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 follows the golem as it patrols the Jewish quarter. 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: A History Lesson
Chapter Ten: Under Cover of Night
Chapter Ten: Under Cover of Night
16th Century Prague
Gitele lay awake in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to her sisters’ breathing grow slow and steady as they drifted off to sleep. She had spent the rest of the day by their side in the sukkah, hanging gourds and branches and fruit and dried flowers from the roof, playing games in the warmth of the afternoon sun, and eating a leisurely supper as the sky turned first a shade of mauve, then navy, and finally, inky black. Tilla, Rachel, Leah, and their smallest sister Feigele had begged to sleep out under the stars, but their parents exchanged glances before shaking their heads and ushering them inside.
“Why can’t we, Papa?” Tilla sulked. “The weather is so lovely. The stars are so bright.”
“Please, Mama,” Leah chimed in, but their pleas fell on deaf ears as they were quickly herded up the stairs.
Gitele knew the reason, though she remained silent. After her encounter with the golem in her father’s study, the Maharal had shared his plans for the creature. “Once it’s dark, I will take him out to keep watch over the quarter,” he had explained.
“Papa, are we in danger?” She had asked, her eyes never leaving the imposing giant that stood at her father’s side.
“There is no imminent danger, Gitele,” her father had assured her. “Yosef will guard our streets by night. By day, he will remain in the synagogue. After tonight, he will no longer be under this roof. He will be absent but ever vigilant so you can sleep soundly.”
But sleep didn’t come. Tossing and turning, Gitele fretfully plumped the pillow beneath her head, trying to get comfortbale while listening for the sound of her father’s footsteps. She knew she would be in trouble if she was caught out of bed again, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she had caught a glimpse of the golem one more time. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Yosef, as her father referred to his creation, the whole day; her thoughts kept returning to her father’s study, where Yosef waited, inert, for her father’s command.
As she stared at the moonlight dancing on the wall above her head, she heard a door open somewhere on the landing outside her bedroom door and she held her breath. Then she heard what she had been waiting for . . . her father’s footsteps, followed by heavy thuds that rattled the door in its frame as it passed their bedroom then grew fainter as it descended the stairs. Slowly throwing back her blankets, Gitele tiptoed past her sisters and, with caution, opened the door to their room. Treading on the pads of her feet, she crept to the top of the staircase and listened to the voices coming from the small front foyer.
“I will take him to the synagogue, to patrol the streets from there until dawn.” Her father’s voice reached her ears.
“Be careful, “ her mother whispered. “Many are asleep outside this night. What will you tell them if you are seen? How will you explain what we have done?”
“What I have done,” her father corrected. “Perel, no one can know of your involvement.”
“I know.”
“If word were to spread beyond the quarter, they wouldn’t hesitate to accuse a Jewess of witchcraft. Even here, there would be whispers and rumors.”
“Judah, I know,” her mother repeated. “But Gitele . . .”
Gitele’s shoulders tensed at the mention of her name.
“Do not worry,” the Maharal reassured her. “I have spoken with her at length. She knows the consequences should it be discovered she played any part in the creation of the golem. She will soon be a bride. She is old enough to understand. Let her think only of her future nuptials and have a happy life with her new husband and family.”
The mention of her arranged marriage made her tense even more. There was a pause before Perel said, “But if you are caught?”
“I will be careful. And I am in no danger. He answers to me.”
The latch to their door lifted and Gitele listened to the heavy footfalls of the golem entering the quarter, led by her father. She dared to peek over the banister and saw her mother standing on the threshold, staring out at the dark night. She waited until her mother gently closed the door and retreated to the inner rooms of their home before slipping down the stairs. Her heart beat a steady rhythm in her chest as she stole to the door and ever so cautiously lifted the latch, edging through the crack and into the street outside.
It was silent in the quarter, with most residents asleep in their homes or on makeshift beds in their sukkot. Glancing around, she saw a small bobbing light in the distance and knew it was her father’s candle. At her father’s side was a huge shadow, a black void that swallowed all light and filled most of the narrow alley between the buildings, dwarfing her father’s frame. She pursued her father at a safe distance, stepping lightly across the cobblestones on bare feet so that she wouldn’t be heard. As her father neared the center of the quarter and the synagogue, he paused and turned, and Gitele ducked behind the nearest building, hoping he hadn’t seen the white of her gown. The cool air felt good against her burning forehead and cheeks. She listened for any sign that she had been caught, but the only sounds she heard were the crickets in the trees and the low hooting of an owl. Then her father spoke, and she glanced around the wall.
