see what was the matter which had so greatly troubled the holy man all
day, and which had driven him forth into the darkness and rigor of a
northern winter night. That morning there had come to him Mosheh
Labishiner, one of the constant worshippers in the synagogue and an
unfailing attendant at the rabbi’s Talmudic lectures in the house of
learning, and had poured into his ears a pitiful tale of woe. It was not
exactly a story of destitution, but it was one which touched the rabbi’s
naturally soft heart, always open to every plea of distress and ever
ready to sympathize with all that suffered and sorrowed, in a
particularly tender and sensitive spot. Mosheh told Rabbi Akiba that his
daughter Deborah (whom Rabbi Akiba knew as a dutiful and God-fearing
maiden and pretty withal) had been betrothed to a poor but very worthy
youth, Samuel of Kempen, for more than two years; that the two young
people were ardently devoted to each other, and desirous, as were also
the parents on both sides, of sealing their love by the sacred bond of
wedlock, but that prudence forbade the union until the youth would be
the possessor of a business of his own, and able properly to maintain a
wife and family. He, Mosheh, in accordance with the invariable custom in
all good Jewish families, had promised his prospective son-in-law a
dowry of a thousand gulden, which would be amply sufficient to establish
a modest business; but that owing to various misfortunes and losses he
had been unable to accumulate more than two hundred gulden, which would
barely suffice for the expenses of the wedding, but would leave nothing
for the dowry. The young people were to have been married a year
previously; but as Mosheh did not possess the requisite amount of the
dowry, he had continually deferred the marriage, on various pretexts,
until now it was impossible to defer it any more. His poor wife and his
daughter, the _Kallah_, were in the utmost distress and wept
unceasingly, while his intended son-in-law and _Mehuttanim_, who knew
nothing of his financial embarrassments, were beginning to grow
suspicious and to think that he was opposed to the marriage, and did not
really intend to permit it to be consummated.
“And now, dear rabbi,” Mosheh had said, “help me, I implore thee. Unless
I can procure a thousand gulden within a day or two I do not know what
misfortune will happen. My poor wife and daughter will surely die of
broken hearts and my name will be blackened forever.”
Rabbi Akiba was not intimately acquainted with Mosheh. All he knew of
him was that he was an “honest Jew,” a good, straightforward, religious
man; but that was sufficient to gain his sympathy, and especially the
sorrows of his wife and daughter touched him to the quick. He at once
offered to go and collect the money for the dowry among the wealthy
members of his flock; and he added that he was sure there would be no
difficulty in obtaining the required amount for a young woman of such
excellent repute, who was a daughter of such eminently respectable and
pious parents. But here he struck an unexpected difficulty. Mosheh
objected strenuously to any public collection in his behalf.
“You must not breathe a syllable of all this to any living creature,
dear rabbi,” he begged. “I could never endure the thought that all the
Kehillah should know that I had been obliged to depend upon the
charitable gifts of kind-hearted people in order to obtain a dowry for
my daughter. I have always been an independent, self-respecting
merchant, and have myself provided for all the needs of my family. I
could not endure the thought of appearing as a _Schnorrer_ for any
reason. And then my wife and daughter, do you think that they would ever
accept a dowry which had been thus gathered together from the offerings
of pity? They would sooner die. They do not even know that my
circumstances are so straitened. The mere report that contributions were
being solicited in our behalf would destroy whatever happiness they
have. No, rabbi, you must get the amount needed in some other way, in
some way which will not even raise a suspicion that we are being helped,
or else I shall have to ask you rather to do nothing and to leave it to
the All-Merciful One to deal with us as He sees fit.”
These words, while they greatly increased the respect which the rabbi
felt for Mosheh, also added immensely to his perplexity. They seemed
utterly to shut the door in the face of any attempt to obtain the
required sum. Rabbi Akiba himself was not the possessor of any
considerable amount of money. His income was not large and he never had
any difficulty in disposing of it, there being plenty of claimants on
his bounty outside of his own family. If, therefore, he could not go to
the wealthy householders in the Kehillah and openly ask them for
donations, he knew of no source whence he could derive the assistance
needed. It would not do to request of them the gift of such a large
amount without stating the purpose for which it was to be used. They
might give it to him, such was their respect for his character and their
trust in the purity of his motives, but they would be apt to speculate
on the use to which he intended to devote it, and very likely they would
find it out, too, and that would be directly contrary to the explicit
desire and request of Mosheh, Hence the perplexity and the mental
struggles by which the poor rabbi had been tortured all day until at
supper he had found, as he thought, the solution of the vexatious
problem. The simpler solution which would have suggested itself to many
a modern cleric, to shrug the shoulders deprecatingly and politely to
inform the suppliant that he regretted extremely that under the
circumstances it was impossible to do anything for him, did not occur to
Rabbi Akiba. He was narrow in many ways, limited both in views and
experience to that which could be acquired in the secluded recesses of
the Beth Hammidrash, simpler, indeed, than many a modern child in
worldly ways; but on that very account his moral fibre possessed the
old, unspoiled Jewish sturdiness. He knew that Mosheh was deserving of
sympathy and help, and he determined to help him if there were any
possibility of doing so; and believed he had now found a way to attain
that wished-for end.
