Yeshiva University - Masmid Yearbook (New York, NY)

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M A SMID tion that her husband ' s scriptural studies would provide a passport to Heaven, where they would be elevated to the status of sitting on golden thrones, with crowns on their heads, along with the other righteous. But alas, Ruth ' s constant, excruciating rheumatic pains never left her: they ravaged figure and face. She shrank and shrivelled up before her time. For countless, dreary weeks she lay on her bed — her countenance expressing suffering — like a preg- nant woman con Talsed with the pangs of child- birth — until the Angel of Death flutttered his wings over her bedchamber and her spirit van- ished to the Yeshiva Shel Ma ' la. And with the passing of Ruth a portentious silence came and settled down in her place, that seemed to take on a mysterious Promethean figure, towering above father and son and ready to smite them down if they articulated but a single word. Nathaniel, the son, deprived of feminine care and concern from early childhood (for his mother died before he was capable of retaining any reminiscences of her), was left alone with his tragic thoughts, and as a consequence of his lone- liness grew up to be a shy and sensitive youth. The house seemed to impress his mind with its haunting unhappiness. He felt his mouth gagged by the hands of a strong and powerful presence as soon as he crossed its threshold, and as though to relieve himself from this heavy, oppressive atmosphere, he was seldom at home. It was ru- mored that he consoled himself with amorous adventures, and his father was disturbed and agi- tated by the close secrecy with which he succeeded in shrouding his movements. An impassible bar- rier seemed to separate father and son. As im- miscible as oil and water, so David and Nathaniel could not learn to appreciate and understand each other; for the perceptions of maturity are often restricted and sapless, but the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. Thus these two, so near each other by reason of their affinity of blood, were yet so distant from each other in their thoughts and deeds, living in complete detach- ment from each other. But as Nathaniel would pass by his father to go to his vocation (he was a teacher in the unpretentious local school) the fond father would be transported to the seventh heaven of bliss, for he joyfully anticipated the day when this blossom of his happy married life — the pale, slight, keen-featured youth of twenty- two — would marry, which, pray God, would not be remote. Thus of late there was an irrepressible, secret joy within his breast, and a perceptible litheness in his footsteps, and slowly and steadily he would build his airy castle in the course of his day-dreams. But one day his whole spurious edi- fice suddenly fell to bits, and he found himself in the nadir of disappointment, for Nathaniel had passed the door and — Lord have mercy — had failed to kiss the Mezuzah on the door post. All his best hopes had dissolved into nothingness, had vanished like an iridescent soap-bubble, for it was a step further to a bleak realisation of the fact that his son treated with utter disregard the cus- toms and ceremonies that are the raison d ' etre of every Jew. So David fasted and prayed for his son ' s sin of omission, and, sad and stricken, beat a retreat from the elusive happiness of the doubtful future and gave himself up in philosophical resig- nation to his books. But Nathaniel was in the dark about the whole affair. The mighty dreamer, Nathaniel Marks, love- lorn and misunderstood, sat in the first-class, fawn- coloured compartment of the train. Beside him was a slender, attractive gentile maiden, displaying her pertly pretty face and slim legs. There were no other occupants in the compartment. Pres- ently amid the hustle and roaring noise of a rail- way station the heavy door was slammed, and the train snorted away, and as it clanked and rumbled along it seemed to say goodbye to the past: the town and all his friends and acquaint- ances: his father whom he had disillusioned in his sunset days. Suddenly he shivered and turned chilly and thought of home and safety. His heart went out to his aged father, who seemed to symbolize Th-Tiy

