happiness to us both, for Raphael and I were like two brothers united by
love such as brothers seldom know. When we had finished the reading of
the Bible, which took us about five years, we began to study the
_Mishnah_. Here I found new subjects for admiration; the acuteness and
profound scholarship of the _Hakamim_, their methodical order and
system, and also their stern piety and unyielding devotion to principle.
In two years we had concluded the _Mishnah_ and took up the intricate
discussions of the _Gemara_. But now Raphael had entered upon his
thirteenth year, at the conclusion of which, as you well know, every
Jewish boy becomes _Bar-Mitzvah_; that is to say, attains his religious
majority, and is accounted fully responsible for all his acts in the
sight of God and man. The _Bar-Mitzvah_ day is considered everywhere in
Israel a most auspicious and happy occasion. The youthful celebrant is
treated with distinguished honor, is permitted to read the _Sedrah_ and
the _Haftarah_, and even to deliver an address in the synagogue, and is
made the recipient of rich gifts and marked attentions. As these
ceremonies require special study and preparation, it is necessary to
train a youth some time in advance of the happy day. Such was the
proceeding followed also in the case of Raphael. The teacher who had
instructed us both suspended temporarily the regular course of
instruction in which I had taken part, and concentrated his efforts upon
teaching Raphael the proper method of chanting the portions of the law
and the prophets which were to be read on the great Sabbath of the
_Bar-Mitzvah_, and also aided him in the preparation of a learned and
profound discourse which he, though a mere youth, was to deliver on that
auspicious occasion.
“As these matters did not concern me, I was necessarily left out of
consideration and had now no part in the studies of Raphael, except that
of a mere occasional listener and looker-on. For the first time in over
seven years Raphael and I were separated, no longer joined in study nor
much together otherwise, for the preparations for the _Bar-Mitzvah_
absorbed most of his time, and he did not find leisure for our
accustomed walks and pleasures. The change grieved me deeply. I realized
now as I had not realized before the distinction between us; that he was
one of the chosen people whose history and religion we had been
studying, while I was an outsider, a stranger, not privileged to enter
into close connection with the covenant brethren, nor to share in their
most intimate concerns, their truest joys, and deepest sorrows. I cannot
describe to you the melancholy which filled my soul at this thought; but
it must have showed itself in my countenance or demeanor, for Raphael
noticed it, and with true fraternal sympathy tried to soothe and console
me. But his well-meant efforts were in vain. Nothing could assuage the
keen pain which rose in my soul whenever I reflected that there existed
an invisible but nevertheless real and undeniable dividing wall between
me and the human being I loved best, a wall that would probably grow
thicker and stronger as the years rolled on, until it would at last keep
us utterly asunder, except, perhaps, as regards the superficial
relations of mere formal friendship.
“For months this dull pain gnawed at my heart until one day, when the
_Bar-Mitzvah_ day was no longer far distant, there came to me, all
unexpectedly and sudden as a lightning flash, a thought that promised
redemption. ‘Why need I permit this wall to grow up between me and my
beloved?’ I asked myself. ‘Why can I not become Raphael’s brother in the
covenant of Israel? Israel is God’s holy nation, but it does not
jealously restrict its membership to those born in the fold. Its gates
open gladly to welcome those who seek entrance because of true union of
sentiment with the hereditary guardians of the covenant. As Isaiah says:
“Let not the stranger that joineth himself unto the Lord say, verily the
Lord will separate me from His people.” I, too, may join myself to
Israel, may share the burdens and the privileges of the Holy people, and
take upon myself their name.’
“Thus did my love for a dear Jewish lad suggest to me to enter into
Israel; but nevertheless I did not determine upon the step until I had
examined my mind and my soul to ascertain whether I was fit for this
great change. I knew that to become a proselyte for any personal motive
alone, no matter how high or ideal it might be, were sin. But my
self-examination taught me my real beliefs, showed me that, spiritually
if not formally, I already belonged to Israel. I recognized that the
theological dogmas I had been taught in my boyhood no longer possessed
any charm or validity for my soul, which for seven years had drunk deep
draughts of life-giving water from the fountains of Israel’s law and
tradition. I saw that in Israel was the spiritual home where my soul
desired to dwell. Encouraged and inspired by this recognition, I went to
the rabbi and communicated to him my desire to enter the fold of Israel.
He was surprised at first and rather displeased; but when I told him my
story, and informed him that I was well instructed in Hebrew lore and
familiar with the ordinances of Judaism, he declared that he could not
refuse to accept me as a proselyte.