Rabbi Akiba hurried through the streets of Galoschin, brilliantly
lighted with the bright illumination of early evening, presenting a
singular enough figure, as he hastened along, to be the object of the
wondering stares of many a passer-by. Galoschin was a city originally
Polish, but which under the influence of Prussian culture and discipline
had become thoroughly Germanized, and which strove to reproduce the
manners and the external characteristics of the German metropolis. The
Jewish inhabitants in particular had, as a rule, dropped all the
old-time Polish characteristics. _Jubitzas_ and _peoth_ in particular
were utterly banned, and were conceded only to the rabbi to whom, as an
example of rigid conservatism and unswerving piety, they were deemed
appropriate. As Rabbi Akiba hastened through the streets he presented,
therefore, a most extraordinary contrast in his long, girdled robe, his
strange broad-brimmed hat, with long, dangling ear-curls and the stout
cane in his hands, to the ladies and gentlemen, attired in the height of
modern fashion, who sauntered along the elegant thoroughfare, stopping
before the brilliantly lighted windows of the shops or entering the
theatres, concert halls, cafés, and other places of amusement which
abounded in this vicinity. In front of a large and splendid edifice,
through whose windows and great portal floods of light poured and loud
strains of gay dance music were heard, the rabbi paused. Over the
gateway was a huge sign, which bore, in letters composed of shining gas
flames, the legend, “Galoschiner Casino und Vereinshaus.” Rabbi Akiba
glanced at this sign a moment and then boldly entered. His entrance was
the signal for great excitement among the persons standing in the hall
and among the visitors who were entering at the same time, and who had
come to attend the annual ball and reunion of the Galoschiner Gesellige
Verein, the fashionable club _par excellence_ of the town, to which
belonged all those who could lay claim to wealth and social station. It
was an unheard-of thing that an old-fashioned, conservative Jew, who
clung to Polish costume, beard and ear-locks, should set his foot within
a place dedicated to the dance and the new social practices which had
come from the West. To such a one they were all un-Jewish abominations;
and the sight of swallow-tailed, bareheaded men and half-clothed women,
shamelessly exposing their naked bosoms and arms to the gaze of strange
men, was hateful and loathsome. That Rabbi Akiba, the holy man, whose
name was a synonym for all that was pious and austere, who stood for
rigid and unswerving adherence to the olden Jewish life and stern
religious discipline, and for uncompromising opposition to all
new-fashioned vanities and worldliness, that he should actually in
_propria persona_ enter into precincts given over to empty gayety and
folly, “the abode of scoffers,” was more than surprising; it was
bewildering, stupefying, paralyzing.
Rabbi Akiba did not seem to notice the excitement created by his
entrance, but walked ahead to the door of the main _salon_. Here stood
several gentlemen in evening dress. They were the reception committee,
appointed to welcome the arriving guests. They gazed with amazement at
the venerable figure approaching, and bade him good-evening in subdued
voices. He answered their greeting and strode into the _salon_. The
dance had just begun, and the floor was crowded with gentlemen in
evening dress and ladies in handsome _décolleté_ gowns and elegant
coiffures. The appearance of the rabbi gave rise to a scene of
extraordinary excitement and confusion. Both men and women had no other
thought but that their venerable spiritual chief had come there to
rebuke them for their pursuit of unseemly and impious fashions; that he
would denounce them in fiery words as recreants to the faith, as sinners
in Israel. In those days men and women still trembled when the rabbi
uttered bitter words of reproof; and it was, therefore, only natural
that a sort of panic seized those who knew that they had transgressed
against the strict rules of propriety of their faith, and saw before
them one who could call them to account. Some of the women fled to the
other end of the room, followed by their escorts; others endeavored
hastily to cover up their bare breasts and arms; others again stood as
if rooted to the spot and unable to move. But Rabbi Akiba uttered no
word of rebuke. He stood still, gazing with a benevolent smile at the
scene of confusion which his advent had caused. Several moments of
embarrassment and constraint passed before a few of the gentlemen
present plucked up courage to approach the rabbi, bid him welcome, and
inquire the reason of his visit to the ball. At their head was Herr
Pringsheim, the banker and president of the community, who, by reason of
his prominent station, acted as spokesman.
