Rabbi and Priest

M >> Milton Goldsmith >> Rabbi and Priest

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Mordecai Winenki was reduced to dire want. Deprived of the means of
livelihood by the removal of his former pupils, despoiled of his meagre
savings, the reward of years of toil, there was no occupation open to
him but to peddle, the meagre income from which, added to the earnings
of his wife by knitting and sewing for the neighboring peasantry, gave
them a scanty subsistence.

For six days of each week they toiled patiently, saving and scraping to
provide for the holy Sabbath, the celebration of which alone compensated
for days of misfortune and privation. On the Sabbath all work was laid
aside; the dreary room blazed with the lights of many candles; white,
unsullied linen adorned the table; a substantial meal was served, and
joy returned to the oppressed and weary hearts. Then the father and
mother spoke lovingly of the dear ones whom a cruel despotism had torn
from them, and a prayer of thanks was sent to the God of Israel that one
of the boys, at least, was alive and well; for Mendel since his arrival
in Kief had regularly corresponded with his parents, and his progress
and welfare were in a measure a compensation for the trials they had
endured. Of Jacob they had never discovered a trace, and they had long
since believed him dead.

It was the Sabbath eve. Mordecai and his wife were seated in their
humble little room, happy for the time being, in spite of their
deplorable condition. A sudden noise in the street interrupted their
conversation. The narrow Jewish quarter became animated, and a company
of Russian soldiers, led by the Elder of the village and followed by a
group of ragged urchins, marched with martial tread through the crooked
lane.

"Soldiers!" cried Mordecai and his wife, in one breath. "God help us,
they will quarter them on us!"

It was the advance guard of the great army that had entered Togarog.
Before Mordecai and his wife could recover from their fright, the door
opened and half a dozen soldiers entered the room.

"Give us something to eat!" cried one of the men, boisterously, as he
relieved himself of his gun and knapsack. His example was followed by
his comrades.

"We are hungry," said another of the men. "We have had nothing to eat
since five o'clock this morning. Get us our supper!"

"We have nothing to give you," replied Mordecai, trembling. "Why do you
come to us?"

"Not from choice, I can tell you," said a soldier, angrily. "Lots were
cast and we were unlucky enough to be sent here. As we are here,
however, let us make the best of it and see what your larder contains."

"Bah!" said another, as Mordecai did not move; "you can't expect these
people to wait upon us! We must help ourselves," and suiting the action
to the word, he strode to the cupboard and pulled it open.

The harvest was more plentiful than they had anticipated. Cooking, like
all other work, being forbidden on the Sabbath, provisions sufficient
for the holy day were prepared on Friday, and stood temptingly upon the
shelves. In a twinkling the succulent viands were placed upon the table
and quickly devoured by the half-famished soldiers. The repast, however,
failed to satisfy the hunger of these sturdy warriors.

"Come," cried one of them, "what else have you to eat?"

"Nothing," answered Mordecai, sullenly.

"You lie, Jew. Tell us where we may find something to eat."

"You have just eaten all there was in the house," said Mordecai, gulping
down a rising lump in his throat, as he thought of the fast he would
have to endure on the morrow.

"Then give us money that we may buy our own food!" shouted one of the
soldiers.

"I have no money; it is all gone, all gone," said the poor man, sadly.

"Ha! ha! ha! that is a good joke!" retorted the soldier, while his
companions laughed immoderately. "A Jew without money! I'll wager there
is gold and silver in every closet. I know you Jews; you are sly dogs."

"Look for yourselves," cried Mordecai, driven to desperation. "You are
welcome to all the gold and silver you can find."

The soldiers took him at his word and began to ransack the house, while
Mordecai and Leah, paralyzed with fear, great beads of perspiration
starting from their foreheads, sat idly by and watched the work of
destruction. Not an article of furniture was left entire in the wild
search for treasure, which, according to popular belief, every Jew was
supposed to possess. Finding nothing, they bestowed a few resounding
curses upon the inmates of the house, and in sheer desperation wended
their way to the village inn and sought the solace of Basilivitch's
vodka.

Poor Mordecai! Poor Leah! For hours they sat just as the soldiers had
left them, great tears streaming down their pale and haggard faces,
viewing the destruction of their few earthly possessions, the loss of
all they could still call their own. They knew not what course to
pursue, whether to remain or to flee. The unexpected blow appeared to
have robbed them of their faculties; all power of reflection seemed to
have left them, and trembling and groaning they remained where they
were, in fearful expectancy of what might follow.

Towards midnight the soldiers returned. The liberal potations in which
they had indulged had washed away the last semblance of humanity. Food
and money had been the motives of their previous excesses, but on their
return, hunger and cupidity had made way for lust. Mordecai's wife
became the object of their insults, and in the resistance which she and
her husband offered, both were beaten unmercifully. Finally, the
soldiers, overpowered by the close quarters and by the fumes of the
wretched liquor they had imbibed, dropped off, one by one, into a
drunken sleep.

"Let us take what we can, Leah," said the wretched man, after assuring
himself that the soldiers were all fast asleep, "and let us flee."

"We dare carry nothing--we dare not even travel, for this is the
Sabbath," answered Leah, sadly.

Poor Jews! In the midst of sorrow, as in the midst of joy, the behests
of their holy religion are never forgotten.

"Yes, we may travel," replied Mordecai. "It is a matter of more
importance than life and death, and the Talmud authorizes the
desecration of the Sabbath in time of great danger."

"Then let us go at once," whispered Leah.

Hand in hand they left the miserable hut, the place they had for so many
years called home, and wandered out into the world, without a prospect
to cheer them on their desolate way.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 10: Wallace.]

CHAPTER XIV.

A HAPPY PASSOVER.

It is the eve of the Passover feast, the birthday of Israel's
nationality. All is bustle and excitement in the Jewish quarter of Kief.
Kitchen utensils and furniture have been removed from the houses and are
piled up in the streets. Dust rises in clouds, water flows in torrents
through the muddy gutters. Children, banished from the vacant rooms, are
romping and playing, shouting and crying in the lanes. Feather beds and
blankets, clothing and linen are being aired. Within the houses
scourers and scrubbers are cleaning, dusting and white-washing. The
great national house-cleaning is in progress. From closet and cupboard,
dishes and cooking utensils are brought out for their eight days'
service.

To-morrow is _Pesach_ (Passover). An entire nation await with passionate
longing the arrival of this festival and accord it a hospitable welcome.
The man of wealth lavishly displays on this day his gold and silver, his
finely wrought utensils and crystal dishes. The poor man has labored day
and night to save enough to give the guest a worthy reception. The
stranger and the homeless are made welcome at every table, that they,
too, may enjoy, free from care and sorrow, the advent of the _Pesach_.

What yearning, what hopes, what anticipations usher in this feast of
feasts! Winter, with its manifold hardships, is past. Nature awakes from
her frigid lethargy, and the balmy air gives promise of renewed life and
happiness.

The preparations are at length complete. Every nook and corner is
scrupulously clean; all _chometz_ (leaven) has been banished from the
house; even the children have carefully emptied their pockets of stray
crumbs. The round and tempting _matzoth_ (Passover bread) have been
baked--the guest is at the door!

In the dining-room of Hirsch Bensef sat a goodly circle of friends at
the _seder_ (services conducted on the eve of Passover). The lamps shone
brightly, and the lights in the silver candelabra threw their sheen upon
the sumptuously set table, with its white embroidered cloth and its
artistic dishes and goblets. At the head of the table stood a sofa
covered with rich hangings and soft pillows, a veritable throne, upon
which sat the king of the family, clad in snow-white attire. In the
midst of richly-robed guests, surrounded by an almost oriental luxury,
the master of the house had donned his shroud. It is a custom akin to
that of the ancient Egyptians, who brought the mummies of their
ancestors to the festive board, that in the excess of carnal enjoyment
they might not forget the grim reaper, Death. Upon the table stood a
plate of _mitzvoth_ (a thicker kind of _matzoth_ prepared specially for
the _seder_), covered with a napkin, and upon this were placed a number
of tiny silver dishes containing an egg, horseradish, the bone of a
lamb, lettuce and a mixture of raisins and spices--all symbolical of
ancient rites. Before each guest there stood a silver wine cup, to be
refilled three times in the course of the evening. In the centre of the
table stood the goblet of wine for _Elijahu Hanovi_ (the Prophet
Elijah), the hero of a thousand legends, and the fondly expected
forerunner of the redemption of Israel and the coming of the Messiah. By
each plate was a copy of _Hagada_, the order of service for the evening.
It is a book of facts and fancies, containing a recital of Israel's
trials in Egypt; of its deliverance from the house of bondage; of its
wanderings in the desert, and the sayings of Israel's wise men--a
mixture of Bible stories, myths and prayers.

