THE RETURN OF THE RENEGADE.
It was just a week since Mendel and the Rabbi had walked out together.
Hirsch Bensef rushed with gigantic strides up the street leading to his
house, and long before he reached his door he shouted, at the top of his
voice:
"Miriam! Miriam! I have news for you!"
Miriam had recovered her health, and was in the kitchen preparing meat
for the following day. This was a most important operation, requiring
the housewife's undivided attention. According to a Mosaic command blood
was sacrificed upon the altar of the Temple, but was strictly forbidden
as an article of diet. The animal is slaughtered in a manner which will
drain off the greatest amount of the life-giving fluid, and great
importance is attached to the processes for extracting every particle of
blood from the meat which is brought upon the Jewish table. A thorough
rubbing with salt and an hour's immersion in water are necessary to its
preparation. Scientists who acknowledge that the blood is the general
vehicle for conveying the parasites and germs of disease, recognize in
this command of Moses a valuable sanitary measure, worthy of universal
imitation.
Miriam heard her husband's distant call and, with her hands full of
salt, she ran to the door.
Hirsch entered, completely out of breath.
"Who do you think has arrived?" he gasped.
"How should I know?"
"Guess."
"I might guess from now until the coming of _Meschiach_ and still not be
right."
"Pesach Harretzki, your cousin and old admirer."
Miriam sank into a chair and a smile rippled over her pretty features.
"Pesach Harretzki here? When did he arrive?"
"To-day. This morning. Itzig Maier, who knows all the news in town, has
just told me. He has come back from America to visit his old parents and
take them with him across the ocean."
"Has he changed much?" asked Miriam.
"No doubt of it! Itzig says he is without a beard and looks more like a
_goy_ (gentile) than like one of our own people. I suppose he has lost
what religion he once possessed, which by the way was not much."
"You will invite him to call on us, of course."
Hirsch looked askance at his wife and frowned.
"I don't know," he answered, reflectively; "we shall see."
Hirsch Bensef, the _parnas_ of the chief congregation, and whose
reputation for piety overtopped that of any other man of the community,
might well pause before inviting the new arrival to his house. Pesach
Harretzki was one of those perverse lads that one meets occasionally in
a Hebrew community, who, feeling the wild impulse of youth in every
vein, throws over the holy traditions of his forefathers and follows
rather the promptings of his own heart than that happiness which can
only be found in a firm adherence to the law and its precepts.
Unrestrained by his parents' anxious pleadings, bound by no will save
that of momentary caprice, he overstepped the boundary which separates
the pious Jew from his profane surroundings and thereby forfeited the
respect and good-will of the entire community. The young man had never
been guilty of actual wrong-doing, but had in a thousand petty ways
displayed his utter disregard of the customs that were so dear to the
hearts of his co-religionists. The Sabbath found him strolling through
the city instead of attending divine service at the synagogue. Of the
Talmud he knew very little, having preferred to play with his gentile
friends to wasting his hours in the _cheder_. He had been known to eat
_trefa_ at the house of a _goy_, and with a fastidiousness that was
without parallel in the annals of Kief, he had shaved off all of his
beard, leaving only a jaunty little mustache. So it happened that his
name became a terror to all pious Israelites. There was but one
attraction in Judaism which still fascinated Pesach, and that was his
charming cousin Miriam. She alone possessed the power of bringing him
back when he had strayed too far from the fold and her bright eyes often
recalled him to a sense of duty. He loved the girl, and had she shown
him any encouragement he might still have reformed the evil of his ways.
But even had Miriam favored his advances, her father, one of the most
pious men of Kief, would have dispelled all hope of an alliance between
the two. Old Reb Kohn, after endeavoring in vain to bring the reprobate
to his senses, finally forbade him the house. Shortly after, the
betrothal of Miriam Kohn with the learned and wealthy Hirsch Bensef was
announced. Pesach became despondent and put the finishing touch to his
ungodly career by becoming intoxicated with beer on the Passover. In
consequence of this and former misdeeds, he was ostracized from good
Jewish society, and finding himself shunned by his former associates he
departed from Kief to seek his fortune in a foreign land.
