RECAP:
A bitter argument broke out among the community leaders. Getzel is determined to sell his estate before the city is forced to evacuate, while the others opposed this move out of concern that it will reduce the value of their properties. The maidservants report to Shmuel that Aidel is very weak and exhausted.
At six o'clock in the morning, a knock could be heard at the door of the Rav's house. The Rebbetzin, surprised due to the early hour, opened the door with some apprehension. It was the rosh ha'kahal. She should have thought of this herself. For years now, he knows the secret behind this tranquil time of the day, taking full advantage of it when he wants to consult privately with the Rav. She quickly withdrew into the kitchen as she called out in a hoarse voice: "Shabsi! It's Shmuel, the Rosh Ha'kahal!"
Shmuel entered with awe and respect. He stands facing the Rav, who has already finished davening Shacharis at sunrise and was sitting in front a huge volume of Shulchan Aruch. The Rav looked up, his eyes tired yet smiling.
"Were there any new developments from yesterday's meeting after I left?" Shmuel shook his head. "The argument continued, although in a less pleasant manner. People allowed themselves to speak in a way they wouldn't dare do in the Rav's presence."
"Nu, nu," the Rav smiled. "Hashem will save us from this misfortune as well. We should only merit to see how - and very soon. I came up with an idea when I went home, and I was thinking about it all night long. I wanted to hear what you think, Reb Shmuel. However, before that, tell me what has brought you here."
Shmuel lowered his eyes, playing a little with the lace on the chair placed before him. "The truth is," he smiled with embarrassment, "I came to speak with the Rebbetzin."
The Rav smiled in surprise. "Sara Rochel, the Rosh Ha'kahal came to see you!" he called out. The Rebbetzin immediately came in, equally surprised.
"It's about Aidel," Shmuel lowered his gaze, his deep voice literally a whisper. "She's very weak, apparently due to a lack of iron, and they've recommended that she should have liver."
"Quite right," the Rebbetzin said in agreement, vigorously nodding her head. "However, our family customarily refrains from eating a chicken's internal organs. As a result, our cook Sophia hasn't roasted liver for twenty years now."
The Rav nodded his head. "Indeed. I still remember that from your father, of blessed memory!"
"I'm certain that Aidel wouldn't want to trouble anyone, and except for the Rebbetzin, I don't think that there's a woman in Lubianka I can rely upon in matters of kashrus..." He was extremely embarrassed, and the Rebbetzin interrupted him: "Of course I'll make liver for her. There's not even a question. I also know exactly how she likes it..."
Shmuel still lowered his gaze. Naturally, you'll tell the butcher to charge the liver to my bill, agreed? Liver, if I recall correctly - it isn't cheap."
"Don't worry," the rebbetzin said excitedly. "She'll receive her first serving of liver before the day is out. I'll continue to spoil her until I see her standing on her own two feet!"
"And before you even ask," the Rav added, "I am already ruling for you that she can even eat liver during the Nine Days. With regard to the fast - I'll let you know as the day gets closer. All right, Reb Shmuel?"
The Rebbetzin left the room, and Shmuel looked up. "Thank you, Rebbetzin," he called out in a slightly clearer voice, "and I'm sorry for all the trouble!"
"Put your mind at ease, R' Shmuel," the Rav laughed. "During the eight years that Aidel was here, my wife managed to envision how she would spoil her after she got married, making her lunch, helping her with the cleaning, sending her fish every Shabbos... The shidduch with you was wonderful, but for my Rebbetzin, it put an end to her dreams to some extent. She sits at home and thinks about Aidel, but in truth, she has no way that she can help her, right? Well, you have just saved her lost dream..."
Shmuel didn't smile. He pulled out the chair he had been leaning on up until now and sat down. He placed his elbows on the table, supporting his head. "Sometimes, Rav, it seems to me as if I made a mistake by getting remarried..."
The Rav's eyes opened wide in shock. "A mistake? This is the first time in many years that I have seen you so happy!"
"That's true. I am very happy." He sighed. "However, I have failed to be a good husband. Aidel has been so weak for a long time now, lacking any appetite. She can't manage to get up in the morning, then rests again in the afternoon - and I didn't even notice!" He raised his voice in agitation. "And I would have continued failing to notice were it not for the maidservants bringing the matter to my attention!"
"Reb Shmuel," the Rav smiled. "The Rosh Ha'kahal is being overly stringent with himself..." Shmuel sat silent as he curled his right peyah, rubbing his left finger along the laced tablecloth.
"We don't wait to get married until we become perfect, Reb Shmuel. We get married, and this makes us better and more sensitive."
