"Zeide! What does Jehovah command a man to do, from whom the people have turned away because he will not act against his conscience?"
Abel interrupted his prayers. He was accustomed to his grand-daughter's inquiries, and to answer them.
He seemed to ponder a few minutes, and then in his quavering but distinct voice, replied:
"Jehovah says: 'I made you a prophet, a guardian over Israel! Hear my words and repeat them to the people. If you do this, I shall call you a faithful servant; if you remain silent, on your head be the woes of Israel.'"
The old voice became silent, but Meir listened still, with glowing eyes. Then he pointed into the dark room and said:
"He has said the truth! Through his mouth has spoken the old covenant of Moses, the one true covenant."
Tears gleamed in Golda's eyes; but Meir saw them not, so deeply was he absorbed in thoughts which fired his whole being. He gently bent his head before the girl and went away.
She remained at the open window. Her bearing was quiet, but silent tears one after another rolled down her thin face.
"They beheaded the prophet Hosea, and drove the prophet Jeremiah out of Jerusalem," she whispered.
At a distance from the hut, Meir raised his face to heaven:
"Rabbi Akiba died in great tortures for his convictions," he murmured.
Golda's eyes followed him still though she could see him no longer; and folding her hands, she murmured:
"Like as Ruth said to Naomi, I wilt say to the light of my soul: 'Whither thou goest I will go; where thou diest, I will die!'"
In this way these two children, thoroughly imbued with the old history and legends of Israel, which represented to them all earthly knowledge, drew from them comfort and courage.
CHAPTER IX
The day had scarcely begun to dawn when, in Kamionker's house, everybody, with the exception of the little children, was awake and stirring. It was an important day for the landlord of the inn, as it was that of the principal fair, which brought crowds of people of all sorts to the town. Both Jankiel's daughters, two strong, plain, and slatternly girls, with the help of the boy Mendel, whose stupid, malicious face bore the traces of Reb Moshe's training, were busy preparing the two guest rooms for the arrival of distinguished customers. Next to the guest rooms was the large bar-room, where, during the fair, crowds of country people were wont to drink and to dance. The servant pretended to clean the benches around the wall, and made a scanty fire in the great black stove, as the morning was cool and the air damp and musty. In Jankiel's room, the first from the entrance, the window of which looked upon the still empty market-square, were two people, Jankiel and his wife Jenta, both at their morning prayers.
Jankiel, dressed his everyday gabardine with black kerchief twisted round his neck, rocked his body violently and prayed in a loud voice:
"Blessed be the Lord of the world that he hath not made me a heathen!
Blessed be the Lord that he hath not made me a slave! Blessed be the Lord that he hath not made me a woman!"
At the same time Jenta, dressed in a blue sleeveless jacket and short skirt, bent her body in short, jerky motions, and in a voice much lower than her husband's, began:
"Blessed be the Lord of the world that he has made me according to his will!"
Rocking to and fro, she sighed heavily:
"Blessed be the Lord who gives strength to the tired and drives away from their eyes sleep and weariness!"
Then Jankiel took up the white tallith with the black border, and, wrapping himself in its soft folds, exclaimed:
"Blessed be the Lord who enlightened us with his law and bade us to cover ourselves with the tallith!"
He put the philacteries, or holy scroll, upon his forehead and wrists, saying:
"I betroth myself for ever, betroth myself unto truth, unto the everlasting grace."
Both husband and wife were so absorbed in their prayers that they did not hear the quick step of a man.
Meir Ezofowich crossed the room where Jankiel and his wife were praying, and the next, which was full of beds and trunks, where the two smaller children were still asleep, and opened the door of his friend's room.
There was as yet only a dim light in the little apartment where Eliezer stood at the window and prayed. He recognised his friend's step, but did not interrupt his prayers, only raised his hands as if inviting him to join:
"O Lord of Hosts, how long wilt thou be angry against the prayer of thy people?"
Meir stood a few steps apart and responded, as the people respond to the singer:
"Thou feedest them with the bread of stones, and givest them tears to drink in great measure."
"Thou makest us a strife unto our neighbours, and our enemies laugh among themselves," intonated Eliezer.
In this way the two friends sang one of the most beautiful complaints that ever rose from earth to heaven. Every word is a tear, every word a melody expressing the tragic history of a great people.
There were as different expressions in the faces of the two young men as their characters were unlike each other. Eliezer's blue eyes were full of tears, his delicate features full of dreaminess and rapture; Meir stood erect, his burning eyes fixed on the sky, and his brow contracted as if in anger. They both prayed from the depths of their hearts until the end, and then their formally united souls parted.
Eliezer intoned a prayer for the Wise Men of Israel:
"O Lord of heaven! guard and watch over the Wise Men of Israel, their wives, children and disciples, always and everywhere! Say unto me Amen!"
Meir did not say Amen. He was silent.
The singer seemed to wait for a response, when Meir, slightly raising his voice, said, with quivering lips:
"Guard, O Lord, and watch over our brethren in Israel that live in sin and darkness, always and everywhere; bring them from darkness into light, from bondage to freedom! Say unto me Amen!"
"Amen!" exclaimed Eliezer, turning towards his friend; and their hands met in a hearty grasp.
"Eliezer," said Meir, "you look changed since I saw you last."
"And you, Meir, look different."
Only a week had passed over their heads. Sometimes one week means as much as ten years.
"I have suffered much during the week," whispered the singer.
Meir did not complain.
"Eliezer," he said, "give me 'More Nebuchim.' I came to you so early to ask for that book. I want it very much."
Eliezer stood with his head hanging down dejectedly.
"I no longer have the book," he said, in a low voice.