Contentment, peace and joy were plainly written upon the faces of the
participants. The terrors of persecution were forgotten in the
recollection of the miraculous deliverance of the Jews from their
Egyptian task-masters. Reb Hirsch Bensef having pronounced a short
blessing over the wine, pointed solemnly to the plate of unleavened
bread before him.

"See," he said, "this is the bread your fathers ate in _Mizraim_. He
that hungers let him partake of it, he that is in need let him eat and
be satisfied."

As though in response to the hospitable invitation, there came a soft
rap at the door. Mendel opened it and the bright light revealed a man
and a woman, whose haggard faces and tattered garments presented the
very picture of misery.

"Father! Mother!" Mendel cried, joyfully. "God be praised!" and he threw
himself into the arms of his father.

With a single impulse the entire company arose and welcomed the
unexpected guests. Mordecai and his wife had travelled on foot from
Togarog to Kief, and, after terrible hardships, had arrived in time for
the Passover. Great was the pleasure at their unlooked-for appearance,
and as they hastened to tell the story of their sorrows and wanderings,
sincere was the joy at their providential escape and the safe
termination of their journey. All Israel is one family, and had the
wanderers been in nowise related to Bensef, their reception would have
been equally cordial and sincere.

A short time sufficed to remove the last traces of their terrible
journey and to clothe them in the best that the wardrobe of their hosts
afforded. Two more plates were set, two more goblets of wine were served
and the ceremonies were continued.

So excited was Mendel over the arrival of his parents that he could
scarcely compose himself sufficiently to follow the _seder_ and ask the
conventional question concerning the significance of the _Pesach_
festival. In reply, the head of the house recited from his _Hagada_ how
the Lord punished Pharaoh for his obduracy, how the children of Israel
were eventually led from captivity, how the Red Sea was divided that
the chosen people might traverse its bed while the Egyptian perished
miserably, and how the Lord conducted his people safely through the
wilderness to the promised land. Then followed praise and thanksgiving,
the _Hagadas_ were pushed aside and feasting followed, continuing far
into the night.

The woes and adventures of Mordecai and his wife elicited the hearty
sympathy of their hearers, and the enjoyment of the evening was greatly
enhanced by the knowledge that the dear ones were, for the present at
least, safe from persecution.

The quiet dignity which had distinguished Mendel since he had become a
student vanished. He became a child again, embracing and caressing his
parents, weeping at their sorrows, laughing over their deliverance, and
asking a thousand questions without waiting for replies.

It was decided that for the present the fugitives should remain with
Bensef as his guests.

At the conclusion of the meal, the _Hagadas_ were again taken up, and to
the prayers of thanksgiving was added a prayer for the welfare of that
little soul that was lost to Israel, the missing child Jacob.

CHAPTER XV.

TWO LOVING HEARTS.

The Crimean War had reached its disastrous conclusion. Russia had
suffered ignominious defeat, the allies were successful in the Black
Sea, and the despised Turks had shown a bold front along the Danube. It
was evident that the military organization was as corrupt as the civil
administration, that fraud and dishonesty were prevalent and neutralized
the bravery of the troops.

"Another year of war and the whole of Southern Russia will be ruined,"
so wrote a patriot of 1855.

Under this great humiliation, the people suddenly awoke from their
lethargy. The system of Nicholas had been put to the test and found
wanting. The Government believed that it could accomplish everything by
its own inherent wisdom and superiority, and had shown itself wofully
incompetent. Dissatisfaction was deep and widespread. Philippics and
satires appeared, and reforms were so boldly demanded that the Czar
could not close his ears to the universal clamor. In the midst of
disasters abroad and dissatisfaction at home, Nicholas died, and was
succeeded by his son, a man of very different type.

The new monarch was well aware of the existing abuses, many of which had
been carefully concealed from Nicholas by his obsequious counsellors. As
heir-apparent he had held aloof from public affairs, and was therefore
free from pledges of any kind; yet, while he allowed popular ideas and
aspirations to find free utterance, he did not commit himself to any
definite policy.

