All Rivers Run to the Sea_ Memoirs - Elie Wiesel [225]
When a Hebrew weekly proposed to pay tribute to him, he asked me to introduce him. Naturally, I agreed. I described at some length the impact of his work on the entire field of contemporary Jewish studies and concluded with these words: “I don’t know how Professor Lieberman would like to be introduced, but I do know how I would like others to introduce me: as his disciple.”
I have always cherished his influence on me. I have only to open a treatise of the Talmud to see his smile and even hear the telephone messages he would sometimes leave for me: “Reb Eliezer, Reb Eliezer, ve-Torah ma tebe aleha?”—What shall become of the Torah if we forget to study it?
One Thursday night at the “Y” he saw me with Marion after a lecture. “I’ll officiate at your wedding ceremony,” he said to me the next day. At the time I didn’t know we would marry. He had already understood.
From that moment on he began to discuss practical matters with me. He proposed to confer smiha upon me—in other words, to anoint me a rabbi. “That way if your books don’t sell, you’ll have a job and a source of income.” It was the only time I ever said no to him. I refused, telling him I wasn’t cut out for a career as a rabbi. “Neither am I,” he replied with the sly little laugh I knew so well.
It was thanks to him that I met, often at his home, the great Israeli and American Talmudic scholars. Many of them possessed such vast learning that I felt intimidated by them and I rarely participated in their discussions, choosing rather to listen.
Gershom Scholem, founding father of modern mystical studies, was among his close friends. They were bound by complex relations. It was said that Scholem feared Lieberman, as did much of the Jewish academic world. Perhaps he only showed him special respect.
Scholem was tall and thin, a tense man with restless eyes, immense ears, and flaring nostrils. He looked like a warrior ready for battle, prepared to repel evil, be it Satan, a false Messiah, or a false prophet. He was deeply involved in the eternal struggle between the forces of Good and Evil, the Sons of Light and of Darkness. I admired the breadth of his knowledge and his boundless curiosity. He was eager to integrate every newly acquired piece of knowledge into a system whose key was Jewish mysticism. His works go beyond commentary, for he was a discoverer and an innovator. Today it is impossible to broach the mysterious, enchanting world of the Kabala without reading Scholem. His masterly book on the false Messiah Shabbatai Tzevi reads like a thriller, as does his monograph on Jacob Frank, another false Messiah. Despite their complexity, his essays on the origins of Lurianic mysticism and of the Gerona school are so illuminating that they make these texts not only accessible but absorbing.
At our very first meeting, at the home of Norman Podhoretz, editor in chief of Commentary, he talked to me about my native town as though it had been his own. He knew every street and every house. When he saw how astonished I was, he explained, “No, I’ve never set foot in your Sighet. But I know things about it you’re probably not even aware of. Did you know there was a strong Frankist sect there?” I didn’t. Frankists were disciples of Jacob Frank, who flouted the fundamental laws of Judaism in an effort to hasten ultimate deliverance. They were men and women who led a secret life of debauchery. Adultery and incest in Sighet? I knew he savored my disarray, but he didn’t show it. “Frankist writings were found in the walls of a collapsed building,” he explained, looking mischievous. “Collective confessions and litanies.”
On the first day of Passover,