Against the Current Part 8

"'And the Persians left the presence of the Almighty with fear and trembling.

"'Then the Greeks appeared before Jehovah, and He asked them, saying: What have ye done to deserve this reward? And the Greeks answered Him and said: Lord of Heaven and Earth, we have built costly temples upon the mountains and planted groves in the valleys and filled them with beauty. We emptied the cup of wisdom and filled it with the wine of joy, all that we might fulfill Thy law. Then the Lord answered them: Ye have built the temples for the creatures of your imagination; ye have filled the silence of the groves with the children of your pa.s.sion. Ye have drained the cup of wisdom and filled it with the wine of pleasure, and ye have forgotten that I am the G.o.d of wisdom, and that in doing My will is pleasure for the soul. And the Greeks also went away, and shame and confusion covered them.

"'So the Lord gathered all the nations and found none which had done aught because it wanted to fulfill the law. All had lived, struggled, fought and heaped up wealth to satisfy their own selfish desires.'

"The words of the prophet," my uncle concluded, "shall not be fulfilled until a nation arises which lives to do His will, which obeys His law; which if it creates cities, creates them for His glory; if it builds bridges, builds them to serve Him better; if it goes to war, goes to liberate the oppressed."

"There is such a nation, Isaac Bolsover," the pastor said, evidently astonished by this quotation from the Talmud so eloquently elaborated by my uncle,--"just one. It has fought a great war to liberate slaves, it professes to build cities to His glory; it receives all the strangers who come to it, when they flee from the wrath of the mob or the avenger.

That nation is America. It is far away from us and we know little about it; but I believe it is the nation which will keep itself worthy to receive the reward, and that it will lead the nations into brotherhood.

"Good-night," he said, rising from the prophet's chair, with the prophet's glow upon his face. "May you have a peaceful Pa.s.sover, and remember that the prophet's word shall be fulfilled."

I had never seen my uncle so erect as when he stood to say good-bye to the pastor. For a moment he seemed caught by a great current, which lifted him from his isolation into a large world movement. "Good-night, and may G.o.d reward you for the kindness you have done to Israel this night."

I held out my hand to the pastor and he took it gently; it was a soft hand, almost like a woman's, but its touch was full of throbbing life, and by a sudden impulse I kissed it.

Hardly had the pastor gone, when my uncle resumed his chanting and read the closing prayers. Sleepily but happily we responded with hallelujahs and amens.

Before he left us my uncle pointed to the cup of Elijah and said to my mother: "That wine is unclean and so is the cup. The lips of a Gentile have touched it."

Ah, mother of mine! how she rose in her gentle, womanly dignity as she replied: "He had a right to drink from it. Was he not our Prophet Elijah, and was he not sent from Jehovah to deliver us?"

When my uncle had gone and I was in bed, my eyes almost closed in sleep, my mother came to me, bearing in both hands the cup of Elijah.

"Drink from this cup, my son," she said; "for the lips of a living prophet have touched it"--and I drank from the cup of Elijah.

XVII

THE TRAGEDY OF RACE

Our physician was the one Jew who could travel on the Sabbath and neglect the other ceremonial duties of his religion without being strongly criticized or mildly cursed. Relieving pain and saving life were naturally placed above the law; so Dr. Blau, the best physician of that whole district, travelled in his carriage on the Sabbath, and when beyond the town boundaries had even been known to light a cigar.

Although this sin was unforgiven, the community did not dare bring the doctor to account, for indeed, he was not only a good physician, but a good Jew in the best sense of the word. He was loyal to his race in spite of the fact that his profession took him into the best Gentile homes, where his skill and sympathetic spirit broke down race barriers, and he was accepted as an equal. His wife and the other members of his family shared in this immunity from religious observances and took more liberties than he, in spite of the fact that travelling on the Sabbath and non-attendance at the synagogue were not made necessary by their errands of mercy. As they wished to share in the larger social opportunities enjoyed by the head of the house, the children were not sent to the Jewish school, but had French and English governesses. They were taught all the social graces including dancing, but were rarely able to make use of their accomplishments, for Gentile society was practically closed to them, and Judaism had no society. It was a simple democracy in which the pious and righteous alone were exalted, and they did not dance, neither did they speak French or English.

