YOM-KIPUR.
It is _Yom-Kipur_, the Day of Atonement.
Long before nightfall the shops and booths of the Israelites are closed.
The merchant has silenced his cravings for gain, the pedler and the
wanderer have returned to their families, travelling leagues upon
leagues to reach home in time for the holy day. The beggar has cast
aside his rags and attired himself in a manner more befitting the solemn
occasion. The God-fearing man has closed his heart to all but pious
thoughts, and, yielding to the holy influence, even the impious cannot
but think of God and of a future beyond the grave.
The holy night is approaching. A river of light streams through the
arched windows of the houses of prayer, flooding the streets and
penetrating into the hearts of the inhabitants. Young and old slowly
wend their way to the synagogues, there to bow down before the Lord who
delivered their ancestors from Egyptian bondage and who on this day will
sit in judgment upon their actions; will grant them mercy or pronounce
their doom; will inscribe them in the book of life or in that of
eternal death. The women are robed in white, the men wear shrouds over
their black _caftans_ and carry huge prayer-books. At the door of the
Lord's House, and before entering its sacred precincts, they ask pardon
of each other for any sins or shortcomings, for the envy, the malice,
the calumny of which they may have been guilty.
"Forgive me whatever wrong I may have done thee!"
The phrase is repeated from man to man, for none may enter the holy
temple unless he be at peace with mankind.
Let us enter the synagogue. Hundreds of candles fill the sacred hall
with their light and the whitened walls and ceiling appear to glow with
glory. Rows of men in ghastly attire, constant reminder of the
inevitable end of mundane greatness, stand with covered heads and with
their faces turned towards the orient, fervently praying. Screened by
the lattice-work of the galleries are the women, who, with their treble
voices, augment the solemn chant that vibrates on the air.
Repentance, fear, self-reproach have blanched the cheeks and dimmed the
eyes of the devotees. Fervent and sincere are the prayers that rise to
the throne of God; contrite and remorseful are the blows with which the
men beat their breasts and with which they seek to chasten their
sin-encrusted hearts.
Fearfully and tearfully they make the sorrowful avowal: "We have
sinned!" Down into the depths of his soul does each one search to render
to himself and to God a truthful account of the deeds and thoughts that
lie hidden there. And above the din, the voice of the reader is heard,
beseeching forgiveness for the repentant congregation, pleading for the
grace of the Lord and asking to be enrolled in the book of life and
happiness. It is a solemn, heart-stirring spectacle, moving the soul of
the sinner with a mighty force. An observer, who for the first time
attends the _Yom-Kipur_ services, can arrive at but one verdict
concerning the beauty of the religion which has instituted this holy
day.
The heathen is impressed with the fact that in doing wrong he has
offended a god whom, by means of sacrifice, he seeks to propitiate. The
Christian proclaims that he sins by compulsion in consequence of the
original fall of Adam, and, as he is not a free agent in the matter of
right or wrong, he can expect grace only through the mediation of his
Saviour. The Jew recognizes the fact that he is entirely free to sin or
to remain pure, and that, having erred, he can only hope for forgiveness
by acknowledging his error, by purifying himself from all that is vile
and by a sincere resolution to do better. Mere faith has never played
the important part in the Jewish religion that is assigned it in that of
the gentiles. The Israelite believes that if he has done wrong and
sincerely repents and by his subsequent actions seeks to repair the
injury, divine forgiveness will not be withheld; but the dogma that
belief independent of good deeds purifies the heart has never found
favor in his eyes.
The worshippers stayed until a late hour, and many of them remained in
the synagogue all night. Early dawn found the congregation again at its
post, as devout, as fervent as before. The candles were burning low in
their sockets, casting a fitful glare upon the pale faces of the
worshippers, reminding them of the flight of time, of the brevity of
life, of the inevitable moment when repentance will come too late, when
the account of one's good and evil deeds will be closed.
The synagogue was filled to overflowing with fasting men and women. Not
a morsel of food, not a drop of water was permitted to pass their lips
for twenty-four hours. "As the body can abstain from food," said the
wise rabbis, "so shall the soul abstain from sin."
The terrible plague that had left its sad impress upon the community
greatly increased the solemnity of the occasion. To the expressions of
repentance were added the prayers of gratitude of those who had escaped
its fatal breath and the lamentations of those whose hearts still
smarted under recent bereavement. It was Rabbi Mendel's custom to
combine instruction with devotion whenever an occasion presented itself,
and to do this in such homely logic as his congregation could easily
comprehend, taking especial pains to impress them with the spirit of the
rites they observed. Being a great favorite with them, they listened
attentively to his melodious voice and persuasive arguments, and found
themselves the better for his teaching. On the Day of Atonement he had
hardly begun to speak when his attention was attracted by a stranger who
had entered and quietly taken a seat in the rear of the synagogue. With
the exception of Mendel not one of the assembled worshippers recognized
the unpretentious looking man.
It was Governor Pomeroff who had come in response to his invitation.
Mendel's face flushed with emotion when he saw the Governor enter the
synagogue. After that he paid no further attention to his distinguished
guest, but took up the thread of his discourse.
