Yechiel. The days of Shabbesai Tzvi are numbered.” “I pray to the Almighty that you are wrong, Guidom,” said Yechiel softly. “I await the day when the Master will illuminate the entire world with his holy light, when even Jews like you, who have abandoned the religion of their forefathers, will be drawn back to where they belong.” “If Moshiach comes to the Jewish People, I will certainly return. But in the meantime, Yechiel, heed my warning.” Guidom Chayatzadi bowed slightly and walked away, and Yechiel watched the sultan’s physician disappear into the teeming crowds of the marketplace. The thugs had tired of besieging the wine seller’s shop and were slowly drifting away. Yechiel sighed and turned to enter his warehouse. As soon as Yechiel went inside, the blind beggar scrambled to his feet and ran from the marketplace. A short while later, a messenger came to Yechiel’s warehouse with an urgent summons from Shabbesai Tzvi. Upon arriving at Eliyahu Tzvi’s house, Yechiel was immediately brought to the room which served as Avraham Yechini’s private office. Avraham Yechini stood behind the desk, arms folded across his chest, a look of haughty contempt on his face. “You have sinned greatly against our King, Yechiel Hapolani,” he said, his voice cold as ice. “What do you have to say for yourself?” “What are you saying?” asked Yechiel, completely baffled. “Don’t be a fool, Yechiel. Everything is known to the
Master. Everything. I was with the Master this morning at the same time you were standing in the marketplace and speaking with the sultan’s spy. A fearful cry was heard, and the room began to tremble. Blood ran down the walls, and we could clearly hear your voice and the voice of the physician.” Yechiel turned deathly pale, and his hands began to shake. “How dare you speak against the Master?” shouted Avraham Yechini. “How dare you intimate to the sultan’s spy that the Master condones violence?” “I didn’t say that,” protested Yechiel. “On the contrary, I said that the Master abhors violence.” “But that he permits it here because the opposition is so deeply rooted.” A great fear gripped Yechiel’s heart. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. “You are too weak, Yechiel,” continued Avraham Yechini in a merciless voice. “You are the pampered son of a rich banker, and you followed the Master, starry-eyed, because it was an adventure. Yet as soon as something happens that disturbs you, your resolve begins to weaken. I saw it on your face when you uttered the Shem Hameforash in the Portuguese Sinagoga. I saw it on your face when those miserable vermin who masquerade as rabbis were driven from the city by the righteous rage of the Master’s loyal followers. These things do not sit well with your pampered upbringing, Yechiel. You do not know the meaning of unquestioning devotion to the Master.”
CHAPTER 26 “Am I wrong for being sickened by the violence of the mobs that roam the streets of Smyrna in the name of the Master?” Yechiel asked Avraham Yechini. “Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! Do you think the Master doesn’t know everything you know? If the Master is not sickened, how dare you be? It is not your place to think or judge. Only to accept the Master with absolute faith. Not even to harbor questions in your innermost heart. How dare you speak to the sultan’s physician about flaws in the movement? Who are you to say what is a flaw and what is not? By being rebellious, you’ve exposed the Master to mortal danger. The Master is greatly angered.” Yechiel hung his head in shame. “Will the Master see me?” he asked in a meek voice. “I wish to beg his forgiveness.” “At first, the Master wanted to strike you dead with a Shem Hameforash,” said Avraham Yechini, noting with satisfaction the shudder that passed through Yechiel’s body, “but then he decided to have mercy on you, because you have been such a loyal servant all these years. He will see you.” Avraham Yechini led Yechiel to Shabbesai Tzvi’s room.
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The Monsey View
Mukian the Macedonian stood guard at the door. “The Master awaits you,” said Mukian. “Enter on your knees.” Yechiel entered on his knees. Shabbesai Tzvi stood beside the window on the far side of the room. He wore a magnificent robe of the finest purple velvet, adorned with intricate designs in silver thread. Yechiel crossed the open space of the room on his knees and bent to kiss the hem of Shabbesai Tzvi’s robes. “Forgive me, Master,” he whispered hoarsely, “for I have sinned gravely against you.” “This morning began gloriously,” said Shabbesai Tzvi in a distant voice. “The two daughters of Chaim Peña fell into a trance and prophesied that I was the true Moshiach. When they awoke from their trances, they remembered nothing. Chaim Peña immediately came to me. He entered the room on his knees, just like you, and begged my forgiveness. It gladdened my heart. But to see you like this, my loyal Yechiel, saddens me. What can you say for yourself?” “It was the arrogance of my heart that misled me, Master,” said Yechiel with sincere remorse. “I felt unworthy