Chapter XIII: The Talmud

Old leaves of the Talmud, old stories and legends! In my saddened life I frequently turn to you.

At night, when in the darkness sleep evades my eyes, and I sit alone and deserted, my head bowed to my breast,

In those sad hours, like a star in the azure summer night, there begin to shine memories in my sadness.

I recall my love, my sweet years of childhood, when I was still free from sorrow, pain and anger;

I recall those times when I quaffed the first, sweet, the best chalice of life, freedom, joy and merriness.

I recall the old, the sweet, delightful years, and the leaves of the Talmud arise in my memory.

Oh, the old, old leaves! As many lights and as many stars there burn and shine, they can never be extinguished.

Tausend Stromen, tausend Teichen
Hāben see gethun verfliessen,
Samd hāt sich auf see geschotten,
Sturems hāben see gerissen,

Un' die alte, alte Blätter
Leben noch ... see senen take
Gell, verchōschecht, ābgerissen,
Dort a Loch un' dā a Make;

Dā a Stückel ābgesmalet,
Dort a Schure täug' auf Zores,
Un' in Ganzen hāt a Ponim
Vun an alten Bess-hakwores ...

Meele wās? Nu, is' dās take
A Bessalmen, wu begrāben
Liegt in Keewer All's, wās ēbig
Wöllen mir schon mehr nit hāben....

Un' ich, alter, kranker Jossem,
Vull mit Lēid, mit Eemas-mowes,
Stēh', mein grauen Kopp gebōgen,
Stēh' un' wēin' auf Keewer-owes....
S. FRUG.

XIV. DĀS JÜDISCHE KIND

(_Hausfreund_, p. 44)

Tief begrāben in der Finster,
Weit vun Luft un' Licht,--
Sehst du dort dem blinden Worem,
Wie er kriecht?

In der Erd' is' er gebōren,
Un' beschert
Is' ihm, ēbig, ēbig kriechen
In der Erd'....

Thousands of streams, thousands of rivers have passed over them, sand has covered them, storms have torn them,

Yet the old, old leaves live on ... though they be yellow, darkened, torn,--a hole here, a spot there;

Here a bit charred, there a line obliterated, and the whole has the appearance of an old cemetery....

What of that? Yes, indeed, that is a burial-ground where lies buried in the grave all that which we shall never have again....

And I, old, sick orphan, full of sorrow, of the awe of death, stand with bent head, stand and weep at the grave of our fathers....