Chapter I: Was Left Behind, Gazing Out of the Window at the (4)

Saul Isaac and Sarah are happy and contented. No tinge of regret for their former state ever enters their hearts. But often as they worship in the synagogue there comes spontaneously to their lips the words of Solomon: “Blessed be the Lord God, who hath given rest to His people Israel.”

TOO LATE, BUT ON TIME

Moses Levinsky awoke with a start upon his humble couch in the little hall bedroom in the sixth story of the immense and crowded tenement-house in Eldridge Street, New York City, in which he dwelt. He very much feared that he had overslept himself and would be late at the early morning service of the Congregation Sons of Peace. The light which shown through the narrow window of his room was much brighter than the pale illumination which usually greeted his early waking eyes and seemed to show that the day was further advanced. A glance at the cheap silver watch which lay upon his trousers on the chair next to his bed showed him that his apprehensions were only too well founded.

The Congregation Sons of Peace invariably began its devotions at 6 A.M. Moses Levinsky was in the habit of rising at half-past five; his toilet and the walk to the little meeting-room in the next block required twenty-five minutes, and he was regularly in his place five minutes before the voice of the _Chazan_ or precentor, chanting in classic Hebrew, “Exalted be the living God and praised,” betokened that the service of adoration and supplication, with which modern Israel supplies the place of the ancient sacrificial worship, had begun. But to-day the watch which usually indicated about a quarter past five when he first glanced at it in the early mornings, stood at half-past six. The congregation had already been engaged in prayer for a full half-hour, and he could hardly hope to be with them before the services, which usually lasted somewhat less than an hour, were concluded. Watches and clocks are obstinate creatures. They persist in their opinions, which can be plainly read in their faces. They care not at all how disagreeable or unpleasant their statements may be to those who consult them, and they can neither be reasoned with nor stared out of countenance. And so Moses Levinsky’s watch did not recede at all for all the hard stares which that rather confused individual directed at it; but, on the contrary, advanced a minute or so, while he, who had now risen upon his side and rested upon his left arm, gazed at it with puzzled and rueful countenance.

The truth was that Moses was in doubt as to the right course to pursue. His watch told him that he might as well make an exception to-day from his regular practice and stay at home, for he could never hope to be on time at the services, or even present during any considerable portion of them. On the other hand, his conscience smote him greatly at having overslept himself; and thus incurred the danger of breaking his life rule, of always beginning the day in the house of God, and in the words which the ship captain once addressed to the prophet Jonah when he had gone to sleep in the midst of all the turmoil of the storm, it called to him, “What aileth thee, O sleeper? Arise, cry out unto thy God.” After a minute’s hesitation conscience won the battle over comfort. Moses hastily sprang from his couch, made his simple toilet as speedily as possible, and in something less than twenty minutes was on his way to the little synagogue (“place of prayer” was the unassuming name which the worshippers themselves gave it) of the Congregation of the Sons of Peace. While he is on his way thither, we will take occasion to describe him to our readers; for many of them, no doubt, are at a loss to understand what kind of a person he is, and particularly fail to comprehend why he should be so dreadfully put out at the mere possibility of being absent from prayers one morning, a thing which, I am sure, would never disturb the majority of my worthy readers in their mental tranquillity.

HE WAS NOTHING BUT A COMMONPLACE, EVERY-DAY PEDDLER

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Moses Levinsky was a very ordinary and insignificant individual, such as you might pass a thousand times in the street and never pay any attention to. He was nothing but a commonplace, every-day peddler who wandered from morning to evening through the streets of the great metropolis, with a huge basket suspended in front of him, filled to overflowing with a miscellaneous assortment of goods—suspenders, shoe laces, pins, needles, tape, handkerchiefs, stockings, and what not—and endeavored to induce his fellow-beings to purchase sufficient of his store to provide him with a meagre livelihood. He had straight and regular features, of a rather handsome Semitic type, though worn and furrowed, not so much by years—he was only forty-three—as by care and anxiety; his hair and large irregular beard were black, heavily streaked with gray, and his clothes and close-fitting derby hat were decidedly shabby. All in all, he was not an imposing figure; and when we add to the unimpressiveness of his exterior the fact that he had a nervous, deprecatory manner, and looked around him with timid, apprehensive eyes, and also that he was a very indifferent master of the vernacular, which he spoke hesitatingly and with a pronounced Slavonic-Jewish accent, the reader will at once realize that he was of the type which low comedians love to caricature and street urchins to mock at, if not to treat worse.

