All men who know the ocean marvelled, and said: ‘Wherefore, and how did these escape? for hitherto no boat has yet been saved from this accursed monster of the deep.’
I answered them: ‘Thus God’s redemption is majestic and complete to them that know the glory of His splendor; He works salvation for them that know Him, and takes vengeance upon them that provoke Him. His are the sea, the beasts, and the waters of the great deep—all of them He hung on nought. What is this beast against the Lord, who made her reign supreme, and gave her strength and might?’
To God I will render the thanks of them that are redeemed—it shall be set and put in my mouth. I declare that, unlike created things, my Rock has no beginning and no end; I declare that the dead shall be quickened, when the end of the mysterious heptad[[90]] comes; that Moses and the Torah which is in our hands are true—it is marked with perfection; that the words of our sages are straight and upright, their Talmud and their Mishnah are pleasant; that there is a goodly reward for the pure in the next world, a recompense for them that die for the sake of the traditional law. God has dominion over land and sea, over heaven, the Great Bear, and Pleiades. His fear is put upon my countenance, and His Torah is perfect in my heart.
XIV. SOLOMON B. JUDAH IBN GEBIROL
[Deep thinker and lyric poet. One of the most original and noblest minds of medieval Jewry. He was born at Malaga about 1021, and died at Valencia about 1058. In his philosophic works and in his poems which are still extant one discerns a spirit that strives to soar high and to attain to the loftiest state of mental development. In his soul mystic and rational elements are wonderfully blended. He had great influence upon subsequent writers.]
1. On Leaving Saragossa[[91]]
My throat became dried from crying, my tongue cleaved unto my palate; my heart flutters because of my great anguish and pain. Great is my sorrow, that it no longer allows mine eyes to slumber.
To whom shall I speak and complain? to whom shall I declare my grief? Would there were one to comfort and to pity me, who would hold my right hand! I would pour out my heart to him, and would relate some of my woes. Perchance by uttering my grief the tempest of my heart may subside a little.
O thou who inquirest about my peace, draw nigh, and hearken! My roaming is as the sea’s. If thy heart were as adamant, it would melt from my affliction. How canst thou think I am alive, while thou knowest my languishment? Alas! I dwell in the midst of a people that thinks my right hand is my left. I am interred, but not in a desert—my coffin is within my house. I am motherless and fatherless, distressed and lonely, young and poor. Alone, without a brother, I have no other friend but my thoughts. I mix my flowing tears with blood, and then my wine is mixed with tears. I thirst for a friend, but I shall be consumed ere my thirst is slaked. The heavens and their host prevent me from attaining my desire. I am counted like a stranger or sojourner, my dwelling is amongst ostriches; among the crooked and the fools, who think that they are very wise: the one gives to drink the venom of asps, the other, flattering, smooths the head; but he lays an ambush in his heart, though he says to thee: ‘I pray thee, my lord.’ They are a people whose fathers I would disdain to set with the dogs of my flock. Their faces never blush with shame, unless they are dyed with scarlet. Like giants are they in their sight, in my sight they are like locusts. When I take up my parable, they chide me, as they would chide a Greek: ‘Speak a tongue that we understand, for this speech is of an Ashkelonite.’
I shall now crush them as mire, for my tongue is like a sharp spear. If their ear is deaf to me, of what avail can be my bell? Unworthy are their necks to be adorned with the gold of my crescents.