Jewish family papers; or Letters of a missionary

Front matter

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PURCHASED FROM

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Preface

A few words on the origin of the following translation will testify to the value of the work which is here presented in a new dress to the English-reading public. The Translator was yet studying at the Breslau Theological Seminary when the book was first brought under his notice by a fellow-student, one of its most enthusiastic admirers. A large number of copies were at once procured and read with avidity by our comrades. It is impossible to describe the applause the book called forth : never had we read so glowing and so powerful a vindication of pure Judaism. We were rejoiced that the country which had produced an Eisenmenger, a Wagenseil, Schudt, Pfefferkorn, et hoc genus omne, should have yielded in our day too so triumphant a Defender of the Faith. Our venerable Director, the Very Rev. Dr, Frankel (to whom be peace!) was as enthusiastic as any of his young disciples in its praise.

It was then that the undersigned conceived the idea of rendering the book accessible to his English brethren. The work of translation was commenced and carried on in leisure intervals for the next few years. In January, 1874, in conjunction with Mr. A. Herzberg, then of London, brother of the author, a prospectus was issued in England, proposing the publication of the work by subscription. The project was heartily indorsed by the Very Rev. the Chief Rabbi and the Rev. Dr. Herrman Adler, the latter of whom kindly made valuable suggestions as to omissions and alterations proper in a version to

VI PREFACE.

come before average English readers. The matter, however, not being taken up by the Anglo-Jewish public, the work is now presented to the Jews of America under the auspices of the American Jewish Publication Society.

The translation here offered contains all the alterations agreed upon for the London issue. Being the result of the intermittent labor of years, it is hoped that most imperfections have been eliminated ; the peculiar philosophical character of the middle portions, however, has rendered the translation somewhat more difficult than the general run of German books.

The Translator has added a few notes, explaining references which would otherwise be obscure to the ordinary lay-reader, Hebrew or Christian.

Trusting that this little work will be well received by our brethren, both Jew and Gentile — the former of whom will derive valuable support and information, the latter respectful and considerate instruction therefrom — a hearty " God-speed ! " is wished it by

New York, October, ff-ff THE TRANSLATOR.

Letter I

I arrived yesterday and am living with Rabbi Nathan. All passed off easily, more easily than I expected, and the Lord be praised, I stand on the threshold of my longed-for labor.

I am sitting in a back room of the old Frankish house ; my windows look out upon a large yard filled with children at play. Now and then their merry laughter reaches my ear, as I sit poring over a fine edition of the Mishna,1 which my kind host has permitted me to bring to my room. At one time my heart beats high within me, in joyful, almost boastful exultation, and then again I shudder and draw back, and call myself unworthy, weak — but am I not fighting for a higher power ? Is not my aim a lofty one, and if I reach it, do I not labor for all eternity % But let me tell you about my journey in proper order.

I left Hartlepool, whence I wrote you last, in the Neptune, at midnight, and arrived, after a rather rough passage of forty-eight hours, in Hamburg. The boat remained all night, I know not wherefore, lying in the middle of the Elbe, but the passengers were allowed, if they chose, to disembark. I had been so unwell on the voyage, and the air in the cabin was so close and oppressive, that I honestly longed for the comfort of a respectable hotel.

My fellow-voyagers had passed the time in playing cards all the way. Among them was a tall, pale young man, who was equally anxious with me to reach terra ftrma. There were plenty of boats alongside, and looking out our luggage from the pile the steamer had brought along, we soon landed in the pitch dark night in the quay. I was agreeably surprised to find that the Customs-authorities, so troublesome with us, left me quite undisturbed, and with the pleasant feeling of a difficulty overcome, I was whirled along into the town. My companion asked me whether I intended to put up 1 at any particular hotel ; if not, he proposed the King of Portugal, where he usually slopped ; I had no objection, and thither we went.

The change of scene, the anticipation of the new circumstances I was approaching, had so excited me that I became more talkative than usual, and my companion's melancholy taciturnity and short answers did not attract my notice. His pale face, as he listlessly stared into the flame of the street lamps, drew my attention. I asked him, in some concern, if he were unwell, and no great persuasion was needed to draw from the poor fellow the history of his misfortune. He had failed, he said, in business, through fraud on the side of his partner, and had to flee from his native town, leaving his young wife and an infant three months old. He had spent two months in England in great distress, looking for a means of livelihood, but in vain. He intends now to give himself up to justice, and purchase the vicinity of his darlings with imprisonment. For the present, he intends to hide in Hamburg and await news from them ; I had to promise him to seek out his wife and child in

S -. I was sorry for him, but his confidence, especially in such

a delicate personal matter, seemed to me too easily given, and it made me somewhat suspicious. I rejected therefore, without much ado, his proposition that we should hire a room in common, held no more conversation with him, and upon arrival at the hotel, had myself shown into a chamber where I could drink my tea alone.

