“If it had happened to me, Elias, I should rejoice in it,” the rabbi answered; and then, as Elias made no retort, went quietly, gravely, on: “Instead of agitating and terrifying you, Elias, the knowledge that you have gained of how close the relations are between the Lord our God and His chosen people, ought to inspire you with a deep, serene joy, with a feeling of infinite gratitude, and of perfect confidence. It should rejoice you, to know that the Lord is your constant, steadfast companion, that He follows your every footstep with the personal solicitude of a father. Awful, yes; but grand, beautiful, inspiring, and of unspeakable comfort amid the trials and perils of the world. Think, Elias, and try to appreciate, how great the Lord's love for you has been shown to be—His love and His mercy. You—were you not purposing the commission of the most deadly of sins? A sin which would have pursued you with unceasing penalties to your grave, and for which not you alone, but your children, and your children's children, would have had to suffer? And in His abundant love, what did the Lord do? He suffered you to persist up to the very brink of the precipice, and to gaze down into the abyss of iniquity; but before you had taken the final, fatal step, and fallen, he! He stretched out His arm; He saved you from destruction; and, like a forgiving parent, He brought you back to His bosom. Isn't what I say true, Elias?”
The rabbi paused; but Elias remained silent.
“Answer me, Elias. Isn't it true?”
“Oh, I suppose it's true. Yes, yes, I suppose it's true. But what difference does that make? You—you may analyze it as much as you choose. I don't deny what you say. I don't care about that. But if you had been through it—if you had been through it—— Good God! You make me mad, sitting there, and talking philosophy to me.”
“Not philosophy—don't say philosophy—say religion. It has upset you, because, in spite of my warning, you did not expect it, and because you haven't thought about it sufficiently. You haven't pierced to the innermost substance of it, and thoroughly understood it. Reflect upon it, in the light of what I have said. Reflect that it has simply exemplified to you the closeness, the carefulness, with which the Lord our God looks to your welfare. As you walk among the pitfalls of life, He holds your hand, and sustains you. He will allow no evil to beset you. How safe you ought to feel! What courage you ought to take!”
Elias pondered the rabbi's speech in silence. To the best of his comprehension, deranged as it was by his terror, debauched by his superstition, its truth seemed indisputable.
“And now,” the rabbi continued, after a brief pause, “it is apparent that the Lord has been your guide from the beginning. You were becoming indifferent—without knowing it, perhaps—indifferent to your religion. You had not zeal enough. You dwelt in a Christian community; and the Christian atmosphere was infecting you, was corrupting you. You were, so to speak, drifting away. The Lord saw it. He wished to call you back. He wished to awaken your slumbering soul, to revive your flagging Judaism, to rekindle your ardor, which had burned down to a tiny spark. Well, in His wisdom, this was the means that He devised. He caused you to fancy yourself attached to a Christian woman. He allowed you to harden yourself to the thought of committing the extreme sin—to the thought of marrying her. Then, at the last moment, He manifested Himself. He rescued you from your danger. And thus He gave such new vitality to your faith, that there is now no possibility of its ever becoming faint again. Oh, have you not reason in this to praise the Lord, and to thank Him, from the depths of your spirit? Oh, my son, son of my sister, how signally He has blessed you!”
“It is true,” Elias answered, “the Lord has shown me great mercy—greater than I deserved. I shall never doubt again. I shall always be a good Jew after this.”
“And as for the—the love you talked about—”
“Oh, don't speak of it. It is dead, quite dead. The Lord has struck it dead in my heart. It is as though it had never been—as though I had never seen her, or known her.”