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Children of the Ghetto: A Study of a Peculiar People, a novel by Israel Zangwill |
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Book 1. Children Of The Ghetto - Chapter 24. The Shadow Of Religion |
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_ BOOK I. CHILDREN OF THE GHETTO CHAPTER XXIV. THE SHADOW OF RELIGION The little servant girl who opened the door for him looked relieved by the sight of him, for it might have been the Rebbitzin returning from the Lane with heaps of supplies and an accumulation of ill-humor. She showed him into the study, and in a few moments Hannah hurried in with a big apron and a general flavor of the kitchen. "How dare you come to-night?" she began, but the sentence died on her lips. "How hot your face is," he said, dinting the flesh fondly with his finger, "I see my little girl is glad to have me back." "It's not that. It's the fire. I'm frying fish for _Yomtov_," she said, with a happy laugh. "And yet you say you're not a good Jewess," he laughed back. "You had no right to come and catch me like this," she pouted. "All greasy and dishevelled. I'm not made up to receive visitors." "Call me a visitor?" he grumbled. "Judging by your appearance, I should say you were always made up. Why, you're perfectly radiant." Then the talk became less intelligible. The first symptom of returning rationality was her inquiry-- "What sort of a journey did you have back?" "The sea was rough, but I'm a good sailor." "And the poor fellow's father and mother?" "I wrote you about them." "So you did; but only just a line." "Oh, don't let us talk about the subject just now, dear, it's too painful. Come, let me kiss that little woe-begone look out of your eyes. There! Now, another--that was only for the right eye, this is for the left. But where's your mother?" "Oh, you innocent!" she replied. "As if you hadn't watched her go out of the house!" "'Pon my honor, not," he said smiling. "Why should I now? Am I not the accepted son-in-law of the house, you silly timid little thing? What a happy thought it was of yours to let the cat out of the bag. Come, let me give you another kiss for it--Oh, I really must. You deserve it, and whatever it costs me you shall be rewarded. There! Now, then! Where's the old man? I have to receive his blessing, I know, and I want to get it over." "It's worth having, I can tell you, so speak more respectfully," said Hannah, more than half in earnest. "_You_ are the best blessing he can give me--and that's worth--well, I wouldn't venture to price it." "It's not your line, eh?" "I don't know, I have done a good deal in gems; but where _is_ the Rabbi?" "Up in the bedrooms, gathering the _Chomutz_. You know he won't trust anybody else. He creeps under all the beds, hunting with a candle for stray crumbs, and looks in all the wardrobes and the pockets of all my dresses. Luckily, I don't keep your letters there. I hope he won't set something alight--he did once. And one year--Oh, it was so funny!--after he had ransacked every hole and corner of the house, imagine his horror, in the middle of Passover to find a crumb of bread audaciously planted--where do you suppose? In his Passover prayer-book!! But, oh!"--with a little scream--"you naughty boy! I quite forgot." She took him by the shoulders, and peered along his coat. "Have you brought any crumbs with you? This room's _pesachdik_ already." He looked dubious. She pushed him towards the door. "Go out and give yourself a good shaking on the door-step, or else we shall have to clean out the room all over again." "Don't!" he protested. "I might shake out that." "What?" "The ring." She uttered a little pleased sigh. "Oh, have you brought that?" "Yes, I got it while I was away. You know I believe the reason you sent me trooping to the continent in such haste, was you wanted to ensure your engagement ring being 'made in Germany.' It's had a stormy passage to England, has that ring, I suppose the advantage of buying rings in Germany is that you're certain not to get Paris diamonds in them, they are so intensely patriotic, the Germans. That was your idea, wasn't it, Hannah?" "Oh, show it me! Don't talk so much," she said, smiling. "No," he said, teasingly. "No more accidents for me! I'll wait to make sure--till your father and mother have taken me to their arms. Rabbinical law is so full of pitfalls--I might touch your finger this or that way, and then we should be married. And then, if your parents said 'no,' after all--" "We should have to make the best of a bad job," she finished up laughingly. "All very well," he went on in his fun, "but it would be a pretty kettle of fish." "Heavens!" she cried, "so it will be. They will be charred to ashes." And turning tail, she fled to the