes were clear and untroubled. But I wanted to tell him that he is the same to me. That if it were up to me, we would marry tonight. Something small. My family, two witnesses, and the sky. God forbid that the Black Mist should ruin the ceremony—or further infect others.
But Abba says that it is only right to do things as they should be. He said that if we really wanted our union to have a powerful effect on nullifying the heavenly decree that’s brought on this mist, we might consider getting married in the Jewish cemetery, outside the gates of the city. The power of such a ceremony could help push back the mist, but the thought of doing such a thing chills me to the bone. I don’t want that kind of omen hanging over my marriage.
What if it doesn’t work? What if the Black Mist comes anyway?
9 Tevet 5122
Levana dusts the lids of my face with silver. My heart leaps inside my chest. I only want to go outside and greet my groom, but I must wait until they finish signing the ketubah, until they call me to lead the procession of guests that will accompany me to the huppah. This trapping of lace is the only thing holding me back from being with him. I yearn to be in his presence. To hold his hand in mine and know that nobody can take him away from me again.
There’s a knock at the door! I must go.
10 Tevet 5122—sometime in the middle of night
It’s nearly morning, today is a fast day, and we don’t know what the day will bring. I can’t sleep, so I might as well put these words down. I may not get another chance.
Sarah knocked on the door to tell me it was time for me to make my way through town to the huppah. The ceremony was held in the central square of the Jewish quarter. I held Eema’s hand tight as she stepped beside me, carrying a candle encased in glass. Normally, the groom’s mother would have held my other hand, but Nagmama held it, steady and true as a rock.
“Ready?” Eema said.
“Of course she’s ready,” Nagmama answered, and I smiled at that. I took the first step forward to meet my destiny.
The door opened and it felt like half the town was waiting outside to walk me to my wedding canopy. I took a deep breath and we walked out the door. Sarah and Levana followed close behind, making sure my dress and veil didn’t snag on anything. All the women in the town accompanied me. They hummed a soft and mournful melody as we walked and a breeze blew through town for the first time in what felt like months. It rustled my veil and I remember thinking that it felt like the wind approved—like maybe Abba had even rustled it up for me. Like it carried within it all the souls of my ancestors guiding me to my groom. Despite the Black Mist and the things our community was facing—for a moment in time, everything felt right with the world.
When we reached the town square, the men of our community were already there surrounding Jakob like an army of guards. They parted to make room for me. He wore all white, as per the custom of the Solomonars, wrapped in Abba’s own prayer shawl, and the sight of him was more beautiful to me than any blooming flower.
Looking back, that was the last moment that things felt right. Instead of the music and song that I knew I should be hearing, the men dancing me down the aisle to meet my groom, I heard a gasp in the crowd. Then another. At first, I didn’t pay attention. My eyes were shining only for Jakob, but then his eyes departed from mine and I watched as they darted through the crowd. I was filled with panic—why wasn’t he looking at me? What could possibly spoil the perfection of this day? I heard whispers but I kept walking.
“Eema!” I whispered. “What’s happening?”
“The duchess is here.” She gripped my hand so hard it hurt. “She fainted.”
I knew at once that it was a bad omen. Abba leaned over and whispered something in Jakob’s ear, but Jakob shook his head. Abba looked at Eema, and he gestured for her to keep walking even though no music played.
We’d only told the closest members of our family about Jakob’s true identity. It is forbidden to tell others the identity of a convert. We kept his secret as close to our hearts as our own. But someone must have told her. Someone must have known.
I reached the huppah and before I started circling Jakob seven times, I was close enough to hear Abba ask Jakob again, “Are you sure we shouldn’t delay the ceremony?”
I took Jakob’s hand in mine, even though we hadn’t said our vows yet, and pleaded with both of them, tears in my eyes. “Please, no. We’ve waited long enough.”
Jakob looked at me with resolve and said, “Libavtani, achoti kallah—you have ravished my heart, my darling bride.” He turned to Abba. “Marry us now, Rabbi Isaac—I won’t make my bride wait any longer.”
Jakob slid a ring on my finger and said the words that would bind us together: “Harei at mekudeshet li kadat Moshe ve’Yisrael.”
The wind blew colder and clouds rolled across the sky. Clinging to my happiness, I dismissed it as a blessing. Jakob wrapped his prayer shawl around me and drew me close to him as Abba recited the seven blessings. When Jakob broke the glass to mark our mourning for Jerusalem, it felt even more meaningful than ever, standing as we were, on the eve of the tenth of Tevet.
Then there was a cheer, a raucous cry—mazal tov!—that broke the silence with a kind of light that cut through the grey mist above us. That was when the music began in earnest and I started to think that maybe everything would be okay.
We spent a few moments alone together in the Ben Amram’s home—they live closest to the town center. Guvriel and his brother Aharon stood watch. Jakob held me in his arms and my eyes filled with tears, I wanted to say something, to ask him about his mother, but when I opened my mouth to speak he silenced me with a kiss. We didn’t stop kissing until they started to knock at the door and sing, beckoning us out of the house and back to the party and celebration.
