Judith Trachtenberg: A Novel

by Karl Emil Franzos

He was astonished. "I did not expect that. Once you were willing, and it was not your fault that it was not done."

"What did I know of God then? What does any young, happy, innocent thing know of him? And I was so happy. I believed in him, of course; and although I should have preferred to be a Christian, yet I was fairly contented with my creed, and when I wished for anything in addition to my abundance, I prayed for it. My faith was a cloak, and why should I not change it, especially as my lover wished it? It was hard for me only because it parted me from my relations. But they provided me with no new cloak; and when I felt guilty and miserable, then I found what faith was. It was no cloak, but one's very soul. I know what you are going to say," she continued, impatiently; "I have heard it often enough. We have all one Father in heaven! I believed that, too, and when I was in the deepest misery it was a consolation to hope it. But now when I consider my fate and that of those about me, I do not believe it. Why should we have suffered so much for our creed, if it were unnecessary? Is he indifferent as to whether we hold to our Jewish faith or not? Why were we born Jews? No, he must know his own wishes. Our blood, our tears, do not flow in vain, else he would not be the all-merciful, the all-just. Therefore I yield to his will in this, and will not burden my soul with fresh guilt. I have enough to answer for already."

"To your God, the God of the Jews," said the old man, sorrowfully. "I understand you have returned to him. Nevertheless it is true--he is not the God of Jews or of Christians only. You know little of our creed. Learn it."

"I know enough," she exclaimed, wildly. "It is a creed of love, of humanity. It ordains that doors should be opened to the pretty, wealthy Jewess, especially if the owner of the doors is in debt to her father; that young gentleman may talk more unrestrainedly with her than with ladies who are Christians. She, indeed, may feel no strangeness in that society, for she looks upon them as fellow-creatures. But her father and brother do not count as men with them: they are only Jews--of whom the men are born to make money which Christians may borrow, and the women to cater to your enjoyment by their beauty. If a Jewess loses her heart to a Christian and forsakes all to follow him, his religion teaches men never to forget her creed. And then you call your religion one of love!"

She sobbed bitterly, and, loosening a lock of hair, through whose auburn brightness ran a band of silver, she held it up for him to see. "I am twenty-two years old, doctor; need I say more?"

"Have not the Jews done their share in increasing those gray hairs? Even you have the commandment, 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' It is one of the most important of your creed, as it is of ours. Do your people act up to it? Remember your reception here."

"I deserved the treatment I received. What did they know? what do they know to-day, except that I am a dishonored woman and my father's murderess? But if you were right, and we had the same laws and sinned against them, still peace and springtide might some day visit the earth; but now it is winter, and we are at war. In winter we stay at home, and in wartime we do not desert to the enemy's camp. If you are correct in saying your altar is a sanctuary of God, then I must not desecrate it. What would be my thoughts when I bent over the font? Of what would I think during the marriage ceremony? After all that has passed, it would be my worst sin. And I fear God. I remember how my father thought of it, and for his sake it is now impossible. When I stood by his grave yesterday, it was clear to me that he was a God-fearing man, and would not have counselled me to lie in sacred matters."

"He was a kind man, too, and knew how much God could forgive. He himself forgave much."

"Yes, misdeeds against himself, but not against God. He thought: 'My child has broken my heart. God will punish her, but I will forgive her. As she will suffer much, let her rest by my side; and when at the last day the trumpet sounds, let her go before the Judge with her hand in mine.' This is what he meant, and it would be hard to surrender this privilege. Yet for my child's sake I would make the sacrifice, only I cannot sin again, even for him."

He looked at her white, inflexible face, and ventured no further remark. He arose silently, pressed her hand, and turned to go. A slight exclamation detained him; it sounded like a sigh. He looked around inquiringly.