After wandering about Germany for a year or two, picking up a precarious
living and a varied experience, he set sail for America, where he
arrived without a penny. Fortune smiled upon the poor man at last. He
drifted into an inland city, Americanized his name to Philip Harris, and
succeeded, through honesty, thrift and perseverance, in building up a
large business and accumulating a respectable fortune. It was only after
success had been assured that he communicated with his parents in
Russia, and in spite of his past record great was the rejoicing when the
first letter was received. He whom his friends had mourned as dead was
alive and thriving; he had moreover become rich and respected and had
been the means of establishing a Jewish synagogue in the land of his
adoption. The last two facts, coupled with the munificent gifts which he
sent to the synagogue in Kief and to his parents, were sufficient to
lift the ban which had so long rested upon his name and to re-establish
him in the good graces of the community. Pesach, the _meshumed_,
continued these contributions to the synagogue and to his parents, and
the Jews of Kief, having forgotten his former escapades, referred to him
thenceforth as "Pesach the Generous." He had now returned after an
absence of twelve years, and the whole settlement was in a state of
pardonable excitement.
"Is he still a Jew? Has he remained true to the old faith?" was asked on
every side.
It being Friday, the Sabbath eve, the synagogue was crowded and
curiosity to see the stranger was at its height. The men frequently
looked up from their prayer-books, and the women from their seats in the
gallery craned their necks to get a view of the sunburnt, closely-shaven
American. Yes, he had changed; no one would have recognized him. Of all
the pious men that filled the house of worship, he was the only one who
was without a beard. It was against the Jewish custom to allow a razor
to touch the beard, and had not Philip's benevolence paved the way it is
doubtful whether his presence would have been tolerated within those
sacred precincts. In all other respects, however, he bore himself like a
devout Israelite. He stood by the side of his father, earnestly scanning
the pages of his prayer-book, the greater part of whose contents were
still familiar to him. His beardless face was in a measure atoned for.
What a throng of visitors there was that evening at Harretzkis house!
The little room could scarcely hold them all. Among them was Rabbi
Jeiteles, who shook the suave and smiling stranger by the hand,
congratulated him upon his appearance and asked him a hundred questions
about his travels. Indeed, it seemed as though the worthy Rabbi intended
to monopolize his company for the rest of the evening. Then came Hirsch
Bensef and his charming wife, the latter trembling and blushing in
recollection of the days when she and her cousin Pesach loved each
other in secret. Philip recognized her immediately.
"Why this is my dear cousin Miriam," he said. "How well you look! You
seem scarcely a day older than when I left you. Is this your husband?
Happy man! How I used to envy you your good fortune? But that is all
over now!" and he turned with a sigh to meet other friends.
He recollected every man and woman in Kief; moreover, he had a kind word
and pretty compliment for each and the worthy people returned home more
than ever impressed with the true excellence of Pesach Harretzki.
"What a _medina_ (country) America must be to make such a finished
product of the ungodly youth that Kief turned out of doors twelve years
ago!" Such was Bensef's remark to his wife, as they wended their way
homeward.
On the Sabbath morn the capacity of the synagogue was again tested to
the utmost. Those who had not yet seen Philip hastened to avail
themselves of this opportunity. The man from America had become the
greatest curiosity in the province. And to him, the great traveller,
every incident, however trivial, served to recall a vision of the past.
The devout men about him, wearing the fringed _tallis_, the venerable
Rabbi at the _almemor_, the ark with the same musty hangings, the
Pentateuch scrolls with the same faded covers which they bore in the
years gone by, all appealed mightily to his heart and a tear forced
itself unchecked through his lashes. Philip would have been unable to
explain to himself the cause of his emotion. The past had not been
particularly pleasant; there was nothing to regret. Perhaps some
psychologist can account for that sweet and melancholy sentiment which
the recollection of a dim and half-forgotten past brings in its train.
It was delightful to Philip to find himself once more in the presence of
all that had been dear to him. His mind reviewed the many vicissitudes
he had undergone, the many changes he had witnessed, and he fervently
thanked the God of Israel that he was permitted to revisit the scenes of
his childhood, and that the people who had rejected him in his youth now
received him with open arms. After prayers the _hazan_ (reader),
assisted by the Rabbi, opened the Holy Ark and took therefrom one of the
scrolls. To Philip, as a stranger, was accorded the honor of being one
of those called up to say the blessing over the _Torah_ (Law). He
touched the parchment with the fringes of his _tallis_, kissed them to
signify his reverence for the holy words, and began with "_Bar'chu eth
Adonai_."
