“Listen! Here’s what happened this morning. In our Asylum were two boys, aged eight, aged ten. The Konotop brothers. These boys sold carrots from our garden in the market stalls. Today the Conquerors snatched them. They rounded them up. A whole truckload went to the Dolna. There the Jews were given pails to dredge with. They had to walk into the river, far into it, where it’s fast. By the time I got there the water was up to the chest of the tallest man. But on my boys it rose higher, to their shoulders, their chins, and then—what else could happen? First one Konotop, then the other, floated away.

“And now you will allow this to happen, only to music! To patriotic tunes! Children! They can take children, as long as your hands stay clean! Lipsky wants to say, No! No census! We won’t do your work for you! That’s laziness! That’s luxury! And worse! At least if there’s a Judenrat to make a list, there will be exemptions. No one under fifteen or over sixty. And no one who’s sick. To let children work in the river, to let sick people carry stones—it’s the same thing as murder. Murder! Listen! Either we have the courage to make this census or it will be made for us, according to whim, to passion, to chance! We have to do what we can! No one wants to be on the Council? Trumpelman will run! He’ll be an Elder! He’s not afraid to dirty his hands!”

Nisel Lipiczany lifted his head toward the blinding chandelier. A hero stood there, a giant. “Yes, yes,” he shouted. “You have to run!”

Philosoff, the oldest waiter, scratched his chin. “Every argument sounds so good. My opinion keeps changing.”

Indeed, for that instant the entire gathering seemed poised between the two points of view. Then Jacob Tort cried aloud: “But there is another exemption! Judenrat members won’t have to drain swamps!”

That turned the tide. Szapiro made his voice heard. “I am a man with a wife and with children. I have to think of them! So I put my name up for my old position.”

And then the importer, Blum: “I nominate my good friend, the rabbi of the Italianate Synagogue.”

“I accept!” Nomberg shouted. “And I propose a man with great experience in Jewish self-government, the wise Nathan Blum!”

“Wait a minute! The old Council is nominating itself!”

“Put down my name. Popower. With two P’s.”

Plumb was banging a fork on his glass. “Popower! A waiter! You can’t have such people on the Council! No workers allowed!”

“What about artists? I studied woodwinds with Lajpunger himself! In Crakow! I also play saxophone and flute! Write down Mordechai Kleen!”

“Yes! A waiter! A musician! The next thing we’ll be hearing from actors and cooks!” Szapiro, whose name had already been put into nomination, went on in this vein. “What a spectacle! We might as well present the Others with a Council of women!”

Mathilda Megalif, the actress, replied. “Why not? It’s a good idea! I have performed in theaters all over the world. Madame Megalif accepts a place on the Council!”