We danced until I thought I would faint, and though I felt the absence of his mother on the dance floor like a dark sinkhole in the ground, I tried not to dwell on it. Tried to dance around it. I’ve married Jakob kept racing through my mind. We can finally be together, and no one can tear us apart. Not his mother, not my father.
The night felt like it dragged on and on. I only wanted to be alone with him again. As the band played one of my favorite melodies, “El Givat Ha’Levonah,” and I was spun from arm to arm, Sarah passed me to Nagmama, who passed me to Eema, who pulled me close and told me that the duchess was still here—a sullen, silent guest. I tried to put it out of my mind. In that moment, I was blind to anything but my own happiness. I reached my arm out to spin the next person who reached for me. I was sweaty and my face was flushed, and our dance echoed the raucous notes of the song. I was spinning. Our town was full of life and spirit in a way we hadn’t experienced for so long.
But soon the dances ended and everyone began to disperse. Jakob and I stumbled hand in hand from the town square to the small house he’d rented for us, close to the Malženická gate. Abba’s students and some of the rabbis from the yeshiva jumped and sang the whole way there. I worried they sang too loudly, but everyone in town knew there was a wedding happening, and nobody complained. We made it to the front door without incident.
When we stepped inside and closed the door, we could still hear them singing. We laughed a little at their antics, and the sounds of their voices soon faded.
“Hannah,” Jakob said in a hoarse whisper. “My bride.” My heart took off at a gallop. I couldn’t believe he was finally holding me in his arms for good.
“I’m so sorry about my mother,” he said. This time I pressed my lips to his. I didn’t want to hear any more.
“I have something to give you,” he said into my hai
r. He turned to the table, then slid a wooden box in my direction. I reached for the latch. Inside were two shining silver candlesticks, intricately carved with all manner of tree and woodland creature.
“They’re so beautiful,” I said, and I knew what I had to do. I placed the candlesticks on the windowsill, then went to the kitchen and rummaged around until I found candles. I lit the wicks like Eema taught me. “This is the law of Solomon,” I said. “Man and woman, ish and isha: without the yud and the heh, they are esh—fire.” It felt so fitting that this was the first thing I did as a married woman in my own home.
In retrospect, it was a big mistake.
I’d never felt the power and meaning of the words the way I did then—fire like a tangible thing between us. I felt as though I’d been granted a new life—a chance to make a mark in the world, with Jakob finally by my side. His hands touched my shoulders and we watched the dance of the flames. He kissed my neck softly and my body burned bright as the fire. I wanted to feel the heat of his skin against mine. He undressed me—anticipation making both of us tremble, his fingers fumbling with the stays of my dress. I couldn’t believe that I, the daughter of Reb Isaac Solomonar, had married a duke! And he’d given up everything to be with me—like in The Book of Ruth: “Your people are my people, your God my God.” We made love, quickly, hungrily. We spent a few blissful hours together, then melted into sleep.
As dawn broke there was a knock at the door that set my heart racing. We looked at each other in fear. Jakob got out of bed and pulled on his shirt and pants and I pulled up the blankets to cover me.
He opened the door.
Standing on the threshold was his mother, the duchess. “My son! My Jakob! Why have you forsaken me?”
“It’s early in the morning, my lady, why are you out like this? You must watch your health,” he said quietly.
“You’re not even going to invite your mother in?” She raised her voice.
“I am a son of Abraham now, the son of his wife, Sarah. I ask that you leave me be. I am with my new bride.”
The duchess let out a wail and she sagged against the door of our house, just below where Jakob had affixed the mezuzah earlier that week.
“She has bewitched you!” she cried out, loud enough for all the neighbors to hear. “I see the lights she lit in the window—they are the mark of the devil.”
“I must ask you to leave,” Jakob said.
I was terrified—I’m still frightened now. It feels like nothing good will come of this.
“Repent, my son,” she continued. “Come back to claim your birthright please! I beg of you. You are my heir, and an heir to the throne of the kingdom of Hungary!”
“My birthright is here.”
“Admit the truth! That you are my son! We will welcome you back with open arms. You will no longer be accused of being a traitor to the throne. Be reasonable, my son.”
“A traitor? Since when is marrying the woman I love a traitorous act? I must ask that you leave.”
“You have foresworn your birthright. If you don’t repent, the king will have no choice but to sentence you to death. I will not be able to protect you.”
People gathered in the street; I could see them through the open door.
“Jakob…” I said from the bed. “It’s okay, we’ll find a way to be together. Go with her.”
He turned to look at me. “No. I’m never leaving you again.”
“No son of mine will stay married to a Jewess,” the duchess spit.
“Then you leave me no choice,” Jakob said. “Good day to you.” He shut the door in her face.
Jakob took me in his arms. She pounded on the door for a while, begging and crying for him to listen to reason. I cried as Jakob held me. “What will become of us? What will she do to you?” I said.
“Hush, my love,” he whispered into my hair. “We have each other now, and that is all that matters.”
After he left for the synagogue, to tell Abba what had happened and seek his counsel, I sat down to write these words.
There’s another knock at the door… I must go.
