From the Heart of Israel: Jewish Tales and Types E-Book

Bernard Drachman

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Seitenzahl: 291

Beschreibung

"Is Saul also among the prophets?" With my mental ear I hear thus exclaim those in whose view the teller of tales stands immeasurably higher than the rabbi, minister, preacher, scholar, or whatever else may be called he whose vocation it is to disseminate Hebrew religion and wisdom, when they see that one of the latter class has dared to intrude among those who take fiction as their exclusive and legitimate field, and has also ventured before the public with a book of tales. "What would the priest in the house of graves (cemetery)?" I hear, on the other hand, indignantly ask those who deem the wisdom of the Torah alone worthy of attention, and who think it degradation and sin to turn away even for a moment from the study and the teaching of Holy Writ and the words of the sages to waste time with the telling of empty tales. Both agree in their application to the present case of the Latin and English proverb " Ne sutor ultra crepidam "("Let the shoemaker stick to his last"); and that they are not right is not for the one who is responsible for the present effort to say, but must be left to the decision of an impartial public, which will not fail to tell truthfully whether it has found aught of pleasure or profit in the stories of Jewish life hereinafter contained. But it may be permitted to the writer to say that, in his humble opinion, both of the criticisms quoted above are based on erroneous conceptions. The telling of tales is neither independent of nor contradictory to the Torah; that is to say, it may be a most excellent method of inculcating pure and noble lessons, and has always been used for such purpose by the great teachers in Israel.

Leseprobe

From the Heart of Israel: Jewish Tales and Types

From the Heart of Israel: Jewish Tales and Types APOLOGIA PRO LIBRO SUOTHE VILLAGE KEHILLAH.THE LITTLE HORSERADISH WOMAN.THE GENERAL.TOO LATE, BUT ON TIMETHE PROSELYTE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS.ISAAC AND ALICETHE SCISSORS-GRINDERTHE SHLEMIHL.A VICTIM OF PREJUDICE.THE RABBI’S GAME OF CARDS.GLOSSARY OF HEBREW AND OTHER NON-ENGLISH TERMS.Copyright

From the Heart of Israel: Jewish Tales and Types

Bernard Drachman

APOLOGIA PRO LIBRO SUO

“ Is Saul also among the prophets?” With my mental ear I hear thus exclaim those in whose view the teller of tales stands immeasurably higher than the rabbi, minister, preacher, scholar, or whatever else may be called he whose vocation it is to disseminate Hebrew religion and wisdom, when they see that one of the latter class has dared to intrude among those who take fiction as their exclusive and legitimate field, and has also ventured before the public with a book of tales. “What would the priest in the house of graves (cemetery)?” I hear, on the other hand, indignantly ask those who deem the wisdom of the Torah alone worthy of attention, and who think it degradation and sin to turn away even for a moment from the study and the teaching of Holy Writ and the words of the sages to waste time with the telling of empty tales. Both agree in their application to the present case of the Latin and English proverb “Ne sutor ultra crepidam” (“Let the shoemaker stick to his last”); and that they are not right is not for the one who is responsible for the present effort to say, but must be left to the decision of an impartial public, which will not fail to tell truthfully whether it has found aught of pleasure or profit in the stories of Jewish life hereinafter contained. But it may be permitted to the writer to say that, in his humble opinion, both of the criticisms quoted above are based on erroneous conceptions. The telling of tales is neither independent of nor contradictory to the Torah; that is to say, it may be a most excellent method of inculcating pure and noble lessons, and has always been used for such purpose by the great teachers in Israel.

