A MIRACULOUS CURE.
Let us return to Mendel.
The unconscious boy was carried to the village by the sympathizing
Israelites of Poltava. When he recovered his senses he found himself
safely sheltered in the house of Reb Sholem, the _parnas_ (president of
the congregation). It was a pleasure to find kind sympathy, a warm room
and a substantial meal, after the hardships of the last few days; but
the constant recollection of Jacob's disappearance, the reproaches which
Mendel heaped upon himself for having deserted his brother, left him no
peace of mind.
The Jews of Poltava displayed their practical sympathy by dividing into
groups and scouring the village and the surrounding country, in hopes of
finding some clue to the whereabouts of the boy. He might even now be
wandering through the fields. Night, however, found them all gathered at
Reb Sholem's house, sorrowful and disheartened, as not a trace of the
missing lad had been discovered. Mendel retired in a state of fever and
tossed restlessly about on his bed during the entire night. He was moved
by but one desire--to get to his uncle at Kief as quickly as possible.
In the morning he informed his host of his plans. A carrier of the
village, who drove his team to within a few versts of Kief, was induced,
upon the payment of an exorbitant sum, to take the boy as a passenger,
and at dawn next morning they started upon their slow and tedious
journey, followed by the good wishes of the Jewish community. It was an
all-day trip to Kief. Over stone and stubble, through ditch and mire
moved the lumbering, springless vehicle, and Mendel, who quitted Poltava
with an incipient fever, arrived at his destination in a state of utter
exhaustion. The carrier set him down at the outskirts of the town. It
was as much as his position was worth to have harbored a Jew--a fugitive
from the military at that--and slowly and painfully Mendel found his way
through the strange city, to the Jewish quarter. Every soldier that
crossed his path inspired him with terror; it might be some one charged
with his recapture. Not until he reached his destination did he deem
himself safe.
To the south-east of the city, stretched along the Dnieper, lay the
Jewish settlement of almost fifteen thousand souls. The most dismal,
unhealthy portion of the town had in days gone by been selected as its
location. The decree of the _mir_ had fixed its limits in the days of
Peter the Great, and its boundaries could not be extended, no matter how
rapidly the population might increase, no matter how great a lack of
room, of air, of light there might be for future generations. The houses
were, therefore, built as closely together as possible, without regard
to comfort or sanitary needs. To each was added new rooms, as the
necessities of the inhabiting family demanded, and these additions hung
like excrescences from all sides of the ugly huts, like toadstools to
decaying logs. Every inch of ground was precious to the ever-increasing
settlement. It was a labyrinth of narrow, dirty streets, of unpainted,
unattractive, dilapidated houses, a lasting monument of hatred and
persecution, of bigotry and prejudice. Mendel gasped for a breath of
fresh air, and, feeling himself grow faint, he hurried onward and
inquired the way to Hirsch Bensef's house. A plain, unpretentious
structure was pointed out and Mendel knocked at the door.
Hirsch himself opened the door. For a moment he stood undecided,
scarcely recognizing in the form before him, his chubby nephew of a week
ago. Then he opened his arms and drew the little fellow to his breast.
"Is it indeed you, Mendel?" he cried. "_Sholem alechem!_ (Peace be with
you!) God be praised that He has brought you to us!" and he led the boy
into the room and closed the door.
"Miriam," he called to his wife, who was engaged in her household duties
in an adjoining room; "quick, here is our boy, our Mendel. I knew he
would come."
Mendel was lovingly embraced by his cheerful-looking aunt, whom he had
never seen, but whom he loved from that moment.
"What ails you, my boy? You look ill; your head is burning," said
Miriam, anxiously.
"Yes, aunt; I fear I shall be sick," answered Mendel, faintly.
"Nonsense; we will take care of that," replied Hirsch. "But where is
Jacob?"
Mendel burst into tears, the first he had shed since his enforced
departure from home. In as few words as possible he told his story,
accompanied by the sobs and exclamations of his hearers. In conclusion,
he added:
"Either Jacob wandered away in his delirium and is perhaps dead in some
deserted place, or else the soldiers have recaptured him and have taken
him back to Kharkov."
"Rather he be dead than among the inhuman Cossacks at the barracks,"
returned his uncle. "God in His mercy does all things for the best!"
"The poor boy must be starving," said Miriam, and she set the table with
the best the house afforded, but Mendel could touch nothing.
"It looks tempting, but I cannot eat," he said. "I have no appetite."
The poor fellow stretched himself on a large sofa, where he lay so
quiet, so utterly exhausted, that Hirsch and his wife looked at each
other anxiously and gravely shook their heads.
