“Ready!” the scribe at length called out, getting up with the document in his hand, and turning it over to the rabbi.
The rest of the assemblage also rose from their seats, and clustered round Jake and Gitl, who had taken places on either side of the old man. A beam of hard, cold sunlight, filtering in through a grimy window-pane and falling lurid upon the rabbi’s wrinkled brow, enhanced the impressiveness of the spectacle. A momentary pause ensued, stern, weird, and casting a spell of awe over most of the bystanders, not excluding the rabbi. Mrs. Kavarsky even gave a shudder and gulped down a sob.
“Young woman!” Rabbi Aaronovitz began, with bashful serenity, “here is the writ of divorce all ready. Now thou mayst still change thy mind.”
Mrs. Aaronovitz anxiously watched Gitl, who answered by a shake of her head.
“Mind thee, I tell thee once again,” the old man pursued, gently. “Thou must accept this divorce with the same free will and readiness with which thou hast married thy husband. Should there be the slightest objection hidden in thy heart, the divorce is null and void. Dost thou understand?”
“Say that you are saresfied,” whispered Mrs. Kavarsky.
“Ull ride, I am salesfiet” murmured Gitl, looking down on the table.
“Witnesses, hear ye what this young woman says? That she accepts the divorce of her own free will,” the rabbi exclaimed solemnly, as if reading the Talmud.
“Then I must also tell you once more,” he then addressed himself to Jake as well as to Gitl, “that this divorce is good only upon condition that you are also divorced by the Government of the land—by the court—do you understand? So it stands written in the separate paper which you get. Do you understand what I say?”
“Dot’sh alla right,” Jake said, with ostentatious ease of manner. “I have already told you that the dvosh of the court is already fikshed, haven’t I?” he added, even angrily.