II

You ask me whether I remember everything--he began from behind the

smoke. Why, I see it all as if it had happened yesterday. I do not

know exactly how old I was then. I remember only that my brother

Solomon became a Bar-Mitzwah at that time. Then there was Dovidl,

another brother, younger than Solomon, but older than myself; but he

had died before that time. I must have been about eleven years old.

Just then the mothers fell a-worrying: a Catcher was coming to town.

According to some he had already arrived.

At the Heder the boys were telling one another that the Catcher was

a monster, who caught boys, made soldiers out of them, and turned

them over to the Government, in place of the Jewish grown-ups that

were unwilling and unable to serve. And the boys were divided in

their opinions: some said that the Catcher was a demon, one of those

who had been created at twilight on the eve of the Sabbath. Others

said that he was simply a "heathen," and some others, that he was an

"apostate." Then, there were some who asserted that he was merely a

bad Jew, though a learned one nevertheless;--that he wore the

regular Jewish costume, the long coat and the broad waistband, and

had the Tallis-Koton on his breast, so that the curse of the

righteous could not hurt him. According to rumor, he was in the

habit of distributing nuts and candy among Jewish boys; and if any

one tasted of them, he could not move from the spot, until the

Catcher put his hand on him and "caught" him. I happened to

overhear a conversation between father and mother, and I gathered

from it that I need not fear the Catcher.

It was a Saturday night, soon after the death of my elder brother

Dovidl, within the period of the thirty days' mourning for him.

Mother would not be consoled, for Dovidl had been her "very best."

Three brothers had I. The first-born, Simhah, may he rest in peace,

had been married long before; he was the junior Shohet in town, and

a candidate for the Rabbinate. Solomon was more learned in the

Torah, young though he was, peace be unto him. . . . Well, they are

now in the world-of-truth, in the world-to-come, both of them. But

Dovidl, had he lived, would have excelled them both. That is the

way of the Angel of Death, he chooses the very best. As to

myself--why deny it?--I was a dullard. Somehow my soul was not

attuned to the Torah.

As I said, mother was uttering complaints against Heaven, always

crying. Yes, in the matter of tears they are experts. I have

pondered over it, and have found it out: fish were created out of

the mud-puddle, and woman out of tears. Father used to scold her

mightily, but she did not mind it; and she never ceased bemoaning

Dovidl and crying unto Heaven, "who gave the Angel of Death power

over him."

On the night after Sabbath, when father had extinguished the taper

in the dregs of the Havdolah cup, he turned to mother, and said:

"Now man born of woman is unwise all his life long. He knows not

how to thank for the sorrows that have been sweetened by His mercy,

blessed be He!"

Mother did not understand, and looked at father questioningly. "The

Catcher is in town," explained father.

"The Catcher!" shuddered mother.

"But he takes only Fourths and upwards," said father, reassuringly.

Fourths, Fifths, etc., those households were called which had four,

or five, or more sons.

"And our household has only three sons at present," continued

father. "Do you understand, woman? Three sons were left to us, and

our household is exempt from military duty. Now do you see the

mercy of the Lord, blessed be He? Do you still murmur against Him,

blessed be He?"--

So it was in those days. Every Jewish community had to deliver a

certain fixed number of recruits to the Government annually. This

number was apportioned among the families, and every family taxed

the households composing it. But not every household had to supply

a recruit. A household with a large number of sons secured the

exemption of a household with fewer sons. For instance, a household

with four sons in it was exempted, if there was a household with

five sons to levy from in the same family. And a household of three

sons was spared when there was, in the same family, a household of

four sons. And so forth.--

And as father was speaking--the old man continued--mother

contemplated us, as one that escapes from a fire contemplates the

saved remnants; and her eyes overflowed with silent tears. Those

were the last tears shed over the grave of Dovidl, and for those

tears father had no rebuke. We felt that Dovidl was a saint: he had

departed this life to save us from the hand of the Catcher. It

seemed to me that the soul of Dovidl was flitting about the room,

listening to everything, and noticing that we were pleased that he

had died; and I felt ashamed.

