Yeshiva University - Masmid Yearbook (New York, NY)

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M A S M I D Jacob out of Books By Herbert Greenberg i T was shearing time in Padan-aram. The warm air echoed with the swish of the heavy shears and with the trembhng ma-a-a of the bewildered sheep. Sometimes a helpless ewe started to stray away, but that only meant that Jacob or another shepherd boredly shooed the wan- derer back into place. The ewe never re- belled; she just plodded dully back in meek return to the flock. The sheep were so utterly guileless in their feeble bleating over repressed wants or sud- den stabs from the shears that Jacob ' s heart expanded with tenderness for them. Con- fronted with wily Laban, Jacob, too, had been feebly bleating, he brooded. Away from Laban Jacob would become viol- ently exasperated. How blandly the pomp- ous sheik had again and again pretended concern over Jacob ' s poverty: and Jacob had been shooed into place again. There was no rebellion — only a dull plodding. And pau- pered Jacob had served while Laban ' s graz- ing flocks had fattened and multiplied. Memories were like bits of wool at shear- ing-time, Jacob thought. You nimbly ran through them: sometimes with an amused smile on your lips. And sometimes you came across some wool your shears had spoiled- clean, soft wool, but your shears had cut into it badly. It clung to your fingers and to shake it off seemed villainous. It had been so clean and pure — and a bit of a thoughtless- ness of blind impatience had spoiled it. There were memories that clung to Jacob in just that way. There was the sad memory of a half-blind old man in Canaan, sitting silently at the opening of his tent. His face was relaxed, and the peace of patient old age was upon it. His beard was flowing white and his blank stare was steady and piercing. Then, too, one always felt that there were hidden eyes behind the unseeing ones — sober. hidden eyes that saw into the spirit of things! When wronged they seemed to become hurt and sad, and the hurt and sadness were more troubling than the most venemous rebuke. Those eyes still lived and judged in far-ofl Padan-aram — in the heart of Jacob. The old man was quietly grieving with the peace that comes with resignation and humility. And with his grieving came wis- dom and understanding. But it was a sor- rowful wisdom. It was a humble insight, that came with sadness for a son who had left the strength of the earth of Canaan for the refuge of Padan-aram. Yes, there was strength in Canaan. The fertility of the earth showed strength, and the languor of the warm air was as strong as heady wine. Age and death came to Canaan like a sun- set, thought the old man. He thought how the light of one ' s life dimmed slowly, the warmth cooled, the twilight glimmered, lin- gered for a beatifiic moment, and then slowly lost itself in the vastness of the dark — and the old man would be content. There was no fear of death in Canaan. There was reverence for it, and humble submission and trusting impotence too, — at life ' s dusk. But who could tell of the fright of death in Padan-aram, and the panic of living there — and the haunting death in life. But in Canaan there was the contentment of a warm sun by day, and the silvery beams of a hurrying moon by night. And the cool, starry nights when one wandered afield dreaming . . . when the scent of the flowers strengthened, and cold laden breezes freshened and clusters of stars twink- led coldly; there were endless walks then for lovers. And the old would feel a bit cold and would wrap themselves more tightly and nod asleep over vague recurring memo- ries: while through the hush of night the fer- tile land lay bared in peace.

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M A S M I D EDITORIAL DOLDRUMS Upon looking through other college pub- lications whose predominant tone is good cheer and jolly wit a definite uneasiness stirs through us. If a college publication repre- sents the frame of mind of the student body, our temperament has surely not been a deni- zen of the more sporty spheres. We have had a serious dearth of articles of the jollier sort. Our articles seem to be the weighty articulation of sighing Hamlets — heavy- hearted with soliloquies and ponderous medi- tation. Yet we feel the source of expressiveness in us is the same as in our more jovial compeers. We know we can learn to respond just as warmly to good-chser and jolly wit — for we feel a ripening congeniality in us. Yet our laughter has been like the arrested smile of the Mona Lisa — like the slow thawing of ice-peaks. We know of a place where there was no laughter — but it was the habitat of Gulliver ' s senile Surbrugs. College, however, is the habitat of youth — and youth without jollity is a lesser form of spiritual impotence or torpor. Must this emotional jading come with in- tellectual consecration? Then is not all knowledge an insipid thing if it brings with it an incapacity for joy in life? Perhaps we need not go so far in denunciation. We feel this half-baked lethargy cannot truly be traced to devotion to books but rather to a misdirected zeal and to an uncalled for clois- tered isolation. We have denied ourselves wholesome so- cial lives that could include the virtues of intellectuality without the vice of excessive virtue. It is to this denial of a wealth of extra-curricular experiences that our social torpor can be traced. Where is a spokes- man to represent us in oratory, in debates, in dramatics ? Our athlete is a sulking Achilles — and we ' ve a crying need for him. We have been standing upon a fertile soil: and a wholesome social tree should have long ago, from deep-thrust root, have lifted leaves of pleasant association. All we ' ve achieved is a weed here and there. Class room atmo- sphere fades in time: but a walk, confidential exchanges, fraternity, a rousing school song and extra-mural competition — these engen- der sentiments that linger after integrals and ' ' ergil are forgotten. They are the oft-men- tioned ties that bind, infusing vigorous life into colorless creatures of clay. WANDERER O wandering Jew! Soul without peace or rest! Thou hast traversed the seas, the breakers ' foam: Hast wandered far from thy beloved home — That holy land with milk and honey blest. Thou travellest ever o ' er East and West, And art compelled, from land to land, to roam: For branded as the student of one tome. Thou art forever the unwelcome guest. But Jew! Though wanderer, despised, disdained, Thou hast refused to perish or to yield: Thy faith in thy Creator has not waned. Hast been devoted to His Word — thy shield. And, Jew, such hope and trust must be repaid; The Merciful will bless thee with His aid. Joseph Kaminetsky

