Yiddish Tales Part 74

The Charif expounded the Torah standing in the wagon. At first he looked fairly scared, and his sharp black eyes darted fearfully hither and thither over the heads of the silent crowd. Then came a bright idea, and lit up his face. He began to speak, but his was not the familiar teaching, such as everyone learns and understands. His words were like fiery flashes appearing and disappearing one after the other, lightnings that traverse and illumine half the sky in one second of time, a play of swords in which there are no words, only the clink and ring of finely-tempered steel.

The old Rav sat in his chair leaning on his old, k.n.o.bbly, knotted stick, and listened. He heard, but evil thoughts beset him, and deep, hard wrinkles cut themselves into his forehead. He saw before him the Charif, the dried-up youth with the sharp eyes and the sharp, pointed nose, and the evil thought came to him, "Those are needles, a tailor's needles,"

while the long, thin forefinger with which the Charif pointed rapidly in the air seemed a third needle wielded by a tailor in a hurry.

"You p.r.i.c.k more sharply even than your father," is what the old Rav wanted to say when the Charif ended his sermon, but he did not say it.

The whole a.s.sembly was gazing with caught breath at his half-closed eyelids. The lids never moved, and some thought wonderingly that he had fallen into a doze from sheer old age.

Suddenly a strange, dry snap broke the stillness, the old Rav started in his chair, and when they rushed forward to a.s.sist him, they found that his knotted, k.n.o.bbly stick had broken in two.

Pale and bent for the first time, but a tall figure still, the old Rav stood up among his startled flock. He made a leisurely motion with his hand in the direction of the town, and remarked quietly to the young Charif:

"Nu, now you can go into the town!"

That Friday night the old Rav came into the house-of-study without his satin cloak, like a mourner. The congregation saw him lead the young Rav into the corner near the ark, where he sat him down by the high old desk, saying:

"You will sit here."

He himself went and sat down behind the pulpit among the strangers, the Sabbath guests.

For the first minute people were lost in astonishment; the next minute the house-of-study was filled with wailing. Old and young lifted their voices in lamentation. The young Rav looked like a child sitting behind the tall desk, and he s.h.i.+vered and shook as though with fever.

Then the old Rav stood up to his full height and commanded:

"People are not to weep!"

All this happened about the Solemn Days. Mouravanke remembers that time now, and speaks of it at dusk, when the sky is red as though streaming with fire, and the men stand about pensive and forlorn, and the women fold their babies closer in their ap.r.o.ns.

At the close of the Day of Atonement there was a report that the old Rav had breathed his last in robe and prayer-scarf.

The young Charif did not survive him long. He died at his father's the tailor, and his funeral was on a wet Great Hosannah day. Aged folk said he had been summoned to face the old Rav in a lawsuit in the Heavenly Court.

A FOLK TALE

THE CLEVER RABBI

The power of man's imagination, said my Grandmother, is very great.

Hereby hangs a tale, which, to our sorrow, is a true one, and as clear as daylight.

Listen attentively, my dear child, it will interest you very much.

Not far from this town of ours lived an old Count, who believed that Jews require blood at Pa.s.sover, Christian blood, too, for their Pa.s.sover cakes.

The Count, in his brandy distillery, had a Jewish overseer, a very honest, respectable fellow.

The Count loved him for his honesty, and was very kind to him, and the Jew, although he was a simple man and no scholar, was well-disposed, and served the Count with heart and soul. He would have gone through fire and water at the Count's bidding, for it is in the nature of a Jew to be faithful and to love good men.

The Count often discussed business matters with him, and took pleasure in hearing about the customs and observances of the Jews.

One day the Count said to him, "Tell me the truth, do you love me with your whole heart?"

"Yes," replied the Jew, "I love you as myself."

"Not true!" said the Count. "I shall prove to you that you hate me even unto death."

"Hold!" cried the Jew. "Why does my lord say such terrible things?"

The Count smiled and answered: "Let me tell you! I know quite well that Jews must have Christian blood for their Pa.s.sover feast. Now, what would you do if I were the only Christian you could find? You would have to kill me, because the Rabbis have said so. Indeed, I can scarcely hold you to blame, since, according to your false notions, the Divine command is precious, even when it tells us to commit murder. I should be no more to you than was Isaac to Abraham, when, at G.o.d's command, Abraham was about to slay his only son. Know, however, that the G.o.d of Abraham is a G.o.d of mercy and lovingkindness, while the G.o.d the Rabbis have created is full of hatred towards Christians. How, then, can you say that you love me?"

The Jew clapped his hands to his head, he tore his hair in his distress and felt no pain, and with a broken heart he answered the Count, and said: "How long will you Christians suffer this stain on your pure hearts? How long will you disgrace yourselves? Does not my lord know that this is a great lie? I, as a believing Jew, and many besides me, as believing Jews--we ourselves, I say, with our own hands, grind the corn, we keep the flour from getting damp or wet with anything, for if only a little dew drop onto it, it is prohibited for us as though it had yeast.

"Till the day on which the cakes are baked, we keep the flour as the apple of our eye. And when the flour is baked, and we are eating the cakes, even then we are not sure of swallowing it, because if our gums should begin to bleed, we have to spit the piece out. And in face of all these stringent regulations against eating the blood of even beasts and birds, some people say that Jews require human blood for their Pa.s.sover cakes, and swear to it as a fact! What does my lord suppose we are likely to think of such people? We know that they swear falsely--and a false oath is of all things the worst."

The Count was touched to the heart by these words, and these two men, being both upright and without guile, believed one the other.

The Count believed the Jew, that is, he believed that the Jew did not know the truth of the matter, because he was poor and untaught, while the Rabbis all the time most certainly used blood at Pa.s.sover, only they kept it a secret from the people. And he said as much to the Jew, who, in his turn, believed the Count, because he knew him to be an honorable man. And so it was that he began to have his doubts, and when the Count, on different occasions, repeated the same words, the Jew said to himself, that perhaps after all it was partly true, that there must be something in it--the Count would never tell him a lie!

And he carried the thought about with him for some time.

The Jew found increasing favor in his master's eyes. The Count lent him money to trade with, and G.o.d prospered the Jew in everything he undertook. Thanks to the Count, he grew rich.

The Jew had a kind heart, and was much given to good works, as is the way with Jews.

He was very charitable, and succored all the poor in the neighboring town. And he a.s.sisted the Rabbis and the pious in all the places round about, and earned for himself a great and beautiful name, for he was known to all as "the benefactor."

The Rabbis gave him the honor due to a pious and influential Jew, who is a wealthy man and charitable into the bargain.

But the Jew was thinking:

"Now the Rabbis will let me into the secret which is theirs, and which they share with those only who are at once pious and rich, that great and pious Jews must have blood for Pa.s.sover."

For a long time he lived in hope, but the Rabbis told him nothing, the subject was not once mentioned. But the Jew felt sure that the Count would never have lied to him, and he gave more liberally than before, thinking, "Perhaps after all it was too little."

He a.s.sisted the Rabbi of the nearest town for a whole year, so that the Rabbi opened his eyes in astonishment. He gave him more than half of what is sufficient for a livelihood.

When it was near Pa.s.sover, the Jew drove into the little town to visit the Rabbi, who received him with open arms, and gave him honor as unto the most powerful and wealthy benefactor. And all the representative men of the community paid him their respects.

Thought the Jew, "Now they will tell me of the commandment which it is not given to every Jew to observe."

As the Rabbi, however, told him nothing, the Jew remained, to remind the Rabbi, as it were, of his duty.

"Rabbi," said the Jew, "I have something very particular to say to you!