so unfathomably deep within us that calls and pulls us back to all that
we have deserted and tried to forget; and when these hallowed days come,
we can no longer drown our feelings. No matter how far I went in my
radical conceptions--and I often went far enough to be excommunicated by
my worthy brethren--no matter how iconoclastic we became, how absorbed
we were in our abstractions, and how fearlessly we theorized, the season
of awe, beautiful, terrible awe, the judgment days drew near and hearts
became heavy and the melody of the song of 'Kol Nidro' invaded our minds
and shut out all the other music we ever heard in our lives. It is all a
strain of music that, once heard, keeps singing in our memories
forever--this faith of our fathers. Go where we will, do what we may,
the beauties of the old religion are with us yet and we cannot, we
cannot forget.
"Among the radicals of the New York Ghetto there is no more advanced nor
brilliant man than is my friend Bahan. He has edited some of the best
Jewish publications; he has written much of what was best in them, and
he was always on the side of free-thought and new ideas. Like myself, he
belonged to the circles that had reformed Judaism altogether. He had not
entered a synagogue for purposes of prayer since he left Russia as a
youth, and that was many years ago. He is now on one of the best New
York papers, and when Rosh Hashona and Yom Kippur arrive, he writes
about these holidays so fervidly, feelingly, enthusiastically, with such
tears in his eyes that one would think that these unsigned articles are
the work of the most pious and orthodox Hebrew in New York. And,
perhaps, they are too," Keidansky added, aside, "only if Bahan were
accused of orthodoxy he would protest his innocence."
"That was years ago," my friend continued after a pause. "I was young,
seeking new worlds to conquer, and so I fell into bad company--among
people who think. They are mostly free-thinkers and free-talkers, and in
the course of time my religion dwindled and I became as erratic as any
of them. The worst thing about one who begins to think is that he also
begins to talk. I began to talk, to voice my doubts and heresies, and
soon the world, or at least my relatives, were against me. I kept on
saying the most unsayable things, and when New Year's came I refused to
go to the synagogue, because I had discovered the existence of the
Unknowable. We quarrelled, and things came to such a pass that I left
my cousin's home, where I had been living, during the Days of
Atonement. I knew what I knew and I was ready to make all sacrifices for
the right of ranting and raving over the shameful superstitions in which
humanity was steeped. The world was before me and so were all my
troubles. But even when I refused to go to the synagogue, I was at heart
of hearts exceedingly lonely without it, without the beautiful service
of Rosh Hoshona. When the eve of Yom Kippur came I did not know what to
do with myself. Our circle of friends was to meet at the home of one of
its members and spend the evening gayly and happily, though it was the
sad and solemn Fast of Atonement. I had promised to come, and so, when
all the inhabitants of the Ghetto were wending their way to their
respective houses of worship I started with a heavy heart to join my
friends, glad that I had made the promise and sorry that I was keeping
it. I arrived at my destination, a street in the West End Jewish
quarter. When I neared the house I heard a loud, rather boisterous
conversation going on. I rang the bell. Even as I did so I heard a
number of shouts and loud peals of laughter. I did not wait for the door
to open. I turned and walked away. I walked right on, not in the least
knowing whither. Before I was barely aware of it, I was in Baldwin
place, in front of the Beth Israel Synagogue. The cantor and his choir
were just chanting the awe-inspiring, soul-stirring prayer of 'Kol
Nidro,' that wonderful product of the Spanish inquisition, written by a
Morano during the darkest days of Israel and freighted with the sighs
and cries and moans of a suffering people. Those strains of music
brought me to my own life again. I entered the synagogue. I had come
into my own. I felt such peace and consolation as I had not known for
ever so long.
"Do not ask me to explain it, I cannot. If the incurability of religion
could be explained it could also be cured. This is what happened, and
this is what still happens to me from time to time. It may be strange,
but mine is a government of, for, and by moods, and as they come and go
I become everything that I have been and that I may be.
"I've been greatly moved by many preachers and teachers and I have
followed some of the most advanced advocates of our time, the most
universal universalists; but let me hear one of the beautiful old
chants, such as 'Kol Nidro,' or 'Unsana Taukeff' and I become a most
zealous orthodox. Did I ever tell you about it?