But his external appearance was no indicator, except for those who are accustomed to read and understand such exteriors, of his internal characteristics. Beneath the unprepossessing outward semblance there dwelt a keen intellect and a noble soul which might well deserve the admiration of the discerning. He had received a good education of its kind in his youth in his Russian home. He had been thoroughly trained in Hebrew, had read the entire Bible in the original, and was well acquainted with the Talmud and the modern Hebrew literature from which he had derived correct ideas of the world and the development of modern science. But he had not been able to utilize his training either in his native land or America. In Russia he had desired to become a rabbi, for which his learning and his sincere religious bent amply fitted him; but all the positions he knew of were filled, and so after a few years’ vain waiting he kissed his wife and his two little ones good-by (he had married early while still a student at the _Yeshibah_) and set sail for America, where, he thought, congregations without number were ready to greet him as their spiritual chief. But a brief glance at the conditions surrounding the rabbinate among his immigrant brethren under the Western skies had cured him of his desire to make it his vocation. As he had neither capital nor sufficient secular training to enable him to become a merchant, or secure a remunerative commercial position, he had only the choice between two ways of gaining a livelihood. He could become a workman in a sweat-shop or a peddler. He chose the latter and, at the time this story begins, had pursued the occupation of itinerant merchant, an occupation in which there is little gain and less glory, for some ten years. During all these years he had permitted himself only one form of pleasure, attendance at the House of God. The theatre knew him not, the interior of saloons saw him only when on business bent; but at the synagogue he was a regular attendant, never missing the early morning services or the evening gatherings, in which the rabbi expounded the Talmud and its commentaries to a group of attentive “learners.”

Apart from his natural piety it had gradually become a matter of pride with him to be regular and punctual in his attendance at the synagogue, and consequently he felt considerably mortified when on the morning of our tale he found that he must either be absent or late at service. On his way to the house of worship he tried to console himself with the sneaking hope that perhaps his watch was fast and that the hour was not really as late as it indicated. But his hopes were doomed to disappointment. As he entered the little synagogue the mourners were just repeating the last _Kaddish_, and most of the other worshippers were folding and putting away their _Tallithoth_ and _Tephillin_, preparatory to leaving for the work of the day.

Poor Moses! A pang went through his heart at the thought that he, whose punctuality and zeal had become proverbial, should be so culpably remiss as to appear in _Shool_ when services were practically over, and a keener pang yet pervaded him when he noticed the expression of wonderment with which his companions and fellow-members gazed at him. Nor did they confine themselves to looks of amazement; but, being finished with their devotions, they gave free expression to their astonishment in questions. “What’s the matter, Levinsky?” he was asked from all sides. “Aren’t you well, or are you getting lazy, or are you turning _link_?” To all these interrogations Moses returned no answer; indeed, he felt morally too much crushed to defend or even to palliate his shortcoming. Gloomily he proceeded to put on his prayer-shawl and phylacteries and with much less fervor than usual he recited the morning prayer. By the time he had concluded his devotions every one else had left except the _Shammas_, who, obliged by his office to remain, had waited impatiently to lock the synagogue, and who felt considerably aggrieved at Moses for having caused him to lose so much of his valuable time, which might have been utilized for collecting a bill or arranging a _Shidduch_. Listlessly Moses left the room and directed his feet street-ward, but not too listlessly to feel the withering glance of reproach which the _Shammas_ shot after him as he departed.