What happens next is written only on my skin—recorded in the very marrow of my bones. It is too much for anyone to write and not a story I want to tell.
Sarah knocked at the door. Guvriel was beside her.
“They came to the synagogue.” Guvriel was breathless. “They took him away. I’m so sorry. There was nothing we could do.”
“What do you mean they took him?” I screamed.
Sarah reached for me, but I turned away from her and threw my coat over my nightdress as we ran in the direction of the synagogue. And then I saw him. Strung up on a cross. His beautiful body that I’d just been naked against was tethered to a pole. The king’s men were laying kindling at his feet.
“No!” I shrieked. “No, Jakob! No!”
Sarah held me back, and I struggled against her. “Go get Abba. Tell Abba. There must be something we can do!” I kept screaming. I couldn’t stop.
“Guvriel, run,” Sarah said. “Tell my father, and don’t let them catch you.”
“Hannah, go! Leave! Run away!” Jakob said, tears streaming down his face. “I love you…” His voice cracked. The king’s executioner lit the fire at his feet. “I am a son of Abraham,” Jakob shouted at the sky. “I die by the grace of the true God, Adonai. Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad.
“Sarah, take her away from here,” he shouted. He closed his eyes and all I could see were the tears that wet his perfect cheeks.
“No, I won’t leave you!” I yelled back.
“Sarah, please…” he begged as he cried. “Take her away. Save yourselves! Run.”
“Come on. Hannah—we need to go tell Eema and Abba. Maybe Abba can still do something, come.” Sarah tugged at my arm.
But I was sobbing too hard to see reason. All I wanted to do was reach for him. “Please… No, don’t leave me.”
Sarah kept trying to drag me away, but I wouldn’t move. I thought about the ten martyrs whose stories we read on Tisha B’Av. I must bear witness. I want him to know I never left him.
But when his screams started, something broke inside me and I collapsed. Sarah half carried, half dragged me away. My muscles wouldn’t work anymore.
Nothing works. Nothing matters. All is ash.
I tried to turn and run back. “Hannah, no.” Sarah latched on to me. “Come. We must go. Now. There’s no time.”
All is fire-singe and flame.
I stumbled after her. She was pulling on my arm with all her might, her grip so tight I felt the bruise of it. When we reached home, the door was wide open. “Eema!” Sarah screeched. “Abba!”
The worst kind of fear settled in my belly.
But then we heard Eema’s voice and I choked out a sob of both relief and pain.
“Sarah? Hannah? Thank God you’re safe. What’s happ—?” She saw me and her face fell, and it was more than I could handle.
“Oh Hannahleh,” she said. I sobbed against her shoulder. She cried with me, and I didn’t know where her sobs began and mine ended.
Mine didn’t end. They will never end. I still cry now.
“Eema, we have to leave.” Sarah started packing.
But I can’t leave him. I don’t want to.
“My candlesticks.” I tried to stand up. “And my books. My journals. I need my candlesticks. We have to go back and get them!”
“Hannah… we can’t,” Sarah said. “Eema, they’ve tied him up in the center of town… they lit the kindling…” Her voice cracked. “They’re calling for more blood. She can’t go back.”
I moaned and swayed again.
My beloved is in pain. He burns…
I started shivering and couldn’t stop.
“They will come for us next,” Sarah said. “We have to leave now!”
“Jakob…” My hands shook. My body trembled. The world was one big earthquake and I was falling into it again and again—an endless tumble into an abyss
of flames and ash.
“Quickly,” Eema said. Sarah helped Eema bring me to the bed. “Keep her here. I have to pack,” she said. Sarah sat beside me and stroked my head.
An instant later, there was a pounding on the door.
Levana peeked through the window. “It’s Abba and Guvriel!”
Eema unbolted the door and let them in.
“Esther…” Abba said, breathless.
“We’re already packing.”
“Where’s my mother?” he said.
“Not here. Was she at shul?”
Fresh chills washed over me.
“I will go find her.” Abba opened the door.
“No, rebbe, I’ll go,” Guvriel said.
“Can you pick up Hannah’s candlesticks and her journal on the way back?” Sarah said to him.
I understood in that moment what my sister was willing to sacrifice for me. My stomach rolled. “No,” I said as I tried to get up. “No, no. Don’t send him. It’s not important. I’ll go.”
“You’re not in a state to go anywhere,” Sarah said.
“Please don’t let him go!” I grabbed her dress. “Don’t you see what will happen?”
I can’t let her do this. I won’t have Guvriel’s death on my head too.
“It’s okay. I have to go,” Guvriel said. “My father’s waiting for me at the synagogue.”
“Be careful…” Sarah rushed over to Guvriel. She put her arms around him and they kissed. She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes and said, “Come straight back here. You hear me? No heroics.”
He blinked, stunned by her display of emotion. “I promise.” He pecked a kiss on her lips again, blushed, then went out the front door.
I feel helpless. Empty. I want to die by his side. I don’t want to live in a world without Jakob.
Eema packed up whatever she could take from the kitchen while Sarah and Levana folded blankets and clothes.