Newspaper Page Text
Page 44
The Southern Israelite
Always iirsl in ( eniral and South Georgia
Tl
be M
relegi
acc
rapl
► n
i
Macon, Georgia
r
c
(
d
103 Yearn of
5>
)
l J i
Constructive
l
Service
From the Frying Pan into the Fire
A Story in which Love and Laughter Meet
Adapted from the (ifrman
( ill Riuhi* Renerml)
By OSCAR LEONARD
Except for snoring here and there,
the silence of the graveyard reigned
in the place. He found a bench near
the stove, stretched himself on it,
and wrapping his fur coat about him,
was asleep in a few’ minutes.
When the wonder worker was cer
tain that the strange visitor had left
the house, he moved cautiously from
his place and lit the candle. Seeing
his adjutants as well as the other
members of his household still tremb
ling with fear, he said, as he rolled
up his eyes:
"Foolish children that you are. Do
you not see that I have already sent
the dead man out of this house? Of
course I had a very hard struggle with
him, but I succeeded in the end to
make him leave.”
Chapter 8.
The large clock on the city hall
tower announced the sixth hour. The
synagogue was beginning to fill rapid
ly w'ith worshipers with their prayer
shawls under their arms, coming sing
ly and in groups. There was general
astonishment at finding a man
wrapped in a fine fur coat sleeping
on a bench near the stove. He did not
look like the shelterless paupers who
seek shelter in synagogues. They
could not see w’ho it was because his
face was hidden in the broad fur col
lar.
"This fellow must be a thief,” said
one worshiper, “else where did he get
such an expensive fur coat. ‘Claus-
tiers’ are not in the habit of indulging
in such luxuries.”
“He can be nothing else,” nodded
a few others in the group.
“Why, of course, he is a thief. I
know it. There never was a pauper
who had to sleep in a synagogue in
a fur coat,” came from a belated ar
rival.
“Last week my ‘talis’ was stolen,”
complained another.
"Some one stole my prayer book.”
"I am missing my ‘Chomish’
(Bible).”
“Some one stole my wife’s earings.
They were of pure silver.”
“We have the thief now and he
shall not escape us.”
“The coat he w’ears must be stolen,
too.
“I saw a fur coat like that one in
the house of Benzion the miser.”
“Maybe it was stolen from his
house.”
M hile the worshippers chatted at
their ease, Reb Shmaye appeared. He
smoked his long pipe and was attired
in his heavy coat. He wore a broad
black belt over his long coat. From
his hind pocket a large red handker
chief was seen. Approaching the
group before the stove he said:
“Have you heard the latest?”
“The latest?” some one present
asked. "Are you going to tell us some
thing new ? Silence, silence, Rey
Shmaye Jankev is going to tell some
news.”
“Benzion, who died some time ago
—” he began, only to be interrupted
by many voices:
“The deceased miser. Benzie
What happened to him?”
“Benzion, the dead miser, came p
visit our beloved Rebbe last night’”
“Benzion?” exclaimed all in high
pitch.
“Yes, Benzion, just as 1 said and
you heard. And do you think he came
like an ordinary man? Not at all. He
came with a wagon drawn by tw<
horses. Nor was a driver absent. He
stopped in front of the Rebbe's house
at midnight. I need not tell you that
the horses were the well-known black
flogs of Gehenna and the driver w a *
no other than the “gehenim shamos"
(Sexton of Hades).”
"The ‘gehinimshamos,’ ” they yelled
in fright and astonishment, “the ge-
henim shamos was driving the wagon
in which sat Reb Benzion, who just
died—that is horrible, horrible!’’
“And did you see him. *C7ahi!’ some
one exclaimed.
“So may my eyes behold the Mes
siah as I have seen him.”
“Horrible! It makes me shiver t<
hear of it.”
“Lord of the Universe!”
“Are you sure you saw him?" was
the next question. “How did he look'’"
"Like a corpse, white as chalk.”
“Was he wrapped in a shroud?"
“Of course he was. What a ques
tion!”
“What did he want of the Rebbe?"
“He asked that the Rebbe pray f«r
his soul. He begged and entreated in
such a way that he could have moved
a stone.”
“Even a stone! Oh, Just God."
“He did not want to leave the house
at all,” continued Reb Schmaye.
around the circle drew nearer an«i
nearer. “He could not be made t
leave the place, neither by theats nor
kindness. The rebbe said that ne\er
in his life was a ghost so determined
to get a hearing. Not even the sacred
books which we held in our hand?
made the dead Benzion disappear.
“Not even the sacred books. Mir
acle of miracles!”
“Did you also hear him? ’ came an
other voice from the circle.
“As clearly as I hear you speak.
“That is wonderful, wonderful, in
deed.”
While the men were marvelling » ;
the ‘gabi’s” story, the sexton of the
synagogue entered. Noticing
there was some one still sleeping •
this late hour, he approached tn
bench and began pulling the i
oat,
“Get up, ‘fetter,’ get up. It is tw*
o pray.”
Reb Benzion opened his eyes
itretched his limbs, and yawned.
“Good Lord,” cried the sexton
‘right, “it is Benzion the miser.
The sexton’s cry of horror pj er ‘
he ears of all those present an •
■ushed to the place whence it»
iVhen they saw the figure o ^
vhom they thought wa> 1 ea _ ne 0 «t
■ushed madly from the synag j{
nto the street with loud >
‘Givalt, Givalt!”