kitchen, pursued by her lover. There, dead to the surprise of the servant, David Brandon fed his eyes on the fair incarnation of Jewish domesticity, type of the vestal virgins of Israel, Ministresses at the hearth. It was a very homely kitchen; the dressers glistening with speckless utensils, and the deep red glow of the coal over which the pieces of fish sputtered and crackled in their bath of oil, filling the room with a sense of deep peace and cosy comfort. David's imagination transferred the kitchen to his future home, and he was almost dazzled by the thought of actually inhabiting such a fairyland alone with Hannah. He had knocked about a great deal, not always innocently, but deep down at his heart was the instinct of well-ordered life. His past seemed joyless folly and chill emptiness. He felt his eyes growing humid as he looked at the frank-souled girl who had given herself to him. He was not humble, but for a moment he found himself wondering how he deserved the trust, and there was reverence in the touch with which he caressed her hair. In another moment the frying was complete, and the contents of the pan neatly added to the dish. Then the voice of Reb Shemuel crying for Hannah came down the kitchen stairs, and the lovers returned to the upper world. The Reb had a tiny harvest of crumbs in a brown paper, and wanted Hannah to stow it away safely till the morning, when, to make assurance doubly sure, a final expedition in search of leaven would be undertaken. Hannah received the packet and in return presented her betrothed. Reb Shemuel had not of course expected him till the next morning, but he welcomed him as heartily as Hannah could desire. "The Most High bless you!" he said in his charming foreign accents. "May you make my Hannah as good a husband as she will make you a wife." "Trust me, Reb Shemuel," said David, grasping his great hand warmly. "Hannah says you're a sinner in Israel," said the Reb, smiling playfully, though there was a touch of anxiety in the tones. "But I suppose you will keep a _kosher_ house." "Make your mind easy, sir," said David heartily. "We must, if it's only to have the pleasure of your dining with us sometimes." The old man patted him gently on the shoulder. "Ah, you will soon become a good Jew," he said. "My Hannah will teach you, God bless her." Reb Shemuel's voice was a bit husky. He bent down and kissed Hannah's forehead. "I was a bit _link_ myself before I married my Simcha" he added encouragingly. "No, no, not you," said David, smiling in response to the twinkle in the Reb's eye. "I warrant _you_ never skipped a _Mitzvah_ even as a bachelor." "Oh yes, I did," replied the Reb, letting the twinkle develop to a broad smile, "for when I was a bachelor I hadn't fulfilled the precept to marry, don't you see?" "Is marriage a _Mitzvah_, then?" inquired David, amused. "Certainly. In our holy religion everything a man ought to do is a _Mitzvah_, even if it is pleasant." "Oh, then, even I must have laid up some good deeds," laughed David, "for I have always enjoyed myself. Really, it isn't such a bad religion after all." "Bad religion!" echoed Reb Shemuel genially. "Wait till you've tried it. You've never had a proper training, that's clear. Are your parents alive?" "No, they both died when I was a child," said David, becoming serious. "I thought so!" said Reb Shemuel. "Fortunately my Hannah's didn't." He smiled at the humor of the phrase and Hannah took his hand and pressed it tenderly. "Ah, it will be all right," said the Reb with a characteristic burst of optimism. "God is good. You have a sound Jewish heart at bottom, David, my son. Hannah, get the _Yomtovdik_ wine. We will drink, a glass for _Mazzoltov_, and I hope your mother will be back in time to join in." Hannah ran into the kitchen feeling happier than she had ever been in her life. She wept a little and laughed a little, and loitered a little to recover her composure and allow the two men to get to know each other a little. "How is your Hannah's late husband?" inquired the Reb with almost a wink, for everything combined to make him jolly as a sandboy. "I understand he is a friend of yours." "We used to be schoolboys together, that is all. Though strangely enough I just spent an hour with him. He is very well," answered David smiling. "He is about to marry again." "His first love of course," said the Reb. "Yes, people always come back to that," said David laughing. "That's right, that's right," said the Reb. "I am glad there was no unpleasantness." "Unpleasantness. No, how could there be? Leah knew it was only a joke. All's well that ends well, and we may perhaps all get married on the same day and risk another mix-up. Ha! Ha! Ha!" "Is it your wish to marry soon, then?" "Yes; there are too many long engagements among our