Yeshiva University - Masmid Yearbook (New York, NY)

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M A S M I D oenljf-Nint ON THE WIINGS OF INK -I I I Aakon Ke In the darkness there loomed before me the tall, shadowy mass of a tenement. Silhouetted against the night sky, the building appeared cold and grim, except where here and there a lighted window gleamed and blinked like the eye of some weird monster. In the darkness, the gray brick walls appeared like huge levees, between whose bounds flowed, the river of life, at times seething and whirling in turbulent rapids and at times flowing calm and deep and crystal clear. Behind those very walls the stream was rushing on swiftly and silent- ly, carrying with it its human driftwood which, at the end of the long journey, it would cast wearily into the sea. I entered the tenement and found myself in a long corridor flanked by two rows of doors. These doors — blank slabs of wood — were all outwardly identical, yet each was the curtain to a different stage, and behind each a different scene from the eternal drama of life was being enacted. Behind each door, life ebbed and flowed, yet outwardly one could hardly discern a ripple. How fas- cinating, I thought, to brush aside the curtain for a moment and glimpse the life that throbbed be- neath ! I walked down the corridor, chose a door at random, opened it quietly, and entered. I found myself in a brilliantly lighted room with sleekly dressed men and painted women. The air was full of loud, boisterous voices and coarse laughter. On all sides I saw gayety, merriment, and carousing. Lithe young bodies were swaying and whirling to a barbaric rhythm. The movement gradually gained momentum, until it became a frenzied revel. Faster and faster beat the music ; faster and yet faster whirled the dancers, until sweat stood out on their foreheads, their nostrils dilated, and their eyes bulged. The room became hot. The noise of blaring music and stamping feet grew louder and louder until it seemed that the very gates of Hell had burst and spewed its vile brood on earth. The mad orgy Mfkened rn»- I turned and left. Proceeding a little farther down the corridor. I was attracted toward another door by familiar strains of music. Again the same feeling of mys- tery and curiosity seized me. I entered silently and unseen. The room was dark except for one cor- ner, where a lamp cast a soft light and illuminated the features of a youth of about twenty. He sat motionless, staring fixedly into the darkened corner from which the beautiful strains seemed to emanate. There was a strange familiarity about the music. In a flash I recognized it — Beethoven ' s immortal Fifth. The youth ' s lips were parted in rapture. He was oblivious of his surroundings; he was conscious only of that harmony, that divine har- mony that stirred the soul to its innermost depths. The music had now an ineffable sweetness and now a roaring fury. It seemed like some vast ocean: its heaving bosom now rolling in long gentle swells, now rising into towering combers that crashed with a deafening roar. Above the surging waves, the sunlight played upon the flying spray and filled the air with flashing rainbows. In the rising cre- scendo of sound could be felt the spirit of man struggling to the heights, baring his breast in de- fiance of the fury of the elements. The music depicted the titanic struggle of man, and culminated in a stirring song of victory. The sheer beauty of the music thrilled the youth; it bore him aloft far from the pollutions of earth. He jumped up and paced back and forth ecstatically. All his being appeared suffused with a glowing warmth. For one ecstatic moment he seemed happy, su- premely happy. I slipped out as silently as I had entered. Again I found myself in the corridor viewing the row of doors, and again I reflected upon the unfathomable human secrets that each concealed. I softly opened a third door. A touching scene greeted my eyes. A mother was tenderly lulling

