But his approval was short-lived. As they were moving away from the castle, a group of soldiers began converging on them and throwing arrows at the wagon, forcing them to stop. The horses panicked from the commotion and jerked suddenly to one side of the road as everyone went flying out of the wagon, tumbling across the ground.

“Shimshon! Take one of the horses and stop Sylvester!” Uncle Nathan yelled. He was clearly in pain from the fall, but he rose courageously to his feet and pulled Shimshon up.

He turned to face Shimshon, glancing back to make sure the soldiers hadn’t caught up with them yet. “Baruch and I will buy you some time. Take this road to the Fall Passing, cross the river headed west, and ask for Ivan,” he said, panting, sweat beads sliding down his face. “And here, take this pouch of money to pay him. He’ll take you to the Red Village. There, if rumors are to be believed, you may find Shabsi still alive, though he must be very, very old by now. Get to him before Sylvester does and make sure no one can use him to create anything nefarious! Go, Shimshon, go!”

Shimshon unattached one of the horses and began galloping away just as the group of soldiers started to come into view. He traveled almost nonstop, resting only when he needed to feed the horse and catch some fleeting sleep. Day and night he pushed the horse to its limits, braving thunderstorms, treacherous river currents, and more than one menacing wolf. Finally, he came upon a village where he could inquire about Ivan. He breathed a sigh of relief. For now.

Spotting a man in the distance, he rode up to him. “Do you know a man named Ivan?”

“I’m Ivan,” the large man with a massive axe slung across his back said, eying Shimshon carefully. “Why do you want me?”

Shimshon could barely contain his excitement. “I was sent by a man named Nathan. He said you could take me to the Red Village.”

“I can. But it will cost you.”

“Here,” he said, handing him the pouch of money.

“Nathan pays well, eh? He’s helping you, boy?”

“Hashem is helping me. Nathan is one of Hashem’s messengers.”

Ivan looked at him quizzically. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, but so be it. Follow me to my raft. There’s a river just a bit ahead and I’ll take you where you want to go.”

They crossed the river together on Ivan’s raft and Shimshon bade him farewell as he entered the Red Village by himself. It was a beautiful, sleepy village, with massive trees dropping enormous, bright red leaves all over the ground.

“Do you know where I could find Shabsi? They said he lives here…” he asked the first group of villagers he came upon.

“Shabsi? Yes, he used to live here,” they confirmed, “but he hasn’t lived here for a long time. He’s a bit of a hermit, living by himself in the forests for quite some time. Go look for him there. If he’s still alive, you’ll hear him.”

“Hear him? What do you mean?” Shimshon asked with a strange look.

“He’s always ranting and raving, talking to someone. As far as we know, he’s just screaming at himself, since there’s no one else out there.”

Shimshon set off into the forest. Sure enough, not long after, he could hear an old man’s voice echoing through the forest.

“No, no! How many times do I have to tell you? You’ll break everything in my house soon enough, and then what will I have to sit on? You’re driving me crazy. Crazy, I tell you!”

Was this his man? He followed the voice until he came upon a large hut, which was unusually tall. Shivers running down his spine, he cautiously knocked on the door. After a few seconds, the door opened to a tiny man with an extremely aged face, a wispy white beard flowing down from his face.

“Yes?” he said, in a deep voice.

“Sh-Shabsi? That is, um, Rabbi Sh-Shabsi?”

“That’s me, yes. Who’s asking?”

Shimshon stretched out his arm in greeting. “My name is Shimshon. I’m named after your old best friend, Rabbi Shimshon, and I came to get you out of here because you’re in danger. Actually, the whole world is in danger right now.”

The old man looked at him squarely. “I’m not leaving anywhere. But yes, I see the resemblance now…. You do look like my old friend.”

Shimshon took a deep breath and tried again. “Please… someone stole the scrolls you and Rabbi Shimshon created,” he rambled, “and the evil man who stole them is coming to find you so that you can make him a—”

Crashhhh. A loud noise was heard somewhere in the dimly lit house and Shimshon jumped.

“Ach! He’s driving me crazy! Pinchas, cut it out already!” the old man yelled.

Pinchas? Shimshon turned to Rabbi Shabsi. “Who is in the house with you?”

“Pinchas.” He said nonchalantly.

Shimshon tried again. “Pinchas… a person?”

“No, of course not.” Shabsi frowned.

Shimshon was utterly confused. “If Pinchas isn’t a human, then what is he exactly?”

“Well,” said Shabsi, stepping outside of the hut, as something enormous behind him began to move, “he’s a golem of course.”

to be continued… 

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(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 964)