“Peace be unto thee, honored rabbi,” he said, with a low and reverential
bow. “We welcome thee to our festivity. But may I inquire what has
brought us the honor of thy presence this evening? We had hardly thought
that festivities such as this met with thy approval.”
“Curiosity, merely curiosity, friend Pringsheim,” answered the rabbi,
with a reassuring smile. “I wanted to know what our Jews are doing in
these new-fashioned days. One must know everything. Our sages, of
blessed memory, tell us: ‘Know what thou shouldst answer to the
Epicurean.’ But how can one know what to say to the Epicureans unless
one knows what they do? Just think: I have grown so old and have never
seen a ball and know nothing, except by hearsay, of what is done in a
casino or clubhouse. Now, let the dance go on. Do not interrupt your
proceedings on my account. I shall not scold you to-night, although what
I may do some other time I shall not say.”
A gasp, indicating wonderment and only partial reassurance, escaped from
the breasts of the rabbi’s hearers at these words. There was nothing to
do, however, except to follow his suggestion. Herr Pringsheim signalled
to the musicians, who had ceased playing, to resume, and most of the
dancers also resumed their places, showing, however, by their
embarrassed air that they were ill at ease and not at all comfortable
under the rabbi’s gaze. It was a singular sight, the venerable rabbi
whose whole appearance bespoke the house of worship and the study
chamber, and recalled memories of centuries long past, standing in a
modern ball-room, critically inspecting the motions of the gayly clad
crowd, who bowed and _chasséed_ and changed partners and swung around in
the most approved style, but who could not help showing by their
sheepish looks how keenly they felt the absurdity of their position.
The dance over, Herr Pringsheim asked the rabbi if he had now satisfied
his curiosity. “Oh, no,” answered Rabbi Akiba, “unless this is all that
takes place here. But there must surely be more going on in a casino
than merely dancing, or you could not use so many rooms.”
“But there is really nothing else,” answered Pringsheim, “except the
card-playing. Those gentlemen who do not dance play various games of
cards until supper-time, which comes at midnight. But I hardly suppose,
worthy rabbi, that you take any interest in games of chance?”
“Ah, but I do,” answered the rabbi, with sudden animation. “That is just
what I want to see. I want to know what there is about games of chance
which so fascinates men that they will stake their money, their health,
the happiness of their families, even their lives, upon the issue of a
game of cards. By all means bring me where they play cards.”
With a gesture of despair and an illy suppressed groan, Herr Pringsheim
led the way to the card-room. The entrance of the rabbi into the
elegantly furnished card-room produced a sensation similar to that which
had been caused by his appearance in the ball-room. A number of
gentlemen were sitting around the green-covered tables, deeply engrossed
in their hazardous and exciting pastime; but no sooner did the tall,
venerable figure of the aged ecclesiastic appear amid the thick clouds
of tobacco smoke which filled the atmosphere of the room than all paused
in astonishment and rose to their feet in varying attitudes and aspects
of amazement and consternation. Like their companions of the ball-room
they were apprehensive of a fierce denunciation of their ungodly doings,
and half expected to be peremptorily ordered home. Herr Pringsheim
hastened to relieve their apprehensions.
“Retain your seats, gentlemen,” he said, “and do not interrupt your
game. Our honored rabbi has come here this evening impelled by a desire
to see for himself how modern society amuses itself. He does not wish to
disturb or interfere with you in any way. Resume your playing,
therefore, and we shall remain here as mere spectators.”
The effect of these words was that the players resumed their seats and
began again their interrupted games. The ban of the rabbi’s presence
rested, however, heavily on all, and the playing, like the dancing in
the ball-room under the same influence, became spiritless and
perfunctory in the extreme. The players removed their cigars from their
mouths, the erstwhile boisterous voices became subdued, and all
animation departed from the scene. After silently watching the
proceedings for a few moments the rabbi said to Herr Pringsheim: “Do you
know, friend Pringsheim, I do not seem to gain any insight into a
gambler’s feelings from merely looking on. To me the whole thing seems a
merely mechanical proceeding. One makes one move and the other another
move. I cannot make out what it is all about, and I believe that I shall
never have any conception of what card-playing is, or wherein the
fascination lies unless I play a game or two myself. Would you mind
playing with me?”
