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16_Peretz_Golem.BB.

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I.L. Peretz, "The Golem" (1893)


The golem first appeared in Psalm 139:15: ''Your eyes saw my unformed substance," the word root for substance being GLM in Hebrew. After that, the idea of a golem was reiterated in the Babylonian Talmud (the compilation of rabbinical commentaries set down in the fifth and sixth centuries C.E.) and by later mystical writers. However, it was only a long time after that that the golem, a figure produced from dust and clay, became magical. In the sixteenth century, two rabbinical masters were linked more closely to the creation of a golem: Eliahu Ba'al Shem of Chelm (d. 1583) and Reb Judah Leyb ben Bezalel, the Maharal of Prague (d. 1609). (MaHaRaL is a Hebrew acronym meaning "Our Teacher Rabbi Leyb.") Legends about golems now flourished, as did debates about the status of a golem, his functions within the Jewish community, his overall lack of intelligence, and his inability to speak. As in Franz Kafka's ape ("A Report to an Academy"), the power to speak is what makes us human. The rabbi, being on good terms with Emperor Rudolf, was virtually a go- between, linking imperial culture with Jewish culture. As a result, he became an admired hero in both Czech and Jewish folklore. Christian notions of the golem's destructive force permeated the German Romantics of the nineteenth century: Achim von Arnim, Jacob Grimm, and Heinrich Heine (a Jewish convert to Christianity). Meanwhile, starting in the mid-nineteenth century, Rabbi Leyb, the traditional maker of the golem, moved into first place in the folk stories. He began to play a far greater role, with stories proliferating about him without any golems present. Still, the figure of the golem remains resonant. According to the legends, Rabbi Leyb fashioned a golem to fight the enemies of the Jews. His work, however, was twofold. The golem was both a domestic servant and a resistance fighter. And the domestic side could be humorous. Once, for instance, the rabbi, hurrying to the synagogue, forgot to switch off the golem, who then kept hauling bucket after bucket of water, causing a flood. Using this motif, Goethe wrote a narrative poem, "The Sorcerer's Apprentice," which was set to music by Paul Dukas. This story was so famous that Walt Disney imitated it in his cartoon The Sorcerer's Apprentice (in Fantasia starring Mickey Mouse in a rather grim retelling).

The following story is by I.L. Peretz (1852-1915), a Polish Jew who wrote in Yiddish.
Intro by Joachim Neugroschel. Transl. by Irving Howe in A Treasury of Yiddish Stories (1955).

Great men were once capable of great miracles. When the ghetto of Prague was being attacked, and they were about to rape the women, roast the children, and slaughter the rest; when it seemed that the end had finally come, the great Rabbi Loeb put aside his Gemarah, went into the street, stopped before a heap of clay in front of the teacher's house, and molded a clay image. He blew into the nose of the golemand it began to stir; then he whispered the Name into its ear, and our golem left the ghetto. The rabbi returned to the House of Prayer, and the golem fell upon our enemies, threshing them as with flails. Men fell on all sides. Prague was filled with corpses. It lasted, so they say, through Wednes- day and Thursday. Now it is already Friday, the clock strikes twelve, and the golem is still busy at work. "Rabbi," cries the head of the ghetto, "the golem is slaughtering all of Prague! There will not be a gentile left to light the Sabbath fires or take down the Sabbath lamps." Once again the rabbi left his study. He went to the altar and began singing the psalm "A song of the Sabbath." The golem ceased its slaughter. It returned to the ghetto, entered the House of Prayer, and waited before the rabbi. And again the rabbi whispered into its ear. The eyes of the golem closed, the soul that had dwelt in it flew out, and it was once more a golem of clay. To this day the golem lies hidden in the attic of the Prague synagogue, covered with cobwebs that extend from wall to wall. No living creature may look at it, particularly women in pregnancy. No one may touch the cobwebs, for whoever touches them dies. Even the oldest people no longer remember the golem, though the wise man Zvi, the grandson of the great Rabbi Loeb, ponders the problem: may such a golem be included in a congregation of worshipers or not? The golem, you see, has not been forgotten. It is still here! But the Name by which it could be called to life in a day of need, the Name has dis- appeared. And the cobwebs grow and grow, and no one may touch them. What are we to do?

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