A haunting voice, a forgotten legacy, and a golem waiting to wake.
Welcome to ADAM, a bi-weekly serialized historical fantasy rooted in Jewish mysticism and folklore. Each installment reveals a new chapter in the unfolding tales of three Jewish women living during three different moments of history. In this chapter, Gitele comes face to face with the golem she helped create and learns more about why he was created. If you’re just joining us, welcome! You can catch up anytime using the full Chapter List. If you’re back, I’m so glad to have you here! You can start reading below.
If you’re curious about the inspiration behind ADAM, this article shares how the story came to be and why I’m telling it one chapter at a time. Thank you so much for reading and being part of this journey — it means the world to me.
I’d love to know what you think so far. If you have thoughts, questions, or favorite moments, drop a comment below — I welcome the conversation and am so glad to have you with me.
Chapter List
Chapter One: The Maharal’s Daughter
Chapter Two: The Witch of Döbling
Chapter Three: The ADAM Project
Chapter Four: The Sacred Shidduch
Chapter Five: The Fifth Aliyah
Chapter Seven: The Golem of Prague
Chapter Eight: Under the Olive Tree
Chapter Nine: The Incident
Chapter Ten: Unseen
Chapter Seven: The Golem of Prague
16th Century Prague
By the time Gitele stepped out into the morning light, most of the children had returned to their homes, and the many sukkot in the quarter were filling up with voices and laughter. Perel was busy preparing the family’s afternoon meal in their own sukkah, and the scent of fresh challah and stewed fruit wafted on the breeze, making Gitele’s mouth water and reminding her that she had yet to eat that day. She heard her sisters’ excited voices as they rounded the corner at the end of the street, overlapping in a stream of incoherent chatter. They were clustered around their father, who indulged their excitement with a small smile on his face. Leah glanced up and saw Gitele poised on the doorstep. “Gitele!” she called, running to her sister’s side, her face flushed from the bright autumn sun. “You missed it!” she pouted, her hands on her hips. “You missed the parade! What took you so long?”
As the Maharal closed the distance between them, he met Gitele’s eyes and gave her a small, almost indistinguishable nod. Her other sisters ran to her, grabbing her hands and telling her in a rush about the morning’s festivities. Then they, too, smelled the meal waiting for them in the sukkah and ran past Gitele to join their mother. Gitele didn’t accompany them. Instead, she waited for her father, detecting the look of exhaustion in his eyes as he paused by her side.
“Good afternoon, Gitele,” the Maharal said. “Happy Sukkot.”
“Happy Sukkot, Papa,” she replied softly as he placed a hand on her head, affectionately ruffling her already disheveled hair.
“Have you been with your mother this whole time?” He asked, and Gitele nodded. “Did she discuss with you what happened last night?”
“A little,” Gitele said. “She told me about her dreams, and how you knew what they meant. But I still have so many questions,” she added in a rush.
“I’m sure you do, and you deserve answers to those questions. Come with me.” He led her into the dim interior of their home, closing the door on the activity of the quarter. A hush fell over them as they climbed the steps to his office. She paused outside the door as memories of the previous night returned, but he glanced at her over his shoulder and smiled, gently taking her hand and leading her into his sacred space.
Once inside, her eyes darted over the room. It appeared no different than it had the night before, the shelves still lined with books and the surfaces still covered in parchment and scrolls, only now hazy sunlight streamed through the windows, dispelling the shadows and warming the wood planks beneath her bare feet. She breathed a little easier as she stepped forward. In the daylight, her fears seemed unfounded. But then her eyes fell on the figure in the corner and she froze.
It faced away from them, filling one corner of the room. At the sound of the door creaking closed behind them, the figure turned, and Gitele shrank back. It stood upright on solid legs, towering over her. The sinews and muscles that made up its calves and thighs were a dark brown in color and appeared more to be carved from a tree trunk than made of clay. Around its waist was a white loincloth, and Gitele couldn’t help but stare at the shape of its exposed abdomen and thick arms. The creature was so massive its head nearly touched the thatched ceiling, the span between its shoulders the length of a small person. The sculpted eyelids were closed above a carved mouth and nose. And on its forehead, three Hebrew letters were etched across its brow . . . אמת.
“It’s so . . . large,” she whispered, clinging to her father’s hand.
“Yes it is,” the Maharal agreed, “and for a reason.” He knelt beside her, his back to the imposing figure, and stared her directly in the eyes. “You are old enough to know now,” he continued.
“Know what, Papa?”
