Yeshiva University - Masmid Yearbook (New York, NY)

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MASMID 23 ' tnu5ttntt By Eli Levine ACH DAY, when the shades of night €came, I felt a heavy load pressing at my heart. A mysterious some- thing gnawed there incessantly. Then my mind would shake off all worldly thoughts and would concentrate its whole attention on this unknown craving. I had a vague idea of the nature of this yearning, but I could not place my finger on any particular wish, or name a special desire and say This is it! The most intense mental suffering would always come at night when I lay in bed. Doubts concerning every accepted idea would agitate my mind for hours; and there came also a great fear as to the results of such doubts. The bed be- came my rack, and the thought of having to sleep there every night was agonizing. As the days passed by my anguish grew great- er. Skeptical thoughts assailed me with such vigor that I began to question everything I heard or saw. If I heard a person doing a kind or a charitable deed I never failed to assign a selfish reason for his action. I thought everybody a hypocrite. My dearest friends became actors. I saw the whole world as a dark sham where peo- ple lurked to slay and cheat, to accomplish cov- etous and selfish ends. I despised all laws. I considered them a long chain forged by an aspir- ing ruling class for the purpose of enslaving the weaker members of society. Seeing this world inhabited by wretches, I could not think of a noble Creator. This last idea became alarming, for religion had always been my last refuge from evil and from evil thoughts. To religion I used to flee from my dark musmgs and evil notions, and here was the Evil One preparing to attack my very last stronghold! My mind seemed to work in a negative manner, for I always saw the seamy side of things; the base and the sordid. As I reviewed the story of the Bible, my mind rejected all the accepted, noble motives for the actions of the Biblical heroes. I supplied instead selfish, despicable motives. As I relate it here it must seem to the reader as though I had yielded easily to these dark thoughts. No! These un- godly ideas came only after a great struggle marked by keen mental and physical anguish. Two irreconcilable enemies staged a fierce bat- tle in my mind. The contenders. Tradition and Skepticism, gathered their forces into two strong battle lines, each eager to blast the other. As long as I kept my mind busy with diversions. the enemies would only stir impatiently, but when the day was over and I lay on my couch hoping for sleep, the impetuous antagonists would start their mad struggle. One side would build up strong, seemingly impregnable, argu- ments; but the other side would soon batter tloem to pieces. The pitched battle would go on for hours, racking my brain to and fro, until gentle sleep would take pity upon me and spread its restful wings over my weary brains and eyelids For several weeks Skepticism was the victor in this struggle, greatly to the dismay of my soul. At first I wandered about the city like one gone crazy over the loss of his dearest friend. I felt the effect of the lack of faith. I was lonely and depressed, although surrounded by a company of jolly friends. My heart felt empty and my whole being devoid of life. In spirit I avoided my friends and I sought deserted places where I could weep and bemoan my loss undisturbed. A vague uneasiness took possession of my body. Every noise and shadow seemed to threaten me. The nights became devils of tor- ture. They brought appalling dreams that made my soul cringe with fear. I saw the ghosts of my ancestors rise from their graves and assemble around my bed. Full of horror, I jumped out of bed and turned to flee. But the ghouls stretched out their pale, bony hands and restrained me. What frightful, raging faces they had! They put their heads together in consultation. Their council ended, they seized me and carried me away. Intense fear possessed me and I tried to wrest myself free, but their grasp was firm and I could only squirm vainly, in increasing pain. Through dark, winding passages they took me. Soon they halted. They opened a door and pushed me through. At first all was dark, but soon a faint glimmer appeared, and I saw a deep, yawning abyss beneath me. I shrieked in mor- tal terror — and awoke. Similar nightmares haunted me often. One night I dreamed more lengthily: It was a gray, cold day. The wind was blowing fiercely, sharply lashing my face, and whining like an old cur. I found myself in a wild, deserted place. In front of me I saw the dark outline of a dense forest whose trees tow- ered to the sky. To my left stretched a vast desert. Only far, far to my right could I dis- tinguish any dwellings. Desiring solitude, I turned from the inhabited side and walked upon

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22 MASMID By Emanuel Neustadter LITHE, naked body glided along pur- 9y pie waters. Each move had in it J the graceful sway of an eel. Bulg ' ing muscles showed j ower and co- ordination behind every stroke. He was not a well-oiled machine, this human swimmer! He was a healthy, well-attuned ani- mal; muscles rippling, power in every plunge. Healthy heart pumping blood into expectant, demanding muscles exultant with strength and ghding fearlessly along at a plunging, unslack- ening pace. . . . Hours of it! Purple waters now black, inky waters. The muscles alone must sense and res- pond and direct and ward off. Dull mind! It will not rebel and mislead that graceful, sway- ing momentum. It was the resistance and push of these tense muscles alone that would carry the swimmer past this silent, dense darkness ahead of him. Mental justification and stimulus were feeble! So he had trained himself. Hours more! And then a faint trembling in the muscles, a bit of irregularity in the rhythm. Then an arm fluttered unsteadily and sent up some spray instead of cleaving the water sharply like a keen knife. Hesitancy, bewilderment, and some floundering about — then the rhythm had to be started again. But now there is something lacking! Is it an incomplete tug of the muscles, a half-hearted urging forward? Driftwood floated on those black waters. It was part of the instinct ' s task to sense these obstacles and to evade them without interrupting the rhythm. In mid-stroke the swimmer sud- denly saw a black piece of driftwood rise up beneath his face. It scraped his neck and shoul- ders and drifted on. The rhythm was not inter- rupted, the faltering stroke was completed — but a red, burning gash ran down from his neck to his shoulders. Slowly, measuredly the muscles wearied and the rhythm dragged. Then a mud- dled brain dictated rebellion to overworked mus- cles. A frenzy seized th e swimmer! His strokes were becoming feebler and feebler, his breath- ing more and more labored, his circulation more and more sluggish. Cold, fear, weariness, be- wilderment, despair — they played havoc with him. Then he sought within himself some drug, some hypnosis to still these strange, new hurts. Slowly and resolutely he drugged his mind. Then oblivion! A dull machine now of sinews and pliant fibers. The rhythm gathering speed, the monotonous, endlessly flailing strokes held their pace. The mind and soul were stilled. The flailing strokes kept on through the night. . . . Dawn was faintly breaking when the throngs along the beach saw the swimmer. He came nearer and nearer and then clambered ashore. People rushed to carry him off on their shoul- ders. They jumped back, aghast! The swim- mer was clammy, pale and cold. And he was asleep! Gosh Watch. . . Chicanery FAMOUS LAST WORDS no! This gun isn ' t A titanothrriid has arrived in this country aded, from Asia. That didn ' t mean much to us until the scientists kindly explained that a titan- othcriid is a perissodactyle ugulate. Teacher (to exceptionally dumb pupil) : Now, Johnny, if I had five eggs in this baskel and laid three on the table, how many would I have? Johnny (brightly): Eight! Consensus of Opinion of Lectures: — The longer the spoke, the bigger the tire.