To Alexander, the Russians, Jew and gentile, now looked for relief.
There were many abuses to correct and oppressive laws to repeal, and the
public heart beat high with hope at the prospect of reforms. He repealed
the laws limiting the number of students at each university; he reduced
the excessive fees for passports; he moderated the rigorous censorship
of the press, and, in fact, the Czar's acts justified the hopes of his
subjects. Hundreds of new journals sprang into existence. He introduced
reforms into the civil and military administrations, and, best of all,
he created the _semstvos_ or town assemblies of the people.

To the Jews, Alexander was particularly gracious. He removed many of the
restrictions imposed by his predecessor. The stringent laws limiting the
number of marriages in a community were moderated. In some few instances
their quarters were enlarged, and an order was issued restoring to their
parents all children that had been forcibly taken from them during the
reign of the old Czar.

What rejoicing was there in Israel! How many families, separated by the
inhuman decrees of Nicholas, were now reunited! Every home was gladdened
either by the restoration of some beloved son, or in sympathy with the
general rejoicing. One family in Kief waited in vain, however, for the
return of a missing child. It was hoped by Mordecai that under the
general amnesty Jacob, if indeed he were still living, would be allowed
to return; but there were no tidings of him, and the conviction that he
had met his death was strengthened.

A new and promising era opened for the oppressed and persecuted Hebrews.
It appeared as if their patient resignation under adverse circumstances
would eventually be rewarded by the concession of equal rights with
their fellow-men. To be sure, all persecution did not cease. The badge
of disgrace was still worn by every male Jew, the owning of land and the
following of many trades was still forbidden. The Jew was still the
object of derision throughout the Empire; he was still judged by a
severer code of justice than were his gentile neighbors; the entire race
was still held responsible for the crime of the individual. But active
hostilities ceased and the Hebrews rejoiced thereat.

Mendel continued his studies, and in the course of a few years his fame
spread from _jeschiva_ to _jeschiva_, from congregation to congregation.
By the time that he was twenty-one years of age, he had published a book
in Hebrew, which, while it respected the religious sentiment of his
people, paved the way for assimilating the modern knowledge. The work
created a profound impression. The chief synagogues of Moscow and of
Warsaw invited him to take up his residence with them. His reply was
that as his parents resided in Kief, he preferred to remain there.

There was another attraction in Kief more powerful than that exercised
by his parents, more potent to keep the young philosopher in the city of
his adoption. Mendel was in love. His heart, schooled in the wisdom of
many nations, had surrendered unconditionally to the charm of Recha, the
beautiful dark-eyed daughter of Rabbi Jeiteles. Recha was rapidly
nearing her seventeenth year and each month, nay each day, added to her
charms. Like most girls of her ancient race, she was well developed for
her years, and her symmetrical figure, lustrous eyes and raven tresses
presented a picture of oriental beauty, whose peer did not exist among
the Slavonic types that lived and loved round about her. So at least
thought Mendel, and so thought a score of enamored youths beside.
Recha's beauty was by no means her chief attraction. The graces of her
mind and heart were in keeping with her lovely exterior. From her father
she had acquired learning, wit and wisdom, and from her mother charm of
manner and gentle ways.

The student's affection for the girl into whose society he was daily
thrown, exercised great influence in holding him to the path of duty. To
become worthy of such a treasure was his one desire. All that was best
and brightest in his soul was aroused when he thought of Recha. It was
she that inspired him, and his mind appeared more active when he thought
of her. She was the beacon that guided his steps through the difficult
paths of learning. Nor was his love unrequited. Young, handsome,
intelligent beyond the generality of Jewish youth, Mendel was to Recha
the embodiment of all that was good and noble.

No word of love had ever passed Mendel's lips, and yet there was a
sympathetic understanding between them; they found a paradise in each
other's society. Recha had not a few admirers. Go where she would, she
found herself surrounded by willing slaves, who at the slightest
encouragement would have thrown themselves at her feet. In vain were
_schadchens_ employed by many of the wealthy and influential Jewish
residents in Kief to seek the hand of Jeiteles' lovely daughter in
marriage. But Recha had neither eyes nor ears for any of them.

One evening Mendel entered the Rabbi's house in unusual haste, his face
wearing an expression of mingled doubt and hope.

The Rabbi and his wife were absent. Recha observing his perturbation,
asked eagerly:

"Has anything happened?"

"Here, Recha, read this letter."

Recha read the missive which Mendel handed to her. It was a flattering
invitation from the congregation of Odessa. "Our Rabbi is old and
infirm," stated the letter, "and desires a staff in his declining years.
Your reputation as a scholar has reached our people and we would
consider it an honor to have you with us."