“Do you remember the story I told you of the night of my birth, of the man who carried the dead body of a child into our small town?”
Gitele nodded.
“Our community has always been slandered and accused of horrible things. We face the same threat today that we did at the time of my birth. There are those who would see us gone from Prague, from Europe. They would force us from our homes through violent means. They incite riots and mob attacks. That, Gitele, is the meaning of a pogrom.”
Gitele thought of the labyrinthine corridors of the Jewish quarter that were as familiar to her as the halls of her home, of the cobblestoned streets where she chased after her sisters under the arches and eaves of the leaning buildings, of the bustling market where her mother bartered with merchants and gossiped with the other wives, of the great synagogue where her father prayed and presided over his congregation. She recalled the story her mother had shared, how Perel and her own parents had been displaced from Prague when she was younger, and Gitele wondered if that would happen again. “Where would we go?” Gitele asked anxiously.
“That is a good question,” her father replied. “I have been asking myself that question as well. I have noticed signs and become aware of stirrings that hint another pogrom might be imminent. As leader and guardian of our community, I have a responsibility to protect it. When your mother told me her dreams had returned, that only confirmed my fears. I have prayed and meditated and studied for countless hours over how to keep our people safe. It has been the burden of my days. That’s when I began work on the figure that stands before you. It is a golem, so named because it is created from raw matter, from the clay, mud, and soil of the riverbank. Like Adam before God breathed life into him, the golem is a vessel. It waited for the spark of life, and I believed I could breathe that life into it. With two of my disciples, we circled the creature on the river’s shore, reciting divine words and incantations, yet that vital, animating spirit was just beyond my grasp. Then your mother told me you were also having dreams, and I began to wonder. Perhaps these dreams weren’t just prophetic. Perhaps they were the key to what was missing.”
“What was missing, Papa?”
“A woman.” The Maharal said in an even softer tone. “Women are the source of life. But not just any woman. A woman imbued with power and purpose. A woman like your mother. A woman like you.”
Gitele’s breath caught. She had never thought of herself in those terms. But now she began to wonder. She looked past her father once more at the figure who stood silently behind him.
“Is it . . . alive now?” she whispered.
“In a sense, yes,” her father nodded.
“What do you mean?”
The Maharal glanced at the figure and said in an almost reverent tone, “Because we created him, he is an extension of us. Think of him as an arm or a leg, and just as the mind controls the movements of the body, we control Yosef’s movements.”
“Yosef?”
“That is the name I have given him,” the Maharal explained. “He cannot act independently of our will. Let me show you.”
Her father approached the figure and put his hand gently on its broad chest. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and in the silence, Gitele bit her lip, staring at the creature. Somewhere outside her father’s window, the birds chirped in the treetops, and she could hear the calls of the street vendors, but the sounds were muffled, cloaked as though by some unseen veil. She watched as her father leaned forward and whispered in Hebrew, “Awaken.”
The golem’s eyes opened.
Gitele stepped back again, clutching at the table behind her to steady herself. Something deep within her twisted, coiled like a snake about to pounce, causing a tremor to run through her limbs. In that moment, she felt a surge of energy as the coil released and she gasped, heat emanating off her body. When she looked at the golem once more, its eyes were fixed on her.
“Yosef,” her father commanded, “fetch me the parchment on the top shelf.” He pointed to a bookcase in the far corner, and the golem finally looked away from Gitele, moving with a lumbering gait across the room. Its footfalls sent shudders through the floor. When it reached the shelf, it lifted a roll of parchment in its large hands and returned to the Maharal’s side, holding the paper out to the rabbi. “He can do mundane tasks,” the Maharal explained to Gitele, “but his strength will ward off any
“What will you do with him, Papa?” Gitele asked breathlessly, unable to take her eyes off the golem.
“Tonight, under the cover of darkness, I will send him to the streets, to patrol them and defend the quarter while it sleeps. He will be a silent sentinel, ever keeping watch. Should we need him during the day, I will speak the words to animate him.
“But remember, Gitele,” her father said, his expression turning serious as he gazed at her. “Do not speak of this to anyone. Much of what I have told you is sacred and some might even consider it sacrilegious. It must not be known that you or your mother played any part in the golem’s creation. I do not want any harm to come to either of you. Do you understand?”
Although her father’s words should have filled her with apprehension, her fear seemed to be retreating. She felt something unfamiliar yet welcome surge through her, a sense of confidence, resolve, and above all, power. She stood taller and met the golem’s eyes once more.
Entrusted with her father’s secret, Gitele nodded.