IV

More than one heart quaked as Rabbi Mayer uttered these words. The

possible companionship with the wonderful Beruriah coursed like a

hot stream from head to foot in many a student. But strongest of all

beat the heart of handsome Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, and he had to

close his eyes because of the flood of passion that inundated him.

Most handsome of all the disciples was Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael.

Once a Roman matron had beheld him, and it seemed to her as if

Adonis, the Greek god of strength and youth and beauty, had turned

Jew and given himself up to the study of the fathomless Torah. And

she called him “the Adonis who turned Jew.” He was tall, slender

and agile; the hair of his head and of his small beard was reddish;

his eyes were of a colour that changed with the time of day and

the temper of his moods, and none could withstand his glance. Out

of piety he would shut his eyes on passing a woman, lest unholy

thoughts be born in a Jewish daughter’s bosom. But once, on passing

Beruriah, he had not shut his eyes, and instead of igniting another,

he was himself set on fire, and on his eyes was impressed her image,

inextinguishably, even as a seal impresses the burning wax. From

that time he saw only her before him; she was his dream by night,

his thought by day, nor did his holy studies avail him aught. His

striking masculine beauty had found its mate in Beruriah, and he

hungered after her as for something that had always belonged to

him,—something that ever had been destined for him. He had been pious

all his years, had known most ardent prayers and tormenting fasts,

bodily tortures and cleansing of the soul. But now his prayers no

longer were horror of sin, but plaints and grievances. It was as

though the Lord withheld what was justly Simeon’s; as if God had

taken away his rightful property, and his alone. And why had God

placed Beruriah in his path? Why had the Lord not closed his eyes

at their meeting? And in his restless, often feverish thoughts he

showed God how he, Simeon, might come to her who was destined to be

his. Rabbi Mayer might die, and he would inherit Beruriah; or if

God did not wish the death of the holy man, Beruriah could forsake

her learned husband,—divorce him and fly to the arms of her twin in

beauty. Could not almighty God bring this to pass?

And now that Rabbi Mayer had announced his resolution, it was as if

God had answered Simeon’s prayers, knowing that he would be the one

to execute the purpose of the Rabbi, which was in reality the hidden

purpose of the Almighty. And Rabbi Mayer, after uttering his plan,

turned his glance to Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, as if Simeon were

he upon whom had fallen the dangerous embassy. But the sage said

nothing to indicate any choice on his part. He departed from the

Yeshiva at once, leaving the disciples alone to choose the tempter

from their number.

And although many eyes sought out Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, his

selection was in no wise unanimous. For several others wished to

assume the mission, and these were the students who had most openly

expressed their doubts as to Beruriah’s constancy.

And one of them spoke:

“In order to seduce Beruriah one need not be the most handsome,

but the most subtle. One can steal into her heart, not through her

eyes, but through her ears. Her eyes she can close before the most

beautiful picture, but there is naught that can seal her ears against

subtle speech. The beautiful picture that meets her gaze will vanish

the moment she turns her head, but the guileful word will remain in

her heart, and delve and burrow. Remember, that even our mother Eve

was conquered by wily words from the subtle serpent’s mouth. As the

Bible says, ‘Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the

field.’ And if Beruriah withstand the subtle word, then is her virtue

beyond uncertainty.”

And he spoke in such a way that all might see he was most subtle and

should be their choice.

But a second arose and spoke:

“In order to win Beruriah one need be neither the handsomest nor

the most subtle, but the strongest. For what is the beauty of our

most beautiful against her beauty? And what is the guile of our most

subtle against her subtlety? Our handsomest will quail before her,

asking, ‘Why am I so ugly?’—And our cleverest will confront her like

a helpless simpleton. But the presence of a powerful man will descend

upon her senses like a cloud; the breath of immense masculine power

will penetrate her like wine and intoxicate her. To make a woman

bite into a forbidden apple, it takes a wily serpent; but to make a

woman lust for a man other than her husband, it requires one whose

strength will work upon her like the pressure of two mill-stones. And

if Beruriah withstand great masculine strength, then is her virtue

beyond uncertainty.”

And he spoke in such a way that all might see he was the strongest

and should be their choice.

But a third arose and spoke:

“In order to gain Beruriah, one need not be the handsomest,

the wiliest or the strongest, but the most learned. For if our

fellow-student is right in all he says as to the wisest and the

wiliest then must he surely recognise that not even masculine

strength will touch Beruriah’s soul. For she will tell herself, ‘An

untamed bull is stronger; and what man is more powerful than a lion?

Shall I then languish with desire for the wild bull, the lion, and

the elephant?’ But the most learned of us will know how to call forth

her admiration, and will win her heart through his skill in holy

lore. And if her husband, our master Rabbi Mayer, can demonstrate

the purity of a reptile in one hundred and fifty different ways,

then her seducer will have to be able, in twice one-hundred and

fifty ways, to prove that Reuben did not sin with Bilhah, the wife

of his father Jacob,—that King David did not sin with Bathsheba,

the wife of Uriah the Hittite, and that Beruriah’s sin against her

husband will likewise be no sin. And if Beruriah withstand the great

interpretative power of our most learned associate, then is her

virtue beyond uncertainty.”

