Let’s journey back to Prague, to the time of Rabbi Loew, the famed Maharal. The emperor had just decreed that the horrific blood libel accusations – the false claims that Jews used blood for ritual purposes – must end. With this decree, Rabbi Loew knew the golem, the powerful being he had created to defend the Jewish community, was no longer needed.
But what do you do with a golem?
According to the story, Rabbi Loew summoned his son-in-law and his most trusted student, both of whom had been instrumental in the golem's creation. Under the cloak of darkness, at two in the morning, they made their way to the attic of the Alt-Neu Synagogue – the Old-New Synagogue – where the golem lay dormant.
Imagine the scene: three figures, shrouded in the dim light, standing over the silent, hulking form. They began to circle the golem, moving from left to right, a ritualistic dance that mirrored the golem's creation, but in reverse. Seven times they circled. After each circuit, they paused and chanted the sacred spells – spells drawn from the Sefer Yetzirah, the Book of Creation – the very same spells used to bring the golem to life, only now recited in reverse order.
Think about the implications of that reversal. The Zohar, the central text of Kabbalah, teaches us that the letters of the Hebrew alphabet are the building blocks of creation. By rearranging those letters, by reciting the spells backward, they were dismantling the very fabric of the golem's being.
And then, after the seventh circuit, it happened. The golem, the protector, the clay giant, was no more. He was reduced to a lifeless mass of clay, still vaguely human in form. According to Niflaot Maharal, they wrapped the remains in two old prayer shawls, concealing them among the discarded books and forgotten objects in the attic. The word spread the next day that the golem had simply "run away." Only a select few knew the truth.
Rabbi Loew then forbade anyone from entering the synagogue's attic. The official explanation was to prevent fires, but those closest to the Maharal understood the real reason: the remains of the golem lay hidden there, a silent testament to a time of danger and a reminder of the power, and the responsibility, that comes with creation. Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews is full of these kinds of stories, always reminding us of the power of the divine in creation.
And to this day, it's said that the golem's remains are still up there, in the attic of the Alt-Neu Synagogue in Prague. A potent reminder of a community's struggle for safety, and the extraordinary measures taken to achieve it. What do you think? If you visited Prague, would you try to sneak a peek?