The street was thronged and bustling with the full tide of activity which had now begun, but Moses paid no attention to its appearance. He did not even notice the friendly greetings of several acquaintances whom he passed on his homeward way. His mind had only room just then for one thought, that of mortification at his inexplicable tardiness and the humiliation which that morning had brought him in the opinion of his fellow-congregants. He reached the huge tenement he called his home and began mechanically to climb the narrow and interminable staircases that led up to his room. The building was comparatively quiet. Most of the male inmates and of the children of school age had already departed, the former to take up their daily tasks, the latter for the immense public school a few blocks away. No one met him on the stairs to draw his mind from its gloomy abstraction. But as he reached the fifth floor he perceived something which at once, arrested his attention and turned his thoughts to matters outside of himself. It was a strong and pungent smell, the smell of smoke. He stopped, all his senses at once keenly alert. Like all tenement-dwellers he realized well the meaning of smoke. It meant fire, and fire all too often meant death in those lofty and crowded edifices, from whose upper portions escape was always difficult and sometimes impossible. Even as he stood, the noise of uneasy motion in the apartments at the side of the hall where he was and a sudden clamor of voices within betokened that their occupants too had smelt the smoke and were seized with sudden dread. Doors were flung open; the white, anxious faces of frightened women, followed by wondering little children, peered out. There was a rush of feet in the hall below and quavering voices screamed “fire! fire!” By this time (a very brief interval only had passed) Moses Levinsky had located the direction whence the smoke proceeded. It came from the sixth story, and was already quite dense at the head of the stairs. As he gazed, Levinsky thought he could hear children’s voices, faintly crying, as if half stifled.

What should he do? For a moment he thought he would rush downstairs to the street and start the fire-alarm at the next corner. But he realized instantly that quicker action was necessary in this case, that human lives, children’s lives probably, were in imminent danger, and that he must do something himself to rescue them, leaving to others the task of notifying the fire department. With a few swift bounds he was at the next landing, clearing three steps at every leap. The fire was evidently in the apartments on the left side of the hall, where lived the Shapiros with their three children, for dense smoke was pouring from their rear door and children’s voices were heard from within, feebly wailing. The rooms on the other side of the hall, occupied by the Arnowitzs, a young married couple, were still and evidently empty. With one rush Levinsky was at the door through whose interstices the smoke proceeded and endeavored to open it. It was closed and resisted his efforts. He kicked at it frantically. It did not yield. In the meanwhile the smoke was pouring forth in denser clouds, paining his eyes and his lungs, and the children’s voices were growing fainter and feebler. With mad frenzy Moses Levinsky threw his body against the door; it shook and quivered but did not yield. Again he tried to kick it in, striking his right foot in his thin boot against the door with all his strength, and with utter disregard for the pain and possible injury to himself. In vain. The door was strong and firmly locked, while Levinsky was but an indifferent specimen of muscular development (his athletics had all been of the intellectual variety), and all his efforts to break it down were of no avail. Several precious minutes had now passed and Levinsky was almost in despair. He was hesitating what to do, and half inclined to rush downstairs in quest of additional help when his eyes, aimlessly wandering about the hall, chanced to light in the opposite corner, and lo and behold! there stood an axe. It was the axe with which Shapiro was accustomed to chop wood in the yard. Usually he kept it in his rooms, but that morning had left it, by a providential chance, in the hall. Instantly Moses Levinsky seized it. A few vigorous blows, launched with all his strength against the door, brought it down and he rushed into the smoke-filled room. In the corner he saw dimly three little figures. Two were clinging to each other and one was lying prostrate on the floor. They were Sarah and Ikey, the five-year and three-year-old daughter and son, and little Josey, the eighteen-months-old baby of the Shapiros. The older ones were still conscious, but wee little Josey had been overcome by the smoke and had fallen to the floor. In the middle of the room stood the large family bed, the bed-clothing fiercely burning and emitting dense volumes of black smoke. Levinsky’s first thought was of the children. Lifting up and holding the unconscious child with his right hand and taking a hand of each of the other children in his left, he rushed from the room.