Indeed, the putting before the world of truthful pictures of Jewish life is in itself a good and useful work. It is extraordinary, considering that the Jews have lived in the midst of all civilized peoples for almost twenty centuries, what ignorance concerning the teachings of their religion and their characteristics as a people still prevails. They have sojourned in the midst of mankind and have wandered from land to land, stamped everywhere with the seal of mystery, looked upon by all not of their creed and kin as a “peculiar,” enigmatical, incomprehensible people. The fact that their Book, which most thoroughly reveals their innermost spirit, has become the cherished property of the world, should have made such misconception impossible; but it has not done so. Whatever, therefore, helps to show Jewish life in its true aspect, to reveal the poetry and the romance, the sorrow and the wretchedness, but also the joy and the beauty, the glory and the heroism of Jewish existence even in the unheroic present, performs a most useful, truly religious work. Nothing can do this more effectively than fiction, which appeals to multitudes to whom works of formal learning, of profound and scholarly research, could never find access. This is the excuse of the writer for departing for a time from those domains of Jewish learning which should, perhaps, more properly employ his energies, and becoming, in a measure, a rival of those who have in recent years tilled the field of Jewish fiction. In a ministry now of many years’ duration he has naturally had the opportunity of becoming acquainted with many interesting types of Jewish character, and with many incidents which speak eloquently of the trials and tribulations which still form a part of Jewish experience, of the evils and good which result therefrom, and of the influence of Jewish teachings working under such conditions. It has seemed to him desirable to present some of these to the world in this easily grasped and popular form in order to assist in the attainment of that comprehension of the Jews and their life which is so necessary, if they are ever to cease from their present abnormal state of mystery and be recognized in their natural relation to the general life and religion of mankind. Whether he has performed his task properly his readers shall judge.

THE VILLAGE KEHILLAH.

Nordheim.

Many persons, perhaps the majority of the readers of a certain kind of Jewish literature at present in vogue, led astray by the revival and improper application of the term Ghetto, have an idea that the great mass of the Jewish people on the continent of Europe have their habitations in filthy, noisome slums of the great cities, and that it is only in such secluded reservations, away from the contact or observation of the Gentile, that Judaism in its ancient, traditional form and pristine vigor, is or can be, maintained. In the imagination of such persons, deceived by prejudiced or sensation-seeking writers, Judaism is a feeble, pale, cellar plant which leads its anæmic existence in darkness and slime, but which withers and fades when exposed to the fresh, strong breeze and the bright, warm sun of heaven. These notions, however well they may suit the requirements of ambitious story-tellers, are incorrect both as regards the alleged facts and the inferences drawn therefrom. In the greatest part of the civilized world the Jews are not confined, whether by compulsion or choice, to particular sections of the cities, but dwell freely among their Gentile fellow-citizens everywhere; nor is the law of Moses forced to flee for refuge to darksome purlieus, where the humblest and lowliest of Judah’s strain drag out a wretched existence as unwilling neighbors of the vicious and the criminal, but finds multitudes of sincere upholders and adherents in the high places of the lands among the happy possessors of what mankind esteems highest, culture and wealth. In fact, it is not to the great cities at all that we should look for the best examples of a living, earnest Judaism. Scattered broadcast through the Old World, particularly through the lands of central and southeastern Europe, may be found to this day thousands of Jewish communities in villages and rural towns which are in very truth “wells of purest Judaism undefiled,” and living refutations of all the pet theories of the modern Jewish (?) novelist. Our brethren in those little rural communities breathe the purest, health-giving air that nature gives forth over mountain, field, and forest, and have never found in the keen ozone any faith-destroying, heretical qualities. They dwell side by side with the Gentile and meet him continually in all the commercial and social relations of life, but they have never found in the free intercourse any dread influence subversive of Judaic beliefs and practices. Indeed, few of them are aware, except in a hazy and indirect manner, that Judaism is in danger in this modern age of ours. They live as their ancestors did before them, honest, simple, earnest, sincere Jewish lives; happy in their state of moderate wealth or endurable, light-pressing poverty; keeping their Sabbaths and their holidays, fasting and feasting in the prescribed seasons, laying Tephillin on week-days and eating only permitted food at all times, giving freely of their means to assist the poor and afflicted, and accepting misfortune with resignation as the will of God, and not doubting but that this Judaism will continue to exist for all time to come.

Of such a littleKehillahin a German village, Nordheim, in the Rhön Mountains of Bavaria, and of some of the quaint and interesting persons that composed it, my tale shall be.

