What! What does he mean, father? Am I deceiving myself? Are you not planning to marry me to Rebecca? Do you fear, then, that I have fallen in love with her? Is she not an honest girl—a shrinking girl—a girl as good as Father Aaron?
Sachel.
Yes, and better!
Rafael.
Will she not bring me a dozen of everything, and ten thousand guilders? Could man ask more? What's wrong here? Why do they not raise their glasses?
Because they will not let me manage my own affairs! He is my son, not yours! It is my wine, not yours! Drink, then, drink to Rebecca, the richest girl in the Ghetto, a beautiful young girl, a marvellous young girl——
[Esther turns appealingly to The Rabbi; both look on in distress and perplexity.
Rafael.
But they do not raise their glasses, father; they will not drink, father! Why? Do they see handwriting on the wall? Do they think I have forsaken my race? Do they think I have given my heart and soul to the heart and soul of another? Why do they not raise their glasses?