people. They often go off." "Then I suppose you have the means?" "Oh yes, I can show you my--" The old man waved his hand. "I don't want to see anything. My girl must be supported decently--that is all I ask. What do you do for a living?" "I have made a little money at the Cape and now I think of going into business." "What business?" "I haven't settled." "You won't open on _Shabbos_?" said the Reb anxiously. David hesitated a second. In some business, Saturday is the best day. Still he felt that he was not quite radical enough to break the Sabbath deliberately, and since he had contemplated settling down, his religion had become rather more real to him. Besides he must sacrifice something for Hannah's sake. "Have no fear, sir," he said cheerfully. Reb Shemuel gripped his hand in grateful silence. "You mustn't think me quite a lost soul," pursued David after a moment of emotion. "You don't remember me, but I had lots of blessings and halfpence from you when I was a lad. I dare say I valued the latter more in those days." He smiled to hide his emotion. Reb Shemuel was beaming. "Did you, really?" he inquired. "I don't remember you. But then I have blessed so many little children. Of course you'll come to the _Seder_ to-morrow evening and taste some of Hannah's cookery. You're one of the family now, you know." "I shall be delighted to have the privilege of having _Seder_ with you," replied David, his heart going out more and more to the fatherly old man. "What _Shool_ will you be going to for Passover? I can get you a seat in mine if you haven't arranged." "Thank you, but I promised Mr. Birnbaum to come to the little synagogue of which he is President. It seems they have a scarcity of _Cohenim_, and they want me to bless the congregation, I suppose." "What!" cried Reb Shemuel excitedly. "Are you a _Cohen_?" "Of course I am. Why, they got me to bless them in the Transvaal last _Yom Kippur_. So you see I'm anything but a sinner in Israel." He laughed--but his laugh ended abruptly. Reb Shemuel's face had grown white. His hands were trembling. "What is the matter? You are ill," cried David. The old man shook his head. Then he struck his brow with his fist. "_Ach, Gott_!" he cried. "Why did I not think of finding out before? But thank God I know it in time." "Finding out what?" said David, fearing the old man's reason was giving way. "My daughter cannot marry you," said Reb Shemuel in hushed, quavering tones. "Eh? What?" said David blankly. "It is impossible." "What are you talking about. Reb Shemuel?" "You are a _Cohen_. Hannah cannot marry a _Cohen_." "Not marry a _Cohen_? Why, I thought they were Israel's aristocracy." "That is why. A _Cohen_ cannot marry a divorced woman." The fit of trembling passed from the old Reb to the young man. His heart pulsed as with the stroke of a mighty piston. Without comprehending, Hannah's prior misadventure gave him a horrible foreboding of critical complications. "Do you mean to say I can't marry Hannah?" he asked almost in a whisper. "Such is the law. A woman who has had _Gett_ may not marry a _Cohen_." "But you surely wouldn't call Hannah a divorced woman?" he cried hoarsely. "How shall I not? I gave her the divorce myself." "Great God!" exclaimed David. "Then Sam has ruined our lives." He stood a moment in dazed horror, striving to grasp the terrible tangle. Then he burst forth. "This is some of your cursed Rabbinical laws, it is not Judaism, it is not true Judaism. God never made any such law." "Hush!" said Reb Shemuel sternly. "It is the holy Torah. It is not even the Rabbis, of whom you speak like an Epicurean. It is in Leviticus, chapter 21, verse 7: '_Neither shall they take a woman put away from her husband; for he is holy unto his God. Thou shalt sanctify him, therefore; for he offereth the bread of thy God; he shall be holy unto thee, for I the Lord which sanctify you am holy._'" For an instant David was overwhelmed by the quotation, for the Bible was still a sacred book to him. Then he cried indignantly: "But God never meant it to apply to a case like this!" "We must obey God's law," said Reb Shemuel. "Then it is the devil's law!" shouted David, losing all control of himself. The Reb's face grew dark as night. There was a moment of dread silence. "Here you are, father," said Hannah, returning with the wine and some glasses which she had carefully dusted. Then she paused and gave a little cry, nearly losing her hold of the tray. "What's the matter? What has happened?" she asked anxiously. "Take away the wine--we shall drink nobody's health to-night," cried David brutally. "My God!" said Hannah, all the hue of happiness dying out of her cheeks. She threw down the tray on the table and ran to her father's arms. "What is it! Oh, what is it, father?" she cried. "You haven't had a