I sat quietly by the cozy fireside and let the wounds of the past cross my mind in review. What have I done that I should not be rejected like the rest? Verily, many are called, but few are chosen, and, mindful of my unworthiness, I am overcome with humility!

I saw myself a timid boy again, hurrying over the Moorfield hills, and wandering about our splendid park in my early solitude. I do not remember ever having joined in boyish games; is it only that I have forgotten ? I know I often stood wondering afar off when the others romped in joyous childish sport; just as, later, I used to watch, not without an envious feeling, when the young men of my age whirled along in the dance, holding some blooming girl in their arms. They enjoyed a pleasure I did not comprehend, because I never had experienced it; I should indeed very much have liked to do so, but I knew not how to set about it. Why did not the boys ask me to join them in their play, like they did others, whose parents they were incessantly begging for permission ? Why did they fall to whispering to each other when they caught sight of me, and grow silent when I drew near? I could not imagine the reason.

How powerful, even in the boy, was the instinctive sense of gratitude for deeds of benevolence ! I thought the world centred in me, and I would execute something new, something unheard of: I would become a benefactor of my brethren. In my dreams I beheld myself possessed of King Solomon's signet. Then I would fill the boxes of the poor, secretly and by night, with glittering gold, and with delight depicted to myself their joy when they unexpectedly discovered the treasure in the morning. Poor child ! hoping to make men happy — with gold!

You gave me a peculiar education. I was not suffered to enter the close class-room, had no need to fear the rod of the angry schoolmaster who stood among the boys like the arbiter of worlds on the day of judgment. I used to go to the rector. Why, I knew not. I never asked myself why I studied Hebrew in addition, while the other boys had enough with their Latin and Greek, nor why I had to learn all those curious customs and observances. I should have liked the study well, almost too well, if that man had not been my teacher. I know you did not like him either. His dignified, pompous air when silent, and that continual sweet smile when he opened his lips — I never ventured to be myself, to be natural, in his presence. For he was always wound up, always the same : the same sanctimonious vanity always shot from the small, black, piercing eyes ; the same saintly humility Avas always displayed on his flat forehead and sharp-cut nose. "I wonder whether he winds himself up at ni<_>ht or in the morning'?'1 I used to ask myself; "I should dearly like to see him once unwound!'' I did not fear the man, I rather felt disposed to hate him, and when he went so far as to pat my head with his hand, I shuddered and felt a repugnance amounting to disgust. When I sat in front of him, with my head bent over the book, attentively translating the Hebrew words, if I came to a difficult passage and looked up into his ashy face, with its high, bald forehead, there he used to sit leaning back in his chair, his shallow black wig displaced, and his own red hair sprouting out beneath it. I could not speak then : I could not hear him — I saw his lips moving, talking to me ; but my childish mind was so full cf dread, that it seemed convulsed, and my members refused their office.

He never punished me. He was silent when he saw I did not speak, and sent me home. Like a released captive, I walked along, reeling under the oppression of his presence, until the meadows and gardens roused me, and running and jumping made me forget what I had felt. I used to go then better prepared for the next lesson ; I translated fluently and noted his corrections, but I dared not look at him ; if I did, the same spell came upon me ! Every other man I looked free and openly in the face ; from this one, I recoiled as if I bore a sense of blackest guilt in my soul, known to him alone ; I shuddered before him as before a guilty conscience !

How different it was in your lessons, my dear father! You I could look at, and how I loved to look ! Your earnest, calm countenance, in which the firm, blue eyes gazed upon the questioner, inspiring confidence ; the calmness and humanity of your whole being penetrated me with beneficent warmth. Still I used to prefer being with you out of lesson-time. There was no difficulty with secular instruction, but oh! those religious lessons! Not an hour, but an eternity they used to last ! When the lesson commenced, I felt like a pilsrim taking leave of his friends and entering the flowing desert, and when the clock struck, I sprang up joyfully, like a prisoner released.