A casual stranger would not have judged from the unpretentious exterior
of Bensef's house, that its proprietor was in possession of considerable
means, that every room was furnished in taste and even luxury, that
works of oriental art were hidden in its recesses. Persecuted during
generations by the jealous and covetous nations surrounding them, the
Jews learned to conceal their wealth beneath the mask of poverty.
Robbers, in the guise of uniformed soldiery and decorated officers of
the Czar, stalked in broad daylight to relieve the despised Hebrew of
his superfluous wealth, and thus it happened that the poorest hut was
often the depository of gold and silver, of artistic utensils, which
were worthy of the table of the Czar himself. Nor was this fact entirely
unknown to the surrounding Christians. Not unfrequently were
persecutions the outcome of the absurd idea that every Jewish hovel was
the abode of riches, and that every hut where misery held court, where
starving children cried for bread, was a mine of untold wealth. The
condition of the race has changed in some of the more civilized
countries, but in Russia these barbarous notions still prevail.
Hirsch Bensef, by untiring energy and perseverance as a dealer in curios
and works of art, had become one of the wealthiest and most influential
men in the community. He was _parnas_ of the great congregation of Kief,
and was respected, not only by his co-religionists, but also by the
nobles with whom he transacted the greater portion of his business.
His wife, who had in her youth been styled the "Beautiful Miriam," even
now, after twelve years of married life, was still a handsome woman. Her
dark eyes shone with the same bewitching fire; her beautiful hair had,
in accordance with the orthodox Jewish custom, fallen under the shears
on the day of her marriage, but the silken band and string of pearls
that henceforth decked her brow did not detract from her oriental
beauty. Hirsch was proud of her and he would have been completely happy
if God had vouchsafed her a son. Like Hannah, she prayed night and
morning to the Heavenly throne. Such was the family in whose bosom
Mendel had found a refuge.
After a while, the boy asked for a glass of water, which he swallowed
eagerly. Then he asked:
"When did you leave Togarog, uncle; and how are father and mother?"
Bensef sighed at the recollection of the sad parting and tearfully
related the events of that memorable night.
"After the soldiers had carried you off," he said, "the little band that
followed you to the confines of the village, returned sorrowful to their
homes. I need not tell you of our misery. It appeared as though God had
turned his face from his chosen people. We spent the night in prayer and
lamentations. In every house the inhabitants put on mourning, for
whatever might befall the children, to their parents they were
irretrievably lost."
"Poor papa! poor mamma!" murmured Mendel, wiping away a tear.
"On the following morning," continued Bensef; "all the male _Jehudim_
went to Alexandrovsk and implored an audience of the Governor. He sent
us word that he would hold no conference with Jews and threatened us all
with Siberia if we did not at once return home. What could we do? I bade
your parents farewell, and after promising to do all in my power to find
and succor you and Jacob, I left them and returned home, where I arrived
yesterday. Thank God that you, at least, are safe from harm."
Mendel nestled closer to his uncle, who affectionately stroked his
fevered brow.
"Oh! why does God send us such sufferings?" moaned the boy.
"Be patient, my child. It is through suffering that we will in the end
attain happiness. When afflictions bear most heavily upon us, then will
the Messiah come!"
This hope was ever the anchor which preserved the chosen people when the
storms of misfortune threatened to destroy them. The belief in the
eventual coming of a redeemer who would lead them to independence, and
for whose approach trials, misery and persecution were but a necessary
preparation, has been the great secret of Israel's strength and
endurance.
During the evening, a number of Bensef's intimate friends visited the
house and were told Mendel's history. The news of his arrival soon
spread through the community, awakening everywhere the liveliest
sympathy. Many parents had been bereft of their children in the
self-same way and still mourned the absence of their first-born, whom
the cruel decree of Nicholas had condemned to the rigors of some
military outpost. Mendel became the hero of Kief, while he lay tossing
in bed, a prey to high fever.
In spite of the care that was lavished upon him, he steadily grew worse.
Fear, hunger, exposure and self-reproach had been too much for his
youthful frame. For several days Miriam administered her humble
house-remedies, but they were powerless to relieve his sufferings. The
hot tea which he was made to drink, only served to augment the fever.
On the fifth day, Mendel was decidedly in a dangerous condition. He was
delirious. The doctors in the Jewish community were consulted, but were
powerless to effect a cure. Bensef and his wife were in despair.
"What shall we do?" said Miriam, sadly. "We cannot let the boy die."
"Die?" cried Hirsch, becoming pale at the thought. "Oh, God, do not take
the boy! He has wound himself about my heart. Oh, God, let him live!"
"Come, husband, praying is of little avail," answered his practical
wife; "we must have a _feldsher_" (doctor).