When, as a child, I made my first studies of the world around me, one of the objects which chiefly attracted my childish gaze was a picture which hung on the wall of the parlor of my home. It was a crude and inartistic picture, awkward in delineation and barbarous in color; but it was full of interest to me, for it spoke to me of a place far across the sea, a place which oft-told but never wearisome tales had surrounded with a bright halo of romance, and which my eager imagination had glorified into a veritable fairyland; it was a picture of a village in that Germany which seemed so far away and so unreal, my mother’s native place, Nordheimvor derRhön. These sentiments were not entirely, nor even mainly, due to the picture itself, but to the descriptions with which motherע״הused to accompany it; for mother dear, God rest her soul, among her other good qualities, had a most vivid and emphatic way of impressing her ideas upon her auditors. She was not only in loving tenderness and devotion the ideal of a Jewish parent, but a most charming and entertainingraconteuse, full to the brim of reminiscences of her youth, an animated chronicle of persons and events, and capable of describing both the humorous and the pathetic in an inimitably touching and taking manner. In addition to all this she was a living refutation of the favorite anti-Semitic calumny, that Jews have no sentiment of patriotism. She cherished in her heart the warmest and most unquenchable love for her native land, while her attachment to the memory of her birthplace, its ties and its traditions, approached the dignity and sincerity of a religion. No wonder that from such a stirring and enthusiastic source I imbibed the liveliest interest in all that concerned Nordheim before the Rhön, its inhabitants and its welfare. I would stand for hours at a time before that crude little picture on our parlor wall, gazing at the array of houses with startlingly red roofs and dazzlingly white walls, at the fields of brilliant green and the trees with trunks as straight as ramrods and mathematically elliptical foliage, and at the tin-soldier-likegendarmewhom the rustic artist, who must have inclined either to realism or militarism (I could never determine which) had depicted marching, with martial air and projecting bayonet, along the country highway.

But I saw none of these things. My imagination gazed beyond these externals and saw the quaint and touching figures of those who had their abode in this secluded retreat, and I found myself wondering whether it would ever be my privilege to see the spot where mother’s cradle had stood, and to sojourn there where life flowed on in such pure and peaceful and virtuous channels, far away from the crush and the turmoil, the evil and the anguish of the great world, where the peasants were simple, honest folk and the Jews all faithful to their ancestral religion, where old age was venerated and childhood obedient and respectful, where such things as violating the Sabbath and eatingTrefothwere unknown.

My opportunity came in my twenty-first year. Circumstances, the nature of which need not be dilated upon here, made it my privilege to spend several years in Europe in study. But while I awaited, in joyous anticipation, the day when I should enter upon my course at the North German University and Seminary, at which I was to prepare for my life’s vocation, it was with an absorbing interest, I might almost say with a passionate longing, that I looked forward to actually seeing Nordheim, and actually knowing the persons and conditions of which I had heard and dreamt so much. Never shall I forget the day when, having crossed the stormy Atlantic and travelled by train a day and a night southward from Hamburg, I alighted at Mellrichstadt, the railroad station nearest to Nordheim—four English miles—and saw upon the platform, waiting for me, a pleasant-faced, dark-complexioned youth, whom I had never seen before, and yet whom I at once recognized, for his features appeared in more than one counterfeit presentment in a well-worn family album, over which I had often pored more than three thousand miles away. It was Cousin Solomon, and he had come to the station, having been notified by letter of my prospective arrival, to meet his American relative, and to conduct him to Nordheim and the bosom of his family. Then and there I recognized the reality and the value of sentiment. Here were two persons, born in different and widely separated lands, speaking different mother tongues and citizens of different nations, who had never seen each other before; and yet so powerful were the ties of kinship and the remembrance of common blood and a common origin, that they sufficed to bridge over all that yawning gap of separation and to bring heart to heart and lip to lip in a union of truest love and affection. Our recognition was mutual and instantaneous. We pronounced each other’s names, fell upon each other’s necks, and a moment later were chatting as intimately as though we had met daily during all our previous lives. Three years long I spent my summer vacations at Nordheim, and I came to know and to love it and the surrounding region so well that when the hour of final parting came, it cost my heart more than one pang and drew more tears from my eyes than I should like to confess. What a charming ideal life of sentiment and pleasure we led there, Cousin Solomon and I. We seemed to be hovering in a dream world, far too sweet and beautiful to be real. We were at once students on a holiday, friends of nature, children without a shade of care or anxiety, and sincere, devout worshippers at the shrine of Israel’s God. We climbed together the steep and lofty mountains which abound in that region, and when we had reached the summit we gazed with delight at the dazzling panorama spread out before us and inhaled deep draughts of the pure, cool, health-giving air. We wandered for hours through the dense pine forests or undertook long trips on foot to distant villages or spots that were interesting for some historical or other reason. Once we made a long trip, in company with Aunt Caroline, to the village of Burghauen, on the other side of the Rhön Mountains, to visit some relatives there. We travelled in a carriage belonging to the Duke of Weimar. We had hired it from the duke’s manager, who was not above turning an honest penny with his master’s property when occasion offered. The carriage bore the ducal escutcheon, and our coachman and footman wore the duke’s livery; and as we rolled through the various villages in grand style, the peasants and their wives and children all came out and made deep and reverent obeisance. I was quite astounded, but Aunt Caroline and Cousin Solomon were so amused that they could hardly keep straight faces. Both they and I bowed to the right and to the left and answered the salutations right royally, at which the people seemed highly gratified.

