DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27180#0301
THE SYNAGOGUE
‘No.’
‘The master of the feast is just a person there.’
‘Yes, but the Dybbuk?’
‘Ah, to be sure, the Dybbuk. The Dybbuk is certainly
the ghost of the dead Chanon who has entered into her and
from whom she can’t escape.’
‘Aha!’
‘Now in the third act, with the help of the great Rabbi
Esriel — a remarkable Rabbi, a miracle-worker, you under-
stand — they try to drive the Dybbuk out of the girl. It
succeeds, but she dies. That is the end.’
‘In a word, you have two people who can’t get each other
and so die in the usual way.’
‘Yes, that’s really it; only . . .’
‘How does the Dybbuk come in? A trick, or
what?’
‘No, it means . . . You must see it. I’ll explain more in
the interval. You’ll soon see.’
Dr. Pick is right: one must see it. It is amazing, how
right he is; even somebody who doesn’t know a word of
Hebrew misses absolutely nothing. You see as you never
saw before, more intensely, in all probability, than the other
people in the dark auditorium who catch a word now and
then and notice many interruptions which we are spared. It
was enough to see the people talk and hear the tone of their
voice. No doubt we missed much in not understanding the
words, which the others understood and profited by; in a
play of Shaw’s, for instance, we could hardly have done
without this assistance. Here, on the other hand, our loss
was equivalent to a voluntary refusal, expressly designed to
sharpen our sense of artistic perception and to remove cir-
cumstantial detail from the kernel of the treatment. Remark
and counter-remark kept their value, but obtained their
effect not with words but with dangling arms and legs,
glances, and a leap, a whisk, a touch, a jerk. The mouth did
275
‘No.’
‘The master of the feast is just a person there.’
‘Yes, but the Dybbuk?’
‘Ah, to be sure, the Dybbuk. The Dybbuk is certainly
the ghost of the dead Chanon who has entered into her and
from whom she can’t escape.’
‘Aha!’
‘Now in the third act, with the help of the great Rabbi
Esriel — a remarkable Rabbi, a miracle-worker, you under-
stand — they try to drive the Dybbuk out of the girl. It
succeeds, but she dies. That is the end.’
‘In a word, you have two people who can’t get each other
and so die in the usual way.’
‘Yes, that’s really it; only . . .’
‘How does the Dybbuk come in? A trick, or
what?’
‘No, it means . . . You must see it. I’ll explain more in
the interval. You’ll soon see.’
Dr. Pick is right: one must see it. It is amazing, how
right he is; even somebody who doesn’t know a word of
Hebrew misses absolutely nothing. You see as you never
saw before, more intensely, in all probability, than the other
people in the dark auditorium who catch a word now and
then and notice many interruptions which we are spared. It
was enough to see the people talk and hear the tone of their
voice. No doubt we missed much in not understanding the
words, which the others understood and profited by; in a
play of Shaw’s, for instance, we could hardly have done
without this assistance. Here, on the other hand, our loss
was equivalent to a voluntary refusal, expressly designed to
sharpen our sense of artistic perception and to remove cir-
cumstantial detail from the kernel of the treatment. Remark
and counter-remark kept their value, but obtained their
effect not with words but with dangling arms and legs,
glances, and a leap, a whisk, a touch, a jerk. The mouth did
275