IV
More than one heart quaked as Rabbi Mayer uttered these words. The possible companionship with the wonderful Beruriah coursed like a hot stream from head to foot in many a student. But strongest of all beat the heart of handsome Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, and he had to close his eyes because of the flood of passion that inundated him.
Most handsome of all the disciples was Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael. Once a Roman matron had beheld him, and it seemed to her as if Adonis, the Greek god of strength and youth and beauty, had turned Jew and given himself up to the study of the fathomless Torah. And she called him “the Adonis who turned Jew.” He was tall, slender and agile; the hair of his head and of his small beard was reddish; his eyes were of a colour that changed with the time of day and the temper of his moods, and none could withstand his glance. Out of piety he would shut his eyes on passing a woman, lest unholy thoughts be born in a Jewish daughter’s bosom. But once, on passing Beruriah, he had not shut his eyes, and instead of igniting another, he was himself set on fire, and on his eyes was impressed her image, inextinguishably, even as a seal impresses the burning wax. From that time he saw only her before him; she was his dream by night, his thought by day, nor did his holy studies avail him aught. His striking masculine beauty had found its mate in Beruriah, and he hungered after her as for something that had always belonged to him,—something that ever had been destined for him. He had been pious all his years, had known most ardent prayers and tormenting fasts, bodily tortures and cleansing of the soul. But now his prayers no longer were horror of sin, but plaints and grievances. It was as though the Lord withheld what was justly Simeon’s; as if God had taken away his rightful property, and his alone. And why had God placed Beruriah in his path? Why had the Lord not closed his eyes at their meeting? And in his restless, often feverish thoughts he showed God how he, Simeon, might come to her who was destined to be his. Rabbi Mayer might die, and he would inherit Beruriah; or if God did not wish the death of the holy man, Beruriah could forsake her learned husband,—divorce him and fly to the arms of her twin in beauty. Could not almighty God bring this to pass?
And now that Rabbi Mayer had announced his resolution, it was as if God had answered Simeon’s prayers, knowing that he would be the one to execute the purpose of the Rabbi, which was in reality the hidden purpose of the Almighty. And Rabbi Mayer, after uttering his plan, turned his glance to Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, as if Simeon were he upon whom had fallen the dangerous embassy. But the sage said nothing to indicate any choice on his part. He departed from the Yeshiva at once, leaving the disciples alone to choose the tempter from their number.
And although many eyes sought out Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, his selection was in no wise unanimous. For several others wished to assume the mission, and these were the students who had most openly expressed their doubts as to Beruriah’s constancy.
And one of them spoke:
“In order to seduce Beruriah one need not be the most handsome, but the most subtle. One can steal into her heart, not through her eyes, but through her ears. Her eyes she can close before the most beautiful picture, but there is naught that can seal her ears against subtle speech. The beautiful picture that meets her gaze will vanish the moment she turns her head, but the guileful word will remain in her heart, and delve and burrow. Remember, that even our mother Eve was conquered by wily words from the subtle serpent’s mouth. As the Bible says, ‘Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field.’ And if Beruriah withstand the subtle word, then is her virtue beyond uncertainty.”
And he spoke in such a way that all might see he was most subtle and should be their choice.
But a second arose and spoke:
“In order to win Beruriah one need be neither the handsomest nor the most subtle, but the strongest. For what is the beauty of our most beautiful against her beauty? And what is the guile of our most subtle against her subtlety? Our handsomest will quail before her, asking, ‘Why am I so ugly?’—And our cleverest will confront her like a helpless simpleton. But the presence of a powerful man will descend upon her senses like a cloud; the breath of immense masculine power will penetrate her like wine and intoxicate her. To make a woman bite into a forbidden apple, it takes a wily serpent; but to make a woman lust for a man other than her husband, it requires one whose strength will work upon her like the pressure of two mill-stones. And if Beruriah withstand great masculine strength, then is her virtue beyond uncertainty.”
And he spoke in such a way that all might see he was the strongest and should be their choice.
But a third arose and spoke:
“In order to gain Beruriah, one need not be the handsomest, the wiliest or the strongest, but the most learned. For if our fellow-student is right in all he says as to the wisest and the wiliest then must he surely recognise that not even masculine strength will touch Beruriah’s soul. For she will tell herself, ‘An untamed bull is stronger; and what man is more powerful than a lion? Shall I then languish with desire for the wild bull, the lion, and the elephant?’ But the most learned of us will know how to call forth her admiration, and will win her heart through his skill in holy lore. And if her husband, our master Rabbi Mayer, can demonstrate the purity of a reptile in one hundred and fifty different ways, then her seducer will have to be able, in twice one-hundred and fifty ways, to prove that Reuben did not sin with Bilhah, the wife of his father Jacob,—that King David did not sin with Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite, and that Beruriah’s sin against her husband will likewise be no sin. And if Beruriah withstand the great interpretative power of our most learned associate, then is her virtue beyond uncertainty.”
