Chad Gadya

The Place Death Fears

I woke up in a soft warm bed. I knew it wasn't my own. The give on the mattress was different and there was a woodsy smell in the air instead of the citrusy scent I was accustomed to waking to. I opened my eyes and saw an unfamiliar woman bending over me; I did the natural thing and screamed.

She stepped back and raised a palm. She was speaking in a language I didn't understand. "I speak English," I said.

"You speak English?" she repeated in an accented voice.

I nodded and she smiled. "I no speak English. Friend does. Wait."

I still felt weak, so I waited as she left. I looked around the room. The furniture was old-fashioned and everything seemed to be carved out of wood, which explained the pleasant aroma. The blanket covering me appeared to be a hand-made quilt stitched from several different fabrics. There were no lights, but an unlit candle lay on the small table beside my bed and sunlight streamed into the room through a large window. There was a patterned rug on the floor and I noticed a mezuzah by the door.

The whole place looked cozy, but after the encounter with vampires, I couldn't relax. The door opened again and the woman entered, followed by a man who looked as old as my father might have been. While the woman wore a long-sleeved dress and an apron, the man was donned in old-fashioned shirt and slacks that looked like they were from another century. Only the tallit wrapped artound his shoulders and his black kipa looked familiar.

     He gave me a smile. "Are you feeling well?"

     His voice sounded sorta like a Russian accent, but not quite. "Who are you?" I asked.

     Perhaps I was being rude, but I was still shaken. The men and woman exchanged glances. "My name is David ben Adam," he said.

    There were probably a million Davids with Adams as fathers in the world, but I supposed that was the best answer he would give me. "When can I leave?" I asked.

    The woman blinked and said something to David in the unfamiliar language. It sounded somewhat like Hebrew, but it wasn't. Then, I realized it was probably Yiddish. I blinked; I thought that language was mostly dead —another loss of the Jewish assimilation into American culture. "You can leave whenever you want," David answered, "but why should you? While you are here, you are safe. The Angel of Death does not enter this place."

    I blinked at him. "How old are you?"

    He shrugged. "I am not sure what year it is, but I was born in 1876 and I am the youngest of the visitors."

    "The visitors?" I asked.

    "People who choose to spend the rest of their lives here," David explained. "I wonder if you and your companions will. This is a peaceful place where you will not face pogroms or expulsions."

    "My friends?" I asked. "Are they okay?"

      David smiled. "Your mother is taking a bath, the young boy is reading some Hebrew texts, the Golem is knitting, and your goat is chewing on a discarded chair from the carpenter's shop."

I exhaled. My stomach grumbled and the woman grinned at me and said something in Yiddish. David related her words, "Come, we have good food."

***

The food was indeed good. I was sitting down on a wooden chair. The lady, who pointed to herself and said "Rivkah", bustled around. She had a kindly face and a gentle smile, but I was too hungry to give much notice to her kindness at first.

The borscht she had cooked was the best soup I had ever eaten. I spooked the purple liquid into my mouth slowly to savor its mild taste. There were cheese blintzes that melted in my mouth and a casserole made of cabbage and cheese. I ate until I was full and then looked up to give Rivkah a smile. "Your cooking is superb," I told her.