Rabbi and Priest

M >> Milton Goldsmith >> Rabbi and Priest

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It was finally decided to send to the _bal-shem_ to effect Mendel's
cure. But time was pressing, Mendel was growing visibly worse and
Tchernigof was a long way off!

Hirsch rose to go in search of a messenger.

"Whom will you send?" asked his wife, accompanying him to the door.

"The beadle, Itzig Maier, of course," rang back Hirsch's answer, as he
strode rapidly down the street.

Let us accompany him to Itzig Maier's house, situated in the poorest
quarter of Kief. In a narrow lane stood a low, dingy, wooden hut, whose
boards were rotting with age. The little windows were covered for the
most part with greased paper in lieu of the panes that had years ago
been destroyed, and scarcely admitted a stray beam of sunlight into the
room. The door, which was partially sunken into the earth, suggesting
the entrance to a cave, opened into the one room of the house, which
served at once as kitchen and dormitory. It was damp, foul and
unhealthy, scarcely a fit dwelling-place for the emaciated cat, which
sat lazily at the entrance. The floor was innocent of boards or tiles,
and was wet after a shower and dry during a drought. The walls were bare
of plaster. It was a stronghold of poverty. Misery had left her impress
upon everything within that wretched enclosure. Yet here it was that
Itzig Maier, his wife, and five children lived and after a fashion
thrived. In one respect he was more fortunate than most of his
neighbors; his hut possessed the advantage of housing but one family,
whereas many places, not a whit more spacious or commodious, furnished a
dwelling to three or four. The persecutions which limited the Jewish
quarter to certain defined boundaries, the intolerance which prohibited
the Jews from possessing or cultivating land, or from acquiring any
trade or profession, were to blame for this wretchedness.

A brief review of the past career of our new acquaintance, Itzig Maier,
will give us a picture of the unfortunate destiny of thousands of
Russian Jews.

Itzig had studied Talmud until he had attained his eighteenth year. But
lacking originality he lapsed into a mere automaton. His eighteenth year
found him a sallow-visaged, slovenly lad, ignorant of all else but the
Holy Law. His anxious and loving parents began to think seriously of his
future. Almost nineteen years of age and not yet married! It was
preposterous! A _schadchen_ (match-maker) was brought into requisition
and a wife obtained for the young man. What mattered it that she was a
mere child, unlettered and unfit for the solemn duties of wife and
mother? What mattered it that the young people had never met before and
had no inclination for each other? "It is not good for man to be alone,"
said the parents, and the prospective bride and bridegroom were simply
not consulted. The girl's straggling curls succumbed to the shears; a
band of silk, the insignia of married life, was placed over her brow,
and the fate of two inexperienced children was irrevocably fixed; they
were henceforth man and wife.

Both parents of Itzig Maier died shortly after the nuptials and the
young man inherited a small sum of money, the meagre earnings of years,
and the miserable hut which had for generations served as the family
homestead. For a brief period the couple lived carelessly and
contentedly; but, alas! the little store of wealth gradually decreased.
Itzig's fingers, unskilled in manual labor, could not add to it nor
prevent its melting away. He knew nothing but Law and Talmud and his
chances for advancement were meagre, indeed. After the last rouble had
been spent, Itzig sought refuge in the great synagogue, where as beadle
he executed any little duties for which the services of a pious man were
required--sat up with the sick, prayed for the dead, trimmed the lamps
and swept the floor of the House of Worship; in return for which he
thankfully accepted the gifts of the charitably inclined. His wife, when
she was not occupied with the care of her rapidly growing family,
cheerfully assisted in swelling the family fund by peddling vegetables
and fruit from door to door.

Oh, the misery of such an existence! Slowly and drearily day followed
day and time itself moved with leaden soles. There were many such
families, many such hovels in Kief; for although thrift and economy,
prudence and good management are pre-eminently Jewish qualities, yet
they are not infrequently absent and their place usurped by neglect with
its attendant misery.

In spite of privations, however, life still possessed a charm for Itzig
Maier. At times the wedding of a wealthy Jew, or the funeral of some
eminent man, demanded his services and for a week or more money would be
plentiful and happiness reign supreme.

Hirsch Bensef entered the hut and found Jentele, Maier's wife,
perspiring over the hearth which occupied one corner of the room. She
was preparing a meal of boiled potatoes. A sick child was tossing
restlessly in an improvised cradle, which in order to save room was
suspended from a hook in the smoke-begrimed ceiling. Several children
were squalling in the lane before the house.

