Judovska deklica

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Among the other little children at the charity school was a little Jewish girl, so bright and good, the cleverest of them all; but there was one lesson in which she could take no part: the Scripture lesson, for she was in a Christian school.

She could keep her geography book before her and read it, or finish her arithmetic, but the sums were soon done and the lesson learned. A book lay open before her, to be sure, but she was not reading it; she sat listening, and the teacher soon noticed that she followed the lesson as scarcely any of the others did.

"Read your book!" he said gently but gravely. Yet she looked at him with her dark, shining eyes, and when he put a question to her too, she knew the answer better than all the others. She had listened, understood, and treasured it.

Her father was a poor, honest man. When she entered the school, he had stipulated that she was not to be instructed in the Christian faith. To send her away during that lesson might perhaps give offence, or stir thoughts and feelings in the other little children at the school, and so she had stayed; but this could no longer continue.

The teacher went to her father and told him that he must either take his daughter out of the school or let her become a Christian. "I cannot bear to see those burning eyes, that fervour, that thirst of the soul, as it were, for the words of the Gospel!" said the teacher.

And her father burst into tears. "I myself know little of our own religion, but her mother was a daughter of Israel, firm and steadfast in her faith. On her deathbed I promised her that our child would never receive Christian baptism. I must keep my promise; to me it is like a covenant with God."

And the little Jewish girl was taken out of the Christian school. — Years had passed. In one of the smallest market towns in Jutland, a poor girl of the Jewish faith was in service in a modest middle-class household. This was Sara. Her hair was black as ebony, her eyes as dark, yet full of the lustre and light possessed by the daughters of the East. The grown girl's expression was still the same as the child's had been when she sat on the school bench listening with a thoughtful gaze.

Every Sunday the organ and the congregation's singing rang out from the church, across the street and into the house opposite, where the Jewish girl went about her work, diligent and faithful in her duties. "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy!" was her law; but her Sabbath was a working day for the Christians, and she could keep it holy only in her heart, which she did not believe was enough. But what are days and hours to God? That thought had awakened in her soul, and on the Christians' Sunday her hour of devotion was less disturbed. When the sound of the organ and the singing of hymns reached her where she stood at the kitchen sink, even that place became holy and still. Then she read the Old Testament, the treasure and possession of her people, and that alone; for what her father had told her and the teacher when she was taken out of school lay deep in her mind: the promise made to her dying mother that Sara should not become a Christian, should not forsake the faith of her forefathers. The New Testament was, and must remain, a closed book to her, and yet she knew so much of it; it shone in her childhood memories. One evening, as she sat in a corner of the room, she heard her master reading aloud, and surely she might listen to that: it was not the Gospels, no, he was reading from an old history book, and she could surely listen to that. It told of a Hungarian knight who was captured by a Turkish pasha, who had him harnessed to the plough beside the oxen, driven with lashes, and subjected to endless humiliation and suffering.

The knight's wife sold all her jewels and mortgaged their castle and lands; his friends contributed great sums, for the ransom demanded was almost beyond belief. But the money was raised, and he was freed from slavery and disgrace; sick and suffering, he reached his home. Soon, however, a general call to arms went out against the enemy of Christendom. The sick man heard it and could find neither peace nor rest. He had himself lifted onto his warhorse; the blood returned to his cheeks, his strength seemed to revive, and he rode away to victory. The very pasha who had had him harnessed to the plough, humiliated and tormented, now became his prisoner, and the knight brought him home to the castle dungeon. Yet within the first hour, the knight came and asked his prisoner:

"What do you think awaits you?" "I know!" answered the Turk. "Retribution!" "Yes, a Christian's retribution!" said the knight. "Christianity bids us forgive our enemies and love our neighbour. God is love! Go home in peace to your loved ones, and be gentle and good to those who suffer!"