As Recha read, she turned deadly pale and the paper almost fell from her
hands.

"What will you do?" she faltered at length, while the great tears stood
in her eyes.

Mendel's heart throbbed with wild delight as he saw her evident emotion,
and her eyes fell under his ardent gaze. Seizing her hand, he asked, in
a low voice:

"What would you have me do?"

Recha gazed fondly into Mendel's eyes, and said:

"I should be very unhappy if you left home. What would my father do
without you? Think of the void it would create in the lives of your
parents and of your uncle. What would the congregation do without you,
whom they already regard as an oracle? Stay with us in Kief."

"God bless you, my dear," replied the young man, fervently. "I will
remain; I shall never leave this place unless you go with me as my
wife."

It was simple and unromantic.

The lovers, happy and contented, sat side by side, discussing their
roseate future, and when the Rabbi and his wife returned, the young
folks advanced to meet them.

"Rabbi," said the student, bravely, "Recha has promised to be my wife."

"_Mazal tov_," ejaculated both Jeiteles and his wife. "May the Lord of
Israel bless you."

The messenger from Odessa was dismissed with a negative reply.

There was a merry gathering the following Saturday afternoon to
congratulate the betrothed couple. Sincere were the wishes for their
future happiness that were showered upon them. It is a characteristic of
Israelites the world over to feel a lively interest in whatever befalls
their co-religionists, high or low. "Despised and rejected" by their
gentile neighbors, they sought for consolation and found it in the
society of their own kin, and thus arose this sympathy, this love for
one another which has so strongly cemented the hearts of the Jews.

"Clannish" has been hurled at them as a term of reproach. So are the
frightened sheep clannish when they huddle together in the shelterless
field, for protection against the blasts of the pitiless storm.

The interval between the betrothal and the wedding is usually short, and
the happy day that made Mendel and Recha man and wife was not long in
coming.

"I have a request to make," said the student to the Rabbi, a few days
before the all-important event took place.

"Name it, my son," replied the Rabbi.

"I do not wish Recha to have her hair cut off. Her tresses are her
crowning beauty, and it would grieve me to the heart to see her shorn of
them."

The Rabbi shrugged his shoulders and uttered a short ejaculation of
surprise.

"A breach of so old a custom," said he, "will be looked upon by the
whole congregation as impiety."

"I know," replied Mendel, "but in this instance, I must brave their
displeasure."

"But," said the Rabbi, still hesitating, "if--God forbid--your wife
should meet with any misfortune, it would be attributed to the anger of
God at this innovation."

"I must do what I think is right," replied Mendel, "and if the example
of Recha induces others to disobey an offensive and obnoxious
injunction, the people will be the gainers."

After much deliberation, the Rabbi and his wife at last consented. Not
so easily, however, were the rest of the congregation reconciled.

We will anticipate a little to remark that there was no calamity in the
course of Mendel's conjugal experience, which could be traced to Recha's
luxuriant hair.

Great were the preparations with which the happy day was ushered in.

The closely veiled bride, supported by her mother and aunt, was
conducted into the room in a shower of barley, and was led to the
supremely happy groom, who, arrayed in cap and gown and wearing a
praying scarf, stood ready to receive her. Seven times the maiden
encircled her future husband and then took her position at his side,
after which the father of the _kalle_ (bride) began the important
services. Holding a goblet of wine in his right hand, he invoked God's
blessing with the tenderness of a loving father and the solemnity of a
priest. Short and impressive was the chanted prayer. The couple sipped
the wine, the ring was placed on the bride's finger, the words uttered,
a glass broken into fragments under the heel of the groom, prayers were
recited by the Rabbi, and the religious ceremony was at an end. Then
followed the congratulations of the friends, the good-natured pushing of
the assembled guests in their eagerness to kiss the bride or shake the
radiant groom by the hand. A bounteous feast closed the festivities.
Mendel and Recha were bound to each other by indissoluble ties.

The newly wedded pair took up their residence with Rabbi Jeiteles, whose
advanced age incapacitated him at times from attending to the onerous
duties of his office. Mendel was ever at his side as a helper, until he
grew into the office. Despite the honors showered upon him he remained
the modest, unassuming, amiable young man, whom flattery could not
affect nor pleasure lure from the course of strict duty.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20