"What was very stupid?"
"Why did not you ask him about wise things?"
"I did ask him, but he didn't even know what I meant."
"Did he not tell you what he thought of?"
"He told me he thought of how he could best buy a beautiful house which would bring him an income of two thousand roubles."
"He can think about the house, but about what else does he think?"
"He told me he did not think about anything else."
"And what is he accomplishing in the world?"
"He is in an office, where he copies some papers and when he returns home he smokes a cigarette and thinks about the house."
"And what does he think about Jews who have no education and live in misery?"
"He thinks they are stupid and dirty."
"And what did he say when you told him that we wished to free our souls from darkness, but could not."
"He told me that if he were to tell his family and comrades of it, they would laugh."
"Why should they laugh?"
Then there was a long silence, and finally someone said angrily:
"A bad man!"
After a while Meir's cousin, Haim--Abraham's son--said:
"Meir, that knowledge and education for which we wish so eagerly must be evil, if it makes people stupid and bad."
Another young man said:
"Meir, will you explain it to us?"
Meir looked sadly at his comrades, and dropping his face in both bands, he said:
"I don't know anything."
The answer came with stifled sobs. But at that moment the cantor raised his white band and pulled from his friend's sorrowful face the hands which covered it.
"Your hearts must not be sunk in sorrow," said Eliezer, "I will ask our master to answer that question for us."
He took from the ground a large book and with a smile on his lips be pointed out to his comrades the first leaf of it. On this leaf was printed the name of Moses Majmonides.
The young people drew near to him, and their faces wore an expression of solemn attention. The great Hebrew savant was about to speak to them through the mouth of their beloved cantor. He was an old master, forgotten by some, excommunicated by others, but dear and saintly to them. Since the spirit of that master in the form of several big volumes brought back by Eliezer on his return home from the outer world, had breathed upon their minds, they experienced the force of hitherto unknown streams of thought and rebellion--they were filled with sorrowful longings and desires. But they were grateful to him for this grief and longing, and rushed to him in all times of doubt.
But alas! they could not find answers for all their questions-consolations for all their complaints! Centuries had vanished, the times had changed and there had passed through the world a long chain of geniuses bringing new truths. But of this they knew nothing, and when the large book was opened they prepared themselves with joy and solemnity to receive the breath of the old truths.
Eliezer did not begin at once to read. He turned the leaves, looking for a paragraph appropriate to the circumstances. In the meanwhile, the girl who had until now remained seated on the bank of the pond, rose from among the forget-me-nots and white briar and advanced slowly toward the group of young people. Even from afar her great eyes could be seen looking into Meir's face. The white goat followed her. Both disappeared in the grove and then Golda emerged and stood behind Meir. She came so quietly that no one noticed her. She threw her arms about the trunk of a birch tree and leaning her head against the softly swaying branch, she caressed the bent head of Meir with her looks. She seemed not to see the other people.
At that moment Eliezer exclaimed in his pure, crystalline voice:
"Israel, listen!"
With these words many psalms and sacred writings of the Hebrews commence. For the young people surrounding Meir this reading of the old master was a psalm of respect and deep spiritual prayer.
Eliezer began to read in a chanting voice:
"My disciples I You ask me what force attracts the celestial beings of the Heavens, which we call stars, and why some of them rise so high they are lost in mist, and others float more heavily toward the sky, and remain far behind their sisters?"
"I will disclose to you the mystery which you seek to solve."
"The force attracting the celestial bodies is the Perfection dwelling on the heights, and called God in the human tongue. The stars, seized with love and longing for this Perfection, rise continually in order to approach nearer and take something of wisdom and perfection from the Wise and Perfect."
"My disciples, from those celestial beings, which long for the Perfection, come all changes of the moon. They cause different forms and images. . . ."
Eliezer stopped reading, and raised his turquoise-like eyes from the book, and they shone with joy.
But the others thought a long while, trying to find an answer to their doubts in that passage of the master.
Meir answered thoughtfully:
"There are men who, like the celestial beings of which the sage talks, raise their souls toward the Perfection. They know that there is perfection, and they try to take from it Wisdom and Goodness for themselves. But there are also people who, like those stars which float more heavily upward, do not long for the perfection, and do not rise through such longing. Such people keep their souls very low. . . ."
Now they understood. Joy beamed from all faces. What a small crumb of knowledge it took to make joyful these poor, and at the same time rich, souls!
Meir seized the book from his friend's hands, and read from another leaf:
"The angels themselves are not all equal. They are classed one above the other, like the steps of a ladder, and the highest among them is the Spirit producing thought and knowledge. This Spirit animates Reason, and Hagada calls it Prince of the World--Sar-ha-Olam!"
"The highest angel is the Spirit producing thought and knowledge, and Hagada calls it the Prince of the world," repeated the choir of young voices.
Their doubts were scattered. Learning had reawakened respect in their minds, and longing in their hearts, and passed before them in the form of the Angel of Angels, flying over the world arrayed in princely purple, with a shining veil wrought by his thought. Reverie sat on their foreheads and in their eyes. The reverie of a quiet evening covered the meadow blooming around them. Before them purple clouds hung above the forest, hiding behind them the shield of the sun. Behind them the green grove, sunk in dusky shadows, was slumbering motionlessly.
Over the meadow and fields floated Eliezer's silvery voice:
"I saw the spirit of my people when I slumbered," Jehovah's pale cantor began to sing.
And it was not known whence came that song. Who composed it? No one could tell. One verse was given by Eliezer to his friend after a state of ecstatic unconsciousness which visited him often; the second was composed by Aryel, Calman's son, while playing on his violin in the grove. Some of them had their birth in Meir's breast, and others were whispered by the childish lips of Haim, Abraham's son. Thus are composed all folk songs. Their origin is in longing hearts, oppressed thoughts, and instinctive flights toward a better life. Thus was born in Szybow the song which the cantor now began:
"Once, while I slumbered, I fancied I saw My people's spirit before me; And I felt a strange spell stealing o'er me, As I gazed on the world in awe."
Here the other voices joined that of the cantor, and a powerful chorus resounded through the fields and meadow: