Di agune (The Chained Woman)

Oh, is that you, my friend . . . I was beginning to wonder why I haven’t seen you for two days; I was about to accuse you . . . I was inclined to think that you didn’t want to see me.

First, my dear, let me say good morning to you. [He reaches out his hand to her.] Now, let me point out to you, Rosa, that you often upset me with your words. This is not the first time that you’re talking to me like this. Do I need to tell you every day what you mean to me? You were about to accuse me—you have no idea how much I want to see you, talk to you, hear your pure voice.

Do you know why I am talking to you this way? Because you often talk to me like I’m only the banker Grossman’s daughter and not your Rosa. Just remember, Adolf, how often you try to prove to me that there is a wide [social] gap between us. This makes me upset. I have not forgotten what we talked about last time.

You must understand that my love for you and your love for me are different; not for us, of course, but in the eyes of others. And if you want to know, there is a difference even in our own eyes. You are facing a struggle; you are going to have to give up everything that you are used to. And me?

I don’t want to hear such talk! I’ve heard this a thousand times; this only causes me heartache. It proves that you don’t respect me enough . . . Now tell me, truly, why have I not seen you in two days? You haven’t answered my question yet.

Adolf [With an ironic tone]:

Like you said: because I didn’t want to see you. I was very busy preparing the books.

Why do you have to prepare the books? Are they making a balance?

No, that’s not it. Your father is sending me on a business trip to Kiev.

For a long time?

No, just for a few weeks. Nevertheless, I had to hand over the books to Millman. . . . You see, Rosa, even though you say that some of my questions are proof to you that I don’t love you, I still have to tell you again what you have already heard many times. I am looking at our relationship very differently: I cannot conceal that I am troubled by the idea that maybe I have sinned against you by arousing in you such feelings for me. Oh, Rosa, how I wish you were poor, so I wouldn’t have to hide my love for you, so I could tell everyone that I love you, so I wouldn’t have to convince everyone that it is not your social standing and wealth that attract me but you, you yourself are dear to me. Oh, Rosa, I adore you!

Adolf! . . . Is it love, then, that is afraid, that is asking questions, that is concerned about what others might think? Let everyone think whatever they like! But I—I know that you are not in love with my wealth and social standing. [ . . . ]

Of course we can’t go against the law. We must follow our laws; even though everyone here is honest, all fine people, no one is guilty. This must be God’s will. They probably needed to stand a test. We must accept God’s punishment with love; that is the Almighty’s will. And it is my lot to meet this stumbling block. Woe unto me!

Rabbi, I demand that you pass your ruling according to the law.

Of course we must make a ruling according to the law. You cannot rule otherwise.

What will be the fate of my children? What have they done to deserve this? The laws cannot be this strict. Dear Rabbi, please think about it. [She can barely stand on her feet.]

These are our laws! Who knows how long our fate will continue to depend on one letter that gives one person so much and to another so little, that gives to one person everything that it robs from another? How long will we continue to look on with indifference how our Jewish women keep falling victim to this horrible law? Go on, rabbi, make your ruling, I know what it will be. [Rabbi gets up.]

According to the law . . .

Oh, don’t say it! I know what your ruling will be. My beloved innocent children! I know that you want to rule that my children are . . . don’t say it! [Screaming.] I know your law! What do you want to declare? That my children are . . . shhh! My children. . . . Are my beautiful, kind, beloved, good children not just as honest as all other children? Are they not just as nice, smart and fine children as all the others? It will be forbidden for anyone to marry our children? Do you hear that, Adolf? Our children! Ha, ha, ha! These are your laws, your laws have mamzers,¹ but not the holy law of nature. Nature doesn’t differentiate, according to nature’s laws everyone is equal. My children! Ha, ha, ha! What are my children? Who will dare say it? The rabbis! Ha, ha, ha! Will you also tell me to divorce my beloved husband? To separate from our children? Who can forbid us to love each other? Who can order a father not to be a father, and tell children not to be the children of their parents? I am asking you, why are you silent? Are you ashamed? Are you trying to hide somewhere? There is nowhere to hide! Shame on you! My children are mamzers, and this is not my husband? [She points at Adolf, cries and laughs.] You are silent. Are you going to say anything? Shhh! What will you say? What will be your ruling? What? Oh, I don’t know what, I don’t know what! [She stops, petrified. Short pause.]

Rosa, what is with you? Why are you silent, why don’t you answer? Don’t you recognize who is standing next to you? Rosa, answer me, Rosa! My dear, beloved Rosa!

What is with her?

Oh God, help! What is with my Rosinke? [He takes her by the hand.]

Send for a doctor, she lost her mind!

No, she did not lose her mind. Rosa, my dear wife, just say one word, just look at me! It’s me, your husband! No one can separate us, dear Rosa, come to yourself, answer your husband. It’s not all lost. [Amalia and Adele enter, running.]

Amalia, Adele [Crying and screaming]:

Mama! Mama!

My children! [She moves suddenly, falls into Amalia’s arms and dies with a deep sigh.]

[The curtain falls.]