I took to every other branch of knowledge easily, but theology remained a closed book with seven seals. To please you, I learned the subject by heart, mechanically, and sighed as I blamed my weak intellect that could not fathom its meaning. My dearest wish was to have a genius for theology, in order to delight you by my proficiency in your favorite study. But as soon as I tried to penetrate to the se?ise of your words (and I loved you too well not to try often), I lost my composure, and while I listened to you with my eyes bent on the book, with all my powers strained to follow you, the same awful sensation fell upon me that the rector used to inspire. But when, bewildered and in speechless dread, I raised my eyes, expecting to see that man's pale features^ and I gazed on your true, kind eyes instead, a curious sense of confidence pervaded me, for I saw you, and my eyes would not cease gazing. I saw my benefactor — the modest, pious man, the friend of the poor, who had taken the destitute boy into his house, and cared for him more than a father could. Yes, noble-minded man, I forgot your words, thinking of yourself, or, let me confess, I heard you not, \felt you: joy and admiration of your kind heart quite tilled up mine. But with all this joy there was mingled a strange and painful feeling : you loved me so well, and yet I *could not understand you !

How curious children's hearts arc ! Grown-up people look down like gods upon them, and yet they are men too, with more intense feelings, weaker passions, and nobler impulses. We should never forget they are human beings in miniature : more resembling animals, it is true, but nearer also to the angels. As a child, I had curious feelings, which I do not even understand now. I used actually to pity you, my dear father, as you looked me earnestly in the face and taught the doctrine of Salvation, or used I to pity myself"? I know my heart was full of tender compassion, and when you used to speak eloquently and earnestly — why shall I not confess now that I am no more bashful, confess what, as a boy, I kept hidden like a crime from you, would fain have hidden from myself? Your words reached my ear — but no farther ! You spoke in German, my mother-tongue : Chinese would not have sounded stranger, and all the inspiring pictures and parables of the Evangelists passed like unsubstantial shadows before my eyes. And — why shall I not speak the truth and illustrate what I owe to you? — and the foolish lad used to grow terrified especially at the picture of the Sufferer! Oft did you paint in glowing enthusiasm the pains he took upon himself, to redeem mankind ! You showed me the glorious form nailed to the cross, and purple drops of blood oozing from his hands and feet, falling on to the yellow sand ! I watched how the bitter agony distorted his mild features, and I shuddered at the sight !

I have so long laughed at your doctrine of orignal sin that I almost begin to believe it ; for what else could it have been but my sinful sensualism that combated that man's moral excellence? "Death! death ! " it rang through me like the tolling of a funeral bell ; I am onlv just entering life, and they are teaching me to leave it ! Misdirecting a longing, which only in dreams yearns for the welfare of humanity, crippling the holy emotions of a pure and noble heart, they strive to make the future man believe that a woman's virtue is the highest of all! Wherein should I imitate him: him, the example of all mankind ? I could not work miracles, I could not preach better than he ; what remains — but to die like him f I froze with horror at the thought, and sat like one dead, till you closed your book and gave the sign for freedom !

How happy is the child's disposition that can cast off the burden of the past like a knapsack from the shoulders ! In the open air, in the company of my flowers, my fowls and pigeons, not a recollection of my former dread remained. Yet I was not quite emancipated from it. It came back at night. I never told you; I do not know why, I was afraid to tell you. That "was the reason I asked you, shyly at first, then imploringly, to let me have a candle burning all night; you refused with good-natured chiding, and I slunk away, ashamed of my weakness. But when I lay in bed, and old Esther came and took away the light — she did it as late as possible, good soul ! — then I drew the coverlet over my head, for I knew It would come. An 1 It did come. Horror and agony settled on my chest and pressed and crushed me down. What was it that lay like a hundredweight upon me, so that I gasped for breath, and thought I was suffocating? Was it not the pale form of the Sufferer, who embraced me with giant arms ? It bore upon me, crushing me with savage glee ; I gasped and groaned ; it sought to kill me, I resisted and wrestled with all my strength. In agony I uttered a cry for help — who called? All was silent, all in fearful gloom. I had awakened. I lay bathed in perspiration, and dared not draw down the coverlet, my only protection, one hair's-breadth from my head, for around my bed the figures of my dream stood like exorcised spirits, and stretched their lean arms toward me. Thus I remained in a fever of terror, and waited for dawn. The first ray of light reassured me, I drew down the counterpane, ventured to put my arms outside, and after I had timidly gazed around the room and seen nobody was there, I lay down and enjoyed a short doze. You know now, dear father, why I was always a pale, weakly lad. Often you used to take the books out of my hand and send me out into the fresh air. It was not the need of that. It was the need of sleep, and that fearful nightmare!