“I release you, Yosef. You will walk the streets until sunrise. Last week, a stone was thrown through the window of the synagogue bearing the image of a cross. There are also whispers that the Emperor might once again expel our Jewish brethren from their homes.”
Her father hadn’t told her that. The omission felt like a lie, but he had assured her she didn’t have to worry, and she trusted him.
“Whenever there is a rise in such activity, we are cautious. Watch for anyone who creeps through the ghetto under cover of night. If there is a threat, do what you must to protect our people.”
Watching carefully from where she crouched, hidden, Gitele saw her father place something in the golem’s mouth and whisper something she couldn’t discern. Then he turned and began to walk back in the direction from which he’d come, directly toward her. She pressed herself against the wall and held her breath, sure her hammering heart would give her away. But her father walked steadily past, his eyes forward, his hand shielding the small flame burning on the candle’s wick. She watched his back grow smaller as he headed toward their home, and only when he turned the corner did she let out her breath.
She knew she should return home as well. She would have to somehow make it back to her bed without being seen or heard. Perhaps she could climb the tree growing outside her bedroom window and sneak in that way? When she was smaller, she often made a game of climbing the branches of the old oak that stood outside their home to see if she could reach the leafy canopy above, much to her mother’s dismay. But something held her back, made her turn instead and look back at the golem now standing deserted in the middle of the street. It was as still as a statue, illuminated by the glow of the full moon overhead. Gitele felt a strange ache in her chest as she stared at the figure, a cross between apprehension and curiosity.
A sudden noise from somewhere outside the gate of the quarter made her start. There was a crash followed by inebriated laughter and a few slurred shouts. She noticed the golem turn in the direction of the sound and take a few lumbering steps forward. Without thinking, she pushed away from the wall and cautiously followed the golem, drawn to it as though by a magnetic force. As the sound of the drunken commotion grew distant, the golem drew itself up, planting its feet on the cobblestones of the square and resuming its watch. Gitele let out a sigh as she stared at it, wondering at its almost preternatural stillness. Then she took another step and bumped into a discarded glass bottle, jostling it so it tipped on its side and rolled slowly downhill. The sound of glass against stone raised the hair on her arms and her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She glanced around, hoping the sound hadn’t alerted those sleeping behind the shuttered windows nearby, but then her eyes rested on the golem.
It had heard the bottle as well and turned toward the noise so now it faced her, towering over her, the hollow of its eyes like black holes boring into her. It began to approach her, and Gitele realized that it might think she was a threat. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she stumbled back a few steps. As the golem drew closer, she threw out her hands, palms to the creature, and it halted, swaying slightly but otherwise keeping a distance of a few yards between them. She could see the contours in the clay more clearly, see the shape of the broad shoulders and the muscles of the arms and the corded neck. She swallowed, her mouth dry, and when she attempted to speak, her voice croaked.
“Yosef, I’m not a threat. Do not harm me.”
The golem remained standing, inert. Perhaps it was her imagination, or perhaps it was an illusion of the moonlight, but Gitele thought she saw its chest rise and fall with breath. She slowly lowered her hands as she continued to stare at it. She knew she should be prudent, but some inner voice told her not to be afraid.
“Do you know who I am?” She whispered.
The golem didn’t answer. It didn’t nod. It didn’t seem to respond in any way, but Gitele had the sense that it understood her words.
“My name is Gitele,” she continued in a low voice, her hands now at her side. “I am Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel’s daughter. I . . . helped create you.” The last words she uttered came out in a rush of air, a quiet gasp, like a confession. She had been forbidden to speak these words aloud, but she was compelled to explain to the golem who she was. And in doing so, she felt even more drawn to the creature. She took a step forward, then another.
“Do you know who I am?” She asked again. Still, the golem did not move, but she felt an energy emanating from it, as if the air itself carried its awareness. She could sense the weight of its gaze, though there were no eyes to meet hers, only the hollow space where eyes would be, and a faint shifting of its clay form.
Her voice faltered slightly. “I . . . I helped bring you to life,” she whispered, trembling where she stood. “Do you remember?” For a heartbeat, it seemed as if the golem paused in some imperceptible motion, its vast form leaning ever so slightly toward her. “Can you speak?” She asked. She remembered the sound she’d heard in her head so many times, a voice longing to be recognized, calling out to her in her dreams. The golem opened its mouth, but while no sound came out, in her head she heard her name repeated like a gentle caress, a sweet whisper:
Gitele, Gitele, Gitele . . .
“It’s me,” she nodded, swallowing hard. The pull she felt toward the golem became impossible to resist. She held out her hand and took another step forward, closing the gap between them. And then, without being directed or commanded, seemingly of its own volition, the golem lifted its heavy arm and placed its huge palm slowly, gently, in hers.