During the whole of the first day of the new week his voice was
scarcely heard, and Beruriah wondered. Had anything happened to him?
She fairly longed for his voice. The aged servant, however, brought
her the news that the guest, for the most part, paced back and forth
in his room. And when he seated himself at his table, he buried his
head in his arms and remained thus motionless.
And Beruriah said that surely he had encountered a difficult passage
in the Torah. Rabbi Mayer, too, was in the habit of acting so when
confronted by a perplexing problem, and the student must take after
the master.
Yet that same evening his voice was heard again, but altogether
altered. There was in it nothing of its former joyousness, and
nothing of its still earlier sorrow. There was, however, a certain
something that made Beruriah listen, pouring unrest into her soul. It
was a note of yearning, and a note of entreaty. A sort of petulance,
as if from a pampered child, and a kind of supplication, like a
beggar at the door. What did his voice wish now to say? What did it
mean now? To whom was he now speaking? To God? To his own heart? In
what measure was she, Beruriah, here involved? If at first it had
been she who sounded in his voice, what did he wish of her now? Was
he praying to God in her behalf? What did he ask of God for her?
She tossed from side to side upon her bed, and thought how really
wondrous was this man. She saw him stand before her in all his
beauty, with his sadness and his fervour, and with his eyes in which
the colours dissolved; she heard his voice, which penetrated her
heart and her very soul; she exiled her thoughts with the ardent
prayer that the thirty days should pass as quickly as possible.
But the days that followed dragged on frightfully, for they were
filled with a rising pathos and plaintiveness in Simeon’s voice,—with
increasing supplication and entreaty. It rose to an ever louder
appeal for pity, an ever more languishing cry for love. The air in
Beruriah’s room became difficult for her to breathe and she began to
seek calm in long walks and frequent visits, but she was haunted by
the sensation that there in her room resounded Simeon’s yearning,
imploring voice. And the voice followed her into the distant streets,
walked with her into the strangers’ houses, took part in all her
conversations. Returning to her home became for Beruriah a trial.
She could not bear to listen to the voice; she feared it, and feared
even more an accidental meeting with him, for the far-off gaze of his
eyes, which had now become quite black, gleamed with such desire and
love-entreaty that it was impossible for a human soul to bear it.
She awaited the Sabbath eve with a throbbing bosom. The approach of
the holy day brought her no pleasure. Her first thought was to have
notified him that she was ill and could not come to table. But her
second thought was that Beruriah, the wife of Rabbi Mayer, should not
resort to pretexts, or hide from any one. What, indeed, was Simeon to
her? What mattered to her the unrest of his heart? She should never
have noticed the quality of his voice or the colour of his eyes.
And if he should ask again whether she had remarked his glances, she
would reply that she did not wish to be questioned so, since his
glances were of no concern to her. Let him better ask of Rabbi Mayer
whether he might inquire of her about his glances.
And thus she remained to hear his Sabbath blessings and his Sabbath
songs.
But his voice no longer rang with its Sabbath tones. It was like a
melodious violin that had cracked. He thanked God and blessed Him,
but as one who _must_ thank and _must_ bless, and whose heart is not
in his deeds, because he is discontent and wronged. He ate, too,
as one who compels himself, without appetite, against his will and
sparingly. His cloud-grey eyes looked less at the food before him
than at Beruriah, and his glances were Desire itself,—Yearning itself.
And when, in the darkness of the night, there began to resound
through the house verses from the Song of Songs, in a voice as of
doves cooing, like the cry of a heart dissolving in desire, Beruriah
laid her pillow upon her head and placed her fingers in her ears,
and her heart began to beat most rapidly. She knew that the verses
were meant for her, were sent to her, spoke to her, longed for her,
implored her.
And as she lay, she spoke to her heavy heart:
“Lord of the universe, is it not enough that Thou hast punished my
heart? Must Thou punish another heart through me? If I am to be a
consolation unto them who believe in Thee, how dost Thou now wish to
make me the great grief and the despair of one of Thy worshippers?
Lord of the universe, was Beruriah, Thy chosen one, Thy blessed one,
born to experience misfortune and to spread it? Lord God, I wept
not on Thy holy Sabbath, when both my little children passed away.
Wouldst Thou have me now to weep before Thee? Oh, God of Abraham,
turn his heart from me, and turn his thoughts to Thee. Reveal me that
infinite grace, Lord of the universe!”
And because Simeon, at this juncture, ceased his singing, overcome by
grief and weariness as sleep, like a heavy burden, pressed his lids,
it seemed to Beruriah that God had heard her prayer. She now removed
the pillow from her head and placed it underneath with a sigh of
relief, filled with gratitude. Then she fell into a peaceful slumber.
On the following day, however, Beruriah saw that God had not heard
her prayer nor answered it. For the voice of Rabbi Ismael’s son was
charged with supplication and his eyes brimmed over with desire. And
it was after the closing prayers, when Simeon had turned to Beruriah
to ask about his glances. Beruriah was not to be seen. She had
disappeared, because she knew that his mouth could be stopped and his
lips sealed by neither sharp speech nor angry rebuke. His accumulated
yearning would find a way, and his passion would burst from his
heart; he would sin grievously against God with his words and his
deeds. And how would she then be able to keep him under her roof? And
the thirty days were not yet over.
But Simeon knew that Beruriah had noticed his glances and
interpreted his voice aright. His heart was therefore flooded with
joy and hope. She had disappeared because she felt her weakness; her
strength had begun to waver. The struggle within her had already
commenced, and he would be her conqueror.