"'Unsana Taukeff' is the most important prayer on the two days of Rosh
Hoshona and the Day of Atonement. It is known as the 'Song of a Martyr
in Israel!' The story of the prayer is one of the prettiest in Jewish
folk tales. It is the song of Rabbi Amnon, who was the rabbi of Metz, in
the days of Bishop Ercembud (1011-1017). Rabbi Amnon was of an
illustrious family, of great personal merit, rich and respected by Jew
and Gentile alike. The bishop frequently pressed him to abjure Judaism
and embrace Christianity, but without avail. It happened, however, on a
certain day, being more closely pressed than usual and somewhat anxious
to be rid of the bishop's importunities, he said hastily: 'I will
consider the matter and give thee an answer in three days.'
"As soon as he had left the bishop's presence, however, his heart smote
him and an uneasy conscience blamed him for having, even in the remotest
manner, doubted his faith. He reached home overwhelmed with grief. Meat
was set before him, but he refused to eat, and when his friends visited
him he declined their proffered consolation, saying: 'I shall go down
mourning to the grave.'
"On the third day, while he was still lamenting his rash concession, the
bishop sent for him, but he failed to answer the call. Finally the
bishop's messengers seized him and brought him before the prelate by
force. 'Let me pronounce my own doom for this neglect,' answered Amnon.
'Let my tongue, which uttered these doubting words, be cut out. It was a
lie I uttered, for I never intended to consider that proposition.'
"'Nay,' said the bishop, 'I will not cut out thy tongue, but thy feet,
which refused to come to me, shall be cut off, and other parts of thine
obstinate body shall also be tormented and punished.'
"Under the bishop's eyes the toes and thumbs of Rabbi Amnon were then
cut off, and after having been severely tortured he was sent home in a
carriage, his mangled members beside him. Rabbi Amnon bore all this
with greatest resignation, firmly hoping and trusting that his earthly
torment would plead his pardon with God. The days of awe came round
while he was on his death bed, and he desired to be carried to the
synagogue. He was conveyed to the house of God, and during the services
he asked that he be permitted to utter a prayer. His words, which proved
to be the last, given in English, are somewhat as follows:
"'I will declare the mighty holiness of this day, for it is awful and
tremendous. Thy kingdom is exalted thereon; Thy throne is established in
mercy, and upon it Thou dost rest in truth. Thou art the judge who
chastiseth, and from Thee naught may be concealed. Thou bearest witness,
writest, sealest, recordest and rememberest all things, aye those which
we imagine buried in the past. The Book of Records Thou openest; the
great sophor is sounded; even the angels are terrified and they cry
aloud: "The day of judgment dawns upon us," for in judgment they, the
angels, are not faultless.
"'All who have entered the world pass before Thee. Even as the shepherd
causes the flock he numbers to pass under his crook, so Thou, O Lord,
causest every living soul to pass before Thee. Thou numberest, thou
visitest, appointing the limitations of every creature according to Thy
judgment and Thy sentence.
"'On the New Year it is written, on the Day of Atonement it is sealed.
Aye, all Thy decrees are recorded; who is to live and who is to die. The
names of those who are to meet death by fire, by water, or by sword;
through hunger, through thirst, and with the pestilence. All is
recorded; those who are to have tranquillity; those who are to be
disturbed; those who are to be troubled; those who are to be blessed
with repose; those who are to be prosperous; those for whom affliction
is in store; those who are to become rich, those who are to be poor; who
exalted, who cast down. But penitence, prayer and charity, O Lord, may
avert all evil decrees.'
"When he had finished this declaration, Rabbi Amnon expired, dying in
God's house, among the assembled sons of Israel.
"I can never forget these prayers, nor these days, go where I will, do
what I may," Keidansky continued. "Did you say something about free
thought, the higher criticism, universal religion, the law of evolution,
the study of comparative religion, the absurdity of superstition? Come,
let us go over to yonder house; the cantor and his choir are now singing
'Unsana Taukeff.'"
