Without asking further information, the general sent Raschid back to his cell. A few days later Raschid left us for better surroundings.
Tager was a man about fifty years of age, who came to Berlin provided with a passport from the German Minister in Switzerland. He was to return to Paris, where he resided, but one day was arrested and brought to the Stadtvogtei. He was never told during his captivity–which lasted four months–why he was interned. For my part, I never knew any other reason than that he had expressed pro-French sentiments.
One day he was informed that he was to leave the jail for a French officers’ internment camp. His departure was fixed for December 7, 1915. During his short (?) sojourn among us Tager won the esteem of the prisoners of British nationality. I was the only one, however, to whom he confided anything about himself. He informed me one day, in great confidence, that he was a Great Rabbi of Turkestan. Judging by the way he pronounced his title, one would believe that his rank in Mohammedan countries corresponded to that of a lord in England. He entreated me not to reveal this to anyone.
Well, the British prisoners met together in a cell and decided to offer him a luncheon at the jail on the day of his departure. It was a formidable enterprise.
On the day fixed, a table of fifteen plates was laid in my cell. The plates, I need hardly remark, had to be set very close one to the other! At one o’clock, three of us went as a delegation to bring Tager, who did not understand what the whole thing meant.
Before luncheon, I told my British comrades that it was my intention to “reveal” to them, when the toasts were proposed, that our guest, Tager, was a Grand Rabbi of Turkestan, and although this title meant nothing to me or to them, I urged that they should display great enthusiasm at my disclosure and give Tager an ovation.
Luncheon was about to end, when I got up to propose the health of Tager. In concluding my speech, I duly informed my friends that I was about to create a sensation amongst them. Then, amid profound silence, I solemnly said that I deemed it my duty, notwithstanding the natural modesty of Mr. Tager, to reveal one of his titles to universal respect and admiration.
“Mr. Tager,” I said, “is a Grand Rabbi of Turkestan, a fact which he always hid from us.”
On this statement, everyone stood up and united in a loud chorus of “bravos.” Then, according to time-honored custom, one of the party led the popular refrain, “For he’s a jolly good-fellow.” We had scarcely got through the first part of the song when Hufmeyer, a non-commissioned officer, burst into my cell and called on us to stop. He was too late, however. We had then given full vent to our enthusiasm for Mr. Tager.