Julie didn’t answer; she was absorbed in the letter. Floyd looked at his watch and jumped up.
“Wait, wait, it is not finished.
“Mother, I’ve written you often about Ruth, but I’m sure you don’t know what she is like. When I am with her, I’m afraid to look at her, and when I’m away, I can’t imagine how she looks. She’s something indescribable. Mother, I have fought with all my might against her, because I knew it was hopeless, but when she said she loved me, I went straight to her grandfather. I told him about the struggle with my conscience and our dear friend’s sudden death—he was very much moved, and put his hand over my head and blessed me; then I took courage and asked him for Ruth. He was silent a long time before he answered. I could see he was thinking deeply. Then he said: ‘The uncompromising adherence of our people to the Law in the days of the Ghetto preserved the virility of the Race; but today our blood is in the veins of the world. That obstinate orthodoxy with which we are reproached has saved us from being swept away in a great tidal wave of assimilation. Come to us! We will leave you free in all worldly matters, but you must live according to our ritual, you must worship in our synagogue, you must bring up your children in our tradition. You will realize as you get older the righteousness of my demands.’”
Floyd was annoyed.
“They will keep harping on those future generations. How can we lay down the law for our grandchildren; they’ll know a lot more than we do.”
Julie evidently didn’t agree, she kept on reading.
“I walked about for days—trying to find some way—I wanted Ruth! Mother—you don’t know how much! I couldn’t keep away from her—she was waiting for me in the garden; she knew I would come. Mother, there was something so pure about her; such sweetness, I have never seen in any human thing. She was pale, but she spoke quietly. ‘Joseph, I know what Grandfather has asked you to do for my sake; you mustn’t do it. It wouldn’t be right for you. We try to bring the Past into the Present, to preserve our religion. We think we live, but it is only a waking dream, and we are happy they let us dream; but dreams are not for you. Joseph, you must go out on the high road of Progress—and I—I must stay here with my grandfather.’ Then I fell into the depths of despair and cried, how I cried. ‘I won’t let you; it is a living death; you are young! young!’ Mother, I’ll never forget her face when she answered. ‘I look young, but my soul is old.’”
A sob choked Julie’s voice; herself at sixteen, with that “old soul.”
Floyd took the letter and read it rapidly to the finish.
“She has shown me the way; it is all clear to me now, and I am not unhappy. We are only separated for a little while; and Mother, I want you to write a letter to her grandfather—and plead for us. It might do some good. You are always asking me what I want. I want Ruth; give me Ruth!”