“ What is the reason of all this,” said I (to whom this unexpected enthusiasm was extremely puzzling) to Solomon. “Do they make so much fuss about everybody?” “Why, no!” said Solomon, laughing heartily. “They recognize the carriage and the lackeys, and they take us for members of the ducal family. They think mamma is the duchess, and you and me they take for the young dukes.”

But, altogether, everybody was extremely friendly in Nordheim and vicinity, Jew or Gentile, peasant, merchant or teacher, acquaintance or stranger, without exception. It was “gruesse Gott,” and “guten Morgen,” and “guten Tag,” and “lebe wohl,” and “auf Wiedersehen,” and “schlafe wohl,” and “angenehme Ruhe,” and any number of other kindly and sympathetic phrases, and all said with such evident sincerity and good intentions as went quite through one and left one feeling warm and charitable and kindly disposed toward humanity in general. And then the eating, so abundant in quantity, so excellent, and more than satisfying in quality. At first Aunt Caroline wanted to feed me all the time. Six or seven times a day she would spread the table and invite me to partake until I protested, and by dint of hard pleading induced her to reduce the number of meals to four, with an occasional extra bite in between. It makes my mouth water yet to think of the “gefüllte Flanken,” and the “gruenkern Suppe,” and the “eingelegte Gänsebrüst,” and the “Zwiebeltätcher,” and the “gesetzte Bohnen,” and the “Shabboskugel,” and the thousand and one other delicacies with which dear Aunt Caroline used to regale us, and to which healthy appetites and youth gave a zest compared with which ambrosia must have been poor. And, oh, the beer! Such magnificent stuff! So different from the wretched pretence which we call by that name in America. I quite lost all my temperance principles in Nordheim and have never recovered them since.

But along with this joyous physical life there went a spiritual life no less joyous and satisfying. We were Jews there in Nordheim. The Sabbath was a guest whose arrival was looked forward to with the most eager anticipation, and which seemed to cast a magic, sacred glamour over all the Jewish houses in the village, transforming the prosaic, work-a-day appearance of persons and things into an aspect of dignity and holiness. All day long on Fridays until about an hour before nightfall, a tremendous bustle of preparation was going on. Such cleaning and scrubbing and polishing, such baking and boiling and brewing! It seemed as though every house was being turned topsy-turvy. On that day, too, the men folks came home several hours sooner than usual, and then there was added the turmoil of the taking of baths and the polishing of shoes, and the taking out of clean shirts and Sabbath suits, and dressing and getting ready. But about an hour before nightfall all the noise and clamor and turmoil ceased and Sabbath stillness began to settle over the village. The quaint old seven-cornered Sabbath lamps were taken out and the Jewish housewives lit them, pronouncing at the same time the prescribed benediction. How charming and yet impressive Aunt Caroline looked as she stood with uplifted hands and reverential mien before the sacred lamp, the Sabbath cap of dainty lace and ribbons surmounting her refined and regular features of purest Hebrew type, while from her lips issued in the holy tongue the words of the benediction, “Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the universe, who hast sanctified us with Thy commandments and bidden us light the Sabbath lamp.”