And I followed him.
XI
Why the World Is Growing Better
"The world is growing better than it ever was before," said Keidansky;
"we no longer practise what we preach." And before I had time to recover
from my surprise and utter any protest, he hastily continued in his
exasperating manner: "We still believe in certain doctrines, hold
certain theories, advocate certain ideas, preach certain gospels; but we
feel different and act much better when it comes to real life. We are
far wiser in adjusting our acts to our ends, or rather our deeds are
more wisely adjusted to our aims than we know. We do not desecrate these
principles we entertain by putting them into practice. We don't feel
like doing so. We let the abstractions float above us as vapor in the
air. We have human instincts, good motives, noble longings, and our
conduct is fairly decent in spite of our conflicting codes.
"From a thousand pulpits we are told to do this, that, and the other; a
thousand theories would divide our paths in life; a thousand methods of
salvation are presented to us by the only and original authorized agents
from on high; but our humanity makes us all akin, our instincts guide us
and our yearnings lure us all the same way to perdition and to
happiness; and we follow after and pave the way for the ideal world. How
widely, vastly different our religious and moral beliefs and our
abstractions are. And yet, how nearly alike, how similarly we all act
and perform our parts in the world's work. We still differ, dispute and
debate over the future, the trend and ultimate aim of things; but we no
longer allow these differences to prevent us from acting in unison and
harmony in all things that are conducive to our better development and
chief good. A dozen men cannot agree upon a Church, so they form another
trust; and, aiding the industrial growth of the country, they work out
their own salvation, and in the course of time endow colleges and build
mansions and pay fabulous sums for great paintings, and even feed the
beggars that live on theology. These men agree on one thing, and that is
most important of all.
"As I said, we still listen to and believe in many of the crude,
incongruous and misty creeds that are preached to us, but we walk upon
more solid ground when it comes to life, and all that we want to make of
it--which is the most possible. We build wiser than we know, and we
disobey the preachers because we can rise above them, do better, and put
their advice to shame. Have we discarded the book? Well, we have
followed life; and see, this world is quite inhabitable now. That we
differ in theology, on legends, myths, is a trifle, but that we agree on
the education of the young, hygiene, athletic exercise, morning walks,
cold baths, pure diet, music, pictures: that we agree on the value of
all these things makes the game worth the candle.
"For instance, we are perpetually urged to, and we half believe it best
to, renounce the world, the flesh, and the devil, forfeit all the joys
of life, and join the Society for the Prevention of Anything; but in
actuality, we are all strenuously engaged in capturing the world, in
gratifying the flesh and in getting as much devil into us as is possible
in the pitifully brief span of this short life. This is absolutely
necessary. The more devil within us the better. A man with no devil in
him will not go to heaven, or any other pleasurable resort. By doing and
daring and deviling we become strong, and if the world is better to-day
than it ever was before, which it certainly is, it is because we no
longer practise what we preach--have nearly always practised better. If
man did not do things, and do them so much better, sermons would never
become obsolete; but as it is, loads of them have to be dumped in some
swamp every little while.
"We have also been advised as to the beautiful virtues of humility,
meekness, timidity, obedience, submission, self-effacement,
self-suppression, wiping yourself off the face of the earth with benzine
and a rag, and we have believed in the advice, but fortunately only
believed; for a voice from within prompted us to feel and be different
and do more wisely. So we cultivated haughtiness, pride, aggressiveness,
have given free play to our physical and spiritual forces, have become
conscious of our powers, and more powerful still, and the phantom of
freedom is becoming a fact and the world is growing fair. We walk with
our heads erect nowadays, no matter what conception we have in our
minds. We have become so arrogant that we even question the divine right
of bishops and policemen. We take off our hats for nothing, known or
unknown. No matter what we believe, we feel that obsequiousness is the
most disgraceful word in the dictionary. Then we are becoming so
self-appreciative and selfish that we refuse to let others save us. The
salvation of a soul is a rather delicate matter, and it cannot be done
at short order while you wait, by all those whose advertisements we have
read. It is not quite so easy a matter as it is to find a watchmaker to
put your timepiece into good repair. In fact, we are growing so egoistic
that we want to do it ourselves. We no longer want any mark-down
bargains, such as salvation for a prayer, a fish dinner or ninety-eight
cents in charity. We feel the fraud of bribing our way into heaven.