Then the prisoner burst into tears. "How could I have thought such a thing possible! I was certain of torture and agony, and I took a poison that will kill me in a few hours. I must die; there is no remedy! But before I die, teach me the faith that holds such love and mercy. It is great and divine! Let me die in it, die a Christian!" And his prayer was granted.

Such was the legend, the story that was read aloud. They all listened and followed it, but it filled and quickened most ardently the heart of the girl who sat in the corner, Sara the servant girl, the Jewish girl. Great, heavy tears stood in her shining, coal-black eyes; she sat there with a child's heart, as she had once sat on the school bench, sensing the greatness of the Gospel. The tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Do not let my child become a Christian!" had been her mother's last words on her deathbed. They rang through Sara's heart and soul together with the words of the law: "Honour thy father and thy mother!"

"I have not become a Christian! They call me the Jewish girl; that was what the neighbour's boys called me in mockery last Sunday, when I stopped outside the open church door and looked in at the burning altar candles and the singing congregation. From my schooldays until this very day, there has been a power in Christianity that, like sunshine, shines straight into my heart even when I close my eyes to it. But, Mother, I shall not grieve you in your grave! I shall not betray the promise my father made you! I will not read the Christian Bible; I have the God of my forefathers on whom to rest my head!"

— And years passed. Her master died, and her mistress was left in straitened circumstances; they would have to do without a servant. But Sara did not leave. She was their help in distress, holding everything together; she worked far into the night, earning bread for the household by the labour of her hands. There were no close relatives to care for the family, and the mistress grew weaker day by day and was confined to her sickbed for months. Sara kept watch, nursed her, and worked, gentle and devout, a blessing in that poor house.

"The Bible is over there!" said the sick woman. "Read me a little on this long evening; I long so dearly to hear the word of God." And Sara bowed her head; her hands clasped the Bible, which she opened and read to the sick woman. Often tears welled up, but her eyes grew clearer, and in her soul too all grew clearer: "Mother, your child shall not receive Christian baptism or be counted among their congregation. That was what you asked, and I shall keep my word to you. On that we are agreed here on earth; but above this earth there is—there is a greater unity in God. 'He will guide us beyond death!'—'He visits the earth, and when he has made it thirsty, he greatly enriches it!' I understand! I do not myself know how it came about—! It is through him, in him: Christ!"

And she trembled as she spoke the holy name. A baptism of flame streamed through her, more powerful than her body could bear, and it sank down, weaker than that of the sick woman over whom she watched.

"Poor Sara!" they said. "She has worn herself out with work and keeping watch." They took her to the paupers' infirmary, and there she died, and from there she was buried. But not in the Christian churchyard; that was no place for the Jewish girl. No, outside it, beside the wall, she was given her grave.

And God's sun, which shone upon the Christian graves, shone also upon the Jewish girl's grave outside, and the hymns sung in the Christian churchyard rang out over her grave. To it too came the proclamation: "There is resurrection in Christ!" In him, the Lord, who said to his disciples: "John indeed baptized with water, but you shall be baptized with the Holy Spirit!"

Izvirnik

Eventyr af Hans Christian Andersen

Der var i fattigskolen mellem de andre småbørn en lille jødepige, så opvakt og god, den flinkeste af dem alle sammen; men i en af læretimerne kunne hun ikke tage del, det var religionstimen; hun var jo i en kristen skole.

Geografibogen kunne hun have for sig og læse i, eller få sit regnestykke færdigt, men det var snart færdigt og lektien læst; der lå vel en bog opslået foran hende, men hun læste ikke i den, hun sad og hørte efter, og snart mærkede læreren, at hun fulgte med, som næsten ingen af de andre.

"Læs i din bog!" sagde han mildt og alvorligt, men hun så på ham med sine sorte, strålende øjne, og da han spurgte også hende, vidste hun bedre besked end alle de andre. Hun havde hørt, forstået og gemt.

Hendes fader var en fattig, brav mand; han havde ved barnets skolegang betinget, at hun ikke undervistes i den kristne tro; at lade hende gå bort i denne undervisningstime kunne måske forarge, vække tanker og stemninger hos de andre små i skolen, og altså blev hun, men det kunne ikke længere ske.

