It would be easier if he were a sole agent in the world, but he has a family, people he cares for… he could not forgive himself if—

As dawn breaks, Felix leaves the printing shop and walks out onto the streets of Prague; right, left, through streets that grow narrower until he finds himself by the Altneuschul. He strolls around the side.

In the watery light, he can see the top rungs of the ladder that lead to the sealed-off attic. As children, he and his friends would lob stones at the sealed door, vying to reach it. They called the game Waking up the Golem.

The rav had caught them once, during Krias HaTorah. The lecture he had delivered was one of the longest in Felix’s life. Now, he tips his head back and looks at the darkened space. The wind blows bitterly, and he turns and walks inside the dark, empty shul.

It is warmer inside, but not much. In the dim light, the brass candelabras glow and the furniture is simply deeper shadow. He rubs his eyes.

This is not his kind of place. His place is the library stacks, where they pull out book after book, piling them high on the desks as they argue a point. The lecture theater in the university: three rows back, five chairs along, in a worn velvet chair that absorbs his curiosity and his snores. Wolf’s printing shop, with its clatter. The coffee shop, where they debate politics and news over the rich aroma of fresh brew.

Although he has been to shul every week since he was old enough to walk, it does not feel like his place.

He steps quietly through the shul and up the stairs to the aron kodesh. He reaches out and lets his fingers brush the velvet paroches.

What will happen today? Back at the printer, everything is ready; the newspaper laid out and checked. If all goes according to plan, by lunchtime it will be on the stands and the delivery boy will load a stack onto his back ready to go from house to house. Is this decision, already made, to be blessed?

He leans forward and kisses the paroches. At present, the danger, the anger, the brouhaha that will surely result seem far away, almost unimaginable. It is there, of course, and when he thinks of it his heart beats faster. It would be easier if he were a sole agent in the world, but he has a family, people he cares for… he could not forgive himself if—

He squeezes his eyes closed and brings his head closer to the paroches, feels the worn velvet on his forehead.