The Inheritance
From Stories From the Rabbis by Abram S. Isaacs, 1893.
From: 50 C.E. To: 125 C.E.
Location: Jerusalem, Israel
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From Stories From the Rabbis by Abram S. Isaacs, 1893.
The heart of Hyrcanus was full of joyful emotions. His pride and exultation knew no bounds. His fields were broad, his granaries full, his increasing flocks and herds grazed contentedly on the hillside, and a hundred youths and maidens hastened to do his bidding, and added to his rapidly growing wealth. But he was happiest when he noticed his sons hard at work at the plow or with the flail, their faces all-aglow with their daily toil, and he would pass along the line with many an encouraging word.
"How happy the farmer's life!" was his frequent remark. "He is his own master; sunlight, dew, rain, heat are his eager servants. God, with lavish hand, places fruit and flower at his feet and scatters on every side the rewards of his labor. My sons shall be farmers, too—not so, my lads? Farmers, strong, ruddy, alert, like your sire, to continue his name to all generations. Let people talk about the joys of city life and other careers and occupations; we know how to prize our own calling and appreciate its blessings."
It happened once that, as Hyrcanus visited his fields, he observed that one of his sons, Elieser, seemed moody and dejected. When he was asked the reason of his discontent, he responded by a flood of tears.
"What ails the boy?”: said the father to himself. "He does not look ill. Perhaps it is his pride, for he is the proudest of the lot. Does he think that his present employment is too menial? That fault, if it be a fault, is easily remedied. I shall have him undertake a lighter task and the smiles will come back to his countenace."
In vain. The son's sadness steadily increased, and baffled the father's solicitude. The youth would often rest from his toil and turn his gaze toward the east. Sighs escaped him, and all the symptoms of discontent. He would perform each day's task, but there was no heart in the work, and when the allotted labor was done, he courted solitude as if it had a balm for his anxious thoughts. He loved to follow the bird in its flight until it was lost to view in cloudless space. He would pluck to pieces many a flower, as though to gain the secret of their fragrance. In the peace of twilight he would leave his home, mount the neighboring hill, and commune with the stars as if they could answer his questionings or soothe his sorrow.
Now Hyrcanus had continued to observe his son's disquietude, and sought to discover the secret, but without success. One evening, meeting Elieser in tears, he said: “Come, my son. Tell me thy grief. What disturbs thee? Why is thy brow so sad, and why has thy heart, once so merry, lost its cheer? Come, tell me. Be frank, and conceal nothing"
"Oh, father, father!" the youth exclaimed. "I will be frank with thee and conceal nothing. I hate the farm and the fields! I yearn for something higher and nobler. I cannot endure much longer this kind of life. It is worse than a stifling prison!"
"Well, my son," replied the father, sadly, "thou hast been frank, and I confess thy words have disappointed me not a little. My thoughts are naturally wrapped up in my farm, and I have always longed to have my sons follow in my path and succeed as I have done. But I would not be harsh or unkind to thee. I will change thy occupation, if it be thy desire. What shall it be, then? A saddler, a weaver, a carpenter, a blacksmith?”
"A saddler, a weaver, a carpenter, and the rest!” rejoined the youth with flashing eyes.
"Why speak of them? It is only one ambition that possesses me. I would be a scholar, father; I would study the holy Law. I would devote my entire life to learning."
"So that is the secret which I have vainly sought to discover?" the father answered. "Thou wouldst be an idle scholar! At thy age, too! Be satisfied with the farm, Elieser. Curb thy straying fancy and settle down to the farmer's life. Let thy sons be scholars, but choose for thyself a more sensible fate."
A few days passed. The cloud of sorrow pressed heavier and heavier on Elieser. He grew more and more sullen. He refused his accustomed food. Sleep was denied him. But ever stronger became the yearning to study the divine Law.
"If I could only learn of the Maker of this boundless universe!” he exclaimed to himself as he took his solitary walk. "The distant star mocks me. The flower at my feet taunts me with my ignorance. The birds that troop past me have more knowledge than I. Must I endure this self-reproach forever?”
"Why weepest thou?" a Voice was heard close beside him. "What is thy sorrow? Hast thou an unattained desire? Dost thou wish to study the Law?”
"Yes, yes! with my whole heart and soul! Oh, Master, Master, satisfy me! Art thou not near to all who call upon Thee in truth, and dost Thou not give to the young birds that for which they cry?”
"If thou truly lovest knowledge," spoke the Voice, in tones that thrilled the young man's soul, "and wouldst devote thy whole life to learning, submitting to the yoke which shall be transformed into a fadeless crown, fly to Jerusalem. There is the school of Rabbi Johanan ben Sakkai. Enter its doors—the portals stand open—and be wise."
Elieser hesitated no longer. The opportunity had come. In the impulsiveness of youth, without bidding his father and brothers farewell, he fled to Jerusalem, the city of his hopes and visions, and, entering Ben Sakkai's far-famed school, stood like a statue for a moment, and then wept aloud.