"_Sholem alechem_," said the woman, as she saw the stranger stoop and
enter the door-way, and wiping her hands upon her greasy gown, she
offered Hirsch a chair.

"Where is your husband?" asked Hirsch, gasping for breath, for the heat
and the malodorous atmosphere were stifling.

"Where should he be but in the synagogue?" said Jentele, as she went to
rock the cradle, for the child had begun to cry and fret at the sight of
the stranger.

"Is the child sick?" asked Bensef, advancing to the cradle and observing
the poor half-starved creature struggling and whining for relief.

"Yes, it is sick. God knows whether it will recover. It is dying of
hunger and thirst and I have no money to buy it medicines or
nourishment."

"Does your husband earn nothing?"

"Very little. There have been no funerals and no weddings for several
months."

"Can you not earn anything?"

"How can I? I must cook for my little ones and watch my ailing child."

"Are your children of no service to you?"

"My oldest girl, Beile, is but seven years old. She does all she can to
help me, but it is not much," answered Jentele, irritably.

Hirsch sighed heavily and drawing out his purse, he placed a gold coin
in the woman's hand.

"Here, take this," he said, "and provide for the child." He thought of
Mendel at home and tears almost blinded him. "Carry the boy out into the
air; this atmosphere is enough to kill a healthy person. Well, God be
with you!" and Hirsch hurriedly left the the house.

He found the man he was seeking at the synagogue. Poverty and privation,
hunger and care, had undertaken the duties of time and had converted
this person into a decrepit ruin while yet in the prime of life.

Without unnecessary delay, for great was the need of haste, Hirsch
unfolded his plans, and Itzig, in consideration of a sum of money,
consented to undertake the journey at once. The money, destined as a
gift to the _bal-shem_, was securely strapped about his waist, and
arrangements were made with a _moujik_, who was going part of the way,
to carry Itzig on his wagon.

"Get there as soon as possible, and by all means before _Shabbes_!" were
Bensef's parting words.

In the meantime not a little sympathy was manifested for the unfortunate
lad. Bensef's house was crowded during the entire day. Every visitor
brought a slight token of love--a cake, a cup of jelly, a leg of a
chicken; but Mendel could eat nothing and the good things remained
untouched. There was no lack of advice as to the boy's treatment.
Everyone had a recipe or a drug to offer, all of which Miriam wisely
refused to administer. There was at one time quite a serious dispute in
the room adjoining the sick-chamber. Hinka Kierson, a stout, red-faced
matron, asserted that cold applications were most efficacious in fevers
of this nature, while Chune Benefski, whose son had had a similar
attack, and who was therefore qualified to speak upon the subject,
insisted that cold applications meant instant death, and that nothing
could relieve the boy but a hot bath. Miriam quieted the disputants by
promising to try both remedies. To her credit be it said, she applied
neither, but pinned her entire faith upon the coming remedy of the
_bal-shem_.

Friday noon came but it brought no improvement. He continued delirious
and his mind dwelt upon his recent trials, at one moment struggling
against unseen enemies and the next calling piteously upon his brother
Jacob.

Hirsch and Miriam could witness his suffering no longer, but went to
their own room and gave free vent to the tears which would not be
repressed.

"Oh, if the answer from the Rabbi were but here," sighed Miriam.

"Itzig will have just arrived in Tchernigof," said her husband,
despondingly. "We can expect no answer until Monday morning."

"And must we sit helpless in the meantime?" sobbed Miriam, through her
tears.

The door opened and a woman living in the neighborhood entered to
inquire after the patient.

"See, Miriam," she said, "when I was feverish last year after my
confinement, a _snakharka_ gave me this bark with which to make a tea. I
used a part of it and you remember how quickly I recovered. Here is all
I have left. Try it on your boy; it can't hurt him and with God's help
it will cure him."

Yes, Miriam remembered how ill her neighbor had been and how rapid had
been her convalescence. She took the bark and examined it curiously,
made the tea and administered a portion without any visible effect.

"Continue to give it to him regularly until it is all gone," said the
neighbor, and she went home to prepare for the Sabbath.

Miriam, too, had her house to put in order and to prepare the table for
the following day; but for the first time the gold and silver utensils,
the snow-white linen--the luxurious essentials of the Sabbath
table--failed to give her pleasure. What did all her wealth avail her if
Mendel must die! Her husband sat apathetically at the boy's bedside,
watching his flushed face and listening to his delirious raving. The end
seemed near. The boy asked for drink and Miriam gave him more of the
tea.

