TRANSMIGRATION, (A Story)
My great-grandfather, Reb Yekev, was a pious God-fearing man. He had a hard time in this world for he was nothing but a schechter in a small community which was able to provide him with only a very meager subsistence. He consoled himself, however, with the hope of a better Beyond.
It was about midnight, on Thursday as he was sitting alone studying, that he heard a tap on the window and someone calling to him :
"Reb Yekev, Reb Yekev, you'll have to come right away to the slaughter-house! Make haste! The ox is already bound down."
My great-grandfather was not taken unawares by this summons. The Jews in that little town supported themselves with difficulty by peddling and they ate meat only once a week, on Saturday, the Day of the Lord, when also the heads of the families returned home. The butcher kept only a small supply on hand and was obliged to buy his beef every week. When anything happened to delay him, he would .come back from his buying late Thursday night, and then the work had to be .rushed through with breathless hurry. It was accordingly no novel experience for Reb Yekev to be called in the middle of the night. He put on his coat, took his knife and sharpstone and hurried to the slaughter-house, which was situated a short distance outside the village.
As he entered the barn-like structure he saw the ox bound to the floor but no sign of the butcher or his assistants.
“Where are you, Yokel,” he called out, “What are you hiding for?”
Thereupon a groan issued from the mouth of the ox, and words followed:
"Yokel will not come now. He has made himself drunk in the saloon by the
wayside, and will stay away until morning. But have mercy on me and slaughter me!"
"Who are you?" cried the horrified schechter, his hair rising on end. "Who are you that from the mouth of an ox speaks to me with a human voice?"
"I am a poor soul," replied the voice, "that on account of its misdeeds was condemned to the horrible punishment of living in the body of an ox. For more than a hundred years I have been wandering through the world unable to free myself from the unclean husk. Last night at the midnight hour when every soul mounts for a moment up to Heaven in order to account for its deeds, I succeeded at last in moving the heart of the angel of pity, Raphael; and he told me what means to use to regain my freedom. 'Let yourself be slaughtered, he said, by a pious God-fearing man in the way prescribed by the commandment, and let him pronounce the customary blessing over you and you shall be freed.' Have then pity on me you, whom I have selected because of your far-famed piety, and let me, the breath of God on high, not languish further in the abandoned carcass of an unreasoning beast."
Reb Yekev felt actually as if the blood had frozen in his veins. For a long time he was unable to make the slightest movement, or to utter a syllable. Again a whimpering came from the ox:
"If you expect the Judge on the Last Day to have mercy on your poor soul; if you hope that your pleading on the day of your distress shall be heard, do not abandon me! Yet a few minutes remain, and when they have flown, my furlough will have gone then."
At this the schechter pulled himself to-