"Good youth," said the rabbi, in a kindly tone, "why hast thou given way to thy emotions? At thy age it is not usual to give way to tears."
"Oh, rabbi," Elieser answered, "I am weeping because of my ignorance, and I have such a burning desire to study that I could not but come to Jerusalem."
"But thou hast surely learnt something, hast thou not?" the rabbi inquired.
"Nothing, nothing!" cried the youth despairingly. "Oh, teach me, master! Without knowledge I cannot live."
Ben Sakkai strove to reassure the trembling youth. Without asking of his home and kindred, he received Elieser as his own son, and bade him grieve no more. "Thou shalt be my pupil. I recognize thy honest heart. I have full confidence in thy ability. Thou shalt gain knowledge if thou wilt but persevere, and become a light to thy people."
The rabbi's judgment was soon confirmed. The youth made astounding progress that aroused the admiration of his comrades and teachers. Ben Sakkai was amazed at the sagacity, the reasoning skill, the intellectual grasp of his pupil, whose learning grew until he was acknowledged to be the pride of the academy and its star of greatest promise. And then Elieser told Ben Sakkai his name and lineage.
What of Hyrcanus during these years? Did he grieve for his missing son? Did he seek to discover the secret of his absence? Did he regard him as hopeless and abandon all search? His father heart might have put him on the right track had not Elieser's brothers resorted to every means to poison their parent's mind. They could not sufficiently condemn their brother's deed and ingratitude.
They dwelt upon the disgrace to the family which he had occasioned, and to prevent any reconciliation, should he return, they urged their father, again and again, to disinherit him. As he despised the farm and its occupations, he should have no share in the estate.
Resolved, at last, to disinherit Elieser, the father set out for Jerusalem, to complete the act in due legal form. He soon reached the Holy City, encircled by a chaplet of hills, and moved along its crowded streets with an air of wonder. All nations seemed to be there. Greece, Rome, and the isles of the sea sent their representatives. How different from his fields and hills were the busy thoroughfares! How insignificant appeared his houses and lands, compared to the stately edifices that lined the well-paved roads, the lofty towers that shone in the sunlight, the colossal gateways, the palatial dwellings! How tame and unsatisfying was country life after all!
''Come, Hyrcanus!" exclaimed one of his friends, "Let us visit Ben Sakkai to-day. He is our most famous sage, and all throng to hear him."
It was a gala-day in Ben Sakkai's house. He had invited to dinner a large number of the most prominent people in Jerusalem, and Hyrcanus, belonging to a family of wealth and influence, was placed next to Elieser. But the father did not recognize his son; he never thought that Elieser associated in such high circles, and then the years had changed the youth completely. Study, too, had transformed the country lad, and added a refining and maturing influence of its own.
The guests feasted merrily, and had almost ended their repast, when Ben Sakkai, turning to Elieser, exclaimed, "My son, it is time for thee to reveal thy wisdom. Rise, and speak of the holy Law."
"Nay, master," Elieser replied, blushing slightly; ''the cisterns can only pour out the water which they have received. What can I say that is not already known to thee?”
"My son," Ben Sakkai rejoined, "the fountain gushes forth an ever-living stream. Rise and speak of the Law."
But Elieser was still reluctant to address the assemblage, when Ben Sakkai, fancying that his presence embarrassed his pupil, left the hall.
Then Elieser began a dissertation on the Law and holy things, and the depth and beauty of creation, of life and its wonders, of death and its mysteries, of the world in its grandeur, and the human soul. He spoke, and his eyes shone with a divine radiance, while his voice grew wondrously eloquent. The people listened, awe-inspired. Unable to restrain himself, Ben Sakkai rushed into the assemblage, and full of admiration kissed him on the forehead, exclaiming, "Oh, blessed son of Hyrcanus! Happy Israel to have such a teacher!"
The assemblage broke into loud applause—but scarcely had its echo died away when Hyrcanus exclaimed in an agitated voice, "Of whom dost thou speak? Tell me! Relieve my suspense!"
''Of whom I speak?" Ben Sakkai, replied. “Why, I speak of thy son. I speak of Elieser, who is standing at thy side."
"My son! my son!" and Hyrcanus turned to Elieser. "Thou art indeed my missing son." And again and again he clasped the young man to his breast, while the people wondered.
"Happy, thrice happy am I to possess such a son ! I came to Jerusalem with one resolve—I shall be frank to avow it—to disinherit thee. But now I shall disinherit thy brethren who have traduced thee. Thou shalt be sole heir of all my wealth—that shall be thy recompense, and the proof of my affection."
"Nay, father," Elieser answered, while his voice grew gentler as he spoke; "Nay, father, let each brother have his portion. I bear them no ill-will. If I desired fields, I could pray to God for them, for He is Lord of the earth. If I desired gold I could entreat God for it. Is He not the Lord of all the wealth that is? But I hunger only for the holy Law: this satisfies me."
Isaacs, Abram S. Stories From the Rabbis. Charles L. Webster & Co., 1893.
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