Five o'clock sounded from the tower of a near-by church and Hirsch arose
to dress for the house of prayer. _Shabbes_ must not be neglected,
happen what may. Suddenly there was an unusual commotion in the narrow
lane in which stood Bensef's house. The door was hastily thrown open and
in rushed Itzig, the messenger to Tchernigof, followed by a dozen
excited, gesticulating friends.

Bensef ran to meet them, but when he saw his messenger already returned
his countenance fell.

"For God's sake, what is the matter? Why are you not in Tchernigof?" he
said.

"I was," retorted Itzig, "but I have come back. Here," he continued,
opening a bag about his neck and carefully drawing therefrom a small
piece of parchment covered with hieroglyphics, "put this under the boy's
tongue and he will recover!"

"But what is this paper?" asked Hirsch, suspiciously.

"It is from the _bal-shem_. Don't ask so many questions, but do as I
tell you! Put it under the boy's tongue before the Sabbath or it will be
of no avail!"

Hirsch looked from Itzig to the ever-increasing crowd that was peering
in through the open door. Then he gazed at the parchment. It was about
two inches square and covered with mystic signs which none understood,
but the power of which none doubted. In the margin was written in
Hebrew, "In the name of the Lord--Rabbi Eleazer."

There was no time for idle curiosity. Hirsch ran into the patient's
presence with the precious talisman and placed it under the boy's
tongue.

"There, my child," he whispered; "the _bal-shem_ sends you this. By
to-morrow you will be cured."

The boy, whose fever appeared already broken, opened his eyes and,
looking gratefully at Hirsch, answered:

"Yes, dear uncle, I shall soon be well," and fell into a deep sleep.

Hirsch closed the door softly and went out to his friends. The
excitement was intense and the crowd was steadily growing, for the news
had spread that Itzig Maier had been to Tchernigof and back in less than
two days.

"Tell us about it, Itzig," they clamored. "How is it possible that you
could do it?" But Itzig waved them back and not until Hirsch Bensef came
out from the sick chamber did he deign to speak. Then his tongue became
loosened, and to the awe and amazement of his listeners he related his
wonderful adventures. He told them that, having left the wagon half-way
to Tchernigof, he had walked the rest of the distance, reaching his
destination that very morning at eleven o'clock. The holy man, being
advised by mysterious power of his expected arrival, awaited him at the
door and said: "Itzig, thou hast come about a sick boy at Kief." The
_bal-shem_ then gave him a parchment already written, and told him to
return home at once and apply the remedy before _Shabbes_, otherwise the
spell would lose its efficacy.

"Then," continued the messenger, "I said, 'Rabbi, this is Friday noon;
it takes almost a day and a half to reach Kief. How can I get there by
_Shabbes_?' Then he answered, 'Thinkest thou that I possess the power to
cure a dying man and not to send thee home before the Sabbath? Begin thy
journey at once and on foot and thou shalt be in Kief before night.'
Then I gave him the present I had brought and started out upon my
homeward journey. I appeared to fly. It seemed as though I was suspended
in the air, and trees, fields and villages passed me in rapid
succession. This continued until about a half hour ago, when I suddenly
found myself before Kief and at once hastened here with the parchment."

This incredible story produced different effects upon the auditors
present.

"It is wonderful," said one. "The _bal-shem_ knows the mysteries of
God."

"I don't believe a word of it," shouted another; "such things are
impossible."

"But we have proof of it before us," cried a third. "Itzig could not
have returned by natural means."

Then a number of the men related similar occurrences for which they
could vouch, or which had taken place in the experience of their
parents, and the gathering broke up into little groups, each
gesticulating, relating or explaining. The excitement was indescribable.

Bensef laid his hand upon Itzig's shoulder and led him aside.

"Look at me, Itzig," he commanded. "I want to know the truth. Is what
you have just related exactly true."

"To be sure it is. If you doubt it, go to the _bal-shem_ and ask him
yourself."

"Do you swear by----" Then checking himself, Hirsch muttered: "We will
see. If the boy recovers, I will believe you."

When Itzig arrived at the synagogue that evening, he was the cynosure of
all eyes, and it is safe to say that there was not in Kief a Jewish
household in which the wonderful story was not repeated and commented
upon.

