Rabbi Lunt, in his usual sport coat, declared, “Now it is time for the huppah.”

The bride rose unsteadily and felt her way beneath the blue and white canopy. Trumpelman joined her, ducking a little. Then the maiden began to circle her husband-to-be. She walked around him once, and then once more, and then a third time—which meant, symbolically speaking, that months and months were going by. Still she continued, slowly circling, solemnly circling, and she did not stop until she had completed four more rounds: and thus she entered all seven spheres of her beloved’s soul.

Then Nomberg produced a pretty little goblet of wine, over which he spoke the benedictions concerning the blessedness of the Lord and the holiness of His people.

He who is strong above all else
He who is blessed above all else
He who is great above all else.
May he bless the bridegroom and bride.

The Elder of the Jews took the goblet and, since it is written, “There is no joy without wine,” he sipped the contents, red as rubies are red, and gave the cup to the bride. But before she could pass it beneath the veil, to her lips, the organ burst out once more into its trumpetlike notes.

“Obergruppenführer Grundtripp!” Schotter declared, and Grundtripp, tall and bony, in silver and black, walked down the aisle. Beneath his cap his eyes were deepset, in shadows. His mouth was like a cut in his skin. The loose cuffs of his trousers flapped over his boots. He halted at the gift table, though it was clear to all that he was empty-handed.

“Seed of Abraham! My apologies! Allow me to explain to you the reason I have arrived late. A message has just arrived from Berlin: our Leader, while not able to be here in person, has decided to send a magnificent gift in his stead. Listen! All Jews of Poland, and later all Jews everywhere, are to be resettled on the island of Madagascar. There you will live in peace and security, without enemies of any kind. Think of it, Jews! The ingathering of your entire nation! A kingdom of your own at last!”

Rabbi Wolf-Kitzes, straining to keep up his huppah pole, wondered out loud, “But what is Madagascar?”

“It is,” replied Grundtripp, “the fourth largest island in the world.”

Now Trumpelman broke his silence. He was smiling, not angry. It was apparent to all that he had expected this interruption. “Not just an island! No, no! A garden! An Eden! There the sun always shines! Even at night! The streams flow with milk, not water. If you strike the earth, from that spot nectar flows! Peaches are the size of melons; if you pluck one, a new one grows overnight. No hunger, Jews! Fish, the salmon, throw themselves onto the riverbanks. This is our paradise!”

Another rabbi, the zaddik’s Descendant, said faintly, “Melons? To eat?”

“Salmon?” That was Rabbi Trunk.

Trumpelman, like a bird, a peacock, opened his cape. “We shall live there together. In time we shall build a magnificent city. A new Jerusalem. With sapphires at the foundations and emeralds on the roofs. At the center we shall raise the Temple again. How its white walls will gleam in the sunlight! Like alabaster! Like hills of diamonds and pearls! Across the ocean the gentiles will see it and say, If only we could be Jews!”