"Well, well?"

"Then I heard something begin to sing within me."

"What did you feel like? Tell me quick!"

"I felt as though all the doors of sense in me were shut, and as though something sang within me--as it ought to do--without any words, like ...

like...."

"How was it? How was it?"

"No, I can't! I knew, before--and then the singing turned into--into--"

"Into what? What became of it?"

"A kind of playing--as though (lehavdil) there were a fiddle inside me--or as if Yoneh, the musician, were sitting there and playing hymns, as he does at the Rebbe's dinner-table. Only it was better, more beautiful, more spiritual. And without a voice, without any voice at all--it was _all_ spiritual."

"Happy, happy, happy, are you!"

"Now it's all gone (sadly), the doors of sense are reopened, and I am so tired, I am so--so--_tired_, that I--

"Rebbe!" he called out suddenly, clapping a hand to his heart, "Rebbe, say the confession of sins with me! They have come for me! They have come for me! There is a singer wanted in the Heavenly Family! An angel with white wings! Rebbe, Rebbe! Hear, O Israel! Hear, O Is--"

The entire little town wished as one man that it might die as blessed a death; but the Rebbe was not satisfied.

"Another fast or two," he groaned, "and he would have died beneath the Divine kiss!"[56]

XV

TRAVEL-PICTURES

PREFACE

It was at the end of the good, and the beginning of the bad, years.

Black clouds had appeared in the sky, but it was believed that the wind[57]--the spirit of the times, I mean--would soon disperse them, that they would pour out their heart somewhere in the wilderness.

In Europe's carefully-tended vineyard the bitter root was already cleaving the sod and sending out p.r.i.c.kly, poisonous shoots, but look, look! now the gardener will see it and tear it out root and all. That was the idea. It was supposed that the nineteenth century had caught a cold, a feverish chill, in its old age. That it would end in a serious illness, a fit of insanity, never occurred to anyone.

How far away America was for us in those days! Not a Jew troubled himself as to what a plate of porridge looked like over there, or wondered whether people wore their skull-caps on their feet. Palestinian Esrogim were as seldom mentioned as Barons Hirsch and Edward de Rothschild.[58]

Astronomy calculates beforehand every eclipse of the sun or moon.

Psychology is not so advanced. The world-soul grows suddenly dark, the body is seized with a sort of convulsion, and science cannot foretell the hour--the thing is difficult enough to believe in after it has happened--it is not to be explained. And yet people were uneasy--rumor followed rumor from every side.

It was resolved, among other things, to inquire into the common, workaday Jewish life, to find out what went on in the little towns, what men were hoping for, how they made a living, what they were about, what the people said.

TRUST

My first halting-place was Tishewitz. I took lodgings with an acquaintance, Reb Bruch. He sent for the beadle and a few householders.

While I was waiting for them, I stood by the window and looked at the market-place. The market-place is a large square bounded on each side by a row of grimy, tumbledown houses, some roofed with straw, but the majority, with shingle. All are one-storied with a broad veranda supported by rotten beams.

Pushing out from the veranda and not far apart, one from the other, stand the huckstresses over the stalls with rolls, bread, peas, beans, and various kinds of fruit.

The market-women are in a state of great commotion. I must have impressed them very much.

"Bad luck to you!" screams one, "don't point at him with your finger; he can see!"

"Hold your tongue!"

The women know that I have come to take notes in writing. They confide the secret one to another so softly that I overhear every word, even inside the house.

"They say it is he himself!"

"It is a good thing the poor sheep have shepherds who are mindful of them. All the same, if _that_ Shepherd[59] did not help, much good it would be!"

"One cannot understand why _that_ Shepherd should require such messengers" (in allusion to my shaven beard and short-skirted coat).

Another is more liberal in her views, and helps herself out of the difficulty by means of the Rofeh.

"Take a Rofeh," she says, "he is likewise a heretic, and yet he also is permitted--"

"That is another thing altogether, he is a private individual, but is it so hard to find good Jews for public affairs?"

"They'd better," opines another, "have sent a few hundred rubles. They might let the writing be and welcome, even though my son were _not_ made a general!"[60]

Sitting at the table, I saw without being seen. I was hidden from the street, but I could see half the market-place. Meantime, mine host had finished his prayers, put off Tallis and Tefillin, poured out a little brandy, and drunk my health in it.

"Long life and peace to you!" he said.

I answer, "G.o.d send better times and Parnosseh!"

I envy my host--Parnosseh is all he wants.

He adds impressively:

"And there will _have_ to be Parnosseh! Is there not a G.o.d in the world?

And the 'good Jews' will pray and do what they can."

I interrupt him and ask why, although he has confidence in his own business, although he knows quite well "He who gives life gives food"--why he exerts himself so, and lies awake whole nights thinking: To-morrow, later, this time next year. Hardly has a Jew put on his wedding garments, when he begins to think how to buy others for his children--and then, when it comes to All-Israel, his trust is so great that it does not seem worth while to dip one's hand in cold water for it--why is this?

"That," he says, "is something quite different. All-Israel is another thing. All-Israel is G.o.d's affair--G.o.d is mindful of it, and then, in case there should be forgetfulness before the throne of His glory, there are those who will remind Him. But as for private affairs, that's a different matter. Besides, how much longer can the misery of Israel last? It _must_ come to an end some time, either because the measure of guilt is full, or the measure of merit is full. But Parnosseh is quite another thing!"