Free Yiddish for Pirates by Gary Barwin

books from the saddlebags and stuffed them into the concealed sack. But the sack was gone.
    Rabbi Daniel and the other men looked at Moishe expectantly. He looked from the old rabbi to the floor, considering what to do.
    “I … I must find the books.” He scooped me up and ran to the stairs. “Diego,” he whispered hoarsely. “The cutpurse must have robbed me when we klopped into him.”
    It was the oldest trick in the book. Here, would you like to buy these flowers? And while you were leaning in, snorting their scent into your shnozz, you were relieved of the responsibility of your gold. Only it was the pretty pink flower of Diego’s fist that went up my beak, and he had swiped something more valuable—and more dangerous—than gold.
    We were in the dark at the top of the stairs. Moishe grabbed the handle but the door wouldn’t move. Vo den? Of course. It had been locked behind us. For safety.
    “The books?” Samuel was behind us. “Where are they?”
    Moishe burbled an explanation.
    “If the Inquisitors find them—and they generously grease the hands of those who place such things in their grasp—then we will—you will—be in great danger. They will search for you and your end will not be good. Was there anything beside the books? The letter?”
    Moishe felt for the small pouch that was tied inside his pant leg. Ach, but the letter was stowed between the pages of one of the books. Still, he could hope. One can wish for a leak in the tub of the firmament when the flood begins.
    “It’s gone,” he said.
    “We will talk to the rebbe,” Samuel said. “We will make a plan. There was already great danger. Now this danger knows where to find us.”
    We waited in silence in the dark at the top of the landing. Only the sound of Moishe not breathing.
    “The letter says ‘meet in the Catedral,’ but not where,” I said.“The Inquisitors would think it only a place of rendezvous. For now, keneynehoreh, they don’t know what goes on behind the back of their Virgin.”
    We returned to the cellar with all the enthusiasm of a cow being led to the shochet, knowing that soon it would be brisket.
    And why was I worried?
    I was a bird. I could not be brisket.
    But Moishe was my family, my mishpocheh. The only family I had, Oy Gotenyu. God help us.
    “Sit,” the rabbi said.
    Moishe sat.
    “We are not Israelites, or Hebrews,” the rabbi began. “We are Jews. We are Jewish wherever we are and with whatever we have. Do you know when the first time this word—Jew—was used?”
    Moishe did not.
    “The Megillah. The Book of Esther. You remember in Persia, the Prime Minister—“
    “Haman,” Moishe said.
    “He who convinced the king that all Jews should be killed.”
    “But they were saved,” Moishe said. “By Esther.”
    “Yes. The Jewish queen. Since the beginning, they have tried to kill us Jews, but ha-Shem—God—gives the story a little, what you would call, a drey, a twist, and then somehow, we aren’t destroyed. Until the next time.”
    “And each time,” Samuel added, “we make a new holiday to remember.”
    “Purim,” Moishe said.
    “Soon the calendar will be filled up with festivals,” the rabbi said. “Adonai will have to forge us another year. A whole year just for these days of remembering.”
    Samuel shrugged. “We remember, but then we eat.”
    “And so we survive,” the rabbi continued. “Though we must hide. One of the stolen books was the Book of Esther. They tried to destroy us then, but did not. Perhaps they will fail again.”
    Rabbi Daniel’s plan. Moishe would lead them to where Diego had taken the books. They would try to buy the books back. One who speaks for money, listens to money.
    Then Moishe would be hidden in a house where he would be safe. When the Inquisitors became less inquisitive and thoughts of Moishe and the books had faded, he would leave Seville.
    Of course, if they couldn’t find Diego, or he had already taken the books—and the letter—to the