A half-hour later all were assembled in the little synagogue, which was filled to the very last seat, for the Nordheim synagogue was not built on the American plan. In our progressive country we build great and imposing synagogues and temples for the benefit, not of the people who regularly attend—for them a very small edifice would suffice—but of those who pay the Almighty the honor of a visit only once or twice a year. But the Nordheim synagogue had accommodations only for its regular members and attendants, and these were expected to be in their places on every occasion of public services. Sometimes somebody would be missing at service, and then it used to amuse me to notice with what anxious solicitude inquiry would be made of his family as to the cause of his absence. It appeared to be taken for granted that only illness or some other equally grave reason could induce any one to be absent from synagogue at time of worship. I could not refrain from smiling when I thought how pointless such solicitude would be in America, where, on the contrary, the question addressed to any average Jew, should he present himself in the synagogue on any but two or three days of the year, would be, “What bringsyoutoShoolto-day?”

The services in the synagogue at Nordheim were intensely interesting to me, not, indeed, because of the artistic rendition of the ritual or the technical excellence of the singing, but because of the spirit of devotion and earnestness by which they were pervaded. I have listened to numbers of cantors who certainly rank higher in their profession than the humble individual who acted in the capacity of village teacher,Chazan, andShochetin Nordheim, and the musical performances of trained and paid choirs are undeniably superior to the untutored though vociferous efforts of a rustic congregation. But all these have something perfunctory and mechanical about their efforts which deprive them of real charm and of power to touch and move the spirit. One remains coldly critical in listening to them, and judges them solely from the standpoint of professional ability and artistic merit. Not so in Nordheim. There was an all-pervading sense of earnestness and reality in the worship which made one forget thehowof the prayers and hymns and think only of thewhat. Faith, deep and firm as the rocks, ingrained into the very tissue and life of the spirit, looked forth from those simple, earnest faces, shone forth from those sincere and expressive eyes. This spirit gave the familiar ritual an entirely new vividness and impressiveness. The worshippers seemed to be speaking directly to their heavenly Father, and when, at the close of theLecho Dodi, the hymn of welcome to the Sabbath, all rose and faced the entrance, I half expected to see Queen Sabbath herself, clad in bridal robes of celestial purity, enter through the portals of that humble house of God.

The prayers concluded, the worshippers greeted each other with hearty “Good Shabbos” salutation and wended their homeward way. The scenes in the homes were in some respects even more impressive than in the synagogue. Uncle Koppel’s house particularly was resplendent with a blaze of glory. The dining-room, which also served as parlor and best room, was brilliantly lighted, and in the midst of the effulgence shone, with especial radiance, the Sabbath lamp. The table was covered with a linen cloth of snowy whiteness and laden with the finest porcelain, glass, and silver that the household could boast, while at the head of the table, opposite the seat sacred to the master of the house, stood the two Sabbath loaves covered with a beautifully embroidered satin cover; and at their side the silverKiddush-beaker and the decanter, from which the wine of blessing was to be drawn. BeforeKiddushUncle Koppel “marched” with the youngest of the children, and presented a picturesque sight indeed as he paraded up and down the room, carrying the infant of the family upon his right arm and leading the next youngest by his left hand, chanting meanwhile the hymn of welcome to the Sabbath angels. Then came the solemn benediction when the children all presented themselves with bowed heads before their parents, and were blessed by them in the words pronounced by Aaron of old over the tribes of Israel, with an added invocation in the case of sons that the Lord might make them like Ephraim and Manasseh, and of daughters that they might become like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah. Then came Kiddush, and the formal washing of hands and breaking of bread, and then the Sabbath meal.