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24 MASMID the desert. For hours and hours I kept walking. Finally evening overtook me. Hungry, cold and exhausted I decided to seek the houses. After many hours of walking I neared them. Now they looked like splendid palaces. But, alas! a wide, surging stream barred my way. The wind became colder, chilling me to the marrow. Sud- denly all the palaces were lit up brilliantly. I heard enchanting strains of heavenly music — • music which made my heart burst with longing. A sweet fragrance of flowers came from across the stream and cast a magic spell over me. With longing eyes I looked across the stream. You won ' t keep me, O, ye wild waters! I cried with rage. Quickly I plunged into the swollen, angry stream, but a great wave raised me high into the air and with mighty force hurled me back. Again and again I tried — but in vain. Exhausted, I sat down on the sand and wept. Then I heard a harsh sound coming from the stream. Stay there, faithless man of the earth, for your soul is forever doomed to the cold! When I awoke in the morning the dream seemed very real. I could still see the desert, the forest, and the foaming stream. I felt very un- easy. Although I usually held little faith in dreams, this dream agitated my mind to distrac- tion. Considering the vanity of all worldly am- bition and the shortness of man ' s life on this planet, I grew sick at heart at the thought of being inevitably buried in a dark, cold grave from which the dream had said I should never rise. The words for your soul is doomed haunted me day and night. I did not deserve such a great punishment, I thought. For I rea- soned, although my mind has been temporarily inclined to Skepticism, yet I have been firm to tradition. My soul, despite my mind ' s destruc- tive reasoning, had always clung to religion and had driven upon the accepted truths of human- ity. Why, then, should I be responsible forever for the temporary lure of my mind ' s new re- ligion? In despair I prayed to God to save me from this fate. The Day of Atonement came. I cajoled and trained my mind to forget all doubts and to place utter faith in God ' s wisdom. I was full of joy when I saw my mind yield to my soul. All day I remained in the synagogue. The old Jews with their long gray beards, in their spot ' less white robes, offered me refuge in their re- ligious reverence and piety. Apart from the whole congregation, in a dark corner of the synagogue, I saw an aged man. His wrinkled face was flushed by religious fervor and his hoi low eyes gleamed with a holy fire. He seemed to pray more enrapturedly than anyone else. As I gazed on this patriarch I little thought of what part this holy man might later play in my life As I saw the whole congregation swaying to and fro, striking their hearts with their fists and confessing all their sins I felt ashamed and petty Timorously I prayed and I felt a heavy load roll off my heart. When the sun was about to set I began again to feel uneasy. I felt the Evil One at work in my mind. Soon the old Strug gle returned. Skepticism became master of the situation and cried to my soul: Hypocrite! What have you been doing all day? Then the Evil One answered in a mocking tone: Praying to his Creator! My racked soul cringed in fear and moaned heartrendingly. The services ended and I went home full of dark melancholy. Days passed and I became more and more depressed, writhing in hypo ' chondria. I tried to escape from myself by wandering in dark forests and deserted places. . . One warm spring day, when the sun was shining in all its brilliance and the whole coun- tryside was abloom, I strayed in a nearby forest. I came upon a path stretching far away in front of me, and lined on both sides by birch trees. I saw an old man hunched at the foot of a birch tree. He was reciting the first Psalm of David Blessed is the man who walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly. The words of David aroused painful thoughts in my mind. I came nearer to where the old man sat and I recognized him as that long gray-bearded man whom I had watched in the synagogue on the Day of Atonement. Good day, he welcomed me. Pleasant day, isn ' t it? Pleasing to some, but hateful to others, I muttered, dejectedly. How is that? he asked, surprised. Does not a joyful heart bring you into this grove full of the joys of spring? No! Melancholy brings me here, I replied, sadly. Melancholy? About what? he asked, kindly. The vanity of human life, dark doubts con- cerning every accepted idea, make me me ' an- cholv and torture my soul, I blurted out g ' ib ' y. The old man ' s face saddened. A dark c ' oud seemed to spread over his patriarchal features He lowered his eyes to the ground and from his awry features, he seemed to muse over some b ' t- tcr recollections. He raised his head and I saw large, .sparkling tear-drops roll down his ch ' ' ' ks Then the old man put his hand on my shoulder