“I now unfolded to him an idea which I had conceived in relation to my
reception into Judaism, which pleased him well, and to which he at once
gave his approval. Under the plea of desiring a vacation, which was
readily granted, for Raphael was busy with his preparations and my
services were not really required, I secured a leave of absence for
several weeks from the Allatini household. I went to a little town some
few miles distant, and there in the presence of the rabbi and ten Hebrew
brethren I was circumcised and the name I now bear in Israel conferred
upon me. I remained there until I had thoroughly recovered when I
returned to the Allatini home. No one knew of the change which had taken
place, for I had requested, for reasons of my own, those present at the
ceremony to divulge nothing for the time being; and my wishes had been
respected. All noticed that I had lost the melancholy air which I had
borne for several months, and was looking contented and happy; but none
knew the reason for the improvement in my appearance.
“At last the great day, the Bar-Mitzvah Sabbath, arrived. The synagogue
was densely packed, for the interest in the event which concerned so
closely the most prominent family in the congregation and its
well-beloved son was universal. On the main floor the noblest and best
men of the community were assembled, and from the galleries the matrons
and maidens of Israel, arrayed in splendid robes, beamed radiantly down.
When the time for the reading of the Torah arrived Raphael ascended the
_Tebah_, or altar, and at once began to chant from the sacred scroll. He
was a picture of youthful beauty as he stood there; and his voice, pure
and clear as the sweetest of song-birds, filled the synagogue with
melodious resonance as he chanted the solemn sentences of Holy Writ. A
hum of admiration ran around the synagogue; and all eyes, after feasting
with pleasure on the beauteous form of the youthful celebrant, turned
with silent congratulation to the happy father and the joyous mother,
who showed in their beaming countenances what joy dwelt within their
hearts. Raphael was summoned as the third person to pronounce the
benediction over the law, which he did with great dignity and
devoutness. His father then ascended the altar and made generous
offerings for the benefit of the congregation; and the rabbi, leaving
his seat and ascending the altar, placed his hands upon Raphael’s bowed
head and pronounced over him the threefold priestly blessing. Thus far
everything had been conducted in the manner usual on such occasions, but
now a deviation took place. Instead of summoning the next person to the
Torah, which would have been the usual proceeding, the rabbi turned to
the people and addressed them thus:
“‘Brethren of Israel! It has been now our privilege to witness the
acceptance into full membership in the covenant of our beloved young
friend, Raphael Allatini, to whom and to whose respected parents we
offer our sincere well-wishes. It will now be our pleasure to behold
another Bar-Mitzvah, one who is a true believer in our holy faith, and
who has been for many years a friend and comrade of our young celebrant,
and desires not to separate from him on this happy day.’
“All were amazed at the enigmatical words of the rabbi; for no one had
heard of another Bar-Mitzvah, and the fact of my conversion had been
kept a profound secret. The _Chazan_, however, had been let into the
secret, and in a loud voice he proclaimed: ‘Let there arise Abraham, son
of Abraham, the proselyte of righteousness, to read the Torah. May his
rock protect him.’
“Profound astonishment reigned in the synagogue as I, the full-grown man
of twenty-five, whom all had known as Dimitri the Greek servant, arose
in my place and ascended the Tebah in a character belonging usually only
to Hebrew youths of thirteen; and in breathless silence they listened
while I pronounced the benediction over the Torah and read my portion
with correct accent and melody. When I had finished I blessed the Lord
with a loud voice; and according to the words of the benediction,
‘Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the universe, who hast
permitted me to live and attain to this day,’ and all the congregation
shouted ‘Amen!’ The rabbi then blessed me with tears in his eyes; and
Raphael fell about my neck and embraced me, with radiant smiles, for to
him my act meant most of all. The rest of the service was conducted in
the usual quiet and solemn manner; but when the last chant had been
concluded, the excitement broke forth. The vast congregation crowded
around the Allatini family, Raphael and me, congratulating us most
warmly on the remarkable and auspicious event which had just taken
place. I had almost as great a share of popular approval as Raphael, and
my fidelity and loyalty both to the family I served and the religion I
had embraced, my devotion to my young master, and my attainments in
Hebrew lore were greatly admired and commended. Oh, that was a glorious
day in my life; and, however long the Most High may permit me to remain
on earth, I shall never forget it. The Allatinis, too, when the first
shock of surprise was over, acted toward me with the utmost love and
kindness. I was treated in all respects as the equal and comrade of
Raphael. I sat next to him at the festive board during the splendid
banquet given the same afternoon in celebration of the event. After he
had delivered his address, I, too, was asked to speak to the guests, who
included the most respected people in the community; and the rabbi, in
his remarks, referred to me in the kindest terms, praising greatly my
fidelity and piety and the learning I had acquired, and comparing me
with Shemayah and Abtalion, the distinguished proselytes who became
heads of the Sanhedrin during the period of the second Temple.