Oh, the pleasure of that Sabbath meal! Everybody had a magnificent appetite on Friday evening; which was really no wonder, seeing that every one had worked and hurried all day in preparation for the holy evening; and that, in accordance with the religious precept, no one had eaten any substantial meal all day in order that he should be able to do justice to the first meal of the Sabbath. The dishes were various and all excellent, for they were seasoned with that finest of spices—the Sabbath—which gave them a flavor all their own, and which the most famouschefsof European or American hotels would strive in vain to rival; but thepièce de resistancewas undoubtedly the fish. Trout of the finest quality, speckled beauties, which had only been drawn a few hours before from the icy waters of some one of the mountain streams of the Rhöngebirge, they made their appearance at the table cold, from a sojourn of several hours in the rock-hewn cellar, which served the purpose of our modern refrigerators, and with a sweet-and-sour sauce of the consistency of jelly. They were consumed with an avidity which boded ill for their speckledconfrèresof the mountain streams and shady pools. After the meal and the formal pronouncing of grace, in which all joined with a volume of sound which attracted the attention of the village boys in the street outside, each one followed his or her own sweet will. Some conversed, some read devotional books, some dozed until the flickering of the lights betokened their approaching extinction and warned all that the hour of retiring had arrived. Then with pleasant “good-night” wishes, each sought the shelter of his or her couch.

On the morrow the observance of the Sabbath was continued in a manner worthy of its inauguration. The morning service, which began at eight and was over at half-past ten, was followed byKiddushand the second of the three prescribed Sabbath meals. Here the chief feature was the “gesetztes Essen,” or dishes which had been cooked on Friday and kept warm in a special kind of oven known as “Setzöfen,” in which they were surrounded by a gentle heat which neither burned nor dried them, until they were served at the Sabbath meal. Some persons assert that food cooked a day previous to being consumed is injurious to the health, but to judge by the favor in which it was held in Nordheim, such can hardly be the case. Of course not all food is capable of being treated in this manner; but that which is, acquires a special taste and a mellowness which makes it peculiarly palatable.

On our Sabbath menu we had “gesetze Bohnen,” the dish of whose glories Heine has sung, and “Shabbos-Kugel,” to whose merits even a poet could hardly do justice. After dinner visits were in order. The younger members of theMishpochohwent to pay their respects to their seniors, and the children of the community called at the various houses without distinction of relationship and were treated to fruits and sweetmeats. What impressed me on the part of the children was their extremely respectful and bashful behavior, amounting almost to timidity. They would knock timidly at the outside door; and on being bidden to enter would step in on their tip-toes, timidly utter the Sabbath greeting, and then stand in a row without opening their mouths until they were told to be seated. They would not touch anything or do anything without permission, and when given fruit or sweetmeats would modestly utter words of thanks and eat them in silence. Their actions were typical of the German-Jewish standard of child behavior. The children who were old enough to receive tuition were also examined on the Sabbath in the subjects in which they had been instructed during the week. Great was the joy of parents whose son translated with fluency theSedrahof the week, and the capable lad always received his reward in the shape of an extra portion of fruit or sweetmeats.

After the visits and the examinations came the Sabbath nap. The Sabbath nap! Let no one speak of it in tones of levity or disrespect, for it stood in high esteem indeed in Nordheim and other communities of the same type. Every one deemed it an absolutely indispensable feature of correct Sabbath observance; and though few of the people were learned in Hebrew lore, yet nearly all were able to quote in defence of their practice the cabalistic interpretation that the letters of the wordשבת(Sabbath) are equivalent in meaning to the sentenceשנהבשבתת, which may be parodied as “Sleep onSaBBath, the heart delighteTH.”

