Vienna Secrets

MURDERED IN JOSEFSTADT.

Barash grabbed the paper and read down the column of Gothic typeface. His tangled eyebrows came together and his breathing quickened. When he had finished reading, he handed the paper back to the young man, who said tremulously, “How did you know?”

The zaddik, who towered over his acolyte, did not respond.

“You said our enemies would be struck down.” The young man was nervous, uncertain whether to proceed. But his need for answers spurred him on. “Is this what you meant? Has it begun already?”

“Yes,” said Barash. “It has begun.”

“My rebbe, how did you know?”

Barash observed a procession of carts passing at the other end of the alley. A peddler was shouting, trying to sell a trayful of dreidels.

“Be thankful, Gershom. Our troubles will soon be over. As the great Maharal of Prague freed his people from persecution, so we shall be freed. Pray, Gershom, and give thanks.”

The young man was not consoled by these words.

“But… my rebbe, who did this?” He held up the newspaper. “Was it…” Gershom lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. “Was it one of us?”

“Of course not!”

“Then who?”

“Not who, Gershom. What?”