FullReads

VII

‘You touched his heart so,’ shrieked Solomon Barzinsky an hour later to the Reverend Elkan Gabriel, ‘that he went straight from Shool (synagogue) to his shop.’ Solomon had rushed out the first thing after breakfast, risking the digestion of his Sabbath fish, to call upon the unsuccessful minister.

‘That is not my fault,’ said the preacher, crestfallen.

‘Yes, it is–if you had only stuck to my text. But no! You must set yourself up over all our heads.’

‘You told me to get in Simeon, and I obeyed.’

‘Yes, you got him in. But what did you call him? The Holy Temple! A fine thing, upon my soul!’

‘It was only an–an–analogy,’ stammered the poor minister.

‘An apology! Oh, so you apologized to him, too! Better and better.’

‘No, no, I mean a comparison.’

‘A comparison! You never compared me to the Holy Temple. And I’m Solomon–Solomon who built it.’

‘Solomon was wise,’ murmured the minister.

‘Oh, and I’m silly. If I were you, Mr. Gabriel, I’d remember my place and who I owed it to. But for me, Rochinsky would have stood in your shoes—-‘

‘Rochinsky is lucky.’

‘Oh, indeed! So this is your gratitude. Very well. Either Simeon Samuels shuts up shop or you do. That’s final. Don’t forget you were only elected for three years.’ And the little man flung out.

The Parnass, meeting his minister later in the street, took a similar view.

‘You really must preach again next Sabbath,’ he said. ‘The congregation is terribly wrought up. There may even be a riot. If Simeon Samuels keeps open next Sabbath, I can’t answer that they won’t go and break his windows.’

‘Then they will break the Sabbath.’

‘Oh, they may wait till the Sabbath is out.’

‘They’ll be too busy opening their own shops.’

‘Don’t argue. You must preach his shop shut.’

‘Very well,’ said the Reverend Gabriel sullenly.

‘That’s right. A man with a family must rise to great occasions. Do you think I’d be where I am now if I hadn’t had the courage to buy a bankrupt stock that I didn’t see my way to paying for? It’s a fight between you and Simeon Samuels.’

‘May his name be blotted out!’ impatiently cried the minister in the Hebrew imprecation.

‘No, no,’ replied the Parnass, smiling. ‘His name must not be blotted out–it must be mentioned, and–unmistakably.’

‘It is against the Talmud. To shame a man is equivalent to murder,’ the minister persisted.

‘Yet it is written in Leviticus: “Thou shalt in any wise rebuke thy neighbour, and not suffer sin upon him.”‘ And the Parnass took a triumphant pinch.

VIII

‘Simeon and Levi are brethren … into their assembly be not thou united: in their self-will they digged down a wall.’

The Parnass applauded mentally. The text, from Jacob’s blessing, was ingeniously expurgated to meet the case. The wall, he perceived at once, was the Sabbath–the Jews’ one last protection against the outer world, the one last dyke against the waves of heathendom. Nor did his complacency diminish when his intuition proved correct, and the preacher thundered against the self-will–ay, and the self-seeking–that undermined Israel’s last fortification. What did they seek under the wall? Did they think their delving spades would come upon a hidden store of gold, upon an ancient treasure-chest? Nay, it was a coffin they would strike–a coffin of dead bones and living serpents.

A cold wave of horror traversed the synagogue; a little shriek came from the gallery.

‘I don’t think I ever enjoyed a sermon so much,’ said the pawnbroker to the Parnass.

‘Oh, he’s improving,’ said the Parnass, still swollen with satisfaction.

But as that worthy elder emerged from the synagogue, placidly snuffing himself, he found an excited gentleman waiting him in the lobby. It was Lazarus Levy, whom his wife Deborah, daughter of S. Cohn (now of Highbury), was vainly endeavouring to pacify.

‘Either that Reverend Gabriel goes, Mr. Parnass, or I resign my membership.’

‘What is it, Mr. Levy–what is the matter?’

‘Everybody knows I’ve been a good Jew all my life, and though Saturday is so good for the clothing business, I’ve striven with all my might to do my duty by the Almighty.’