In a robe of white, once his wedding costume, and later to be used as his shroud, a white cap bound with a wide silver band resting on his snow-white hair, he sat supported by soft pillows, covered with white embroidery. At his side sat his daughter-in-law, Hannah, in a grey brocade dress, with a heavy golden chain about her neck, and a cap of ivory-white lace bedecked with lilac ribbons pressed low on her forehead, the traditional head-dress of strictly orthodox Jewesses. Friederike and Rebecca, her two oldest daughters, likewise wore caps, of more modern fashion however. The relatives from Pinsk still clung to the old fashion of the silk Sheitel, with which a married Jewess entirely conceals her hair, replacing her natural adornment by costly jewels. Strands of pearls were wound about their heads. In fact all the Russian members of the family displayed such a wealth of diamonds and jewels that Mr. Benas could hardly suppress a smile of amusement.
The husbands of the two ladies from Pinsk were attired in long silk caftans, and side-curls escaped on each cheek from beneath their caps. In contrast to these were the elegant modern gowns worn by the rest of the family. The young women were arrayed in light airy dresses, and their coiffures—brown or blonde or reddish or deep black,—suggested Botticelli pictures. The men were in full dress.
And the company was no less diverse in its composition than in the appearance of its members. Along with the representatives of the old Judaism, which had maintained itself unchanged for centuries, all shades and grades of belief were represented. There were the orthodox, the pious, the conservative, the liberal, the reformed,—and an apostate! Similarly, all social stations were represented: high officials, an Oberverwaltungsrat, and an attorney-general from Munich—descended from the South German branch of the Friedländers—professors, physicians, lawyers, engineers, manufacturers, and merchants. There was lacking only a representative of the rabbis. There were several in the family; but they had been prevented from coming because of the necessity of officiating during the holidays. Among the younger generation there were gifted youths of studious habits, two Bavarian officers and an Austrian officer in uniform; barristers, assessors, engineers, tradesmen, and even those who had learnt a craft, and yet there was harmony in this composite picture,—a harmony created by the common sentiment possessing all in this hour.
Leopold Friedländer drew the large silver Seder platter towards him. It was decorated with the symbolic dishes of the service. The golden shells at the four corners contained the Charoseth, the bitter herbs, the egg roasted in ashes, and the salt water. In the middle were the Matzoth covered with a white silk cloth, on which were embroidered, in gold, lions supporting the shield of David worked in silver and jewels. Under this stood the blessings in Hebrew letters. A granddaughter had executed this beautiful bit of needlework. And now the treble voice of a five-year-old boy, the son of a great-great-grandchild of the patriarch, was heard saying the first words of the Haggadah: "Mah nishtaneh ha-Layloh hazeh?" This little boy, sitting at the table of his ancestors, was the representative of the fifth living generation. He traced his ancestry directly back to the Rabbis Eliezer and Akiba Friedländer, known as learned and high-minded men, whose virtues and piety, attainments and generosity, had brought honors to them, not only from the Jews, but also from those of other faiths. When little Jacob, in childlike tones, but clearly and distinctly asked the prescribed question, was Leopold Friedländer thinking of his father and grandfather? For he bent over his Haggadah, and tears flowed from his weary old eyes.
Deep emotion took hold of the company. They all looked from the old man to the child,—who was staring about him with wide-open eyes and with unsuspecting curiosity,—and then again from the child to the old man. All sorts of questions and ideas crowded into the minds of the guests. The old Judaism and the new,—how would they exist together? Peacefully and quietly as in this hour? And would youth listen devoutly when age taught the lessons from the history of the race? Would the young people of the future gather about the patriarchs? Would they leave the busy life, the gay bustle of existence, its struggles, and its duties in search of consecration and peace? Such a miracle was happening in this simple Jewish home. In a spirit of reverence they followed the recital of the Haggadah, as the patriarch intoned in a feeble but impressive voice, the queer, outlandish, Talmudic, and casuistic interpretations of the festival. And when, with trembling hands, he filled the tall silver beaker with the wine destined for the prophet Elijah, he rose in his chair, and with the expression of religious faith imprinted upon his aged features, exclaimed, Leshonoh habooh bi-Yerusholoyim, a spirit of awe descended upon the company. No one seemed able for the moment to throw off the inspiring impression, not even those who failed to share the hopes expressed in the prayer.
Hugo Benas was most deeply affected. "So it must be," he whispered to his mother, who sat next to him. "Though worlds apart in their views, in standards of life, in position, in culture, they are united by ties of race. And wherever Jews live in this way, a spiritual Zion will arise, as here, in this humble abode."
* * *
The assembled relatives had drawn close together during these holidays. Points of contact had appeared, the old bonds had been renewed, new ones had been formed; and with complacency they told one another of the many members of the family who had attained high positions in civil life. Honor was paid to those who had kept the religious traditions uncontaminated. Undisturbed harmony reigned, and not even Victor Weilen formed a discordant element. Curiously enough, one of the Pinsker kin, who knew nothing of Victor's apostasy (for the subject had not been referred to), was most attracted to him; and Victor questioned the pious and intelligent man about the condition of the Jews in Russia. It was of interest to him to hear how the old orthodoxy had been preserved there, and had become a factor in politics, in which, despite their religious segregation, the Jews were necessarily involved. Mr. Benas, however, could not resist a good-humored yet slightly satirical remark, when he repeatedly saw these two men together. "Under the shelter of the Patriarch, the orthodox and the apostate come together," he said to Hugo, who responded: "That is Zion."
With these impressions fresh in mind, the Benases returned home; and as a result of their influence the union of Weilen with Rita was not opposed, not even by Hugo. Since the evening on which Dr. Weilen had so freely stated his views concerning colonization, Hugo had been less distant toward him, and in the course of time the relation between them grew in cordiality. They had discussed the Jewish question repeatedly, and Hugo was always agreeably impressed by the man's calm, his lack of prejudice, and his sincerity. Such qualities counted doubly in his case. They had also touched upon his change of belief, and Dr. Weilen had said in regard to it: "The new belief that I adopted could give me nothing, just as the loss of the other had taken nothing from me, because I was not devout in this sense; and that liberated me, and it keeps me free even to-day, as a mature man, to acknowledge and associate myself with those to whom I am attached by a bond which has a deeper hold than this or that rite or ceremony can possibly have."
And when Hugo saw him so full of tact, taking a cordial interest in all who flocked about the patriarch, on the spot that since then he called "Zion," he had taken him into his young heart, readily fired with enthusiasm. He understood his sister's love for this man, and he no longer resisted the inevitable outcome: that she should become his wife according to the laws of the land in which they lived. But then ... then!