had every book Bob Ingersoll wrote, read them, and corresponded with the author. I was an oft-invited guest speaker in every denomina tional church in the city. I was satisfied with life! My Wife and I enjoyed the musical concerts; we had every comfort, servants, a beau tiful baby boy and a lovely daugh ter, Rose. Suddenly there came a change! My wife was taken seriously ill, and in spite of the aid of physicians and specialists, she died, leaving me a distraught widower with two little children. After the funeral, I put Rose in the care of my mother-in- law, advertised for a housekeeper for myself and son, and found my self the most miserable of men. I could not sleep. I walked the streets, striving to forget the void, the vacancy in my heart and life. My dreams of a successful career and serene domestic life were all shatter ed. Where was comfort to be found? The heavens were brass when I call ed on the God of my fathers! How could I speak, as a rabbi, words of comfort to others when my own sorrow had brought me to despair? I investigated Spiritism, but found it utter fallacy. I attended meetings and read the literature of Theosophy and Christian Science, only to find it futile and hopeless. My experience was comparable to Job’s when he cried: “My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and are spent with out hope” (Job 7:6). The tenth year of'my rabbinical office drew to its close. I decided not to accept re- election, and resigned. I wanted to think and I longed to study! Where was the spirit of my wife, the gifted pianist, who had given charm to life and made existence so sweet? What had become of all the faculties, the intents and purposes of that active, keen mind? I turned to my Bible! I studied about Judaism, but it answered no questions, satisfied no craving of my heart. Then I began reading the New Testament and com paring it with the Old Testament. Many passages were read, pondered, meditated upon. One made a definite impression: the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, eleventh verse, last clause: T H E K I N G ’ S B U S I N E S S
with one hour intermission for din ner. In 1895 a series of meetings was held in the Christian Church of Day- ton, with various denominational pastors giving addresses on their religion. I stood proudly before that audience of professing Christians and told them why I was a Jew and why I did not believe in their Christ as my Messiah and Saviour. I gloried in Reformed Judaism that acknowl edged no need of an atoning sacrifice
orn in Germany of Orthodox Jewish parents, my earliest childhood impression was of my parents’ rising in the morning very early in order to spend a long time reading the Hebrew prayers. Even in the cold winter, before fires were kindled for their physical com fort, they carried on faithfully these early devotions. In so far as their knowledge of God was concerned, they were a devout and God-fearing couple. From the age of five to fifteen, my training was in a Jewish school, in Orthodox Judaism. A scholarly He brew instructed me in the first five books of Moses (Pirke Oveth). I went to the gymnasium for my classical training and later was apprenticed to a manufacturer, doing office work. My associates at that time led me into the sinful pleasures of the world, and although I attended the syna gogue and read my Hebrew prayers on the Sabbath, I drifted from the faith of my fathers. A parental decision to send me to America to pursue classical educa tion brought me to the Hebrew Col lege in Cincinnati, Ohio. I graduated in seven years, having meanwhile taken my degrees in letters and He brew literature, and four years later my master’s degree. We studied the Old Testament, translated it from Hebrew into the vernacular, went through Jewish history from the be ginning to the present day, and learned the oral laws. After finishing the rabbinical course, we were publicly ordained and inducted into the rabbinical office. My first call was to Dayton, Ohio, where I officiated as a rabbi for ten years, during which time I made many friends and received many tokens of love which I treas ured highly. In my Friday evening lectures I spoke on social, indus trial and economic questions, mon otheism, ethical culture, the moral systems of the Jews, etc. In the Saturday morning addresses, I took weekly sections of the Pentateuch, followed by a corresponding section of the prophets. On Sunday I taught Sunday school from eight in the morning until five in the evening, PAGE FOURTEEN
Dr. Max Wertheimer for sin, a religion of ethics which quieted qualms of conscience through a smug self-righteousness. In the a u d i e n c e sat a humble aged woman, a devout Christian, who was deeply stirred as she listened. “O, God,” she prayed, “bring Dr. Wert heimer to realize his utter need of that Saviour he so boastingly re jects. Bring him if necessary to the very depths in order that he may know his need of Christ.” What unforeseen f o r c e s were brought into action as a result of that unknown woman’s heart-cry! How perfectly satisfied with life I was that day: I had a young, at tractive, accomplished wife, was rabbi of the B’nai Yeshorum Syna gogue, had a beautiful home, a comfortable income, a place of prom inence in the community, had be come an honorary member of the Ministerial Association, was a mem ber of the Present-Day Club, served as chaplain in the Masonic lodge, and was a popular speaker before women’s clubs, schools, civic or ganizations, etc. Had you visited my library at that time, you would have found a wide range of reading. I
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