"He knows his _brocha_ yet, he is still a good Jew!" was the mental
comment of the congregation.
Then followed Rabbi Jeiteles in a short but pithy address, in which he
laid great stress upon the fact that Jehovah never allows his lambs to
stray far from the fold, and that charity and benevolence cover a
multitude of sins. He incidentally announced the fact that Harretzki had
offered the synagogue new hangings for the ark, covers for the scrolls
and an entirely new metal roof for the _schul_ (synagogue) in place of
the present one, which was sadly out of repair.
Such generosity was unparalleled. In spite of the sanctity of the place,
expressions of approval were loud and emphatic. For a time the services
were interrupted and general congratulations took the place of the
prayers. Philip's popularity was now assured. All opposition vanished
and the American became a lion indeed. Bensef no longer hesitated as to
the propriety of inviting the stranger to his house. As _parnas_ he must
be the first to do him honor and after the services were at an end the
invitation was extended and accepted.
It was a pleasant assemblage that gathered at Bensef's house. Philip,
his father and mother, Rabbi Jeiteles, Haim Goldheim (a banker and
intimate friend of the host), and several other patriarchal gentlemen,
pillars of the congregation, were of the company. Miriam was an
excellent provider and on this occasion she fairly outdid herself.
"Perhaps," thought Bensef, "there still lingers in her breast a spark of
affection for the man who is now so greatly honored."
But, no! Miriam loved her husband dearly, and if she was attentive to
her cousin it was but the courtesy due to a man who had been so far and
seen so much.
Mendel, too, was at the table and could not take his eyes from the
handsome stranger whose praises every mouth proclaimed. The boy regarded
him as a superior being.
Tales of adventure, stories of travel, were the topics of conversation
during the evening. After the dessert the talk took a more serious turn.
The liberty enjoyed by the Jews in America was a fruitful theme for
discussion and many were the questions asked by the interested group.
That Israelites were politically and socially placed upon the same
footing with their Christian neighbors was a source of gratification,
but that some religious observances were in many cases neglected or
totally abolished, appeared to these pious listeners as very
reprehensible.
"You see," said Philip, in explanation, "where a number of Jewish
families reside in one place it is still possible to obey the dietary
laws, but in inland towns, where the number of Israelite families is
limited, it becomes an impossibility to observe them. Nor do they deem
it necessary that all the ceremonies that time has collected around the
Jewish religion should be strictly observed. Those Israelites who
soonest adopt the customs of their new country soonest enjoy the
benefits which a free and liberty-loving nation offers."
Hirsch Bensef shook his head, doubtingly.
"Then you mean to imply that it becomes necessary to abolish those
usages in which one's heart and soul are wrapped!" he said.
"Not at all," answered the American. "There are thousands of Jews in
America as observant of the ordinances as the most pious in Kief. Yet it
seems to me that a Jew can remain a Jew even if he neglect some of those
ceremonials which have very little to do with Judaism pure and simple.
Some are remnants of an oriental symbolism, others comparatively recent
additions to the creed, which ought to give way before civilization.
What possible harm can it do you or your religion if you shave your
beard or abandon your jargon for the language of the people among whom
you live?"
"It would make us undistinguishable from the _goyim_," answered Bensef.
"The sooner such a distinction falls the better," said Philip. "You may
recollect reading in history that in the time of Peter the Great the
Russian nobility wore beards and the Czar's efforts to make them shave
their faces provoked more animosity than did all the massacres of Ivan
the Terrible. Now a nobleman would sooner go to prison than wear a
beard."
"We never read history," interposed the childish treble of Mendel. "If
we did we should know more about the great world."
"That is indeed a misfortune," said Philip, sadly. "Every effort to
develop the Jewish mind is checked, not by the gentiles, but by the Jews
themselves. Had I been allowed full liberty to study what and how I
pleased, I should never have been guilty of the excesses which drove me
from home. A knowledge of the history of the world, an insight into
modern science, will teach us why and wherefore all our laws were given
and how we can best obey, not the letter but the spirit of God's
commands."