“After the Bar-Mitzvah festivities were over, Raphael took up again the
interrupted course of studies and I was again his companion. I was very,
very happy. I felt that I had entered into the haven of peace and joy in
the blessed study of God’s holy law and the willing fulfilment of its
precepts, while enjoying also the love of my young master, the kindness
of his family, and the respect of all my newly gained Jewish brethren. I
asked for nothing better on earth, though I did hope that in course of
time I might be able to ask some well-born maiden of Israel to be my
life partner and settle down as a worthy _Baal Ha-baith_. But, alas!
while I was basking in the bright sun of happiness, the black clouds
were gathering which were destined to cover with inky pall the fair sky
of my well-being.
“The romantic incidents of my conversion and my public reception as a
Bar-Mitzvah had excited great public interest among the Jewish
inhabitants of the island generally and were spoken of everywhere. In
this way the facts came also to the knowledge of the Greek Gentiles and
aroused their deep anger and resentment. Great as was the enmity which
they bore the children of Jacob, they hated with a still intenser hatred
the one from their own midst who had cast in his lot with the ancient
people. I soon noticed that I was regarded with great ill favor. When I
went abroad through the streets of the town on my accustomed walks with
Raphael, I noticed that the men and women gazed at me with black,
scowling looks, while the children put no restraint on their tongues,
but yelled after me, ‘Apostate, renegade, traitor!’ This discovery,
while it was certainly not pleasing, did not disconcert either me or my
friends. There had not been any uprising against the Jews in many years,
and none of us thought that I was of sufficient importance to be honored
with a special uprising, exclusively on my account. Soon, however,
rumors began to be heard that the lower orders of people, incited by
virulent agitators, in particular by a fanatical priest of the
neighborhood, were planning an attack on the Allatini house for the
purpose of seizing me and visiting upon me condign punishment—that is to
say, death—for what they were pleased to call my apostasy. This report
did cause us some anxiety; but we all, in particular Dr. Allatini,
looked upon it as an idle tale and took no precaution to ward off any
possible calamity.
“A few nights later the blow fell. Our house was in silence and
darkness, all having retired to rest, when some time after midnight a
violent knocking and beating at the massive gates of the high stone
wall, which surrounded the garden in which stood the Allatini residence,
was heard. We were all aroused by the clamor and hastening to the
windows beheld in the road outside the gates a great, raging multitude
with hate-filled countenances, and bearing in their hands, besides
weapons, flaming torches which cast a lurid light over all the scene. No
sooner did they behold the frightened faces at the windows (I was not
among them, for, realizing at once that the clamor had reference to me,
I kept in the background) than with terrible cries and yells they
demanded that I be delivered to them. ‘Give us the apostate, the
renegade,’ they yelled. ‘We mean no harm to you that are born Jews, but
we want the blood of the traitor; and unless you surrender him to us, we
will destroy the house and slay you all.’
“Our people held a hasty consultation. I will not detain you with all
the particulars of our debate, but the result reached was that it was
possible for me to be saved. Dr. Allatini took a hasty leave of me and
then went forth to parley with the mob. I hastily dressed myself and
packed together a few necessary articles. A purse of money was pressed
into my hands. I embraced and kissed my beloved Raphael and bade all
good-by, then entered a subterranean passage-way which led to an
adjacent street. When I emerged in the next street, the shouts and noise
of the mob had died down and I realized that Dr. Allatini had succeeded
in quieting them. I subsequently learned that he had assured them that I
was not in the house, and had given them permission to enter it and
search for me. I reached the harbor early the next morning in safety and
took passage in the first ship leaving which chanced to be bound for
Marseilles.
“With a soul filled with mingled feelings of sorrow and gratitude I left
my native land, sorry that I must leave my dearly beloved one, the
companion of my youth and early manhood, and gratitude to the God of
Israel, who had saved me from the hands of my enemies and from the
perils of the sea, and brought me in safety to a new home. And I thank
Him also that in this strange land He has led me to a brother who has
shown himself possessed of true fraternal, Jewish love and kindness. And
I doubt not that He who maketh a path in the fierce waters and who
protected His servant David from the hostile sword, will care for me,
His humble worshipper, in this strange land and grant me His peace and
blessing. The words of Abraham are finished.”
