Look for the soul and you won't see it. We know it is there, but what is it? Is it the life source? Is it God's spark placed in us at birth by an angel as it touches the top lip? Does the soul live on after the flesh dies? In Jewish mythology, there is a malicious possessing spirit believed to be the dislocated soul of a dead person that enters the body of a living person and directs the person's conduct. In Yiddish, that spirit is known as a dybbuk. I know dybbuks are not just mythology, they exist — I am one.

Before we begin on this journey — you are going with me, aren't you? Good. I must tell you how I became a dybbuk. I lived in Lodz, Poland. It was a highly industrialized city. Jews made up about 34 percent of the population. We were hard working, a major factor in the industrialization of the city and we were accepted by our neighbors. I owned six community houses (flats) and was what you would call a slumlord.

The buildings were occupied by Jews and Poles. The workers living in my flats were employed in the low-level jobs requiring manual work, skills and experience, such as carting, dyeing, setting up the cloth printers, and the like. The lowest wages were those of the tailors, the furriers and the Jewish weavers of fringes - most of them in the clothing industry.

I let the flats become run-down; roaches and rodents infested them and I charged 200 zloty per month rent — about 50 American dollars — more than half their monthly wages. I never hesitated to evict delinquent renters — no matter their situation or the weather. My renters called me unholy names, vandalized their apartments and sometimes got ahead of me by abandoning their apartments before I could evict them. I was a hated shmuck.

The Great Depression and the customs war with Germany closed western markets while the Bolshevik Revolution and the civil war in Russia put an end to trade with the East. Our economy was in shambles. Unemployment was nearly 30 percent. The city became the sight of a series of huge workers' protests and riots — the perfect circumstances for murder.

* * *

It was the first of the month and I was in one of my flats collecting rents. I always did the collections because I could intimidate and threaten any delinquents with eviction. I came to the door of Shmuel Ginsberg and began knocking. Out of the shadows behind me, Shmuel emerged and struck me on the head. It wasn't hard enough to kill me or even knock me out, but I did begin to bleed.

"You mamzer, what did you do that for?"

"I'm tired of you collecting all of our money and never making repairs or helping to rid the place of vermin," he said.

"Who else is there," I said. "Come out of the dark."

Moving slowly Mikhail approached me. "I too am tired of your cruel neglect. We have put up with you long enough," he said.

"So, what are you two going to do about it?"

Mikhail's right hand held an ice pick. He raised his hand and froze. The three of us stood there hardly breathing. My eyes darted back and forth between Mikhail and Shmuel. In one swift, powerful move, Mikhail drove the ice pick into my chest, piercing my heart. None of us moved. Mikhail grimaced, astonished at what he had just done. I pulled the ice pick from my chest and waited. With such a tiny hole from the ice pick, it took a little time for the blood to start soaking through my shirt. As I turned pale, before I dropped to the floor, I said, "Mikhail, I will not forget this."

They buried me in the Jewish cemetery, but, even though it is a mitzvah — a commandment — they couldn't persuade ten men to come and say the Mourner's Kaddish over me. They hated me that much. My flesh died, but my soul lived on. That's when I became a dybbuk — a malicious possessing spirit. I was a soul searching for a body to possess. And, I needed to find Mikhail.

* * *

Shortly thereafter, the Nazis invaded Poland. The Jews were no longer accepted by their neighbors. The invading power's rhetoric and laws opened the gates and our neighbors' suppressed Antisemitism rushed through.

The Jews of Lodz were rounded up and locked in a ghetto. This chaos and the pogroms made my self-imposed mission of revenge more difficult to accomplish.