By this time the whole house and all the neighborhood had taken alarm. As he hastened down the stairs, in an effort to find a place where the unconscious child might have fresh air, there came rushing toward him a throng of neighbors; among them several firemen, with a portable extinguisher, and a physician. Moses Levinsky’s task had been accomplished. The firemen proceeded to deal in systematic manner with the fire, which had now grown large enough to threaten the whole house. The physician took charge of the unconscious infant and in a few minutes had brought him to. But who is this whose agonized screams are now heard, and who comes rushing through the dense crowd, frantically crying, “My children! O my children!” It is the mother, Mrs. Shapiro, who had gone out to do her marketing, together with her neighbor, Mrs. Arnowitz, and, in the manner customary in that vicinity, had locked her children in the room until her return. When she saw that her children were alive and well, she kissed and hugged them frantically, and drew them to her breast as if she half doubted the evidence of her senses. Then she asked who was their brave rescuer; and when all pointed to Moses Levinsky, she fell on her knees before him and kissed his hands and called him a _Malach_ of God, sent directly from heaven to rescue her dear ones. But Moses Levinsky did not grow at all conceited nor take the praise to himself. His face was lighted up with the gleam of intelligence, with the satisfaction of a problem solved. All he said was: “Now I see that God is good and His plans are wise. He made me late at _Shool_ so that I should be on time to save these poor _Nefoshos_. I was too late for one _Mitzvah_, but just in time for another, and that is quite in accordance with the _Halachah_; for does not the Talmud tell us, ‘He that has to perform one _Mitzvah_ is exempt from another’?”

THE PROSELYTE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS.

About fifty years ago a group of street-idlers and passers-by were standing at the corner of one of the narrow and old-fashioned streets near the old harbor of Marseilles, amusing themselves at the plight of a short, dark-complexioned man who stood in their midst, and who was evidently a foreigner and a stranger in the town. It was a typical early summer day in one of the busiest spots of the metropolis of southern France. The sun shone with a brilliance and a radiance characteristic of the region and the season, and was just a little too warm for comfort; and the streets were crowded with a motley throng partly composed of Frenchmen, among whom the natives of northern France and the provençals or inhabitants of the south could be easily distinguished from each other by their diversity of type, and partly by representatives of various races and nationalities varying in shade from the olive-skinned Spaniards, Italians, and Greeks to the coffee-brown Arabs and Moors from northern Africa, with here and there among the throng a negro of ebony blackness.

A GROUP OF STREET-IDLERS WERE AMUSING THEMSELVES AT THE PLIGHT OF A
SHORT, DARK-COMPLEXIONED MAN WHO STOOD IN THEIR MIDST

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The great press upon the streets was due in part to the normal activity of the town; but more to the fact that three of the great sailing vessels which, in those ante-steam-navigation days managed the freight and passenger traffic between the Levantine ports, had that morning discharged their human cargoes at three of the principal wharves in the neighborhood, and the stream of released passengers was flowing through the adjacent streets before becoming commingled with the general human flood of the city. There were many strange figures among the new arrivals, but they all appeared fairly at home in their new surroundings. Some may have been in Marseilles on previous occasions, and others were met by relatives or friends who guided them to their respective destinations. Thus all were cared for in the strange city except one, and he the woe-begone individual whom we have seen standing at the street corner amidst the knot of street _gamins_ and loiterers. They had fine sport with him, commenting on his outlandish appearance, and asking him all sorts of facetious questions in the vulgar _argot_ they spoke; but he understood nothing, and only looked helplessly from one unsympathetic face to the other, saying only occasionally in a dazed sort of way, to the one or the other, in what seemed to them an unintelligible gibberish, the mystic words, “_Yehudi Attah? Yehudi Attah?_” Every such utterance would be greeted with a shout of laughter; that is to say, by all except one.

Benjamin Dalinsky, a Jewish peddler, whose cradle had stood on the banks of the Dnieper, but whom fate had carried to the land of the Gauls, and who found his subsistence as an itinerant merchant in the southern French metropolis, chanced to pass the spot where these scenes were being enacted, and paused a moment to ascertain the cause of the excitement. The stranger noticed the newcomer, and addressed to him the query he had so often fruitlessly repeated: “_Yehudi Attah? Yehudi Attah?_”

A thrill went through the whole body of Benjamin Dalinsky. He understood the mystic words. He heard in them an echo of the voices of his childhood, and of the spirit of his home, which he missed so sadly in this strange, un-Jewish France. He felt in them the yearning of a Jewish soul for the companionship of a brother in faith, in sympathy, and in affection. His soul went out in sudden attraction to this dark-hued stranger, whom he had never seen before; and in the same ancient tongue, the Hebrew, in which the stranger had made his inquiry, he answered: “_Ani Yehudi bo immi achi._”

