Free The Fifth Servant by Kenneth Wishnia

Rabbi Loew. He resumed his discourse, leaving out the references to blood. “As I was saying, we are dealing with people who don’t just tell lies, they tell so many lies that they build a parallel world out of their lies, and in that world, those lies are true. For such people, it’s not what is, it’s what they happen to believe. For surely we have learned that even if all the words of slander directed against us are not accepted as true, half of them are accepted.”
                He turned and quizzed his grandchild: “Eva, can you tell me where that citation is from?”
                Eva repeated the words to herself, and said, “Is it the Breyshis Raboh ?” The great commentary on Breyshis , In the Beginning, which the Christians call Genesis.
                “That’s my girl,” he said, giving her a loving squeeze.
                She was a smart girl, all right.
                Rabbi Gans opened the pot of ink, dipped in the nib, and began to anoint the blank pages with the majestic block letters of the Hebrew alef-beys .
                Isaac Ha-Kohen and Yankev ben Khayim kept up their soft chanting, but they needed more voices, more prayers pounding on the unyielding gates of heaven.
                Rabbi Loew stroked his beard and considered a moment. Finally, he asked a question: “Benyamin Ben-Akiva, are you schooled in the Kabbalah?”
                “My knowledge of Kabbalah is like a page that has fallen out of an old book. But I know something of the Law.”
                “Good. Come with me, then. We need to build a legal case that will convince the emperor to intervene on our behalf before Federn confesses.”
                “Confesses? He hasn’t done anything.”
                Isaac Ha-Kohen shook his head and gave me a shows-what-you-know look without losing his place in the prayers.
                Rabbi Loew said, “A man will admit to anything after three days of torture.”
                I shuddered at the thought. I’d been made to stand thigh-deep in snow until icy needles pierced my thickest flesh; I’d been slapped with a switch, a stick, a calloused hand; I’d been forced to sleep in the stables without food or a blanket; I’d been called a fool and a slob and a thousand other useless names. But my legs eventually went numb, my bruises healed, I learned to withstand hunger and cold and harsh accusations, and I never confessed to something I didn’t do.
                Eva was going through each book on the shelf with a feather in a largely symbolic search for wayward crumbs that might have fallen into the cracks between the pages. Rabbi Loew gave her a pat on the shoulder as I followed him toward the door.
                We stopped to look at what Rabbi Gans had written. After the first few words, he had switched from ornate Hebrew capitals to cursive Yiddish:
                On Friday, the 14th of Nisan, 5352, or March 27 of the Christian year 1592, in the sixteenth year of the reign of Emperor Rudolf II, may his glory be elevated, there arose a new persecution based on the ancient lie, the dreaded blood libel.
                “Good start,” said the rabbi. “Now write that the first thing Rabbi Loew and his assistant shammes did was go to the kehileh to secure a formal request for the transfer of the accused, Jacob Federn, from the municipal to the imperial prison. He’ll be safer there.”
                I asked, “Why are we wasting time going to the Town Council? Why not go directly to the keyser ?”
                “We’ve got a better chance of getting the emperor’s ear if the request comes from the whole community.”
                I nodded.
                “All right,” said the rabbi. “Then kum aseh .” Get up and do.
                I helped Rabbi Loew