quarrel?" The old man was silent. The girl looked appealingly from one to the other. "No, it's worse than that," said David in cold, harsh tones. "You remember your marriage in fun to Sam?" "Yes. Merciful heavens! I guess it! There was something not valid in the _Gett_ after all." Her anguish at the thought of losing him was so apparent that he softened a little. "No, not that," he said more gently. "But this blessed religion of ours reckons you a divorced woman, and so you can't marry me because I'm a _Cohen_." "Can't marry you because you're a _Cohen_!" repeated Hannah, dazed in her turn. "We must obey the Torah," said Reb Shemuel again, in low, solemn tones. "It is your friend Levine who has erred, not the Torah." "The Torah cannot visit a mere bit of fun so cruelly," protested David. "And on the innocent, too." "Sacred things should not be jested with," said the old man in stern tones that yet quavered with sympathy and pity. "On his head is the sin; on his head is the responsibility." "Father," cried Hannah in piercing tones, "can nothing be done?" The old man shook his head sadly. The poor, pretty face was pallid with a pain too deep for tears. The shock was too sudden, too terrible. She sank helplessly into a chair. "Something must be done, something shall be done," thundered David. "I will appeal to the Chief Rabbi." "And what can he do? Can he go behind the Torah?" said Reb Shemuel pitifully. "I won't ask him to. But if he has a grain of common sense he will see that our case is an exception, and cannot come under the Law." "The Law knows no exceptions," said Reb Shemuel gently, quoting in Hebrew, "'The Law of God is perfect, enlightening the eyes.' Be patient, my dear children, in your affliction. It is the will of God. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away--bless ye the name of the Lord." "Not I!" said David harshly. "But look to Hannah. She has fainted." "No, I am all right," said Hannah wearily, opening the eyes she had closed. "Do not make so certain, father. Look at your books again. Perhaps they do make an exception in such a case." The Reb shook his head hopelessly. "Do not expect that," he said. "Believe me, my Hannah, if there were a gleam of hope I would not hide it from you. Be a good girl, dear, and bear your trouble like a true Jewish maiden. Have faith in God, my child. He doeth all things for the best. Come now--rouse yourself. Tell David you will always be a friend, and that your father will love him as though he were indeed his son." He moved towards her and touched her tenderly. He felt a violent spasm traversing her bosom. "I can't, father," she cried in a choking voice. "I can't. Don't ask me." David leaned against the manuscript-littered table in stony silence. The stern granite faces of the old continental Rabbis seemed to frown down on him from the walls and he returned the frown with interest. His heart was full of bitterness, contempt, revolt. What a pack of knavish bigots they must all have been! Reb Shemuel bent down and took his daughter's head in his trembling palms. The eyes were closed again, the chest heaved painfully with silent sobs. "Do you love him so much, Hannah?" whispered the old man. Her sobs answered, growing loud at last. "But you love your religion more, my child?" he murmured anxiously. "That will bring you peace." Her sobs gave him no assurance. Presently the contagion of sobbing took him too. "O God! God!" he moaned. "What sin have I committed; that thou shouldst punish my child thus?" "Don't blame God!" burst forth David at last. "It's your own foolish bigotry. Is it not enough your daughter doesn't ask to marry a Christian? Be thankful, old man, for that and put away all this antiquated superstition. We're living in the nineteenth century." "And what if we are!" said Reb Shemuel, blazing up in turn. "The Torah is eternal. Thank God for your youth, and your health and strength, and do not blaspheme Him because you cannot have all the desire of your heart or the inclination of your eyes." "The desire of my heart," retorted David. "Do you imagine I am only thinking of my own suffering? Look at your daughter--think of what you are doing to her and beware before it is too late." "Is it in my hand to do or to forbear?" asked the old man, "It is the Torah. Am I responsible for that?" "Yes," said David, out of mere revolt. Then, seeking to justify himself, his face lit up with sudden inspiration. "Who need ever know? The _Maggid_ is dead. Old Hyams has gone to America. So Hannah has told me. It's a thousand to one Leah's people never heard of the Law of Leviticus. If they had, it's another thousand to one against their putting two and two together. It requires a Talmudist like you to even dream of reckoning Hannah as an ordinary divorced woman. If