The most ambitious member of the family was the "Gnaedige Frau Doktorin"

as she loved to be called, and a gentle soul like the doctor--an idealist from the top of his bald head down to his toes--yielded all too readily to her scheme of bringing up the family in such a way as to separate it from Judaism and the Jews without in any way uniting it to another religious group. In a measure at least, the "Gnaedige Frau Doktorin" succeeded in her plans, for the young Gentile sn.o.bs did not seriously object to visiting her well-appointed home, to eating her cakes and drinking her coffee, flirting with Adele, her beautiful daughter, or even to leading her son astray, if he needed any leading in that uncertain direction.

The son left little or no impression upon my mind--no more than a chilly blast of air or a pa.s.sing unpleasant odour; not so with his sister Adele. She was more than twice my age; all the Orient had been educated out of her face and form, but it lingered in her eyes and burned in her pa.s.sionate nature. I often pa.s.sed the house of the doctor and caught many a glimpse of its luxuriant interior. I nearly always saw Adele at the piano and stopped to listen. She rarely spoke to me, for she had been trained not to speak to Jews of whom she was supposed not to be one. She played with vigour and feeling, her music soothed me and spoke to me as nothing else could, and I lingered by her window often and long. One day, shortly after I had been bereft of my American friends, she played and sang Schubert's Serenade, and I well remember the hot tears rolling over my cheeks as those mellow notes struck at every one of my sore heart-strings. Strange to say, there were tears in her eyes too when she came to the window to cool her glowing cheeks, and when she saw me crying, my sympathetic emotion naturally drew us together. Before she closed the window she said: "Come in any time you want to, little boy, and I will sing and play for you."

There was a soft cus.h.i.+oned divan upon which she always asked me to sit when I came, and I soon regarded it as my rightful place. I never taste any of the luxuries of life without recalling the first time I sank onto that cus.h.i.+oned seat after sliding to it over the highly polished floor.

I do not believe that I could have been much inspiration to her, except perhaps as she saw my face light up at her joyous notes, or saw tears in my eyes when, with her soft alto voice, she sang the sadder German songs for which I especially yearned. I was a "melancholy Dane"--as I think all children are whose experience has outrun their years.

One winter's evening when I called unexpectedly--for my visits were always in the daytime--I found my seat occupied by a young man. Other eyes than mine watched Adele's skillful fingers and looked at her as I had never seen a man look at a woman. He was the postmaster's a.s.sistant, a Slavic youth belonging to a rich peasant family. He had entered government service by virtue of his father's money and the fact that he became a Magyar, half-traitor to his race, and wholly conscious of it.

He drew me to him on the cus.h.i.+oned seat and said something that made Adele smile. I blushed, became uncomfortable, and ran out of the room as fast as the slippery floor would permit.

For a long time after that I did not stop at Adele's window. A sort of boyish jealousy kept me away, and besides, she now played only the joyous songs of her repertoire, for which I did not especially care. It may have been a long time or it may have been but a few weeks--time meant little to me then--when, in pa.s.sing the house one afternoon, I heard her play again one of my favourites. I stopped but did not cry--for music had lost some of its mystery. When she had finished she saw me and came to the window and I noticed that she had been crying.

She closed the window without speaking to me, which hurt me deeply, and the next time I pa.s.sed I did not stop, in spite of the fact that I heard her singing "Du holdes Aug"--a most lachrymal song and one of my favourites. For many days after this the window remained closed and I heard no more music. At my home they were speaking in whispers about Adele. I did not understand, but the a.s.sistant postmaster was involved.

Whenever the gray-haired doctor pa.s.sed, and mother saw him, she said: "Dear man, he is carrying a load." When I asked what the load was that he carried, she said, "You are too little, you can't understand."