And he spoke in such a way that all might see he was most learned and

should be their choice.

Whereupon a fourth arose and spoke:

“In order to triumph over Beruriah, one need be neither the

handsomest nor the wiliest, nor yet the strongest or the most

learned. For the sum of his learning will be as naught against her

own, and who dare assure us that he will not be left sitting before

her like a pupil before a master? And will she not say that in our

Yeshiva we study Torah only to make that which is sinful appear

pure? Therefore I say to you that in order to triumph over Beruriah

one must be the most illustrious. And who is most illustrious if not

he who can add to his personal gifts and to his own good name the

pedigree of his noted family? Our master, Rabbi Mayer, Beruriah’s

husband, is endowed with many virtues. But he springs from lowly,

convert stock, and his origin is but an impure source. How Beruriah’s

heart will melt with consuming desire when she feels the presence of

one whose ancestry dates back to the kings of the House of David! And

only after she has withstood the fascination of a genuine descendant

from such illustrious forebears will her virtue have been proved

beyond all doubt.”

That by these words he meant to indicate himself there was not the

slightest question, for he was one who claimed to be descended from

the kings of the House of David, and flaunted his ancestry as a

peacock displays its tail.

And now there arose one whom all viewed in the greatest astonishment,

their eyes distended and their mouths agape, for none could believe

that he, too, would rise to speak. And he said:

“In order to seduce Beruriah, one must be the unhappiest of men.”

And because the intense stupefaction with which his rising had been

greeted dissolved now into uproarious laughter, he continued with

louder voice and vehement gestures:

“Yes, the most unhappy and most wretched! You will succeed in

approaching Beruriah’s heart only through compassion. I need only

relate to her, with tears in my voice and suffering in my eyes, how

the words ‘father, mother’ were never uttered by my lips because my

father died before I was born, and my mother died giving birth to

me,—how I do not even know who brought me up, because I passed from

hand to hand, one stumbling across me on the threshold of his home,

another coming upon me before his door, in the darkness of black

night. By day the sun scorched me, and by night the cold pierced my

flesh, and I stilled my hunger with my cries. In all the world not

one soul could be found who would adopt me as a son; they saw in me

an evil visitation and only fear of God and His commandments held

them back from putting me to death. And thus I grew up in hunger,

necessity, and misery, without caresses, without a kiss, without a

kind word, without a tender glance, without the slightest token of

love, yet with a burning desire for affection and endearments. And

I tell you that if Beruriah does not burst into flames of sinful

lust out of compassion for me, then is her virtue indeed beyond

uncertainty.”

And because his words created a sensation, he was sure that he would

be the chosen one.

But now the first to speak began anew, and after him the second, and

then the third, and following them the fourth one and the fifth. And

then all at the same time. Each tried to drown out the voices of the

rest, to annihilate the others. And still others intruded into the

discussion, until the Yeshiva resounded with such a tumult as rises

from a crowded market-place on a busy day.

Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, alone was silent. He was certain that

he would be the chosen one, for thus had Rabbi Mayer spoken with his

glance, and such was the will of God. And again, because Simeon, in

addition to his great beauty, possessed the other qualities necessary

to win Beruriah. For he felt that he was also the most unhappy. Who,

indeed, could be more unhappy than he, whom God had been so unkind as

to deprive of what should have been his, afterwards revealing to him

what he had lost and filling his heart with hopelessness and grief?

And let but the time arrive when he could tell Beruriah the tale of

all his woes,—the trials that he had undergone for her,—then would

she be overcome by pity, and in her heart compassion would pave the

way for future love.

And Simeon smiled amidst the wordy din, and spoke no word. When, for

a moment, the arguments subsided, again a host of eyes was turned to

his. And they recalled that Rabbi Mayer’s glance had really singled

him out, and suddenly realised that no fitter messenger than Simeon

could be sent. And if Beruriah could withstand the fascination of

the Adonis who had turned Jew, then was her virtue indeed beyond

uncertainty.

And now from various sides the cry arose, “Let Simeon go! The

handsome Simeon! The beautiful son of Rabbi Ismael!”

Thus was Simeon, the son of Rabbi Ismael, chosen to be the touchstone

which should test the constancy and purity of the heart of Beruriah,

wife of the Master, Rabbi Mayer.

V

He came to her with a letter from her husband, and the letter

read, very simply: “The bearer, one of my students, will explain

everything.”

He found her in the garden before her house, alone with her thoughts,

and she said, somewhat disturbed by a presentiment of evil tidings,

“Pardon my not inviting you into my home to offer you refreshment and

rest, for I am very anxious and impatient.”