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Twenty-Eight M A S M I D come a leaden weight. Ceremonies are the wheels of his progress to- wards social righteousness. But if thru ignorance, lassitude, indifference, their meaning is not known, they become clogs. Some Jews impatient with the slow progress of humanitarian effort, unaware of the fact that wheels need a driving spirit, discard the wheels, deny the value of ceremonies and then censure the vehicle for its inability to move for- ward. We are a minority. A minority comes into being out of a consciousness of some immanent difference which distinguishes it from the major- ity. A minority can survive only as long as a consciousness of this difference and a recognition of its worthwhileness prevail in the minds of its members. It may be astonishing to friend and foe that we Jews are but one percent of humanity. It is a surpassingly hard task for a scattered minority of one percent to reach longevity. The struggle for national survival is accentuated by the levelling tendencies of the industrial age, by the rearousing of cosmopolitan hope and endeavor, by international, interracial, interdenominational class struggle. All these tendencies represent so many unceasing assaults on our personal Jewishness, on our national existence. We have no refuge, no unassailable fortress other than the Jewish life, the atmosphere, in which the Lord is set continually before us. The laws of the Torah in their totality create the Jewish environment, in which the Jew works out his salva- tion for the salvation of man. Thru a number of customs, laws, regulations, admonitions, en- couragements, cognitions the Jew is to be kept in contact with the divine spirit. No secular pursuits need interfere for one moment with this essential relationship, which is the true object of religion. On the contrary, by means of customs, and laws, ev ery action becomes sublimated into a channel of communion, into an act of worship. The Jew can thus achieve spiritual victory without doing violence to human nature, without hermit-like fleet- ing from the world, without sealing his senses her- metically to the beauties and blessings of life. V. THE TORAH AS JEWRY ' S SHIELD The double impact of economic struggle and the unceasing assaults on the Jews should have de- stroyed us long ago. But the Law has been our shield and defender. The seventh day Sabbath, with its prohibition to engage in any kind of work, with its insistence that the Jew keep away from business, business thought, and from all mechanical devices, establishes for the Jew a day of a dif- ferent attitude, and affords him tremendous pro- tection against the life-destroying strain of the in- dustrial age. Family life so arranged as to retain woman ' s self-respect and freedom in marriage, family worship, home celebrations, all strengthen his Jewish integration. The dietary laws not only enhance G-d-consciousness, they also help to pre- vent intermarriage, the safest and speediest way to racial suicide. VI. THE LIFE IN THE TORAH There may be a notion in the minds of the uninitiated that the ceremonies and symbols con- stitute indeed a great burden. Such minds do not sufficiently appreciate the fact that these customs and observances are trained into the child ' s mind and life from early infancy, so that they become its natural environment. The nearest analogy would be the Oxford and Cambridge training, one major purpose of which is to produce gentlemen. There are a number of Cambridge customs, attitudes, observances which a Cambridge man would normally and naturally re- tain or perform and the suggestions of which would continue to exercise an encouraging, a pleasing and also a definitely spiritual influence on him. The Oxford man will not feel selfishly proud of his training, but he will look upon it as a special opportunity which is his special responsibility, to spread, in the most intelligent, effective manner, the ideals of his Alma Mater. So does the Jew welcome and hail with native expectant joy the thousand and one intimate touches and suggestions of the Jewish life which are his abiding, living commentary to Judaism.

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Thirty MASMID her babe to sleep. The dimpled child, its cheeks tinted with the color of dawn, cooed softly. That sweet innocent little face seemed to symbolize all that was pure and simple and good. Its smile seemed to radiate peace and serenity. The mother looked tenderly into the eyes of her little one, the precious burden that was her flesh, her blood, her life. She rocked it gently and sang a plaintive lullaby. Her voice was wistful, with a touch of sadness in it as she visualized the future of her child, a sadness mingled with hope. The infant closed its eyes. The mother pressed it lovingly to her bosom, kissed it gently, and laid it to sleep. A tear trickled down my cheek as I softly closed the door behind me. I walked along reflecting upon the beautifully touching scene I had just witnessed, when, from a neighboring apartment, there came muffled sobs, as if from some body racked with pain. I entered. I had just witnessed the rosy dawn of life; and now I witnessed the black night of death. The grim spectre of death still hovered about the room where his icy breath had just snuffed out a flicker- ing candle. There lay a body that had once pulsed and throbbed with life, now rigid, cold, and dead. Ringing laughter silenced forever. No more to see the flush of dawn or the glow of sunset. That which had once thrilled to the light of day was now enshrouded in darkness and oblivion. An un- seemly peace, a strange silence hovered about the dead. Death seemed so sweet, a long unbroken dream, a dream from which there was no waking, an eternal sleep. About me there was a scene of heartrending grief. Loved ones moved about dazed, their tear-filled eyes staring blankly into space. Their cruelly lacerated hearts were numb with pain; their bodies shook with sobs. Their loss was great, ir- retrievable, and they gave vent to their utter despair in bitter tears. The grave would soon swallow its own, and time — the great healer — would soon mend their torn hearts. Life must go on, heed- less of those who fall by the wayside. The thought came to me that we are all marked men on whom the slow, sure doom falls, pitiless and dark. The dead are dead, and we, the dying, must live on. I heaved a long drawn-out sigh, cast a last look at the bereaved and at the dead, and slowly closed the door behind me. My head was bowed and my heart was heavy as I emerged into the street. My mind was aflame, a seething turmoil. What I had seen seemed like a meaningless confusion, a fantastic dream. One heart was warm with ecstasy, another numb with pain; some were sunk in a mad revel, others tasted of the sweet bliss of childhood. The song of life was mingled with the wail of death. I groped vainly for meaning. Nothing! Nothing! I gazed up at the stars twinkling so far above me. Here men lived and suffered and died, yet the stars smiled serenely and undisturbed, just as they had smiled down for ages upon countless generations of men. We were but insignificant creatures lost somewhere upon a tiny speck in the cosmos. Our joys and pains were but imperceptible ripples upon the vast sea of time. The eternal surge of time and tide swept on cold and inexorable. We were being ruthlessly hurled into the black abyss of oblivion by the eternal whirl of matter. A feeling of utter helplessness, of emptiness and futility gnawed at my heart, as I drifted away into the night.