In spite of the fact that there was no music, I looked into the window every time I pa.s.sed, which was oftener than necessary, for I wanted to see Adele. Weeks and weeks elapsed and I caught no glimpse of her; indeed, I never saw any one in the room. One day, after a fruitless search through the window, I met her right at the door, ready for a walk. I doffed my cap and looked into her face, which had grown thin and pale. When she saw me she smiled and took my hand. I walked by her side--not daring to speak. There were two avenues leading out of town, and both afforded some pleasure, for they were shaded. Both led to the cemeteries, one to the Jewish G.o.d's Acre and one to where the Gentiles rested; although a high stone wall separated the dead who died in the faith of the Church of Rome from those who professed the faith of Luther. These walks were our Lovers' Lane as well as the Via Dolorosa.

Here troths were plighted, lovers kissed or quarrelled, and here weeping mourners followed the bier. Holding my hand firmly in hers, as if she needed support, Adele and I walked out through the Alle, as this promenade was called. Under the gnarled acacia trees scattered benches stood, and at the further end, the Jewish cemetery began. Adele sat down on one of the benches, drew a letter from her pocket and wept bitterly as she read it. Moved by her tears, I wept with her. At last she rose and we went to the G.o.d's Acre. It was not an inviting place, this "_Getot_" as the Jews called it; for grave crowded grave, and one moss-grown stone leaned upon the other. Nowhere was there a straight line, a curve that suggested beauty, a plot of ground which spoke of care. The Jewish cemetery was outwardly as confused and individualistic as the Jewish community; but beneath the surface what perfect harmony and order! A Gentile woman kept the gate and provided vessel and towel for the ceremonial was.h.i.+ng. No visitor leaves the abode of the dead without this purification. The woman watched our entrance with interest, for she did not provide the water and the towel for nothing.

The Jewish cemetery is hilly. On top of the hill they bury the pious and the learned; at the bottom the unlettered and the very poor. We climbed the slope and sat down on one of the graves. Adele stared at me and at the headstones, nervously pulled weeds from the ground, then suddenly left me and walked rapidly away.

That evening I heard them say at home that a rich Jewish landowner was coming to see Adele, and that they would be engaged, in order to prevent her marrying the Gentile. This interested me so much that I met the omnibus the next morning and had my first look at the stranger. He was a rather clumsy, homely, honest-looking man of nearly thirty years, whose gait and gesture smacked of the soil, and who, in spite of his good clothing, showed lack of breeding. A marriage agent was with him, and they went directly to the doctor's house. The same evening it was reported that the engagement was announced and that the marriage would take place in six weeks.

I was present at the ceremony. It was performed according to Jewish custom, in the open air. The synagogue yard was crowded, and the busybodies talked and talked. They really had something to talk about, for the bride had to be fairly lifted from the carriage, and the doctor had grown years older. The pompous "Gnaedige Frau Doktorin" alone held her head erect and did not weep.

An orthodox Jewish wedding ceremony is a sadly solemn occasion. The groom wears his shroud and the bride's head is covered by an impenetrable veil. The rabbi reads the ceremony in the Hebrew Chaldaic dialect which no one understands, the cantor chants a solemn tune and the parents walk about the bridal couple weeping and praying. Never before was there a wedding in our town so solemn as this, and when the bride lifted her veil to drink from the ceremonial cup, her face looked like that of a corpse.

The next morning, long before daybreak, sounds of weeping and lamentation came from the house of the doctor. We heard the mad shriek of an insane woman, then a man lifted his voice in a heart-broken wail, and all who went to the door and all who heard the cause, wept with them. The old doctor, broken-hearted, stood by his daughter's bed, holding her lifeless hand in his; thus he stood, until the pious women came to prepare her for burial. When the pale morning grew bright and the Gentile community wakened to its tasks and duties, a shot was heard in the post-office. Through the crowd gathered there, an old peasant and his wife forced their way. Beside the desk where he had worked, lay their son--with a bullet in his brain.

XVIII

THE FIRST APOSTASY

We who lived in the town were the envied of our race who lived in the scattered villages among the mountains. We had the synagogue, the centre of spiritual and social life, and we had the school. In spite of the fact that many of our Jews hated one another because of business compet.i.tion, there was a community interest which held all of them together--making them, in a measure, share the common joys and certainly the common griefs.