Between the hours of 1 and 4 P.M., the NordheimKehillah, to use a heathenish illustration, lay locked in the arms of Morpheus. On sofas and beds or in arm-chairs, within the house or before the doors, the worthyBaale Batim, their spouses and children slumbered, dozed, and reposed. The cat slept under the stove, the dog dozed peacefully before the door, the very horses and cattle stood motionless as statues within their stalls and seemed to slumber. It was a most peaceful, somnolent, soporific scene. Not a sound disturbed the quiet of the village streets, for the Gentile peasants were all abroad in the fields. The very spirit of Sabbath pervaded the noiseless air, and everywhere were rest, repose, and tranquillity universal. I, too, who had never been accustomed to sleep by day, could not resist the drowsy influence of the general example, and after the first week or two took my Sabbath nap as regularly as any, and found it most agreeable. At four all were awake again and then the third Sabbath meal, which was usually light, and consisted only of coffee, cake, and fruit, was partaken of. The congregation then gathered in the synagogue for afternoon service, at the conclusion of which the Chazan “learnedShiur”—that is to say, read to the assembled auditors extracts from a Hebrew devotional work, in German translation, accompanying them with a running commentary of his own. His diction was poor, his expressions the reverse of elegant, and his train of thought in absolute disagreement with most of the pet theories of the age; but I doubt whether the most eloquent and scientifically trained of modern preachers ever had as attentive and sympathetic a congregation as he. Now came the charmed time known as “betweenMinchahandMaariv,” the period most attractive and pleasing to the Jewish heart of all the Sabbath day. As the light of the sun is most beautiful and glorious just before it sets, so the Sabbath seems sweetest and most delightful when it is about to depart. The afternoon prayers and theShiurwere both concluded; the day was beginning to grow dark, but almost an hour must still elapse before the Sabbath would be over and the evening prayer of the first day might be recited. Some of the people went for a brief stroll in the fields; others went into the inn where they were furnished with beer and other light refreshments without payment; for the Gentile innkeeper knew well that the observant Jew bore no money on his person on the Sabbath day, but most remained in the synagogue or gathered in the court-yard before the sacred edifice and passed the time in pleasant conversation or the relation of anecdotes. There they sat and stood, in various attitudes, while the deepening shadows made their figures ever vaguer and more indistinct, and enjoyed the freest opportunity for unrestricted conversation and interchange of thoughts that all the week afforded.

All possible subjects came up for discussion “betweenMinchahandMaariv.” The politician of the Kehillah discoursed learnedly on the European situation and the various problems of statecraft involved in the relations of the great Powers to each other, the philosopher shed the light of his wisdom on the great scientific movements of the day and the wondrous inventions which are revolutionizing civilization, while the Talmudist elucidated knotty and interesting questions of rabbinical law or lamented the downfall of religious sentiment in these evil days and contrasted these with the unyielding fidelity and loyalty of yore. They all found attentive and eager listeners, to whom their words were as the very revelation of the Urim and Tummim; but they did not arouse the same degree of enthusiasm as the story-teller. This accomplished narrator of witty tales and humorous anecdotes held the hearts of his auditors in his hands; and when his turn came and he began to draw upon his apparently inexhaustible stock ofMesholim, an immense enthusiasm took possession of the entire audience, and there was no limit to their enjoyment of the numberless good points he made. They were indeed amusing, those tales of impecunious rabbis, and still more impecuniousBachurim, of awkward bridegrooms and homely brides, of witty Poles and schemingSchnorrers. But they were more. They were instructive, for they reflected the inner life of the Jewish people, and showed, even if from a humorous point of view, the many trials and difficulties by which they were encompassed.

But now the shadows had deepened into night, and theShammas, who had the privilege of reading the service before the rest of the congregation in order that he might be permitted to perform the work-a-day task of lighting the lights, interrupted the pleasant tales of the story-teller by a brief notification that the time for prayer had arrived. The evening service was brief, lasting in all hardly more than a quarter of an hour. Its chief feature was theHavdoloh, in which the Chazan pronounced a number of benedictions over wine, spices, and a peculiar braided wax candle, and thanked the Lord that He makes a distinction between light and darkness, between Sabbath and week-day, and between Israel and the nations. The service concluded, the worshippers greeted each other with hearty “Gut Woch” and repaired to their homes, but not yet to resume work-a-day tasks.