"The Rav presents a nice argument," Shmuel smiled with difficulty. "However, it doesn't meet the test of reality. Just look at Aidel..."
"Enough, Shmuel, you're uttering sheer nonsense," the Rav stops him. "You're extremely troubled by the edict that has come upon us, and I venture to guess that you've been having trouble lately sleeping at night." After a moment, he added softly, "And if you'll permit me to remind you what your honor used to cry about here in years past..."
Shmuel shook his head and shuddered. "What is the idea that the Rav came up with?" he quickly asked.
"I think," the Rav replied slowly, stroking his beard, "that perhaps Count von Sadislavski can help us. Justice Laurence, who came out against us, is the count's protégé, and he greatly admires him. I understand that von Sadislavski pulled the strings that got Justice Laurence appointed to his current position of authority over this region. If he'll put in a good word for us..."
Shmuel was surprised. "Only recently, this past Shavuos, I was forced to disappoint him. Fate moving its huge hand... He wanted me to come with him to Kiev to sign a guarantee on a large bank loan he was taking out for a once-in-a-lifetime business deal."
"If you aren't able to be a guarantor for him, then you can't," the Rav replied with disappointment.
"But I am, Rav," Shmuel quickly clarified. "It's just that the signing must be done in Kiev, and I wouldn't leave Aidel by herself during the first year..." He smiled reticently. "That trip to Palchova... I'll never repeat it for as long as I live..."
"If you passed up on the business venture with von Sadislavski simply because it's the first year of your marriage, maybe you're not such a bad husband after all..." the Rav said with a wink. Shmuel was astounded and a bit bewildered.
"If he still needs your signature - then go." The Rav suddenly became quite serious. "Saving Jewish lives overrides everything. After Chanuka, when family after family sets out on a wandering journey along snowy roads, it will be a disaster. Even Aidel, who will be in the best possible health, is not supposed to be getting into a heated carriage just a month after giving birth, Shmuel. And I don't even want to think about the other people of the village evacuating on foot."
"He still does need my signature, very much," Shmuel said. "And since he knows what it would be for me to leave everything and come - I hope that this will serve as a significant bargaining chip to ask for what I need."
Shmuel stands up. "B'ezras Hashem, I'll go immediately after Tisha B'Av. I'm sure that Aidel will understand."
"Travel immediately after Shabbos, Shmuel," the Rav said in a serious tone. "Don't even wait until after Tisha B'Av. And tell Aidel to leave the door open and the bed made at all times, until you return safely home."
"I will, Rav," Shmuel nodded. "And again, give my thanks to the Rebbetzin!"
"Thank you very much for your mesirus nefesh and dedication!" she called out from the kitchen. "And for your permission to spoil your gevirte..."
***
Gronem sits near the table, an open sefer in front of him as he tries to review the argument made by Shraga the dayan, raised suddenly during this afternoon's deliberations. It came a brief moment before the Beis Din was about to issue its ruling, changing the whole situation completely and forcing a delay to the conclusion of the case until tomorrow.
Who could concentrate in this heat anyway? Who could concentrate with this situation still prevailing in his home? Since that night, they no longer speak on the matter. Mirele is still here, but it seems as if she has a suitcase ready under the bed, ready to get up and run off at any moment. It was as if the whole floor was covered with glass, and he was barefoot. In other words, think well before carefully putting your foot down.
Actually, something nice occurred today. He told her a funny proverb told by one of the litigants whose case he was judging this morning. After she laughed, she tried gently to explain to him why, in her opinion, the man made the claim that he did. It was interesting, and it made him think again about his ruling.
Gronem looked up from the sefer, directly at Mirele. She was all ready to go to sleep, and she started lowering the oil lamps in the hallway and the kitchen.
"Once things were good for me," he said cautiously. "All my siblings knew that I was privileged to have such a good wife. Tzadok's wife is spoiled, and Yossel's wife is impudent, making comments on every step he makes. Only you never answer me back, you never let yourself be pampered," he sighed. "I don't understand why things had to change; everything was so good."
Mirele turned towards Gronem and chuckled. "Maybe it was opportune, but it was never good."
"Why wasn't it good?" he furrowed his brow.
"Because you had a shmatte of a wife, Gronem." She became quite serious, staring at him. "Do you honestly believe that an outstanding dayan like yourself, the youngest in Lubianka, who in addition to that is also the rosh ha'kahal's son, deserves to get married to a shmatte?"
Gronem looks at her in stunned silence. Who taught her to speak anyway?
"A shmatte can be something quite opportune," she smiled. "But good? I don't think so..."
To be continued...