Simeon paused a moment to catch his breath and gain sufficient time

thus to recall what had been planned and conspired in the Yeshiva,

that the tale he bore should carry confidence and sound as if it were

the very truth. Beruriah might be struck by a suspicion of intrigue

and bring the plan to naught. Then he began, with a soft, flattering,

reassuring voice, glancing downwards, as became a pious student of

the Torah, a disciple of the pious Rabbi Mayer.

“Evil decrees are hatching against the Jews. The times of Emperor

Hadrian threaten to return. Circumcision may be forbidden, and

keeping the Sabbath. The study of the Torah may be proscribed.”

Beruriah’s answer echoed with deep pain: “The rumour aspires to evil

reality.”

“Agents have been sent out to seize the Yeshiva heads. Rabbi Mayer,

Rabbi Simeon, son of Iuhai and Rabbi Judah, son of Ileai. The

authorities wish to cut off the heads, thus destroying the body.”

Beruriah, pale and trembling, cried in fright, “Have the Rabbis been

caught?”

“No. The agents have not yet appeared. Perhaps the rumour concerning

them is false, and they will never come. But already Rabbi Simeon,

son of Iuhai, has gone into hiding and Rabbi Judah has closed his

Academy and dismissed his students until the storm rolls by. Rabbi

Mayer alone refuses to retreat from the spot where God has placed him

and has devised a plan to outwit the authorities.”

Beruriah, who had closed her eyes and raised her head to heaven, her

heart filled with thanks that her husband was not so timorous as the

others, now opened her eyes wide, piercing Simeon with their glance

and awaiting with intense curiosity the details of Rabbi Mayer’s plan.

Simeon recounted the project in a calm voice, with all the

self-assurance of speaking the truth, yet with a certain wariness and

fear of the inquiring look in her keen eyes.

“One of his students is to go to Rabbi Mayer’s home in Tiberias and

live there near Beruriah, his wife. And when the agents come for

Rabbi Mayer, his students are to declare that for a long time they

have been wandering about like sheep without a shepherd, because

Rabbi Mayer has forsaken them, and may be found at Tiberias, at home

with Beruriah, his wife. When the pursuers come to Rabbi Mayer’s

home, they will find his scholar, whom they will naturally take for

Rabbi Mayer, since he dwells under the same roof as Beruriah. Thus

Rabbi Mayer will be able to continue expounding the Holy Law to

his students, which is so necessary to the existence of the Jewish

people, especially in times of sorrow.”

Beruriah was disillusioned. Her heart was not in the plan. There was

so much about it that was strange and suspicious. She thought for

a moment, seeking some objection, and finally asked, “Suppose the

agents know Rabbi Mayer?”

But the reply to this objection had been prepared beforehand, and

Simeon made answer in reassuring tones.

“Did you not hear me say ‘his students are to declare’? If the

agents come to the Academy they will not find Rabbi Mayer, for a

hiding-place has already been secured, and guards will be on the

lookout. And should the agents come here and recognise that I am

not Rabbi Mayer, you can misdirect their steps and Rabbi Mayer will

meanwhile seek new deliverance. But consider, if they do not know

him, and if they take me for Rabbi Mayer?”

And Simeon drew himself to his full height, raising his head and

showing her his eyes, which were deep brown in the glow of the

setting sun that shone through the tall, green trees.

Beruriah thought, “It would be small wonder if the agents did take

this man to be Rabbi Mayer.” Yet this made her heart no lighter, and

she asked, with quivering spirit, “How long will this have to endure?”

The answer to this was ready in advance.

Thirty days. If, at the end of thirty days the agents should not

appear, then the rumour concerning them had been unfounded.

Simeon was waxing jubilant. The plan had so far easily succeeded and

been accepted, and now his thirty days were to begin,—destined to be

the richest, happiest days of all his life.

But Beruriah sighed heavily. Thirty days of uncertainty and terror,

of sorrow and yearning. Then she asked, still sadder than before,

“Will Rabbi Mayer not come home at all, in all the thirty days?”

Simeon, piously, almost with reproach, replied, “Would you have him

steal time from the Holy Law and give it to you? It may be that the

days of our Academy are numbered, and the days of the Torah in it.”

Utterly downcast, she was barely able to whisper, “Will Rabbi Mayer

not even send a messenger with news of himself?”

Simeon replied curtly, “Only in case Rabbi Mayer should meet with

misfortune may you expect a messenger.”

Sad and dissatisfied, she shook her head, ill content with the plan

her husband had devised. But she did not care to question further,

and recalled her duties as hostess. And thus she took in under her

roof him who had been sent as the touchstone of her virtue, and gave

him the room of Rabbi Mayer her husband. If the agents should come,

there could be no doubt that he was Rabbi Mayer, head of the Yeshiva,

who had left his Academy and his students and was living a secluded

life at home, in the company of his beautiful wife.