We had no aristocracy except that of piety and learning and in this the poor excelled the rich; so that life, such as it was, with its dangers and drudgeries, was shared life--and thus became bearable.

The village Jew had cause to envy us. He lived isolated among an alien and often hostile population, whose social pleasures he could not share, even had he cared to. If he lived near enough, he came to the synagogue each Sabbath, taking steep climbs over many rough miles; but more often he could come only on the holy days, for distances were great and the means of communication difficult. The term "Village Jew" was synonymous with crudity and ignorance; in fact, the life of such an one did not differ much from his peasant neighbour, except in a few important particulars. The peasant _drank palenka_. The Jew _sold_ it to him; the peasant consequently grew poorer and poorer while the wealth of the sober Jew increased correspondingly. The peasant had no ambitions beyond his meat and drink, while those of the Jew were boundless, and although he could not achieve much more than the acc.u.mulation of moderate wealth, the future of his children was a.s.sured to such a degree that he did not fear their being condemned to the life of a "Village Jew."

The children came to school in town, which was no little burden upon our community, but a burden which was gladly borne. In spite of the fact that the "Village Jews" were better off than the peasants, many of them could not afford to pay their children's tuition and board, which the town Jews provided by free scholars.h.i.+ps and by a very unique scheme of "boarding 'round."

At the beginning of the school year, parents went to the homes of the well-to-do and secured in each a certain day in the week on which the child would be a guest at table. This provided a variety of boarding places; a fact which had obvious advantages and disadvantages.

Our home was open to this invasion Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sat.u.r.days, and it was the "Sabbath boy" as we called him, whose pathetic career had a lasting influence upon my life.

He came from the village of "Deephole," a Slavic community, so hidden in the hills that not even its church steeple was visible from the main road. His father was a whiskey distiller and usurer, and the home smelt of vile liquor, which the peasants consumed in great quant.i.ties on the premises. On Sundays it was the scene of drunken brawls, which followed the weekly dance. The boy's bed was underneath the table around which his father's guests drank and made merry, and when the room was vacated, which was usually late at night, he went to sleep, breathing until morning the filthy, alcohol-laden air.

Nor were his waking hours much happier. His father, who was quick tempered, believed and practiced King Solomon's advice to parents; while the mother did not have sufficient strength of character to s.h.i.+eld her children from his brutal a.s.saults.

When the boy came to town, he came into a new world and when he came to our home it was indeed to him a Sabbath of delight; for he was a growing boy who never had got enough to eat and our table was bountifully supplied. He was an ill-favoured, freckled, hook-nosed lad, extremely sensitive and shy. He never answered any questions beyond yes, or no, as if loath to lose any time from the process of filling up.

The Jew scarcely ever expects to be thanked for favours extended, so we were not at all astonished when, after feeding the Sabbath boy for four years, he dropped out with no word of acknowledgment, and another half-starved village child took his place.

Rabbinic law proscribed that walking on the Sabbath be restricted to 2,000 yards from the synagogue. These were marked out by wires, stretched across rather frail looking poles.

How many generations of children had been hemmed in by these rusty wires I do not know; but the beckoning fields in the spring, the b.u.t.terflies, the corn-flowers and the poppies were mightier than the rabbinic law, and many a time I drew my mother past the boundaries, out into G.o.d's open world. I delighted to watch the peasants at work in the field, and it took the firm hand of my mother to keep me from going to aid them at haying time, or when they lifted the heavy sheaves of rye upon their huge wagons, drawn by white, long-horned oxen. I do not know how many sins I was guilty of each Sabbath afternoon, for I loved to pluck the wild flowers and that was a sin repeatedly committed. I whistled secular tunes which no doubt was another; I ran many G.o.dless miles beyond the boundary, chasing rabbits and often stopping to read inscriptions upon the Christian shrines.

Ah, me! if only all my sins had left such unstained and pleasant memories. On these Sabbath walks I drew my mother into the villages which lay around us, and from which came our "day-eaters" as the charity boarders were called. We often stopped to inquire for them; but I fear my interest was wholly selfish, for invariably we were offered some refreshments, and in spite of my aesthetic delights in these Sabbath afternoon walks, they made me hungry.