And he spoke in such a way that all might see he was most learned and should be their choice.
Whereupon a fourth arose and spoke:
“In order to triumph over Beruriah, one need be neither the handsomest nor the wiliest, nor yet the strongest or the most learned. For the sum of his learning will be as naught against her own, and who dare assure us that he will not be left sitting before her like a pupil before a master? And will she not say that in our Yeshiva we study Torah only to make that which is sinful appear pure? Therefore I say to you that in order to triumph over Beruriah one must be the most illustrious. And who is most illustrious if not he who can add to his personal gifts and to his own good name the pedigree of his noted family? Our master, Rabbi Mayer, Beruriah’s husband, is endowed with many virtues. But he springs from lowly, convert stock, and his origin is but an impure source. How Beruriah’s heart will melt with consuming desire when she feels the presence of one whose ancestry dates back to the kings of the House of David! And only after she has withstood the fascination of a genuine descendant from such illustrious forebears will her virtue have been proved beyond all doubt.”
That by these words he meant to indicate himself there was not the slightest question, for he was one who claimed to be descended from the kings of the House of David, and flaunted his ancestry as a peacock displays its tail.
And now there arose one whom all viewed in the greatest astonishment, their eyes distended and their mouths agape, for none could believe that he, too, would rise to speak. And he said:
“In order to seduce Beruriah, one must be the unhappiest of men.”
And because the intense stupefaction with which his rising had been greeted dissolved now into uproarious laughter, he continued with louder voice and vehement gestures:
“Yes, the most unhappy and most wretched! You will succeed in approaching Beruriah’s heart only through compassion. I need only relate to her, with tears in my voice and suffering in my eyes, how the words ‘father, mother’ were never uttered by my lips because my father died before I was born, and my mother died giving birth to me,—how I do not even know who brought me up, because I passed from hand to hand, one stumbling across me on the threshold of his home, another coming upon me before his door, in the darkness of black night. By day the sun scorched me, and by night the cold pierced my flesh, and I stilled my hunger with my cries. In all the world not one soul could be found who would adopt me as a son; they saw in me an evil visitation and only fear of God and His commandments held them back from putting me to death. And thus I grew up in hunger, necessity, and misery, without caresses, without a kiss, without a kind word, without a tender glance, without the slightest token of love, yet with a burning desire for affection and endearments. And I tell you that if Beruriah does not burst into flames of sinful lust out of compassion for me, then is her virtue indeed beyond uncertainty.”
And because his words created a sensation, he was sure that he would be the chosen one.
But now the first to speak began anew, and after him the second, and then the third, and following them the fourth one and the fifth. And then all at the same time. Each tried to drown out the voices of the rest, to annihilate the others. And still others intruded into the discussion, until the Yeshiva resounded with such a tumult as rises from a crowded market-place on a busy day.
Simeon, son of Rabbi Ismael, alone was silent. He was certain that he would be the chosen one, for thus had Rabbi Mayer spoken with his glance, and such was the will of God. And again, because Simeon, in addition to his great beauty, possessed the other qualities necessary to win Beruriah. For he felt that he was also the most unhappy. Who, indeed, could be more unhappy than he, whom God had been so unkind as to deprive of what should have been his, afterwards revealing to him what he had lost and filling his heart with hopelessness and grief? And let but the time arrive when he could tell Beruriah the tale of all his woes,—the trials that he had undergone for her,—then would she be overcome by pity, and in her heart compassion would pave the way for future love.
And Simeon smiled amidst the wordy din, and spoke no word. When, for a moment, the arguments subsided, again a host of eyes was turned to his. And they recalled that Rabbi Mayer’s glance had really singled him out, and suddenly realised that no fitter messenger than Simeon could be sent. And if Beruriah could withstand the fascination of the Adonis who had turned Jew, then was her virtue indeed beyond uncertainty.
And now from various sides the cry arose, “Let Simeon go! The handsome Simeon! The beautiful son of Rabbi Ismael!”
Thus was Simeon, the son of Rabbi Ismael, chosen to be the touchstone which should test the constancy and purity of the heart of Beruriah, wife of the Master, Rabbi Mayer.