He spoke of the effect of sin upon our earthly life and upon our
possible existence after death, expounded the doctrine of punishment in
the hereafter as given in the _Midrash_, and spoke of the infinite
mercy of the Father in Heaven.
"Not in idle protestations," he said, "lies the road to forgiveness, but
in a thorough avowal of sins committed and in a sincere determination to
avoid the iniquities of the past."
Mendel's inspired words fell upon eager ears and contrite hearts. After
the sermon the _hazan_ again intoned the prayers, assisted by the
fervent responses of the congregation.
The Governor remained a long time an interested observer of the
impressive scene, until the lateness of the hour admonished him of other
duties, and he left as unceremoniously as he had come.
"The Rabbi is right," he murmured, as he wended his way out of the
deserted quarter; "it will be a herculean task to alienate the Jews from
their faith and bring them into the fold of the Russian church; but I
shall not yet abandon my project!"
The people prayed and fasted until the stars shone out in Heaven and the
_shofar_ (ram's horn) blast announced the death of the solemn day. Then,
with cheerful hearts and smiling faces they returned to their dwellings,
purified in spirit, cleansed and purged of the dross that had defiled
their souls, more thoroughly in unison with the Lord, who, though the
sins of His people be as scarlet, will make them white as snow.
Rabbi Mendel was not surprised next morning when a message came from the
Governor, requesting his immediate presence at the palace. The summons
did not create the consternation which had been caused by the
unceremonious call of a few days before. On the contrary, Recha felt
proud of the distinction accorded her husband in being thus made the
confidant of the mighty ruler of Kief. She had implicit faith in her
husband's ability to hold his ground even in the Governor's august
presence.
"Have you thought over our recent conversation?" asked Pomeroff, as soon
as Mendel entered.
"Yes, your excellency."
"And to what conclusion have you come?"
"Simply to thank your excellency for your kind interest in our behalf
and to express the conviction that the Israelites of Kief would rather
endure a thousand persecutions than abandon a jot of their holy faith."
"Have you laid the matter before the people?" queried the Governor.
"I have not, your excellency. It would have been worse than useless. You
have doubtless observed how thoroughly sincere the Jews were in their
devotions on _Yom-Kipur_ day: such men die for their religion, they do
not abandon it. If your excellency can assist us in obtaining greater
liberty of action, if you can gain for our children admittance into the
schools of the Empire and open for us the various avenues of trade from
which we have hitherto been shut out, we will hail you as our
benefactor; but if we can only buy freedom and honors at the cost of our
ancient and revered religion, we will be content to follow the example
of our ancestors and suffer."
A long discussion followed, in which Mendel proved that the Jews, in
spite of persecution, were really happier than the unlettered and
uncultured Russians and morally far superior to them.
Finally the Governor arose.
"Your hand, Rabbi," he said, heartily, "you have carried the day. I
shall not revert to the subject of baptism again."
"I hope your excellency will not renounce the desire to befriend us,"
answered Mendel. "There is such a large field for improvement in our
community. I wish you could see the crowded condition of our streets,
the wretched abodes of our poor. If you knew the secret persecutions
which the petty officers of the crown visit upon us, outrages which
never reach the ears of the higher authorities, your excellency would be
surprised that our moral and physical condition is no worse."
"Poor Jews," said the Governor, sadly.
"O, sir," continued Mendel, earnestly; "visit the Jewish quarter!
Investigate the official abuses on every hand. Extend the limits of our
homes. Remove the antiquated restrictions that enslave our daily
actions. Give the Jew an opportunity to develop his great capabilities
and he will become a desirable citizen and a stanch patriot."
The kind-hearted Governor was visibly affected by Mendel's words.
"I will reflect upon what you have said," he replied. "You are a brave
champion and your people should feel proud of you."
Governor Pomeroff, who recognized the young Rabbi's cleverness and
learning, was loath to let him depart. Long after they had exhausted the
topic that first engaged them, he detained him, conversing upon every
conceivable subject, and listening with pleasure to the original
thoughts and eloquent words of the young man. At length Mendel arose and
prepared to leave.
"Your excellency must pardon me," he said, "but my poor wife will be in
despair at my late return and I must hasten to reassure her."
"Go," answered the Governor; "but come again to-morrow or the day after.
I have much to talk over with you."
As Mendel bowed himself out, Pomeroff muttered to himself:
"Strange man! He thinks more of allaying the anxiety of his wife than of
currying favor with his ruler. He is right; such a people as he
represents cannot be forced into baptism. They place their moral law and
their ancient faith above temporal advantage."
As Mendel had anticipated, Recha was a prey to the liveliest fears at
the protracted absence of her husband. It seemed incredible to her that
the busy Governor should have kept him so long. With Mendel, however,
smiles and contentment returned.
That evening the Rabbi called Hirsch Bensef and the elders of the
congregation into his house and told them all about the Governor and his
schemes. Great was the surprise of these worthy men and unanimous their
approval of Mendel's course in the matter.
"I believe," said the Rabbi, in conclusion, "that we have gained a
friend in the Governor, and I see rising above the horizon a new era of
security and prosperity for Israel."
"God grant it," cried the listeners, fervently.