“How dare you try bribing me!” Marat drew his sword in fury

Marat, the giant soldier bringing Naftali to his execution, was a man of few words. But his facial expressions were enough to make anyone drop what they were holding and run in the opposite direction. He was like a giant, angry bear, except he drank more.

Very frequently, Marat would let go of the reigns with one massive hand and reach deep into the pouch tucked into his thick belt. He would drink heavily from the seemingly endless supply of wine he kept there.

Poor Naftali was stuck with this fiendish man. Alone, away from his family, far from his friends. But even at his young, tender age, he knew he was not truly alone. No Jew ever is. Rattling up and down behind Marat as the black horse rode on, Naftali tried to keep his eyes away from his brutal captor, and instead rested his gaze on the ever-changing sky. Day blended into night, and then back again. He lost track of all time, but at this point nothing else mattered except the words ein od milvado — there is nothing, except Hashem.

At some point during their journey, as the sun began to set, snowflakes began to drift from the sky. A cold breeze swept through the air, sending shivers up Naftali’s back. The blue sky darkened and was soon swallowed up entirely from sight. Only a glorious, glowing moon shimmered in the blackness above. Naftali felt his hands trembling.

“I’m freezing. Do you have an extra blanket?”

“What does a corpse need a blanket for?”

“Please, I know you must have an extra blanket packed away somewhere. Help me, please.”

“You are too weak.” Marat shifted in the saddle. “The cold doesn’t bother me a bit. Besides, this you call cold? You’ve experienced nothing yet, boy. Soon, if this snow picks up, you will see what true freezing feels like. It will toughen you.”

“This is cold enough.”

“Silence!”