Mendel recovered with marvellous rapidity. Whether his improvement was
due to the Peruvian bark which the kind-hearted neighbor had brought,
or to the power of the Cabalistic writing, or to the psychological
influence of faith in the _bal-shem's_ power, it is not for us to
decide, but certain it is that Rabbi Eleazer received full credit for
the cure and his already great reputation spread through Russia.

The fact that Itzig, whose poverty had been notorious, now occasionally
indulged in expenditures requiring the outlay of considerable money,
caused a rumor to spread that the worthy messenger had gone no further
than the village of Navrack, where he himself prepared the parchment and
then returned with the wonderful story of his trip through the air and
with his fortune augmented to the extent of Bensef's present to the
Rabbi. Envious people were not wanting who gave ear to this unkind rumor
and even helped to spread it. But the fact that Mendel had been snatched
from the jaws of death was sufficient vindication for Itzig, who for a
long time enjoyed great honors at Kief.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: Wallace, p. 77.]

CHAPTER X.

MENDEL THINKS FOR HIMSELF.

Mendel's fondness for study determined his future career. Nowhere were
there such opportunities for learning the Talmud as in Kief. Its
numerous synagogues, its eminent rabbis, its large Hebrew population,
made it the centre of Judaism in Southern Russia. In its schools some of
the most learned rabbis of the Empire had studied.

Throughout the whole of Russia there were, at the time of which we
speak, but few universities, and these scarcely deserved to rank above
second-rate colleges. Education was within the reach of very few. At the
present day, "the merchants do not even possess the rudiments of an
education. Many of them can neither read nor write and are forced to
keep their accounts in their memory, or by means of ingenious
hieroglyphics, intelligible only to their inventors. Others can decipher
the calendar and the lives of the saints, and can sign their name with
tolerable facility. They can make the simpler arithmetical calculations
with the help of a little calculating machine, called _stchety_."[6]

In the days of Nicholas it was infinitely worse. Learning of any kind
was considered detrimental to the State; schools were practically
unknown. "The most stringent regulations were made concerning tutors and
governesses. It was forbidden to send young men to study in western
colleges and every obstacle was thrown in the way of foreign travel and
residence. Philosophy could not be taught in the universities."[7]

Contrast with this enforced lethargy the intellectual activity that we
meet with everywhere in Jewish quarters. No settlement in which we find
a _minyan_ (ten men necessary for divine worship), but there we will
also find a _cheder_, a school in which the Bible and the Talmud are
taught. Indeed, study is the first duty of the Jew; it is the
quintessence of his religion. The unravelling of God's Word has been
from time immemorial regarded as the greatest need, the most ennobling
occupation of man--a work commanded by God. The Talmud teems with
precepts concerning this all-important subject.

"Study by day and by night, for it is written: 'Thou shalt meditate
therein day and night.'"

"The study of the Law may be compared to a huge heap that is to be
cleared away. The foolish man will say: 'It is impossible for me to
remove this immense pile, I will not attempt it.' But the wise man says:
'I will remove a little to-day, and more to-morrow, and thus in time I
shall have removed it all.' It is the same in studying the Law."[8]

It was to this incessant study of the Scriptures that Israel owed its
patience, its courage, its fortitude during centuries of persecution. It
was this constant delving for truth which produced that bright, acute
Jewish mind, which in days of fanaticism and intolerance, protected the
despised people from stupefying mental decay. It was this incessant
yearning after the word of God, which moulded the moral and religious
life of the Jews and preserved them from the fanatical excesses of the
surrounding peoples.

That this study often degenerated into a mere useless cramming of
unintelligible ideas is easily understood, and its effects were in many
cases the reverse of ennobling. At the age of five, the Jewish lad was
sent to _cheder_ and his young years devoted to the study of the Bible.
Every other occupation of mind and body was interdicted, the very plays
of happy childhood were abolished. The Pentateuch must henceforth form
the sole mental nourishment of the boy. Later on he is led through the
labyrinth of Talmudic lore, to wander through the dark and dreary
catacombs of the past, analyze the mouldering corpses of a by-gone
philosophy, drink into his very blood the wisdom, superstitions,
morality and prejudices of preceding ages. He must digest problems which
the greatest minds have failed to solve. Either the pupil is spurred on
to preternatural acuteness and becomes a credit to his parents and his
teachers, or he succumbs entirely to the benumbing influence of an
over-wrought intellect and is rendered unfit for the great physical
struggle for existence.