I fell asleep by the fireside in the Hamburg hotel, thinking of my boyhood's fearful dreams, and lo ! — they came again ! The Form threw me to the ground, knelt upon my breast. I struggled for breath in vain under the load, again I heard those fearful groans out of the corner of the room, and It glided close by me ! — I was unwell, my father; truly, I was unwell. I awoke. The fire had gone out, the candles burned deep in their sockets. I got up and looked at my watch : night was nearly over. In deep anxiety I walked up and down my room. I examined my past life, summoned to my recollection every one with whom I had ever come in contact, but could not find myself guilty of any crime. True, human-like, I had often erred ; but I could detect no sin that could warrant the consciousness of such guilt as I experienced in my dreams. What was it that so persecuted me ; that, with a blow, annihilated my hard-won repose? I had striven with all the powers of my mind, had investigated and pondered for years, and had attained at length, if not conviction, at least consoling faith. Am I another being when unconscious ? Was a flow of blood, a morbid disturbance of my nerves, to shatter thus my plans like wretched card-houses? My heart leaped within me in deadly terror, like a roe startled by the hunter's shot ; I was alone, alone, and nobody to give me succor!

Is the curse mightier than the blessing? Does the Lord visit the iniquity of the fathers on the children unto the thousandth generation ? Thus hath He not promised ! What is it that terrifies and misleads me ? Have I not devoted my earthly life to the poor lost sheep of Israel in order that they may partake of true life ? Ah, I have it ; surely my crime is that I have as yet done nothing toward this end! When I have done for one of the wanderers what you did for me, father, then will everlasting peace fill my breast ; I shall expiate the sin of my people with the help of Divine grace : I shall be happy when I have done my duty !

Enough for to-day.

Yours, in truth, .

Samuel.

LETTER II. Skptembkr 28th, 185

My journey from Hamburg was not marked by any event of importance, and I found myself next morning at my destination. The day for which I had so often longed had at length arrived, and it was with a beating heart that I took my seat in the stage. The journey was tedious, seemed interminable, but at last the coach stopped before a small, unpretending house, and I sprang down. A dirty, narrow lane with small stores, at the doors of which dark-eyed men and women were chatting. I knocked, and gave my card to the old servant who opened. She led me to a room and bade me sit down and wait. Trembling with excitement, I walked up and down the room. Would they receive me without suspicion ? Would not the next moment witness the crushing: of the long-cherished plan? And what right had I to force my way here under a deceitful mask, and carry discord perhaps into a quiet family circle ?

Fie upon those foolish qualms of conscience ; inspired only by childish bashfulness ! My goal rose like a naming beacon before me, and I thought of my vows to you. My eyes flashed once more then, my heart throbbed violently : was I not imitating those great martyrs who fought against error with mental weapons ? What our great predecessors did for the heathen, we will do for the forsaken children of Israel. They are still accursed wanderers on the face of the earth ; they arc wretched ; we will comfort them. How is it possible they should not be sunk in sin, when they know not Him who took all sin upon Himself? That baseness and crime should not be their lot, since the iron hand of tyranny has ruled them for centuries ? The lirst part of religion's miracle has been accomplished, the European heathen has been converted, and truth spreads ever farther r the earth ; but the holy, the chosen people is still banished from its King's royal presence, still is it stiff-necked and obstinate;

but'love shall effect Avhat hatred failed to do, and fulfill the whole of the great prophecy.

With these thoughts in my mind, I remained standing in the reception room, until the door opened and the Rabbi appeared. He was a man of middle stature, in a long old-fashioned robe, with a small velvet cap upon his head. A dark, almost melancholy cast of countenance, Avith quiet, soft eyes, and a long gray beard, which accorded well with the dignity of the man's whole appearance.

I stood perplexed, uncertain how I should greet my uncle. He approached me slowly, took my hand and kissed me on both cheeks. " Blessed be he who cometh ! " said he, " welcome, Samuel, my son ! "

He held me long in his arms : when he released me, I saw tears in his eyes. I was touched, for I had not expected such warmth.

" Uncle, you remember my father ? "

He looked at me reproachfully. "How should I forget my own blood, my younger brother, who grew up at my side ? He lacked your quiet countenance, he was wild and restless. He soon went into the country as a peddler, while I sat in the Beth Ilamedrash (college) and studied. Then he married and emigrated, over the ocean, to America. Thirty years ago ! At first I hoped for a letter from day to day, from week to week ; then I gave up the hope. I often reflected, ' He does not write because he is not prospering ' — then I felt that he was dead, and I grieved I knew not of his end. At last I received your letter with that of your foster-father ; what joyous hours you caused me ! For I did not know I had a nephew — but here I stand prating and forget that you have traveled all night. You are weary and need repose ! "

"Not so, uncle," I answered, "let me stay with you if your business allows it."