"A _feldsher_ in the Jewish community? Why, Miriam, are you out of your
mind? Have you forgotten how, when Rabbi Jeiteles was lying at the point
of death, no amount of persuasion could induce a doctor to come into the
quarter. 'Let the Jews die,' they answered to our entreaties; 'there
will still be too many of them!'"
Miriam sighed. She remembered it well.
"What persuasion would not do, money may accomplish," she said, after a
pause. "Hirsch, that boy must not die. He must live to be a credit to us
and a comfort to our old age. You have money--what gentile ever
resisted it?"
"I will do what I can," said the man, gloomily. "But even though I could
bring one to the house, what good can he do. It is merely an experiment
with the best of them. They will take our money, make a few magical
incantations, prescribe a useless drug, and leave their patient to the
mercy of Fate."
Hirsch Bensef was right. At the time of which we speak, medicine could
scarcely be classed among the sciences in Russia, and if we accept the
statement of modern travellers, the situation is not much improved at
the present day. The scientific doctor of Russia was the _feldsher_ or
army surgeon, whose sole schooling was obtained among the soldiery and
whose knowledge did not extend beyond dressing wounds and giving an
occasional dose of physic. Upon being called to the bedside of a
patient, he adopted an air of profound learning, asked a number of
unimportant questions, prescribed an herb or drug of doubtful efficacy,
and charged an exorbitant fee. The patient usually refused to take the
medicine and recovered. It sometimes happened that he took the
prescribed dose and perhaps recovered, too. On a level with the
_feldsher_ and much preferred by the peasantry, stood the _snakharka_, a
woman, half witch, half quack, who was regarded by the _moujiks_ with
the greatest veneration. By means of herbs and charms, she could
accomplish any cure short of restoring life to a corpse. "The
_snakharka_ and the _feldsher_ represent two very different periods in
the history of medical science--the magical and the scientific. The
Russian peasantry have still many conceptions which belong to the
former. The majority of them are now quite willing, under ordinary
circumstances, to use the scientific means of healing, but as soon as a
violent epidemic breaks out and scientific means prove unequal to the
occasion, the old faith revives and recourse is had to magical rites and
incantations."[5]
Neither of these systems was regarded favorably by the Hebrews. The
_feldshers_ were, by right of their superior knowledge, an arrogant
class; and it was suspected that on more than one occasion they had
hastened the death of a Jew under treatment, instead of relieving him.
The Israelites were equally suspicious of the _snakharkas_; not because
they were intellectually above the superstitions of their times, but
because the incantations and spells were invariably pronounced in the
name of the Virgin Mary, and no Jew could be reasonably expected to
recover under such treatment.
What was to be done for poor Mendel? Hirsch, assisted by suggestions
from his wife, cogitated long and earnestly. Suddenly Miriam found a
solution of the difficulty.
"Why not send to Rabbi Eleazer at Tchernigof?"
Hirsch gazed at his wife in silent admiration.
"To the _bal-shem_?" he asked.
"Why not? When Chune Benefski's little boy was so sick that they thought
he was already dead, a parchment blessed by the _bal-shem_ brought him
back to life. Is Mendel less to you than your own son would be?"
"God forbid," said Hirsch; then added, reflectively: "but to-day is
Thursday. It will take a day and a half to reach Tchernigof, and the
messenger will arrive there just before _Shabbes_. He cannot start on
his return until Saturday evening, and by the time he got back Mendel
would be cold in death. No; it is too far!"
"_Shaute!_" (Nonsense!) ejaculated his wife, who was now warmed up to
the subject. "Do you imagine the _bal-shem_ cannot cure at a distance as
well as though he were at the patient's bedside? Lose no time. God did
not deliver Mendel out of the hands of the soldiers to let him die in
our house."
One of the most fantastic notions of Cabalistic teaching was that
certain persons, possessing a clue to the mysterious powers of nature,
were enabled to control its laws, to heal the sick, to compel even the
Almighty to do their behests. Such a man, such a miracle worker, was
called a _bal-shem_.
That a _bal-shem_ should thrive and grow fat is a matter of course, for
consultations were often paid for in gold. To the wonder-working Rabbi
travelled all those who had a petition to bring to the Throne of
God--the old and decrepit who desired to defraud the grave of a few
miserable years; the unfortunate who wished to improve his condition;
the oppressed who yearned for relief from a tyrannical taskmaster; the
father who prayed for a husband for his fast aging daughter; the sick,
the halt, the maim, the malcontent, the egotist--all sought the aid, the
mediation of the holy man. He refused no one his assistance, declined no
one's proffered gifts.
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.]