What is the Talmud, this sacred literature of Israel? It is a collection
of discussions and comments of biblical subjects, by generations of
rabbis and teachers who devoted their time and intellects to an analysis
of the Scriptures. It is a curious store-house of literary gems, at
times carefully, at times carelessly compiled by writers living in
different lands and different ages; a museum of curiosities, into which
are thrown in strange confusion beautiful legends, historical facts,
metaphysical discussions, sanitary regulations and records of scientific
research. In it are preserved the wise decisions, stirring sermons and
religious maxims of Israel's philosophers.

Although a huge work, consisting of twelve folios, it bears no
resemblance to a single literary production. On first acquaintance it
appears a wilderness, a meaningless tangle of heterogeneous ideas, of
scientific absurdities, of hair-splitting arguments, of profound
aphorisms, of ancient traditions, of falsehood and of truth. It is a
work of broadest humanity, of most fanatical bigotry.

It is not surprising, therefore, that the Talmud contains a great number
of trivial subjects, which it treats with great seriousness. It
contains, for example, dissertations upon sorcery and witchcraft as well
as powerful religious precepts, and presents along-side of its wise and
charitable maxims many utterances of an opposite nature. "For these
faults the whole Talmud had often been held responsible, as a work of
trifles, as a source of trickery, without taking into consideration that
it is not the work of a single author. Over six centuries are
crystallized in the Talmud with animated distinctness. It is, therefore,
no wonder if in this work, sublime and mean, serious and ridiculous,
Jewish and heathen elements, the altar and the ashes are found in motley
mixture."[9]

To the _jeschiva_, or Talmud school, Mendel was immediately sent after
his phenomenal recovery. The great Rabbi Jeiteles himself became the
lad's instructor. Let us accompany Mendel on this beautiful autumn day
to his school.

The house of Rabbi Jeiteles was hemmed in on three sides by decaying and
overcrowded dwellings, facing on the fourth a narrow, neglected lane.
There was nothing in its appearance to attract a passer-by. The
interior, however, was neatly and tastefully, if not luxuriously,
furnished. On entering, one found himself in a comfortably arranged
reception-room. On the eastern wall there hung a _misrach_, a scriptural
picture bearing the inscription, "From the rising of the sun to its
setting shall the name of the Lord be praised." Prints of biblical
subjects adorned the remaining walls, the Sabbath lamp hung from the
ceiling and thrift and comfort seemed to be thoroughly at home. Rebecca,
the Rabbi's wife, a pleasant-faced, mild-tempered little woman, was busy
arranging the table for the evening meal. There is not much to be said
about her and absolutely nothing against her. To a profound admiration
for her husband's ability, she added charity and benevolence and shared
with him the respect of the congregation. It had pleased the Lord to
deprive her of her three sons and the mother's love and devotion was now
lavished upon her sole remaining child, her daughter Recha.

"My sons would be a great comfort to me," she often sighed, and then
added, with resignation: "the Lord's will be done."

To the right of the entrance lay the staircase leading to the bed-rooms
on the second floor, and to the left a door opened into the
school-rooms, a recent addition to the dwelling, and in which the
Rabbi's fifty-odd pupils were daily instructed in their important
studies.

In the first of these rooms, the elementary department, sat the younger
boys, whose spiritual and mental welfare were entrusted to an assistant,
a young pedagogue, who did not believe in sparing the rod at the expense
of the child, but, mindful of the unmerciful whippings he had received
in his youth, endeavored on his part to inculcate the precepts of the
Pentateuch by means of sound thrashings. The progress of his pupils was
not phenomenal, but their training was eminently useful in aiding them
to bear the blows and trials which the gentile world had in store for
them. The Rabbi occasionally looked in upon the class and added his
instructions to those of the assistant, who in the presence of his
superior concealed his rod and assumed an air of unspeakable tenderness
and loving solicitude towards his charges.

The second school-room was for the more advanced pupils, who had for the
most part passed their _bar-mitzvah_ and now revelled in the mystic lore
of the Talmud. On rough wooden desks, whose surfaces had been engraved
by unskilled hands, huge folios lay open. At the upper end of the room
sat the Rabbi, on whose head the frosts of sixty winters had left their
traces. His snow-white beard covered his breast and his hair hung in
silver locks over his temples. His pale and finely-cut features stamped
him as a man of education and refinement. The venerable patriarch had
for more than thirty years filled the position of Chief Rabbi of Kief,
and his reputation as a Talmudist and a man of great mental acumen was
not confined to his native town.

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