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First published January 1, 1973
The strength and daring of Thor stood off and kept at bay the talmudic scholar grandfather, Jacob Bitterbaum, and the learned rabbi, Solomon Bitterbaum. They shook long unscissored beads and consulted Yekuthiel Bitterbaum, patriarch of the family. But he had never heard of anyone called Thor, who daily waded rivers to sit in judgement under Yggdrasil, the world tree, defending both Midgard and Asgasrd, men and gods, from the chaos of the giants. His belt doubled his strength. He had gloves of iron and could toss a thunderbolt. The red-bearded one swung his club, and goats and wild boar ran to his side. In the Ragnarok, in the forest of Thorsmorsk he would fight the serpent and it was recounted that both would die.
No wonder the old Jews shook their covered heads. Thor brandished the swastika, symbol of Mjellnir, his hammer, which the dwarfs, out of spite, had made too short. They drew back, these pious Jews, murmured ancient prayers and swayed in the face of the assertion that this hero could shrive and hallow the dead. And yet the dead was so shriven that he would rise up in strength and life.