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10 M A S M I D Then there would often come to Jacob the memory of a gruff brother from whose rage Jacob had fled. Jacob had mingled emotions for red and hairy Esau. There was an in- stinctive revulsion against Esau ' s grossness, and there was fondness — as one is fond of a husky, unruly child. On the fields, one day, Esau had tasted a bitter, unripe berry. He made fierce grimaces and then out of one eye a tear pitifully fell. Jacob, standing by, laughed at this naive brother of his. and a deep feeling of compas- sion for Esau welled up m him. He put his white arm around Esau ' s broad shoulders, while Esau sulked in waning distemper and petulance. Esau was rather fond of Jacob now that weak brother whom he could throw with one heave! How he mocked Jacob ' s frailty, meanwhile purring with the pride of his own strength, grateful to Jacob for the stimulus of the purring pride. He let Jacob twist his arm playfully while he distorted his face in mock pain. They were never closer brothers than then. Esau soon forgot: and in time Jacob too felt uncomfortable when he recalled his intimacy with his sweating bro- ther. There was the repulsive vision of barbaric Judith, Esau ' s wife. Jacob tried not to think of her, but she loomed up in his mind like a phantom — her body reeking of sweat and filth. Refined Jacob, who dreamed of a ten- der woman wholly detached from worldly cares, would become chilled at the thought of his brother gay beside the thick-set Judith. Jacob ' s wife was to be slender and pliant as the willow. She was to hum sweet tunes for Jacob when the day ' s tasks were done as he laid his warm head on her lap, while cool breezes wafted the fragrance of her to him — and he was lulled into a dreamy sleep. Then a chaos of memories! A quivering son kneeling before a half-blind father, and a blessing be a man among your brethren. Then the berserk rage of Esau like the rage of a wounded lion, and the flight of the man among his brethren ; the coming to Padan-aram. and the welcome of a strange people. Events happened so rapidly they jumbled their impressions until there was time for a future unraveling. And, often, in lambing time, on the frosty nights when Ja- cob would warm the shivering lambs, there would come a pining for home. Years and years of thinking passed until clearness came. But a hurt still ached. It was not clearness Jacob wanted — it was the fullness of home life. Jacob had suffered, and there were none at home to bear anger against him anymore. The sorrowing father had only anxiety, and surely Lsau had had time to forget. But Jacob still foundered in the waves of melancholy. In those years there had been Leah and Rachel and domestic cares that, at times, al- most absorbed the entire Jacob. Jacob felt dual-lived now. Was it really he who had herded so many flocks until they exceeded Laban ' s? Surely it was not the moody, in- ner Jacob who had somehow acquired those herds. It was a skin-deep, efficient Jacob who had contrived to possess those grazing flocks, and not a yearning, ever-mournful Jacob. It was shearing-time in Padan-Aram, and Laban was away shearing sheep in a distant mountain enclosure. From his tent Jacob could see the mountain-peak swathed in draping clouds, and he dreamed of the moun- tains in Canaan covered with their mighty trees. He had a vision of some tents rising boldly among the tree monsters. There were streams pouring out of the side of the moun- tain. They were rapid streams, and they seemed happy and free. And Jacob would grow pensive thinking of the freedom of the streams while he loitered in servitude. It was shearing-time, and Laban was away: but Jacob ' s mind was not on the shearing. The air of Padan-aram seemed to be stifling him, and the bleating of ihc sheep held no more fondness for him. Just now it was shearing time in Canaan too, and aged Isaac would be needing willing hands. At dusk there would be the clash of cymbals and the purring twang of stringed instru-