Great, overwhelming joy lit up the dark face of the stranger. With mingled love and deference he bowed low and kissed the hem of the coat of Dalinsky, who quickly drew him from the midst of the throng; and the wondering French idlers stepped aside as this strangely assorted pair, the fair-haired son of the North and the swarthy Oriental walked away together. Dalinsky’s lodgings were but a short distance away—he had a room with a Jewish couple who eked out their scanty earnings with the small amount he paid them and thither he quickly led the stranger. After he had given the latter an opportunity to wash himself and eat something, which he did ravenously after he had satisfied himself of its ritual purity, for on the ship he had tasted hardly anything of the food of the Gentiles, he asked the stranger what had brought him to this unknown country, whose language and manners were alike unfamiliar to him. In classic Hebrew, which he spoke with perfect fluency and with great animation and vivacity, the stranger told the following tale:

“I am a Jew; and it is the pride and glory of my life that I belong to the faith first proclaimed by Abraham, and whose sacred laws and ordinances I endeavor faithfully to fulfil; but I am not native-born in the household of Israel. I am only an adopted child therein, although, I trust, my love for the people which is now mine is none the less warm and true on that account. By origin I am a Greek. I was born on the beautiful island of Corfu, the pearl of the archipelago, where grow the finest and choicest _Ethrogim_, most suitable of all species for the solemn ceremonies of the Feast of Tabernacles; and the name upon which I was baptized was Dimitri Aristarchi. To-day I am known in Israel as Abraham Ger-Tsedek. The manner in which I came to seek entrance into the congregation of the Lord was most extraordinary; and my statement may seem to you but little worthy of credence, but I solemnly assure you it is true. It happened in this wise. My family was an old and distinguished one in the island; but my father, in consequence of ill success in various business ventures and a series of other misfortunes, lost all his wealth when I was a lad of about fifteen, and shortly afterward died. My poor mother, overwhelmed by the double loss of her dearly beloved husband and all her earthly possessions, did not survive her life partner long, but within a few short weeks followed him into the grave. I was thus thrown entirely upon my own resources; and as I was an only child, without either brother or sister, and had learnt no trade or profession, having been reared in the luxurious and careless fashion usual in my country in well-to-do families, my condition was indeed desperate. There was nothing left for me to do except to seek a position as a domestic servant, in which no special skill is required and in which industry and good-will may supply the place of training. It was a most humiliating necessity, which drew many tears from my eyes. I, the pampered child of wealth, must seek my daily bread as a menial! But there was no alternative; and as the saying is, ‘Necessity can neither be praised nor blamed.’

“It so happened that I found employment in the house of a Jewish physician, Moses Allatini by name. He was a man of considerable prominence, handsome and distinguished in appearance, extremely skilful in his profession, but learned as well in Hebraic lore. His wife, Esperanza by name, was radiantly beautiful, with the pensive, thoughtful beauty that marks so many of the daughters of Israel, and as kind-hearted and pious as she was beautiful. Their family consisted of seven children, all well-bred, polite, and lovable. At the time of my entrance into the household there was a baby, a sweet boy of two years, with curly black locks clustering around a face of alabaster whiteness, and eyes in whose liquid black depths an infinity of sentiment was revealed. As I was not good for much else, Raphael, for so the youngest was called, was assigned to my care, at which I greatly rejoiced, for I had fallen in love with the sweet child when first these eyes lighted upon his angelic countenance. I devoted myself to his care with the utmost zeal. I washed, bathed, and clothed him, took him out daily in the fresh air, gave him his meals, and tucked him in his little bed nightly when he closed his beautiful eyes in sleep. I learnt the little Hebrew prayers which Jewish children recite when they lie down to rest at night, or when they rise in the morning, and the benedictions which they pronounce on various occasions in order that I might dictate them to him, and that no one should come between me and my dearly beloved charge. Raphael reciprocated my attachment; no doubt because he perceived its sincerity and we grew inseparable. As he grew older our love for each other did not diminish; on the contrary, it increased and grew deeper and more intense. Next to his parents Raphael loved best his Dimitri; and as for me, I had no one else in the wide world for whom I need care, and I concentrated upon him all the intensity of love of a naturally warm and affectionate heart. I continued to have the exclusive charge of Raphael, participated in all his sports and games, and accompanied him whenever he went out. Indeed, he always insisted that I must be his companion, and refused to go anywhere unless I was with him. Our great love for each other became generally known and excited great interest, especially among the Hebrew inhabitants—the Greeks were not so well pleased—and the Allatini family were universally congratulated upon the possession of such a faithful and devoted servitor. When Raphael was four years old his parents began to take him to the synagogue on holidays and Sabbaths of special importance; and as he insisted upon my accompanying him, a request which excited great amusement among the family and the others who learned of it, I was one of the party on these occasions. Thus was I first introduced to the ancient Hebrew worship as it is conducted in the Jewish House of God. I was deeply impressed by the melodious chanting of the _Hazan_, in which the congregation joined harmoniously from time to time, and I listened with great interest to the learned and pious discourses of the venerable rabbi. But there was no thought in my mind at this time of allying myself to Israel; and as for the Allatinis and the other Hebrews, they never even dreamed of such a thing.

