y
such curses any more!"

These words were like the signal for battle. Scarcely had he finished
speaking when some fifty young men ranged themselves on either side
of him. Some were the excommunicated man's personal friends; others
had only seen him from a distance; among them were even those who had
blamed him and condemned his rashness.

"Rabbi!" they called out, "we will hear such curses no more!"

"Rabbi! your curse has made us love the accursed!"

"Rabbi! with that herem you have laid a burden upon a man who was
pleasant in the sight of God and man!"

With a mighty effort Todros seemed to rouse himself from the numbness
into which the unexpected rebellion had plunged him.

"What is it you want?" he shouted. "What are you speaking of? Has the
evil spirit bewitched you? Do you not know that our Law commands us
to curse those who rebel against the holy covenant?"

Not from among the young men, but from the benches where the elders
were sitting, came a grave voice:

"Rabbi! do you not know that when the old Sanhedrim were in fierce
debate whether to adhere to the teaching of Hillel or Shamai, a
mysterious voice, 'Bat Kohl,' taken for the voice of God himself, was
heard, 'Listen to the Law of Hillel, for it is full of charity and
gentleness.'"

All heads were craned in the direction whence the speech had come. It
was from Raphael, the uncle of the excommunicated.

At this moment Ber made his way through the crowd and stood at the
side of the young men.

"Rabbi!" he exclaimed, "have you ever counted the intellects you and
your forefathers crushed with your despotism; all the souls eager for
knowledge that you thrust into darkness and suffering?"

"Rabbi!" said a youthful almost childish voice, "will you and those
that stand by you always keep from us all knowledge after which our
minds are yearning?"

"Why do you not, Rabbi, teach the people to use their intelligence as
a sieve, to divide the grain from the chaff, and the pearls from the
sand? Rabbi! you have made us to eat the pomegranate with the bitter
rind; we begin to feel the acrid taste of it and it causes pain."

"Unhappy, misguided youths! Reprobates!" shouted Todros passionately.
"Did you not see with your own eyes that the people hated him, stoned
him, and marked his forehead with a red scar?"

Proud and scornful laughter answered his speech. "Do not agree with
everything the people say," and one voice continued: "The curse you
pronounced a