Læreren gik til faderen, sagde ham, at han enten måtte tage sin datter ud af skolen, eller lade hende blive kristen. "Jeg kan ikke udholde at se disse brændende øjne, den inderlighed og ligesom sjæletørst efter evangeliets ord!" sagde læreren.

Og faderen brast i gråd: "Jeg selv ved kun lidet af vor egen religion, men hendes moder var en Israels datter, fast og stærk i sin tro, hende gav jeg på hendes dødsseng det løfte, at vort barn aldrig skulle blive kristent døbt; jeg må holde mit løfte, det er mig som en pagt med Gud."

Og den lille jødepige blev taget ud af de kristnes skole.

- Der var gået åringer.

Ovre i en af Jyllands mindste købstæder tjente i et ringe, borgerligt hus en fattig pige af mosaisk trosbekendelse, det var Sara; hendes hår var sort som ibenholt, hendes øjne så mørke og dog fulde af glans og lys, som Orientens døtre ejer dem; udtrykket hos den fuldvoksne pige var endnu det samme, som hos barnet, da hun sad på skolebænken og hørte til med tankefuldt blik.

Hver søndag klang fra kirken orglet og menighedens sang, det lød over gaden ind i genbohuset, hvor jødepigen stod ved sin gerning, flittig og trofast i sit kald. "Kom sabattens dag i hu og hold den hellig!" var hendes lov, men sabbatten for hende var de kristnes arbejdsdag, og hun kunne kun i sit hjerte holde den hellig, det hun ikke troede var nok. Men hvad er dag og time for Gud? den tanke var vågnet i hendes sjæl, og på de kristnes søndag blev andagtstimen mere uforstyrret; nåede da orgelklang og salmesang over til hende i køkkenet bag vasken, da blev helligt og stille selv dette sted. Det gamle Testamente, hendes folks skat og ejendom, læste hun da, og kun det, thi hvad hendes fader havde sagt hende og læreren, da hun blev taget ud af skolen, lå dybt i hendes sind, løftet, der var givet hendes døende moder, at Sara ikke skulle blive kristnet, ikke forlade fædrenes tro. Det nye Testamente var og skulle blive hende en lukket bog, og dog vidste hun så meget fra den, den lyste i barneerindringer. En aften, hun sad i en krog af stuen, hørte hun sin husbond læse højt, og hun turde vel høre derpå, det var ikke evangelierne, nej, der læstes op af en gammel historiebog, til den kunne hun nok lytte; det var om en ungarsk ridder, som blev fanget af en tyrkisk pasha, der lod ham spænde hos okserne for ploven, drives med piskeslag og uendeligt håne og vansmægte.

Ridderens hustru solgte alle sine smykker, pantsatte borg og land, hans venner skød sammen store summer, thi utroligt næsten var løsepengene, der forlangtes, men de bragtes til veje, og han blev løst af trældom og forsmædelse; syg og lidende nåede han sit hjem. Men snart lød almindeligt opråb mod kristendommens fjende; den syge hørte derom og havde nu ikke ro eller hvile, han lod sig løfte på sin stridshest, blodet kom igen i hans kinder, kræfterne syntes at vende tilbage, og han drog af sted til sejr. Just den pasha, som havde ladet ham spænde for ploven, håne og lide, blev nu hans fange og førtes af ham hjem til borgfængslet, men alt i den første time der, kom ridderen og spurgte sin fange:

"Hvad tror du vel, der venter dig?"

"Jeg ved det!" svarede tyrken, "gengældelse!"

"Ja, den kristnes gengældelse!" sagde ridderen, "kristendommen byder os at tilgive vore fjender, elske vor næste. Gud er kærlighed! drag i fred til dit hjem og dine kære, bliv mild og god mod dem, som lider!"