Those are cheated most who get their things cheaply. It is the height of
impudence and imbecility to think that putting on a long face, or some
other act of piety or penance, will change your destiny, and
incidentally, the course of the universe. At least, we feel that these
things are wrong, no matter what we think. Life or death or immortality,
a man must pay his rent. Everything has its price. What you get for
nothing is worth the same. The theological bargains will not wear well
at all. You must pay honestly and fairly for everything you receive,
and for all you become. What we procure for nothing is not worth while.
We are only cheating ourselves miserably when we attempt to get what is
best through bribes and pass through the gates on false pretences.
Whatever we have been told, we feel that we cannot follow the newspaper
advertisements in these things and buy redemption at closing-out bargain
sales. No one can grow for another, no one can acquire, no one can
become for another, no one can be saved by proxy or buy salvation. Each
must work and suffer and struggle his way up.
"I see that you are a little incredulous about these things," he said,
after a short silence. "Do you find it hard to follow me? I know exactly
what I mean, only the difficulty lies in making you see it as I do. No;
don't be in haste. Let's walk a little more. I am afraid your education
is being sadly neglected; I haven't talked at you for some time. No; I
never hasten. Whenever I am in a great hurry to get to a place of the
most urgent necessity I walk into a second-hand book store, like those
on Fourth avenue, and look at the titles and read the prefaces of old
and odd volumes. Never mind the swarming, surging, scurrying crowds.
They are attending to the world's business, and make it possible for me
to be idle and look on.
"But what I was driving at is this: That there is one life and many
theories of it, that most of these theories are a disgrace even to
Sunday schools, that it's all hitting the nail on the finger. While
these theories would have us go by various little walks and byways and
lanes and alleys, life prompts us to take to the open road that leads to
strength and happiness. While these theories would have us thwart and
stifle and starve our desires, life forces us to give them full play in
spite of all conventions and creeds, and the result is civilization and
all its blessings. Way down into the recesses of our souls we are so
deeply religious that we all do better than we believe.
"Take three children of different birth; send them to three different
schools, instruct them in three different religions, and then, will they
not, when they grow up, work and aim and struggle and trade and worry
and aspire and get dyspepsia--in short, live and die in very much the
same way, and more or less fairly and squarely? Inasmuch as their morals
will be useful, will they not be of the same brand? Will they not do
better than they respectively believe? There are other illustrations.
The leading orthodox rabbi of this city naturally believes in the
restoration of Palestine, the regeneration of Judaism, the resurrection
of the Hebrew language, and the resuscitation of many things long dead
and passed away. In his speeches he is a most ardent advocate of the
revival of Hebrew lore, the essence of all wisdom according to him, and
the greatest of all tongues, the Hebrew language, which revival, he
avers, is the most radiant promise of Zionism. The neglect of the
ancient lore in this country is his most woful regret. But his own son
he sends to Harvard for a modern education, and the son will become a
man of the world and a useful, valuable member of society because his
father did better than he believed.
"'A year hence in Jerusalem,' cries the pious Hebrew at the close of his
holiday prayer, and then, as soon as the festival is over he buys
himself a little house, pays $800 down, raises two mortgages and,
trusting in God, he hopes to pay up the entire sum in about ten years,
and he and his family are happier and this country is richer and better
for their being here. 'A year hence in Jerusalem,' and here we are doing
what we can for our own good and for the good of whatever country we
abide in, and all of us are well because we act better than we preach
and believe. Most of us believed in the colonization of Palestine when
we were way back in Russia, yet we came over here feeling that this is
the new promised land. Palestine may be a good place for the old to die
in, if the superstition is true that the worms will not touch your
corpse there, but I don't think it is a promising country for the young
to live in. The land that was once flowing with milk and honey now lacks
water. No, I don't know in what part of New York they make the Passover
wine that they bring from Palestine.
