Page 6 of The World That We Knew

Before long there would be light and soldiers would be posted on the streets. The air was gauzy, a haze that was filmy and oppressive. But perhaps the Almighty was looking over them; the horizon remained dark, which allowed them to walk in the shadows. The deed they were attempting must be accomplished before dawn, and the rabbi’s followers would be at the door soon after for their secret prayer gathering, rocking back and forth in praise of God as the sun rose. This was the end, this was the beginning, and they had no time for doubt.

The women slipped into the doorway, then went along the dark corridor until they had reached a small wooden door leading to the cellar. It was kept locked, but Ettie had taken the key from her father’s key chain. They had dug a pile of sopping earth that was three cubits long, an ancient measurement that was varied, for a cubit stretched the length from elbow to fingertips, a different length for each man or woman who had measured, approximately eighteen inches. Ettie began to cast clods of earth onto the cold, dank floor. The mound of clay was frightening, a mountain of gloomy darkness. The room itself was foul, a place where the rabbi’s wife kept potatoes and onions in barrels. Some of the rabbi’s most precious belongings were stored on a wooden shelf, for no one would think to look here. Ettie went to fetch a flask of pure water, collected in a rain barrel, kept for ritual cleansings. She poured it over the mud, then kneaded the sacred water until the mud became clay. The mixture looked less dreadful then, ready to be shaped.

Quickly, Ettie bent to smooth out the clay, forming legs and a torso, arms and a head. Each limb corresponded with a letter in the Hebrew alphabet; with the formation of the body there was a combination of four letters of the Tetragram of God’s name. Ettie went back in her mind to all she had overheard about opening the 221 gates that led to God’s knowledge. If she did so incorrectly, the mud on the floor would remain lifeless and hollow. If she erred in a way that was an affront to God, she herself might burst into flames. There were dangers abounding, and yet she felt oddly composed as she began to chant. This was her calling, what she had always been meant to do, had she not been a woman, barred from such holy endeavors. Ever since she was a small child she had been discreetly eavesdropping to learn all she could, her ear set against the door where her father taught his lessons. Now her memory served her well. She could actually see the words she was to say, as if they had been written inside her mind.

In the Sefer Yetzirah, The Book of Formation, the individual must take the letters of the Hebrew alphabet through each of the gates of both the mind and the spirit. Bereshit bara. In the beginning. He created. But could she? Was a mortal woman allowed to be so brave? The clay suddenly seemed monstrous, and Ettie hesitated, unsure if it was even possible for a woman to have the power of creation. She had been a sinner all her life, refusing to do as she was told, holding on to dreams that were improper for someone of her age and sex.

“Perhaps my mother is right,” she wondered aloud. “It may be that women are not meant to bring such a creature to life or to walk through the gates of knowledge.”

“Of course it’s possible,” Hanni said in a reasonable tone. “Women create life, and therefore shouldn’t those gates open all the more easily to us?” She knelt beside Ettie. Their arms were smeared with slick black mud. “Make certain it is able to have a voice.”

“You want it to speak? Are you positive?” Golems were not meant to have the ability to talk back or argue.

But Hanni nodded, sure of herself. What good would a silent, lurking monster be? The creature that protected her daughter must be able to speak up on her behalf, as a mother would do. Ettie went on to make an indentation for a mouth, then moved the clay to form eyes and a nose as well. But there was more that Hanni desired for her daughter’s guardian. From an inner pocket of her jacket, she brought forth a garment she had been sewing. She had made a simple but perfectly tailored dress, gray with white buttons. Leaning close she whispered, “Make certain it’s a woman.”

Ettie turned pale. There had been tales of female golems, made secretly for depraved personal use, for housework or slavery or sex, but most legends spoke of male creatures. “My father said a golem must be created as Adam was. All that I know, I learned from hearing what he did. I wouldn’t know how to create a female.” By now the rabbi’s daughter was trembling. Brave as she was, she feared the punishment that awaited anyone who tried and failed to create life out of dust.

“As a woman you can form the creature in your image.” If such an undertaking was blasphemy, then wasn’t every act they were committing on this night directly opposed to the expected conduct for women, who themselves were made of a man’s rib? Hanni was not about to trust a male monster with her daughter. It must be a woman. A mother figure who would feel not a forced duty, but real, tangible love. To make sure of this she had saved a vial of her tears, which she now poured over the creature’s eyes. See as I see. Do as I would have. Be who I might have become.

Ettie’s face had a somber expression. Perhaps it was wrong to create a woman, but the creature belonged to Hanni and this was her choice. Ettie did as she was asked, fashioning clay breasts and an indentation to serve as the being’s sex. When she observed what had been wrought, she was disappointed to see the clay being looked neither male nor female.

“Do you have your monthly bleeding?” Hanni asked. “If we add blood perhaps that will let the creature know what she is and God will not be offended by what we do.”

“We?” Ettie said with a frown, for she knew full well where the Almighty’s fury would be placed should an unforgivable error be made. She would be the one to burn for all eternity. Still, what she had begun, she must finish. She turned to her sister. “You have yours.”