" If my business allows it ! How you speak to your uncle ! Shall I not have leisure for my Reuben's son ? Think you I am not curious to hear what has happened to you, the sole inheritor of his name, and to learn what you know of your parents? "

I was perplexed. How often had I already in thought anticipated the situation and prepared fitting answers to all the questions I imagined he could put to me ! And now my cleverness left me in the lurch, and shame at my deceitful position sent the blood coursing red hot to my temples. I looked back and saw again in my mind's eye that deserted barn. Father lay upon the straw, his box of goods at his feet, his staff clutched convulsively in his wasted hands. I cowered at his side, a helpless lad, and dried with trembling hand the drops of moisture from his brow. It was a broiling hot day, the air close to suffocation, and round us was breathless silence. I listened eagerly for mother's steps ; she had gone for aid ; not a footfall was to be heard. She came not: I thought everybody in the land had died and the cruel disease would destroy us too in the barn — that cruel disease that coursed through the country and filled graves innu merable. "And mother will die too ! " I cried in sudden terror, and rushed to the door ; with the hot tears in my eyes. Father noticed my movement and called, " Samuel, where are you ? Woe to me if you leave me ! " I went slowly back.

" My son, do you at least remain with me. See, my hour has come. I am alone, with no one to recite the prayer for the dying, to pray with me, and no one to wrap my corpse in clean shrouds! Alas ! will they put me with my ancestors ? Will my son ever find my grave, my children's children be able to pray at my earthly restingplace ? Mother, where are you ? Sunk down by the way, strength has failed you — they have thrust you from their doors, my wife ! and turned you from their farms ! Samuel, where are you ? "

" Here, father, at your side, quite close to you ! "

" God punishes me in taking me away while you are young, mY child ! What will become of you? The Goyim (Christians) know no pity ; they will chase you from them like a distempered dog. If you survive this misfortune, my darling, remember your uncle in Germany, he will be a father to you. You ask me why I left there, my son, left all my friends u? My child, they have a law there by which cnly a certain number of Jews may reside in one town. True, I asked no help from any one but my own hands, but they drove me away — drove me away! Why do you weep? We are in exile; on account of our sins we were driven from the Holv Land. Mv son, I am an ignorant man, but your uncle is a great Rabbi, he will teach you lorah (the Law) and Mish?ia, but meantime promise me by my departing life to keep God's commandments and not to become a Christian! We crossed the sea and came to this countn, England, because men are not so cruel here as at home. They let us live by our labor, do not kill us because we call on our God's name, and do not despise us because we are descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. But be on your guard ; they try to convert us. They are not wicked, only narrow-minded. They think if they lead a son of Israel from the right path, that they prove the truth of the Crucified One ! "

In what chamber of my memory had these words been locked up ? Why had I so seldom thought of my parents, and how was it that fearful scene rose so vividly before my eyes just then?

Poor, deluded nation ! I cannot restrain my tears, and weep through the night's darkness at thy sad fate ! Is it possible — cau Providence permit that men shall make martyrs of themselves for a falsehood, and that generation after generation, with superhuman obstinacy, shall continue their fathers' madness J? Close at their side hangs the fruit of grace, the stream of salvation flows near, and all the world's honors glitter at arm's reach ; but they close their eyes and will not see, avert their ears and will not hearken ; they sacrifice their ambition and choose to remain in insignificance — that wondrous, that fearful race of* Judah ! Therefore will I add my mite and work with all my strength for thee, for Fate has ordained me hereto !

The owner of the barn was not cruel, as my father had anticipated; he brought us some food ; I rejected everything as I lay almost dying with grief by my dying father's side, and torn with anxiety for my mother : she did not return. How long this lasted, I do not know. I remember only running along the hedges later, and calling on father and mother — I dared not venture into the village. I crept alon^' the road, for I was too weak to walk, and could not understand why my parents had left me ; my sweet mother whose life I was, my good father who blessed me, and taught me to pray. In this manner I reached a handsome mansion — the house that was to receive the forlorn orphan. A kind gentleman looked out of the window and caught sight of the ragged boy on the road. Yes, my adopted father, you threw me a coin. I did not pick it up, I crept on farther, still weeping, and only halted when you called me repeatedly. You brought me in and made me tell my history, I supposed you had heard about it before, and knew that my parents were resting in the cold earth. You comforted the poor child, promised him he should see his dear ones again. You had meat and drink set before me, but I would take only bread and milk ; for that the lad of five years old already knew, he must not partake of the strangers' viands.