“Not at all, rabbi,” said Pringsheim, highly amused at the request.
“What game shall it be?”
“That is all the same to me,” answered the rabbi. “I do not know one
from the other. You choose any one you please and you will be kind
enough to teach it me. I think I shall be able to learn it.”
“Very well,” said Pringsheim, laughing heartily. “I don’t doubt but you
will make a famous card-player. Where there is _Torah_ there is
_Chochmah_.”
“But one thing I must tell you,” said the rabbi. “We must play for
money. I could never get the real feeling of the gambler, the thrill and
the tension which he feels, unless there was the hope of gain and the
risk of loss. So we must not play a mere formal game, but there must be
a real stake involved.”
“Very well, rabbi,” said Pringsheim, still smiling. “How large shall the
stake be, a gulden or five gulden?”
“Oh, that would never do,” said the rabbi. “I could not get the right
idea with such a trifling sum, which is of no consequence whether won or
lost. Let us play for a thousand gulden. I shall put my five hundred
gulden on the game and you put in five hundred gulden also.”
[Illustration:
THE GAME WHICH ENSUED WAS HIGHLY INTERESTING
_Page 287_]
The effect of this proposition was naturally startling. Pringsheim
stared at the rabbi for a moment as though he could not trust his ears.
But he was, to put it in modern parlance, game. “As you wish, rabbi,” he
said, quietly. “We shall play for a stake of a thousand gulden.”
The game which ensued was highly interesting. Writer deponeth not, nor
is it essential to the purposes of this veracious history to state
whether the game was klabberyas, pinocle, skat, euchre, or poker.
Pringsheim taught Rabbi Akiba its rules and the game began. With one
accord all the other players suspended their games to contemplate the
spectacle of a rabbi in _jubitza_, _streimel_, and _peoth_ engaged in a
game of cards with a society gentleman in swallow-tail and bare head. Of
the result there could be no doubt. Pringsheim, of course, had no
intention of either defeating the rabbi or taking his money. After
various more or less intricate manœuverings Rabbi Akiba won.
“Well, rabbi, you have won. Here are your winnings,” said Pringsheim;
and he took out his wallet, and extracting therefrom five hundred gulden
notes, handed them to the rabbi, who took them with great complacency
and stowed them carefully away in his purse. “I think you must
understand now a gambler’s feelings, at all events when he wins.”
“So far, so good, friend Pringsheim,” answered the rabbi; “but this is
not quite experience enough for me. I want to know how a gambler feels
when he risks the possessions he has gained so easily. If you do not
mind, therefore, I should like to play one more game, staking the amount
I have just won.”
“I shall have to beg to be excused this time, worthy rabbi,” said Herr
Pringsheim, with an amused chuckle. “You are too good a player for me.
Let some one else take my place. Herr Commerzienrath Hamburger, perhaps
you will oblige our honored _Rav_ and play a game with him on the same
terms as the first one.”
Herr Commerzienrath Hamburger, a stout man with a bald head and a smooth
face, who, like Pringsheim, was one of the _Vorstand_ or trustees of the
community, came forward, somewhat reluctantly, at these words and
signified his willingness to do as requested. The issue of the second
game was the same as that of the first. The rabbi’s good luck did not
desert him, and a few moments later he rose from the table with the
handsome sum of a thousand gulden in his purse. He thanked Messrs.
Pringsheim and Hamburger for the instructive experience which they had
been the means of affording him, bade the other gentlemen good-night,
and turned to depart. He was escorted to a private exit by Herr
Pringsheim, who had him placed in a carriage, and the rabbi was whirled
to his home, leaving behind him a much puzzled and mystified company of
his congregants.
On the following day Mosheh Labishiner called on Rabbi Akiba. He was in
a state of wretchedness bordering on utter despair. He had been forced
to yield to the repeated entreaties of his wife and daughter, and had
permitted the date of the wedding to be set, and had assured his
intended son-in-law that the dowry would be ready a few days before the
marriage. But he had not the faintest idea whence he could derive the
needed funds; and he did not believe that Rabbi Akiba, in view of the
restriction he had placed upon him, would be able to assist him. His
visit to the rabbi was more with a vague idea of obtaining some comfort
from the rabbi’s friendly words than of anything more material. As soon
as the rabbi caught sight of Mosheh’s distressed countenance he cried
out: “Mosheh, don’t look so black. A man who is going to marry his
daughter to a fine young _bochur_ must look happy. Have you set the date
of the wedding yet?”