they did, it's a third thousand to one against their telling anybody. There is no need for you to perform the ceremony yourself. Let her be married by some other minister--by the Chief Rabbi himself, and to make assurance doubly sure I'll not mention that I'm a _Cohen_" The words poured forth like a torrent, overwhelming the Reb for a moment. Hannah leaped up with a hysterical cry of joy. "Yes, yes, father. It will be all right, after all. Nobody knows. Oh, thank God! thank God!" There was a moment of tense silence. Then the old man's voice rose slowly and painfully. "Thank God!" he repeated. "Do you dare mention the Name even when you propose to profane it? Do you ask me, your father, Reb Shemuel, to consent to such a profanation of the Name?" "And why not?" said David angrily. "Whom else has a daughter the right to ask mercy from, if not her father?" "God have mercy on me!" groaned the old Reb, covering his face with his hands. "Come, come!" said David impatiently. "Be sensible. It's nothing unworthy of you at all. Hannah was never really married, so cannot be really divorced. We only ask you to obey the spirit of the Torah instead of the letter." The old man shook his head, unwavering. His cheeks were white and wet, but his expression was stern and solemn. "Just think!" went on David passionately. "What am I better than another Jew--than yourself for instance--that I shouldn't marry a divorced woman?" "It is the Law. You are a _Cohen_--a priest." "A priest, Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed David bitterly. "A priest--in the nineteenth century! When the Temple has been destroyed these two thousand years." "It will be rebuilt, please God," said Reb Shemuel. "We must be ready for it." "Oh yes, I'll be ready--Ha! Ha! Ha! A priest! Holy unto the Lord--I a priest! Ha! Ha! Ha! Do you know what my holiness consists in? In eating _tripha_ meat, and going to _Shool_ a few times a year! And I, _I_ am too holy to marry _your_ daughter. Oh, it is rich!" He ended in uncontrollable mirth, slapping his knee in ghastly enjoyment. His laughter rang terrible. Reb Shemuel trembled from head to foot. Hannah's cheek was drawn and white. She seemed overwrought beyond endurance. There followed a silence only less terrible than David's laughter. "A _Cohen_," burst forth David again. "A holy _Cohen_ up to date. Do you know what the boys say about us priests when we're blessing you common people? They say that if you look on us once during that sacred function, you'll get blind, and if you look on us a second time you'll die. A nice reverent joke that, eh! Ha! Ha! Ha! You're blind already, Reb Shemuel. Beware you don't look at me again or I'll commence to bless you. Ha! Ha! Ha!" Again the terrible silence. "Ah well," David resumed, his bitterness welling forth in irony. "And so the first sacrifice the priest is called upon to make is that of your daughter. But I won't, Reb Shemuel, mark my words; I won't, not till she offers her own throat to the knife. If she and I are parted, on you and you alone the guilt must rest. _You_ will have to perform the sacrifice." "What God wishes me to do I will do," said the old man in a broken voice. "What is it to that which our ancestors suffered for the glory of the Name?" "Yes, but it seems you suffer by proxy," retorted David, savagely. "My God! Do you think I would not die to make Hannah happy?" faltered the old man. "But God has laid the burden on her--and I can only help her to bear it. And now, sir, I must beg you to go. You do but distress my child." "What say you, Hannah? Do you wish me to go?" "Yes--What is the use--now?" breathed Hannah through white quivering lips. "My child!" said the old man pitifully, while he strained her to his breast. "All right!" said David in strange harsh tones, scarcely recognizable as his. "I see you are your father's daughter." He took his hat and turned his back upon the tragic embrace. "David!" She called his name in an agonized hoarse voice. She held her arms towards him. He did not turn round. "David!" Her voice rose to a shriek. "You will not leave me?" He faced her exultant. "Ah, you will come with me. You will be my wife." "No--no--not now, not now. I cannot answer you now. Let me think--good-bye, dearest, good-bye." She burst out weeping. David took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. Then he went out hurriedly. Hannah wept on--her father holding her hand in piteous silence. "Oh, it is cruel, your religion," she sobbed. "Cruel, cruel!" "Hannah! Shemuel! Where are you?" suddenly came the excited voice of Simcha from the passage. "Come and look at the lovely fowls I've bought--and such _Metsiahs_. They're worth double. Oh, what a beautiful _Yomtov_ we shall have!" _ |
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