Part 23 (1/2)

So they talked, the mighty ruler and the humble Rabbi, while those in the ante-room waited impatiently for an audience.

Finally the Governor arose.

”I will not exact a definite answer at present,” he said. ”Discuss the matter with your friends and come to see me again in the course of a week or two. Perhaps you will then think better of it.”

Mendel shook his head.

”In a few days we shall have _Yom-Kipur_, our Day of Atonement,” he said. ”If you would know how tenaciously the Israelites cling to their faith and to their G.o.d, visit the synagogue on that day; behold them in fasting and prayer, renewing their covenant with the Lord and relying upon his divine protection and a.s.sistance. You will find it an impressive sight, one that will speak more eloquently than my weak words.”

”I may come,” answered the Governor, half in jest and half in earnest, while Mendel bowed himself out through the crowd of angry people in the waiting-room.

We shall not attempt to a.n.a.lyze the thoughts of the young Rabbi, as he retraced his steps towards his dwelling. On his arrival there, he found his wife and her mother greatly alarmed as to his safety. The strange and sudden summons and his long absence had aroused terrible fears in Recha's breast that he had been thrown into prison by the Governor, and her eyes were red with weeping. It was with a bounding heart, therefore, that she heard her husband's step on the threshold, and with a joyous cry she rushed to embrace him.

”G.o.d be praised, my Mendel has returned,” she exclaimed, and smiling through her tears she led him into the house.

CHAPTER XIX.

YOM-KIPUR.

It is _Yom-Kipur_, the Day of Atonement.

Long before nightfall the shops and booths of the Israelites are closed.

The merchant has silenced his cravings for gain, the pedler and the wanderer have returned to their families, travelling leagues upon leagues to reach home in time for the holy day. The beggar has cast aside his rags and attired himself in a manner more befitting the solemn occasion. The G.o.d-fearing man has closed his heart to all but pious thoughts, and, yielding to the holy influence, even the impious cannot but think of G.o.d and of a future beyond the grave.

The holy night is approaching. A river of light streams through the arched windows of the houses of prayer, flooding the streets and penetrating into the hearts of the inhabitants. Young and old slowly wend their way to the synagogues, there to bow down before the Lord who delivered their ancestors from Egyptian bondage and who on this day will sit in judgment upon their actions; will grant them mercy or p.r.o.nounce their doom; will inscribe them in the book of life or in that of eternal death. The women are robed in white, the men wear shrouds over their black _caftans_ and carry huge prayer-books. At the door of the Lord's House, and before entering its sacred precincts, they ask pardon of each other for any sins or shortcomings, for the envy, the malice, the calumny of which they may have been guilty.

”Forgive me whatever wrong I may have done thee!”

The phrase is repeated from man to man, for none may enter the holy temple unless he be at peace with mankind.

Let us enter the synagogue. Hundreds of candles fill the sacred hall with their light and the whitened walls and ceiling appear to glow with glory. Rows of men in ghastly attire, constant reminder of the inevitable end of mundane greatness, stand with covered heads and with their faces turned towards the orient, fervently praying. Screened by the lattice-work of the galleries are the women, who, with their treble voices, augment the solemn chant that vibrates on the air.

Repentance, fear, self-reproach have blanched the cheeks and dimmed the eyes of the devotees. Fervent and sincere are the prayers that rise to the throne of G.o.d; contrite and remorseful are the blows with which the men beat their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and with which they seek to chasten their sin-encrusted hearts.

Fearfully and tearfully they make the sorrowful avowal: ”We have sinned!” Down into the depths of his soul does each one search to render to himself and to G.o.d a truthful account of the deeds and thoughts that lie hidden there. And above the din, the voice of the reader is heard, beseeching forgiveness for the repentant congregation, pleading for the grace of the Lord and asking to be enrolled in the book of life and happiness. It is a solemn, heart-stirring spectacle, moving the soul of the sinner with a mighty force. An observer, who for the first time attends the _Yom-Kipur_ services, can arrive at but one verdict concerning the beauty of the religion which has inst.i.tuted this holy day.

The heathen is impressed with the fact that in doing wrong he has offended a G.o.d whom, by means of sacrifice, he seeks to propitiate. The Christian proclaims that he sins by compulsion in consequence of the original fall of Adam, and, as he is not a free agent in the matter of right or wrong, he can expect grace only through the mediation of his Saviour. The Jew recognizes the fact that he is entirely free to sin or to remain pure, and that, having erred, he can only hope for forgiveness by acknowledging his error, by purifying himself from all that is vile and by a sincere resolution to do better. Mere faith has never played the important part in the Jewish religion that is a.s.signed it in that of the gentiles. The Israelite believes that if he has done wrong and sincerely repents and by his subsequent actions seeks to repair the injury, divine forgiveness will not be withheld; but the dogma that belief independent of good deeds purifies the heart has never found favor in his eyes.

The wors.h.i.+ppers stayed until a late hour, and many of them remained in the synagogue all night. Early dawn found the congregation again at its post, as devout, as fervent as before. The candles were burning low in their sockets, casting a fitful glare upon the pale faces of the wors.h.i.+ppers, reminding them of the flight of time, of the brevity of life, of the inevitable moment when repentance will come too late, when the account of one's good and evil deeds will be closed.

The synagogue was filled to overflowing with fasting men and women. Not a morsel of food, not a drop of water was permitted to pa.s.s their lips for twenty-four hours. ”As the body can abstain from food,” said the wise rabbis, ”so shall the soul abstain from sin.”

The terrible plague that had left its sad impress upon the community greatly increased the solemnity of the occasion. To the expressions of repentance were added the prayers of grat.i.tude of those who had escaped its fatal breath and the lamentations of those whose hearts still smarted under recent bereavement. It was Rabbi Mendel's custom to combine instruction with devotion whenever an occasion presented itself, and to do this in such homely logic as his congregation could easily comprehend, taking especial pains to impress them with the spirit of the rites they observed. Being a great favorite with them, they listened attentively to his melodious voice and persuasive arguments, and found themselves the better for his teaching. On the Day of Atonement he had hardly begun to speak when his attention was attracted by a stranger who had entered and quietly taken a seat in the rear of the synagogue. With the exception of Mendel not one of the a.s.sembled wors.h.i.+ppers recognized the unpretentious looking man.

It was Governor Pomeroff who had come in response to his invitation.

Mendel's face flushed with emotion when he saw the Governor enter the synagogue. After that he paid no further attention to his distinguished guest, but took up the thread of his discourse.

He spoke of the effect of sin upon our earthly life and upon our possible existence after death, expounded the doctrine of punishment in the hereafter as given in the _Midrash_, and spoke of the infinite mercy of the Father in Heaven.