When the stranger had finished his tale, Benjamin Dalinski, who had
listened in wonderment to the singular narrative, said to him: “Truly,
thy tale is strange and interesting; but dost thou not think that thou
didst act foolishly? Hadst thou remained in the faith of thy forefathers
thou wouldst not have lost the friendship of thy Jewish benefactors, nor
have aroused the hatred of thy Gentile neighbors. Thou couldst have
remained in peace in thy native land and perhaps have become in later
years a great man among thy people; whereas now thou art an exile and a
fugitive, and who knows what will be thy lot here in this land?”
Abraham gazed at him a moment as though he did not understand his words
and then answered with indignation as one who repudiates a sinful and
unworthy suggestion. “I would rather eat bread with salt and drink blank
water as a _Yehudi_ than be a prince and a great man among the
Gentiles.”
“Ah,” said Dalinski, “thou art indeed a proselyte of righteousness.”
ISAAC AND ALICE
They were good friends and true, were Isaac and Alice. To be sure, they
were not exactly what most people would consider a well-assorted or
naturally allied pair; for Isaac was a great strapping fellow of about
thirty, who could speak Yiddish much better than English, while Alice
was a sweet little girl of not quite five, whose childish prattle had a
decidedly Yankee twang, and whose cradle had stood many thousands of
miles from the spot where Isaac’s infantile eyes had first opened upon a
strange and troublesome world. Yet that they were close friends was an
undeniable, if somewhat unaccountable, fact. People who saw the stalwart
young Lithuanian Hebrew carpenter, with the dark ringlets and raven
beard and the golden-haired and blue-eyed little Down East maiden as
they sat together and conversed during the midday hour when Isaac was
eating his frugal lunch, or as they sauntered hand in hand through the
streets of the little Massachusetts town, would often smile and wonder
and make comments, sometimes jocular and sometimes sarcastic to each
other; but neither Isaac nor Alice cared what anybody said. They were
not afraid of scandal and were sublimely indifferent to public opinion.
They were just good friends and that was all about it. They had been
good friends from the first moment they met, several weeks after Isaac
had set foot upon the hospitable shore of America, and had exhausted the
greater part of his physical energy and about all of his financial
resources and of his store of courage and hope in the effort to persuade
the land of the free and the home of the brave to provide him with a
livelihood. He had entered at the port of New York and tried for a week
or so to find employment at his trade in the metropolis. But there must
have been a plethora of carpenters in the great city at that time; for
wherever he applied, the answer was the same, “No one wanted.” He had
then determined to try the smaller towns and cities, and had wandered on
foot through Connecticut, and had applied at hundreds of shops in the
many industrial communities of that State, all the time growing fainter
and weaker and more discouraged; and had never heard any other response
to his request for work than the same monotonous refrain, which had now
grown terrible in its suggestion of despair, “No one wanted.”
At last he had drifted, he hardly knew how, into Massachusetts and had
entered the little town of Atbury. Hope had almost left him, and grim
thoughts of suicide filled his mind while he wandered aimlessly through
the neat and well-kept streets of the town. In the course of his
wanderings he saw a wooden building, upon the front of which a large
sign proclaimed that within was a carpenter shop, and that the owner’s
name was Thomas Jones. Mechanically Isaac entered the large open doorway
on his usual quest. He had no anticipation of success; and when Mr.
Jones, who was a handsome middle-aged man of typical Yankee appearance
and very brusque and short-spoken, returned the usual answer to his
timid query, he turned to go away with a sinking heart, in which the
dull pain was not perceptibly keener than it had previously been.
But this time an unprecedented incident occurred. A pretty little
blond-haired, blue-eyed girl, a mere tot, was standing next to the
proprietor when the stranger entered the shop, and she gazed at his
handsome though careworn features while he made his pitiable appeal for
work, with an expression of evident liking, mingled with sympathy and
pity. When he turned to depart, surprise and sorrow showed themselves
plainly in the face of the child; and turning to her father—as you have,
no doubt, already guessed, sweet reader, it was Alice, Thomas Jones’s
only and dearly beloved child—she said: “Why, aren’t you going to give
the poor man work, papa? Just see how sad he looks. Don’t let him go.”
“Do you want me to keep him, little one?” asked the father, gazing at
the pleading face of his little daughter with amused parental fondness.
“Yes I do, papa,” said Alice. “I think he is a very good man and I want
you to keep him.”
“Well,” said Thomas Jones, “for your sake I’ll give him a chance.”
[Illustration:
NOTHING PLEASED THEM BETTER THAN A “HORSEY-BACK” RIDE
_Page 172_]