“Yes, rabbi, but the _Neduniah_?”
“Oh, don’t let that worry you. Here it is.” And the rabbi drew forth his
purse, and taking therefrom ten hundred gulden notes, placed them in the
hands of the bewildered Mosheh.
“O rabbi, a thousand thanks! But how in the world did you get it, since
you had not the money and I had insisted that you must not collect for
us?”
“Oh, that was easy. I won it at cards.”
“At cards!” and Mosheh stared at the rabbi with a look of blank
amazement and non-comprehension.
“Yes, at cards,” said the rabbi. “I am a famous card-player. Whenever
any of my good friends cannot find the dowry of his daughter, I go and
win it at cards. Why not? Do I not cause the card-players to do a
_Mitzvah_? And is that not in itself a _Mitzvah_?” And the rabbi laughed
long and heartily.
“Rabbi, I do not understand thy words,” said Mosheh; “but I know thou
hast been my saviour, and the saviour of my family. I would fain show my
gratitude. How can I thank thee?”
“I want no thanks,” said the rabbi. “All I want is that thou shouldst
respect my ability as card-player and give me the privilege of a
_Mitzvah_ dance at the wedding.” And the rabbi laughed again.
GLOSSARY OF HEBREW AND OTHER NON-ENGLISH TERMS.
ABAYE AND RABA, Two distinguished rabbis of the
Talmud.
ANGENEHME RUHE, Pleasant rest.
ANI YEHUDI, BO IMMI ACHI, I am a Jew. Come with me, O my
brother.
APOLOGIA PRO LIBRO SUO, Apology or defence of his book.
AUF WIEDERSEHEN, Good-by; au revoir.
BACHURIM, Talmud students.
BOCHUR, Talmud students.
BORUCH HASHEM, Praised be the Lord.
BAAL HAB-BAYIS OR BAAL HA-BAYITH, Householder, burgher.
BAALE BATIM, Members of the congregation.
BAUERNGUT, Peasant estate, farm.
BETH HA-MIDRASH, House of study, where the study of
the law and worship are
conducted.
CHAUSSÉE, Highway.
CHARIF, Sharp, keen-witted.
CHAVER, Friend, companion.
CHAZAN, See Hazan.
CHOCHMAH, Wisdom.
DEITCH, German: Polish-Jewish term for a
Jew who has adopted Gentile dress
and ways.
ETHROGIM, Fruit of the citra species, used on
the Feast of Tabernacles, Lev.
xxiii. 40.
EINGELEGTE GÄNSEBRUST, Goose breast preserved in fat.
ERSTE DAME, First Lady; Prima Donna.
ETERNAL HOUSE, English rendition of Beth Olam, one
of the many touching Hebrew names
for the Jewish Cemetery.
FULDA RAV, Officiating rabbi of Fulda.
GALOSCHINER CASINO UND VEREINSHAUS, Galoschin Casino and Club House.
GAN EDEN, Paradise.
GEBIRGE, Mountain range.
GEFÜLLTE FLANKEN, Stuffed flanks or navel pieces.
GEMARA, Main portion of the Talmud.
GESETZTE BOHNEN, Beans placed in the oven on Friday
and left there till the next day.
GESETZTES ESSEN, Food treated as preceding.
GET, Divorce.
GRUESSE GOTT, Be greeted in the name of God.
GRUENKERN SUPPE, Soup made from a peculiar kind of
green kernels.
GUTEN MORGEN, Good morning.
GUTEN TAG, Good day.
GUT WOCH, Good week.
HAFTARAH, Prophetic portion.
HAKAMIM, The sages, the rabbins.
HALACHAH, Religious rule or decision.
HAZAN, Reader or Precentor.
HEREIN, Come in.
ILLUY, Bright scholar.
JUBITZA, Long robe worn by the Polish and
Russian Jews.
KADDISH, A prayer recited by sons during the
eleven months after the death of
a parent.
KALLAH, Bride.
KEHILLAH, Congregation.
KIDDUSH, Benediction by which the Sabbath or
festivals are introduced.