“When Raphael had attained to the age of five, Dr. Allatini declared that it was now time to teach him the Hebrew language, and to begin to initiate him into the knowledge of the Bible and the rabbinical writings. But now a new and unexpected difficulty arose. Raphael insisted stoutly that I must take the lessons, too, and declared that he would learn nothing unless I was his fellow-scholar. This was a little too much for his good parents. They tried to make him comprehend that it was absurd to make a Gentile study the Hebrew language and religious literature; and to me, too, the thing appeared exceedingly dubious; but he would have nothing of their arguments and, with the unreasoning obstinacy of childhood, insisted that I must participate in the instruction. ‘Dimitri does everything with me,’ he said, ‘and he must learn with me, too. If Dimitri will not learn, Raphael will not learn either.’ There was no help for it. His youthful mind was fixed in the idea that I must be his companion in study as in all other things; and his parents, seeing that it was impossible to change his view, yielded, half in amusement and half in vexation, to his wish. Thus I became a student of the Holy Law; and I bless God for the hour when He separated me from those that are in error and brought me near to Him, by enabling me to become acquainted with His Torah and to recognize the wisdom and holiness of His teachings. A teacher was engaged, the ablest Hebrew scholar of the town, and he began to instruct what he declared was the strangest pair of pupils he had ever had, the Greek Gentile youth of eighteen and the Hebrew lad of five. Both of us learned zealously.

“Now that I had begun I was eager to learn all that I could of Hebrew lore; and Raphael, pleased that his wish had been gratified, and possessing a bright and acute intellect, learned rapidly and well. We began with the Hebrew alphabet and the rudiments of the sacred tongue; but soon we had mastered these elementary portions and took up the reading of the Scriptures, at first in the simple text and afterward with the commentaries of various learned rabbis. I cannot find words with which to describe the profound impression which this course of study made upon me. What had at first been a mere good-natured compliance with the whim of a child became afterward a most fascinating and absorbing pursuit, the most important part of my intellectual and spiritual life. At first I was charmed with the Hebrew tongue as a vehicle of thought and expression, with its pronunciation, at once sonorous and melodious, with its symmetrical and harmonious grammatical construction, with its brief and yet richly expressive phrases and sentences; then the sublimity and grandeur of the Biblical teachings stirred and moved me. I wondered at the divine wisdom of the creation; I admired the grand and heroic leaders, God-inspired prophets and teachers who spread the knowledge of the universal Master among men; I began to understand why Israel existed on earth; I followed with deepest interest the checkered history of the chosen people; I triumphed with Solomon when the holy house was dedicated on Zion’s height, and I wept and sorrowed with Jeremiah when it sank in ruin. The wisdom of the Torah impressed me deeply, its numerous statutes and ordinances, all designed to bring about the one end, the happiness and well-being of mankind revealed clearly to my mind the ineffable goodness of the Author of all, and with David I exclaimed, ‘The law of the Lord is perfect restoring the soul.’ In a word the spirit of the All-holy entered into me, and I understood, as I never understood before, and as millions do not understand to-day, that He desires the happiness of mankind; and in order to promote that happiness and to diffuse universal blessing, He hath chosen the Torah and Moses His servant and Israel His people.

“Thus the years flowed away, bringing ever-increasing knowledge and 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.”