Part 3 (1/2)
The day following the events in the _kretschma_, little Jacob had wandered, in company with some Christian playmates, through the village, and seeing the door of a barn wide open, his childish curiosity got the better of his discretion, and he peeped in. A brindled cow, with a pretty calf scarcely three days old, attracted his attention, and for some minutes he gazed upon the pair in silent ecstasy. Then, knowing that he was on forbidden ground, he retraced his steps and endeavored to reach the lane where he had left his companions. The master of the farm, however, having witnessed the intrusion from a neighboring window, did not lose the opportunity to vent his anger against the whole tribe of inquisitive Jews. On the following day the cow ran dry. In vain did the calf seek nourishment at the maternal breast; there was nothing to satisfy its cravings.
The farmer, slow as he was in matters of general importance, was far from slow in tracing the melancholy occurrence to its supposed source.
”That accursed Jew has bewitched my cow,” was his first thought, and his second was to find the author of the deed and mete out punishment to him.
Throughout the whole of Russia, and even in parts of civilized Germany, Jews are accused of all manner of sorcery. The _Cabala_ is the princ.i.p.al religious authority of the lower cla.s.ses among the Russian Jews, and this may perhaps inspire such a preposterous notion. The Jews, themselves, frequently believe that some one of their own number is in possession of supernatural secrets which give him wonderful and awful powers. Many were the tortures which these poor people were doomed to endure for their supposed influence over nature's laws.
It was an easy matter to find little Jacob. His hours at the _cheder_ (school) were over. He was sure to be playing upon the streets, and his capture was quickly effected. Seizing the innocent little fellow by the arm, the irate peasant lifted him off his feet, and dragged him by sheer force into the barn, where he confronted the malefactor with his victim.
”So, you thought you could bewitch my cow,” he hissed. ”But I saw you, Jew, and, by our holy Czar, I swear that, unless you repair the damage, I shall feed your carca.s.s to the dogs.”
Poor Jacob was too terrified to understand of what crime he had been accused. He looked piteously at his tormentor, and burst into tears.
”Well?” cried the peasant, impatiently; ”will you take off the spell, or shall I call my dog?”
The child, knowing that such threats were not made in vain, endeavored to plead his innocence, but the bellowing of the hungry calf outweighed the sobbing of the boy, and with an angry oath Jacob was struck to the ground, and a ferocious bull-dog, but little more brutal than his master, was set upon the helpless little fellow.
”Please, Mr. Farmer, don't kill me,” he pleaded, groaning in pain.
”Will you cure my cow?” demanded the peasant.
”I'll try to; I'll do my best,” sobbed the boy, whose pain made him diplomatic at last.
The dog was called off, and the child, after promising to restore the cow to her former condition, was turned out into the lane, where his mother found him an hour later, unconscious, his body lacerated, one arm broken, and a portion of his right ear torn off.
When Reb Mordecai concluded his sad narration, all about him were in tears.
”Just G.o.d!” exclaimed the uncle; ”hast Thou indeed deserted Thy people, that Thou canst allow such indignities? How long, O Lord! must we endure these torments?”
”Nay, brother,” sobbed the poor mother, while she caressed her ailing boy; ”what G.o.d does is for the best. It is not for us to peer into his inscrutable actions. But come, Mordecai, banish your sorrows. This is _Shabbes_, a day of joy and peace. Come, the table is spread.”
Father and mother placed their hands upon the heads of their children, and p.r.o.nounced the solemn blessing:--”May G.o.d let you become like Ephraim and Mana.s.seh!” and the family took their places at the table.
Then Mordecai made _kiddush_, which consisted in blessing the wine, without which no Jewish Sabbath is complete, and having p.r.o.nounced _motzi_, a similar prayer over the bread, he dipped the latter in salt, and pa.s.sed a small piece to each of the partic.i.p.ants. It is a ceremony which no pious Jew ever neglects.
In spite of the recent affliction, the meal was a merry one. The poorest Israelite will deny himself even the necessaries of life during the six working-days, that he may live well on the Sabbath. Reb Mordecai was a poor man. He had a small income, derived from teaching the Talmud to the children in the vicinity, from transcribing the holy scrolls, and from sundry bits of work for which he was fitted by his intellectual attainments. He was the most influential Jew in the settlement and not even the fanatical serfs of the village could find a complaint to make against his character or person.
The theme of conversation was naturally the family festival, which would take place upon the morrow. Mendel having attained his thirteenth year and acquired due proficiency in the difficult studies of the Jewish law, would become _bar-mitzvah_; in other words, he would take upon himself the responsibility of a man before G.o.d and the world, and acknowledge his readiness to act and suffer for the maintenance of the belief in _Adonai Echod_--the only G.o.d. Mendel, under his father's tuition, had made rapid strides. He was the wonder of every male inhabitant of the community. His knowledge of the Scriptures was simply phenomenal, and his philosophical reasoning puzzled and astonished his friends.
”He will be a great rabbi some day,” they prophesied.
Hirsch Bensef had journeyed all the way from Kief to take part in the family festival. There were some privileges which not even the wealthy Jews of Russia could purchase, and among them was the right to travel in a public conveyance. Hirsch was obliged to journey as best he could. A kindly disposed wagoner had permitted him to ride part of the way, but the greater portion of the distance he was compelled to walk. Still, at any cost, he had determined not to miss so important an event as his nephew's _bar-mitzvah_.
The bread having been broken, the supper was proceeded with. The fish was succulent and the cake delicious. A lofty and religious Sabbath sentiment enhanced the charm of the whole meal. Then a prayer of thanks was offered, the dishes were cleared away and the family settled themselves at ease, to discuss the topics most dear to them.
”You make a great mistake, sister,” said Bensef, ”if you allow Mendel to waste his time in this village. The boy is much too bright for his surroundings.”
”Don't begin that subject again,” said the mother, determinedly; ”for I positively will not hear of his leaving. The parting would kill me.”
”But,” continued her brother, ”have you ever asked yourself what his future will be in this wretched neighborhood? Shall he waste his precious years helping his father teach _cheder_? Shall he earn a few paltry kopecks in making _tzitzith_ (fringes for the praying scarfs) for the _Jehudim_ in the village? Or, shall he cobble shoes or peddle from place to place with a bundle upon his back, which are the only two occupations open to the despised race?”
”Alas!” sighed the mother, ”what you say may be true. But what would you propose for the boy?”