The Maccabaean

One of the Narratives of a Roumanian Wanderer

I.

Wandering continually from city to village and again from the village to the city, because of the uncertainty of my habitation, I happened to be sheltered one night beneath the skies.

After rambling all day, my feet were very weary and I could carry myself no longer. I lay down on the ground, put a fist under my head, and fell asleep.

Enchanting fields, green forests and neatly built villages extended before me. However, I was not attracted by these, for I knew, that a wanderer like me was not meant to enjoy such things. If I should make an attempt to approach any of these villages, I would be attacked by the dogs and bitten to pieces.

I withdrew my thoughts from the inhabited world and began to contemplate the skies. I watched the light, fleecy clouds floating in the expanse, and envied them. “They are also wanderers, indeed,” I said to myself, “but what great difference there is between wandering on the earth and wandering in the expansive atmosphere, where there are no boundaries, no impediments, no stumbling-blocks, no wild beasts, but infinite, endless spaciousness.”

"It is true," I continued, " that the clouds, when transformed into raindrops, fall down upon the earth. But then, the sun's mild luster is sufficient to transform again these drops into floating clouds, and restore them high in the atmosphere;

but for me, miserable wanderer, the sun shines just enough to enable me to see people living happily and comfortablyv.”

While absorbed in these painful meditations, I saw a piece of paper whirling towards me, rising and descending, now entangled in thorns, now extricating itself and swiftly meandering.

"This, too, is a wanderer," I thought, "whirling and drifting 'mid blasts and blows.'"

In the meantime, the paper was seized by a furious storm, which flung it violently here and there, until, finally, it was blown against me and became attached to my clothes.

I stretched forth my hand and took the paper to peruse it.

“O Lord!’ I sorrowfully exclaimed, “Thy people and their books encounter the same fate! What difficulties this piece of paper with its Hebrew inscription must have experienced during its existence! Like myself it has no foothold, a toy to the slightest wind, trodden by animals, and subject to everybody’s insult !”

II.

The moon penetrated the clouds, and broke away the darkness. I gazed at the contents of the torn piece of paper and read the following fragments:

". . . . and I, with my brethern in the Diaspora. . . . When Israel