The faces of the little group fell visibly. This was rank heresy. God
forbid that it should ever take root in Israel. Mendel alone appeared
satisfied. He was absorbed in all the stranger had to say. This new
doctrine was a revelation to him. But Philip did not observe the
impression he had created. He had warmed up to his subject and pursued
it mercilessly.
"The Israelites in America," he continued, "are free and respected. They
enjoy equal rights with the citizens of other religious beliefs. They
are at liberty to go wherever they please and to live as they desire,
and are often chosen to positions of honor and responsibility. Such
distinctions are only obtained, however, after one has become a citizen,
and citizenship means adherence to the laws of the land and assimilation
with its inhabitants. It was not long before I discovered, through
constant friction with intelligent people about me, the absurdity of
many of my ideas and prejudices. The more I associated with my
fellow-men the more difficult I found it to retain the superstitions of
by-gone days."
"But in giving up what you call superstition," said the Rabbi, "are you
not giving up a portion of your religion as well?"
"By no means," said Philip, eagerly. "If Rabbi Jeiteles will pardon my
speaking upon a subject concerning which he is better instructed and
which he is better qualified to expound than myself, I will endeavor to
tell why. You well know that until after the destruction of the second
Temple the Jews had no Talmud. They then obeyed the laws of God in all
their simplicity and as they understood them, and not one of you will
assert that they were not good and pious Jews. Then came the writers of
the Talmud with their explanations and commentaries, and the laws of
Moses acquired a new meaning. Stress was laid upon words instead of upon
ideas, upon conventionalities instead of upon the true spirit of God's
word. After five centuries of Talmudists had exhausted all possible
explanations of the Scriptures, the study of the Law eventually paved
the way for the invention of the _Cabala_. A new bible was constructed.
The pious were no longer content with a rational observance of the
Mosaic command, but a hidden meaning must be found for every word and in
many cases for the individual letters of the Pentateuch. The six hundred
and thirteen precepts of Moses were so altered, so tortured to fit new
constructions, that the great prophet would experience difficulty in
recognizing any one of his beautiful laws from the rubbish under which
it now lies buried. New laws and ceremonies, new beliefs and, worse than
all, new superstitions were thrust upon the people already weakened by
mental fatigue caused by their incessant delving into the mysteries of
the Talmud. The free will of the people was suppressed. Instead of
giving the healthy imagination and pure reason full power to act, the
teachers of the _Cabala_ arrogated to themselves the power to decide
what to do and how to do it, and as a result the Jewish observances, as
they exist to-day in pious communities, are bound up in arbitrary rules
and superstitious absurdities which are as unlike the primitive and
rational religion of Israel as night is to day."
This bold utterance produced a profound sensation in Bensef's little
dining-room. Murmurs of disapproval and of indignation frequently
interrupted the speaker, and long before he had finished, several of his
listeners had sprung up and were pacing the room in great excitement.
Never before had any one dared so to trample upon the time-honored
beliefs of Israel. For infinitely less had the ban been hurled against
hundreds of offenders and the renegades placed beyond the pale of
Judaism.
The Rabbi alone preserved his composure. Mendel lost not a word of the
discussion. He sat motionless, with staring eyes and wide open mouth, as
though the stranger's eloquence had changed him into stone.
"No, this is too much!" at length stammered Hirsch Bensef. "Such a
condemnation of our holy religion is blasphemy. Rabbi, can you sit by
and remain silent?"
The Rabbi moved uneasily upon his chair, but said nothing.
Philip continued:
"That your Rabbi should be of one mind with you is natural, but that
does not in any way impair the force of what I have said. You will all
admit that you place more weight upon your ceremonials than upon your
faith. You deem it more important to preserve a certain position of the
feet, a proper intonation of the voice during prayers than to fully
understand the prayer itself, and in spite of your pretended belief in
the greatness and goodness of God, you belittle Him by the thought that
an omission of a single ceremony, the eating of meat and milk together,
the tearing of a _tzitzith_ (fringe) will offend Him, or that a certain
number of _mitzvoth_ (good acts) will propitiate Him. Do you understand
now what I mean when I say that superstition is not religion?"
"But," returned Goldheim, "the _Shulkan-aruch_ commands us to do certain
things in certain ways. Is it not our duty as God-fearing Jews to obey
the laws that have His sanction?"