"I am somewhat of a Zionist myself, as you know, but as soon as I can
afford it, as soon as my Yiddish play is produced and the New York
critics condemn it to a financial success, I will send for my little
brother to come from Russia to this country, and as there is no genius
in our family, I am sure he will do very well here. Yet I believe in the
restoration of Palestine, and so long as the Zionists permit me to live
in this country I am willing to support their movement.
"And, let's see, there 's something else. I want to fix you up so that
you will never again come to me with that hackneyed plaint that the
world is going to the dogs because we do not practise what we preach. We
have laws and we all preach against intermarriage, do we not? We all
condemn the intermarriage of Jew and Christian, of Protestant and
Catholic, of chorus girl and rich college student, of an actress and a
minister; we prohibit these things and perhaps rightly, and yet--"
"And yet?" I asked anxiously.
"Do not be alarmed," he answered quickly; "I am not going to advocate
intermarriage or assimilation. By this time you will, perhaps, have
gathered from what I said that I do not much believe in measures that
have to be advocated; rather do I favor the things that heart and soul
prompt us to do, whatever our beliefs and theories and in spite of them.
The advocacy of a thing, or the supposed necessity of advocating a
certain measure, proves the uselessness, untimeliness and futility of
it. It is hardly wise to advocate anything. Things must be brought about
by conditions to be of vital import. Least of all should any one ever
advocate intermarriage, and yet, and yet--do you remember these lines?
"'_Two shall be born the whole wide world apart,_
_And speak in different tongues and have no thought_
_Each of the other's being, and no heed._
_And these over unknown seas to unknown lands_
_Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death,_
_And all unconsciously shape every act_
_And bend each wandering step to this one end,_
_That one day, out of darkness they shall meet_
_And read life's meaning in each other's eyes._'
"Yes," he concluded, as we were about to part, "the world is growing
better than it ever was before--and it isn't because we have a more
efficient police force either."
XII
Home, the Last Resort
"There is no place like home," said Keidansky, "and there's nothing like
running away from it."
"What is the matter with the home?" I asked.
"Nothing," he answered, "except that very often everything is. You are
surprised?" he continued. "That's promising. Somehow when I see you
shocked it makes me feel as if I am saying something, and I am
encouraged to go on. What do I mean? Just this:
"There is no place that is so small, petty and narrow as the home is;
there is no place so close, cramped and crowded; so limited, restricted
and tape-measured. There's no place where there is such agreement, unity
and uniformity; where there is so much subordination, subjection and
coöppression--if you will pardon the coining of a word--as in the home;
no place where there is such conformity of opinion, speech and action;
where there is so much dependence, inter-dependence and
inter-domination; where so much good advice is given you, so many high
examples set up and so many paragons of perfection presented to you; no
place where there's so much upholding of old standards and so little
scope for building new ones; where respectability is regarded with such
reverence and the neighbors' say held so sacred; no place so lacking
initiative, so barren of originality, so devoid of daring--no place
where you are so tenderly cared for, so kindly comforted, so closely
watched, and so grossly misunderstood as the home. It is the most
dangerous place in the world.
"No, do not interrupt me--I know just what you are going to say. Let me
state it for you--while I am at it. What I said is blasphemy, of course,
and what you want to say is that the home is the garden where all our
virtues flower and bloom; that it is the foundation of our morals, the
birthplace of our highest ideals, the great character-builder, the
school of patriotism, the source of true religion, the protector of our
national life, the benign soul-uplifter, the place where goodness and
purity flourish, and the place where the best principles are
manufactured. I know just what you are going to say because I, too, have
heard some sermons and have read some after-dinner speeches in my life.
And I do not say that these utterances are altogether misleading. There
is some good, I doubt not, in a sermon and some shadow of truth even in
an after-dinner speech. But because the home has ever been the subject
of indiscriminate encomiums and puffy panegyrics, no one has ever dared
to say anything against it. It has not been treated as a human
institution, and so many crimes have been committed in its good name. It
is because these beautiful things about it are, or are supposed to be,
that so many of us have been sentenced to stay home without a proper
trial.