And Rabbie Mayer’s students said, “Beruriah has been blessed with all
the virtues, and she is to Rabbi Mayer a wondrous jewel with which
God has chosen to glorify our master; yet is not her heart but the
weak heart of a woman? And even as the flashes of the jewel, do not
human passions play and contend within her? Who can assure us that
her ears are sealed against the seductive speeches that fall upon
her like glowing sparks and melt her heart like wax? Blessed, too,
with all the virtues was Mother Eve, of whom all later generations
of women are but a reflection, and yet her ears were open to the
serpent. And where Eve succumbed, surely Beruriah will not be able to
resist.”
Thus spoke Rabbi Mayer’s pupils among themselves, until at last
it came to the ears of the great Teacher. At first he was deeply
incensed and his anger boiled like the seething waters of a fiery
cauldron. He wished to confront his disciples in all his fury
and drive them forth. How dare they question her virtue and her
purity,—her will of steel against all tempting tongues! Was not
Beruriah a holiday-child of God’s, and did not he who insulted her
desecrate the holy day,—was he not a sinner unworthy of sitting
before Rabbi Mayer, hearing him expound the Torah?
But he who could demonstrate the purity of a reptile in one hundred
and fifty different ways, soon changed his course of thought. Were he
to drive forth his disciples for the doubt they had uttered regarding
Beruriah, they would take leave and declare, “Had we been wrong in
our doubts Rabbi Mayer would have laughed us to scorn, and would soon
have forgotten our words. But because they are well-founded he flew
at once into a rage and cast us forth from him.”
His seething anger became now an immense scorn, but his sharp mind
kept thinking further: Wicked is man’s tongue and low the doubts of
his heart. To prove the purity of a reptile one must be a Rabbi
Mayer, but to render a Beruriah impure, one need be merely a reptile.
They would not cease talking until the day on which she died, and
when her glorious soul would depart from her glorious body, unsullied
and pure of sin, they would say, “She died pure, because no serpent
tested her,—because the Lord never tried her with temptations.” And
they would speak even more: “God tries the strong alone; and knowing
how weak was Beruriah’s heart against the tempter, He did not try her
and shielded her from seduction.”
At this thought an oppressive weakness overpowered his entire body,
and his high forehead was bedewed with sweat. What was he to do to
keep the venomous tongues from stinging Beruriah? How was he to act
so that every thought of her should be as pure as her own heart?
His deep wisdom pondered, and soon whispered a reply: “Let them test
her!”
A shudder rippled through him, and it was as if he must feel shame
before the four walls in whose shelter he had dared to think such
thoughts. Yet he could not free himself from that one suggestion; it
was the one way out. Through such a test of Beruriah all evil mouths
would be stopped forever, and all would see that his wife Beruriah
had a heart as pure as her spirit,—that her virtue was as great as
her beauty,—that her fidelity to him was as great as her wisdom. And
then indeed would they behold how great was God’s grace to their
generation, in which Beruriah lived,—and how great was he himself in
the eyes of the Lord that he should have been given her for a wife.
And Rabbi Mayer pondered for one day, and two, and three. He lost
all desire for food, and sleep forsook him. Ideas multiplied within
him with the rapidity of lightning; one thought generated another,
supported it, refuted it. Mountains and mountains of thoughts,—deep,
keen, far-reaching. And among them were thoughts that shamed him in
his own eyes,—that stirred his unrest and kindled a wrath against
his very self. How did they ever come to him? These doubts,—how
could they ever have entered his soul? How could he,—he, of all men,
who knew her heart so well and to whom her thoughts were as an open
book? Had she not shown enough how pious and strong she was, at the
death of her two children? Had not all the world then seen that his
Beruriah was unparalleled?
But the pious Master who had compared the power of Satan with the
power of the Lord, and had issued a thousand admonitions against the
Evil One, tremblingly sought protection for him and his one fear of
the Evil Spirit. And in shame, with quivering lips, he whispered,
“Forgive me, Beruriah, my holy one. But let them now subject you to
the test!”