Marta had been half-asleep, exhausted from digging at the river, but she instantly was wide awake, shocked when she was instructed to reach inside her underthings and bring forth her monthly blood. She was modest and this aspect of being a woman brought her shame, even when it was private.

“I won’t!” she cried. Bleary-eyed, she appeared younger than her age, but her discomfort didn’t deter her older sister. Getting out of Berlin was the only thing on Ettie’s mind, and no shame would stop her.

“You’ll do it right now,” she said, intent on their success. “Or I’ll do it for you!”

Marta wept, not that it mattered. What they needed was blood, and although she seemed like a young girl, she was a woman. At last Marta turned from them and did as she was told, reaching into her undergarments.

“Place the blood inside the creature,” Ettie urged, bossy at the best of times, insistent now. When Marta balked again, Ettie tugged on her arm. “Do you want to live? We have no time to be ashamed.”

The younger girl did as she was instructed, whimpering as she smeared the blood into the indentation her sister had made in the clay figure.

Now they must circle the body they were creating. The circle would protect and complete the ritual. As they did so, Ettie recited the secret names of God she had heard her father and his students utter. She had spoken these words along with the men from her hiding place outside her father’s chambers, and she knew how intense such a recitation was. The name had seventy-two parts and was so holy that each section of the name scalded the speaker’s lips. Ettie had coated her lips with cooking oil to ease the burning. Everything she was doing was a sin and she knew it, but even angels, who had no inclination to evil, were imperfect, and she was nothing compared to them, only a girl who wanted to live.

“Forgive me,” she said to the Almighty, in the hope that He would hear her one small voice.

If she were a boy, perhaps her father would have heeded her words, and they might have created a golem to protect their family and his students and their neighbors and all of the Jews in the city. But of course her father would never have listened to her. Had he known of the existence of a golem, he would have destroyed it immediately. His own experience had made him distrust such creatures, whom he considered to be little more than demons. But perhaps a demon was needed to fight demons. Perhaps some sins were prayers sent up to the Almighty.

With a final effort that left her panting, Ettie opened the gates with her prayers. To her amazement she saw the letters of the illuminated Hebrew alphabet hanging in midair. Before there were numbers, there had been letters, so ancient and intricate they were used for both counting and speech. Ettie’s awe of the Almighty and His wonders intensified. She felt a web of power in the room. Beads of sweat formed on her burning lips as she continued her recitation. The incantation felt hot and sweet in her mouth. She seemed no longer attached to the ground; everything was equal, earth, fire, water, sky. The other women opened their minds as well. Marta, who was so chaste, imagined a corridor filled with doors. Behind every one there was one of the seraphim, the angels that did God’s bidding and were so close to men it was sometimes possible to see them brush by in the shadows. It was happening now. An angel had appeared in the corner of the dim cellar. He was crouched down, his eyes aflame as he watched, but of course they could not see him, for he was the beautiful and fearsome Azriel, called from his slumbers when the door to the World to Come was flung open, as it was now, ready to take whoever might be chosen to go with him.

It was then the clay figure began to glow, as if burning with human emotion. Its veins turned densely black, before becoming the color of ink. The sisters and Hanni continued to keep their minds open, their thoughts so deep it was as if they had fallen into the center of the earth. The air in the room grew stifling, as it does before a birth. And then it was so. In that instant there was only Olam HaZeh, the world that they lived in, and one more creature entering that world. All three gasped in disbelief at what was before them. The figure had cooled into the shape of a woman. She was tall, with long legs and a well-proportioned body. Her hair was flowing and dark, the color of damp soil. The form had been given ruach, the breath of bones, the life force that animates every creature on earth. Its lack of a soul would allow it to perceive the spiritual aspects of the world that no human could ever know or see. Good and evil appeared in their truest forms to a golem, death was easy to perceive and the spirits of the dead could be summoned. It was possible for a golem to see the angel in the corner, its bare feet dusted with soil, as it took in this miracle.

Ettie marveled at what she had wrought. The mystery of creation hung in the air, a thick, deep curtain that carried the odor of blood and of the future and of all the lives that had come before this one. The creature’s eyes were closed.

Hanni was in knots, terrified they had failed and that her daughter would have no protector. Perhaps the creature had been stillborn. Without thinking, Hanni reached out. Its skin was warm beneath her touch, but it had no reaction. “Why isn’t it moving?”

“It has to be activated,” Ettie told her. “That is the last step.”

She rushed upstairs to her father’s study to search for his pen and a vial of ink that had been sanctified for the use of creating sacred scrolls. She had never been allowed to enter this room, and now grew light-headed at the thought of all she had done. She could hear the youngest of the children rustling under their blankets, and her father groaning as he began to wake. The day was moving too fast, like a spoke in a wheel that would not stop spinning. What was done was done, and so it must be completed. Ettie returned to the cellar, taking the steps two at a time. She had peered through the keyhole during the making of her father’s golem, and she knew the last step. Her father had written the word emet on the creature’s arm. Now she carefully did the same. The word meant truth.

She put down the pen and took the golem’s hand, which tightened in her grasp. It was then its eyes flew open. They were deep gray, the color of the river at the hour when they had assembled on the bank to dig for clay.

“Is it alive?” Marta asked, her voice hoarse from fear.