The next day I went to the Heder, somewhat proud of myself. I

boasted before my mates that I was a Third. The Fourths envied me;

the Fifths envied the Fourths, and all of us envied the Seconds and

the only sons. So little chaps, youngsters who knew not what their

life was going to be, came to know early that brothers, sons of one

father, may at times be a source of trouble to one another.

That was at the beginning of the summer.

The teachers decided that we remain within the walls of the Heder

most of the time, and show ourselves outside as little as possible

during the period of danger. But a decree like that was more than

boys could stand, especially in those beautiful summer days.

Meanwhile the Catcher came to town, and set his eye on the

son-in-law of the rich Reb Yossel, peace be unto him. The name of

the young man was Avremel Hourvitz--a fine, genteel young man. He

had run away from his home in Poland and come to our town, and was

spending his time at the Klaus studying the Torah. And Reb Yossel,

may he rest in peace, had to spend a pile of money before he got

Avremel for his daughter. From the same Polish town came the

Catcher, to take Avremel as the recruit of the family Hourvitz due

to the Jewish community of his city. When he laid his hand on

Avremel, the town was shocked. The rabbi himself sent for the

Catcher, and promised to let him have, without any contention, some

one else instead of Avremel. Then they began to look for a

household with the family name of Hourvitz, and they found my

father's. Before that happened I had never suspected that my father

had anything like a family name. For some time the deal remained a

deep secret. But no secret is proof against a mother's intuition,

and my mother scented the thing. She caught me by the arm--I do not

know why she picked me out--rushed with me to the rabbi, and made it

hot for him.

"Is this justice, rabbi? Did I bear and rear children, only to give

up my son for the sake of some Avremel?!"

The rabbi sighed, cast down his eyes, and argued, that said Avremel

was not simply "an Avremel," but a "veritable jewel," a profound

Lamdan, a noble-hearted man, destined to become great in Israel. It

was unjust to give him away, when there was someone else to take his

place. Besides, Avremel was a married man, and the father of an

infant child. "Now where is justice?" demanded the rabbi. But my

mother persisted. For all she knew, her own sons might yet grow up

to become ornaments to israel . . . And she, too, was observing the

ordinances of the Hallah and the Sabbath candles, and the rest of

the laws, no less than Avremel's mother.

More arguments, more tears without arguments--till the rabbi

softened: he could not resist a woman. Then mother took me and

Solomon up to the garret, and ordered us not to venture outside.--

Here the old man interrupted himself by a soft sigh, and

continued:--

To a great extent it was my own fault, wild boy that I was. I broke

my mother's injunction. In the alley, near the house of my parents,

there lived a wine-dealer, Bendet by name. Good wine was to be

found in his cellar. For this reason army officers and other

persons of rank frequented his place, and he was somewhat of a

favorite with them. In short, though he lived in a mean little

alley, those important personages were not averse to calling at his

house. That Bendet had an only child, a daughter. She was

considered beautiful and educated. I had not known her. In my day

they spoke ill of her. Naturally, her father loved her. Is there a

father who loves not his offspring? And how much more such a

daughter, whom everyone loved. However that may be, one day

Bendet's daughter broke away, left her father's house, and renounced

her faith--may we be spared such a fate! And many years after her

father's death she returned to our town, to take possession of her

portion of the inheritance. That happened at a time when we were

hiding in the garret. The town was all agog: people ran from every

street to get a look at the renegade, who came to take possession of

a Jewish inheritance. I, too, was seized with a wild desire to get

a look at her, to curse her, to spit in her face . . . . And I

forgot all the dangers that surrounded me.

Young as I was, I considered myself as a Jew responsible for the

wayward one. I lost control of myself, and ran out. But after I

had been in the street for some time, I was seized with fear of the

Catcher. Every stranger I met seemed to me to be a Catcher. I

shrank into myself, walked unsteadily hither and thither, and did

not know how to hide myself. Then a man met me. His large beard

and curled side-locks made me think he was a good man. I looked at

him imploringly. "What ails you, my boy?" he asked in a soft tone.

"I am afraid of the Catcher," said I, tearfully.

"Whose son are you?"