Da brast den fangne i gråd: "Hvor kunne jeg tænke sligt muligt! Pinsler og kvaler var mig en vished, og jeg tog en gift, der vil dræbe mig om få timer. Jeg må dø, der er ingen hjælp! men før jeg dør, forkynd mig den lære, som rummer en sådan kærlighed og nåde, den er stor og guddommelig! lad mig dø i den, dø som kristen!" og hans bøn blev opfyldt.

Det var legenden, historien, der blev læst; den hørtes og fulgtes af dem alle, men mest brændende opfyldte og levendegjorde den hende, der sad i krogen, tjenestepigen Sara, jødepigen; store, tunge tårer stod i de lysende, kulsorte øjne; der sad hun med barnesindet, som hun sad engang på skolens bænk og fornemmede evangeliets storhed. Tårerne rullede ned over hendes kinder.

"Lad ikke mit barn blive en kristen!" var moderens sidste ord på dødslejet, det klang gennem hendes sjæl og hjerte med lovens ord: "Ær din fader og din moder!"

"Jeg er jo ikke kristnet! de kalder mig jødepigen; det sagde naboens drenge i spot sidste søndag, da jeg blev stående uden for den åbne kirkedør og så derind, hvor alterlysene brændte, og menigheden sang. Fra skoletiden og indtil denne dag var og er der en magt fra kristendommen, der ligesom et solskin, om jeg endogså lukker mine øjne for det, dog skinner lige ind i mit hjerte; men, moder, jeg skal ikke bedrøve dig i din grav! jeg skal ikke svigte det løfte, vor fader gav dig! jeg vil ikke læse den kristelige bibel, jeg har jo mine fædres gud at hælde mit hoved til!"

- Og åringer gik.

Husbonden døde, husmoderen sad i trange kår, tjenestepigen måtte undværes, men Sara tog ikke bort, hun var hjælpen i nøden, hun holdt det hele sammen; hun arbejdede til ud på natten, skaffede brød i huset ved sine hænders gerninger; der var ingen nær slægt, som tog sig af familien, hvor konen dag for dag blev svagere og i måneder holdtes på sygelejet. Sara vågede, plejede, arbejdede, mild og from, en velsignelse i det fattige hus.

"Derhenne ligger Bibelen!" sagde den syge, "læs lidt for mig i denne lange aften, jeg trænger så inderligt til at høre Guds ord."

Og Sara bøjede sit hoved; hænderne foldede sig om Bibelen, som hun åbnede og læste i for den syge; tit brød tårer frem, men øjnene blev klarere, og i hendes sjæl blev det klarere: "Moder, dit barn skal ikke tage de kristnes dåb, ikke nævnes i deres samfund, det har du forlangt, det skal jeg bevare dig, derom er vi enige på denne jord, men oven over denne er – er enigheden større i Gud, 'han ledsager os over døden!' – 'han besøger Jorden, og når han har gjort den tørstig, gør han den meget rig!' jeg forstår det! selv ved jeg ikke, hvorlunde det kom –! det er ved ham, i ham: Kristus!"

Og hun sitrede i nævnelsen af det hellige navn, en dåb af ildslue gennemstrømmede hende stærkere, end legemet kunne bære, og det bøjede sig mere kraftløst, end den syges, hun vågede hos.

"Stakkels Sara!" blev der sagt, "hun er overanstrengt af arbejde og vågen."

De bragte hende til de fattiges sygestue, der døde hun, derfra blev hun begravet, men ikke på de kristnes kirkegård, der var ikke stedet for jødepigen, nej, udenfor, op til muren fik hun sin grav.

Og Guds sol, der skinnede hen over de kristnes grave, skinnede også hen over jødepigens grav derudenfor, og salmesangen, der lød på de kristnes kirkegård, klang ud over hendes grav; også ud til den nåede forkyndelsen: " Der er opstandelse i Kristus!" ham, Herren, som sagde til disciplene: "Johannes døbte vel med vand, men I skal døbes med den Helligånd!"

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