"Undoubtedly! If you were certain that this book contained His express
commands it would be incumbent upon you to observe them, only, however,
after having sought to understand their meaning. But you know, or ought
to know, that the book was written by a man like yourselves, who was as
liable to err as you are. Many of these commands were excellent at the
time in which they were given, but change of circumstances has made them
absurd."
"What is godly at one time cannot become ungodly at another," said
Bensef, with determined obstinacy.
"No; but what is beautiful and appropriate in one land may become the
reverse in a different country, or at another period. Let us take an
example: It is an oriental custom to wear one's hat or turban as a mark
of respect. In Palestine such a usage is proper and the man who keeps
his head covered before his fellow-men certainly should keep it covered
before God. In America, however, I am considered ill-bred if I keep my
hat on when I am conversing with the humblest of my associates; should I
therefore keep it on when I am addressing my God? Thus, many of your
religious observances take their origin outside of religion and are
appropriate only to the country in which they were conceived."
"But to appear before God bareheaded is surely a sin!" stammered Hirsch
Bensef, who would gladly have ended the conversation then and there.
"Not a sin, simply a novelty," answered Philip.
"But our proverb says: 'Novelty brings calamity.'"
"Proverbs do not always speak the truth," replied the American. Then
after a pause he continued, reflectively: "There is another class of
ceremonials which find their origin in one or the other of the commands
of Moses, and which through the eagerness of the people to observe them
for fear of Divine wrath, have been given an importance out of all
proportion to their original significance. For instance, Moses, for
reasons purely humane, prohibited the cooking of a kid in its mother's
milk, wisely teaching that what nature intended for the preservation of
the animal should not be employed for its destruction. This law has been
so distorted that the eating of meat and milk together was prohibited,
and the severity of the resulting dietary laws makes it necessary to
have two sets of dishes--one for meat, the other for all food prepared
with milk. And so in a thousand cases the original intention of the
command is lost in the mass of foreign matter that has been added to
it."
Philip paused and, toying with his massive watch-chain, tried hard not
to see the indignant glances that threatened to consume him. Bensef
arose from his chair in sheer desperation.
"What would you have us do?" he asked, angrily. "Desert the ceremonies
of our forefathers and surrender to the ungodly?"
"Not by any means," was the quiet rejoinder. "Worship God as your
conscience dictates, continue in your ancient fashion if it makes you
happy, but be tolerant towards him who, feeling himself mentally and
spiritually above superstition, seeks to emancipate himself from its
bonds and to follow the dictates of his own good common-sense."
With these concluding words, Philip arose and prepared to leave. The
remaining guests also arose from their chairs and looked at each other
in blank dismay. Rabbi Jeiteles stepped to the American and placed his
hand upon his shoulder.
"My dear Pesach," he began, "what you have just said sounds strange and
very dangerous to these good people. To me it was nothing new, for
during my early travels I heard such discussions again and again. Your
arguments may or may not be correct. We will not discuss the matter. One
thing you must not forget, however: the Jews in Russia and elsewhere are
despised and rejected; they are degraded to the very scum of the earth.
Social standing, pursuit of knowledge, means of amusement, everything is
taken from them. What is left? Only the consolation which their sacred
religion brings. The observance of the thousand ceremonials which you
decry, is to them not only a religious necessity, a God-pleasing work;
it is more, it is a source of domestic happiness, a means of genuine
enjoyment, a comfort and a solace. Whether these observances are needed
or are superfluous in a free country like America I shall not presume
to say, but in Russia they are a moral and a physical necessity. You
have spoken to-night as no man has ever spoken before in Kief. Were the
congregation to hear of it, you would again find yourself an outcast
from your native town, shunned and despised by all that now look upon
you as a model of benevolence and piety. For your own sake, therefore,
as well as for the peace of mind of those among whom your words might
act as a firebrand, we hope that you will speak no more upon this
subject and we on our part promise to keep our own counsel."
Philip readily consented and with his aged parents he left for his home,
at the other end of the quarter.
The friends bade each other a hasty good-night, and not another word was
spoken concerning the discussion.
"Uncle," said Mendel, as he was about to retire, "is not Harretzki a
very wise man?"
"My boy," replied his uncle; "our rabbis say, 'Much speech--much
folly.'"