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M A SM I D iDilcnci :l IAS I.I A ' l The home of tlie Marks family was rcnowiinl within knowing distance as the reieptade ol that abstract substance called Silence tiiat deej- ' incomparable stillness which reigns supreme in graveyards, when the wind is absent . m ilie slumbering foliage has ceased its rustling. Here lived and moved two phantom-like figures — a father and an only son— who flitted noiselessly about the rooms, strictly avoiding conversation, each living in the limitless, unexplored region of his own thoughts and bearing his own burdens. David Marks, the master of the household (though the only other inmate was his son), sat invariably at the head of the table, with the ponderous volume of the Talmud before him, meditating upon its text (for he always assiduously studied in silence), and occasionally pulling out a stained grimy cloth (a sort of handkerchief) from the pocket of his long coat, to wipe his perspiring forehead. He was a tall, strong man in his early sixties, with a closely-cropped grey beard, and bore his age astonishingly well. As though hound by a terrible oath which could never be expunged. David dreaded to disturb this heavy, brooding stillness; for his long years of tailoring, from which he had retired with a tidy sum invested for the proverbial rainy day, had taught him — if nothing else — to sit speechless and motionless like the statue of Buddha, gazing blankly into space. What a profound change everything had under- gone since he had lost his jewel — the com- panion of his earthly pilgrimage. The Reaper had gathered her into His harvest while she was yet in the prime of life. But David was not ith- out his consolation, for she had left him with an only son Nathaniel, the gift of the Lord, who was then five years old. A time there was when faithful Ruth, his wife — peace be upon her soul in the abode of the blessed — supplied the tangible link between him and the child who was the de- light of his eyes. A meek, timid woman she was, of stunted physique and intellect, who.se compre- hension of things was very limited, but who, splendid little woman, could not harm a fly even if she wanted to. Ruth lived in total dissociation from all intellectual effort, for her mental ac- tivity was hindered by gross physical actualities. Bound to a purely domestic routine, she could claim only a few minor accomplishments, but for fully fifteen years she had been his trusty partner in life, the confidante of his joys, hopes, and dreams, the soother of his great sorrows; and he had not found her wanting. A woman of super- lative goodness, he boasted of her. She was a shining epitome of that class of womanhood which yives itself up ungrudgingly in absolute devotion to its menfolk; she nursed him in his illnesses, and busied herself sensibly w ith all those details of comfort for his sake, which reflected her tender feelings towards him, and her homely manners and methods always met with his approval and praise. When she had completed her household duties she would sit opposite him — who was steeped in the delights and rigorous discipline of the Talmud — and dread to attempt any trifling conversation, lest she thereby commit the grievous sin ot Bittul Torah and consequently bring upon herself the perdition of her soul both in this present world and in the future existence. Instead she would sit silent, and allow her mind to wander aimlessly, now and again admiring the dark, meditative eyes of her husband, his broad and intellectual brow; her patient and long-suf- fering face would shine with delight, and a be- nevolent smile ever played at the corners of her thin-lipped, ashen-white mouth. In the spiritual realm especially, Ruth allowed herself to be shepherded by her husband. She had a fixed no- TueKiy-nifie

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M A SM I D C-vurylliiiiL; lli.il lie had kl ' l htliiiiil. Ii iii.ulc liiiii sad and sick. Copious tears poured down lii cheeks, and he clenched his hands over Ins iIkm as though about to lacerate it, so veiicmendy hiiicr was the train of thoughts that entered his soid. At last, however, he submitted pliiloso|ihieally to the force of circumstances that had coinpelled him to take such a step. Love was indestructible; it acknowledged neither racial nor religious boundary lines. The confidence of his comrade was infectious. His heart warmed towards her; he straightened his back and inwardly resoUed to do her credit. She gave him one of those fas- cinating smiles of hers, when every one of her teeth shone like an oriental beryl. Fortified by it, he discarded the burden of his heart-searchings. It gave him just that pleasant sense of security of which he was in di re need: he gasped with relief. His emotional mood overwhelmed him, and he glorified in the idea of his supreme sacrifice for the kindred soul by his side, for Nathaniel had an instinct for getting the full flavour of an ex- perience. Once more he gazed in rapt wonder .ind ad- miration at the imposing beauty of her counte- nance ; once more he heard her exuberant voice and he was again obliged to pay attntion to her. He lost consciousness of everything but the girl along- side of him. She symbolized the quintessence of what his victory meant to him. With her. Life would be vested with new meaning, clothed with new m.ignihcence, and crowned with new majesty. At that moment he felt big; he utterly despised the whole world. Everything was behind, but the glorious future was in front. In aggrieved seclusion, David L rks sat as usual at the head of the table. His eyes gazed down upon the holy volume open before him, but today they could not continue their roving quest after the great truths of the Word. To-d.iy for the first time in his life, he could not con- centrate upon the text, for evervthing was blurred .Mid iiidisruiii 111 his eyes. The whole world seemed to revolve in a demoniac dance around him. His .soul was sour, hi.s heart bleak, his mind hitler, his eyes leaden. How he had a ed since the calamitous days of his son ' s desertion! His shoulders drooped, crushed beneath the burden of Ills sorrows. His crisp hair had lost it colour — .1 sure sign of worry. The blue, velvet skull-cap that crowned his head accentuated the distressing | deness of his complexion. The deadly white l.iee, haggard and seamed and lined, registered I he boundless .sorrow which he was undergoing. lie could not but think with affectionate regret tor the departed transg ressor. It was the greatest tragedy in his life; in losing his son he had lost everything near and dear to him and he felt as if he had left everything a great distance behind. The last link with the physical world had snapp ed like ,1 thin thread, and in vain he tried to dislocate his mind from terrestrial affairs, finally attempting to console his sen.se of failure and unhappiness by turning to that ideal companion of every Jew in every affliction — the con.soling Word of God. David felt his whole flesh burning within him; every fiber of his whole physical being quivered from the shock. For many long minutes he sat rigid and motionless as Death. With difficulty, he tried to reconstruct his life from those very remote beginnings: how abject, inglorious, and squalid seemed the closing chapter of his life. He wanted to pierce the air with his anguished cries, but suddenly a cold tremour ran through his veins: the stony stillness of the atmosphere seemed to take on some tangible shape like the furniture and walls of the room. It seemed to expand and t.ike the form of a hooded giant with clumsy ex- postulating arms. David felt the evil presence of this important, mysterious being and bowed his head in fear and shame. And as a M.ister governs his Slave with abso- lute sway, so did this Olympian-like Silence bind his cruel iron fetters around this humble, quiet man and claim him as his victim. Tbirli-