It was an unwritten law in Nordheim that the Saturday night was not to be given over to labor or business, except in cases of emergency. The women were particularly zealous in following this rule. Instead sociability reigned supreme. The men indulged in friendly card-play, the married women sat together in groups and gossiped, the youths and maidens played musical instruments, sang, and danced. These pleasant occupations were continued several hours, so that on Saturday nights the worthy Jewish burghers retired much later than usual.

The sincerity and thoroughgoing consistency which marked the observance of the Sabbath were characteristic of the religious life of the Nordheim community throughout the year. It would be inconsistent with the scope of this sketch to go into all the details of religious life and practice; but suffice it to say that Jewish piety, as illustrated in Nordheim, was eminently earnest, emphatic, and genuine. The very children possessed the spirit of martyrs. They would have endured tortures rather than eat forbidden food or violate the Sabbath or any other of the holy days. Some of the manifestations of this piety were quaintly humorous or pathetic, according to the viewpoint from which they are regarded. The children of Nordheim, like children the world over, were very fond of fruit and berries. Had they been permitted to go into the orchards and gardens and gather their sweet products unrestrained, there can be no doubt that as much would have disappeared down their throats as they brought home. But the Nordheim mothers struck upon a shrewd scheme for circumventing the appetites of their sweet-toothed offspring, which did equal credit to their ingenuity and their psychological knowledge. They would send the children to gather fruits or pick berries upon a fast day. The plan was as effective as it was beautifully simple. The children brought home all that they gathered, for no Jewish child in Nordheim would have even thought of committing such a heinous sin as tasting food on aTaanis. Think of applying such a rule to American children! It would be about as effective as trying to restrain a bull with a piece of cotton thread.

It is recorded of a worthy NordheimBaal Habbayisthat he once saw some flies rise from his boots and settle upon some hay, which was later on eaten by his cows. Now that in itself is a trifling and insignificant incident; but it so happened that the boots, in accordance with German village custom, had been smeared with tallow, which, from the viewpoint of the Jewish religious law isTrefah—that is, ritually unclean, and forbidden to be eaten. Our worthy Nordheimer at once felt himself burdened in his conscience and despatched a special messenger post-haste to the rabbi at Gersfeld with an inquiry as to whether the milk of those cows might lawfully be drunk. This pious scrupulosity did not, however, as might be thought, involve any gloomy or dreary harshness of sentiment. What we are accustomed to call the Puritanical frame of mind was utterly unknown in Nordheim. On the contrary, a cheerful and pleasant disposition, which made the tone of social intercourse extremely agreeable, was the all prevalent mood. In individual instances this mental tendency was emphasized into pronounced joviality, and the happy possessors thereof became the “Spass macher,” the jesters and fun-makers of the community. Woe betide the unfortunate individual who acquired a reputation for sourness and unsociability. He was considered a legitimate victim for the gibes and jests of the official jokers, and small indeed was the meed of sympathy which he received.

Another instance of the prevailing jocoseness was the custom of attaching nicknames to persons, which were then used instead of their proper appellations. It was rarely that any one was referred to in Nordheim by his given name, the nickname being so universally used as almost to displace the real and legal cognomen. These nicknames were derived from some personal characteristic or some peculiarity arising from vocation or experience in life, which had struck the village wags as humorous. It was “the black Elias,” or “the long Moses,” or “the bold Isaac,” or “the gentle Sarah,” the last two appellations being, of course, mildly ironical. One individual, who had an undue amount of audacity in his psychological make-up, was known as “derBaishan,” that is, “the bashful or timid one,” while another who had failed in nearly everything he had undertaken was universally dubbed “derMazzeldige Shmuel,” that is, “lucky Sam.” A family, some remote ancestor of which had once been imprisoned in a tower and escaped therefrom by leaping from the window of his cell, was generally known as “die Thurm hüpfer,” “the tower-hoppers,” while six brothers, all of whom were over six feet tall and stout in proportion, bore the strikingly apposite designation of “die Kinderlich,” that is, “the babies.” The swineherd, who called his charges together by means of a long tin trumpet, from which he emitted shrill and piercing, though hardly melodious notes, was styled by the Jews “