“Were you, then, never a little boy? What did you do when a tempting apple nodded to you from among the branches of an apple-tree? You removed your clothes, made yourself as light as possible, and climbed up the tree after the beautiful, ripening fruit. Am I less than the fruit? Is it not worth while to climb up after me? Or are you old, and have your bones become hard, and is climbing now beyond your years and your strength? Take off your clothes; you will have no need of them in any case, up here. Make yourself light, and with all the youth that has now been born anew in you, climb up to me....” Enchanted and intoxicated, as hastily as possible, whipped on by driving impatience, Rabbi Akiba cast off his clothes and seized the trunk of the palm tree, beginning to climb aloft. With his naked hands and feet around the shaggy bark, with his burning eyes riveted upon her above, drinking in her beauty, sucking in the warm ruddiness of her veins. He did not notice that his skin was being scratched and torn by the bark of the tree, and that blood was beginning to flow over his body. He climbed higher, ever higher. And her magic eyes drew him on as if with ropes and her fascinating voice was as a guide to him. From between her pearly teeth it poured forth like wine that robbed the senses. “Come! Co-o-ome! Co-o-ome!” But when he had climbed half the height of the palm he suddenly came to himself. It was as if a cold wind had icily bedewed him and had blown something away from before his eyes, making him see the complete ludicrousness and unworthiness of his position. He, the renowned Master, teacher and judge among the Jews, climbing, half-naked, up a tall tree, driven and goaded on by lust! He threw himself down, rather than descended, from the tree, rolled himself into a ball at its foot, and burst into bitter tears. A malicious, mocking voice spoke above him: “Had it not been decreed in Heaven that you and your Torah should be protected, your life at this moment would not be worth a straw.” Rabbi Akiba wept more bitterly than ever, striking his breasts and beating his head. He dressed and continued on his way. The sun no longer shone; heaven and earth were veiled in greyish fog, and the laughter and song of the surrounding scene now ceased. Or perhaps it merely seemed so to him because his heart was bitter and his soul grieved; he looked neither to right nor to left and his ears were deaf to the outer world. He felt ashamed and debased. And he knew that henceforth he would not mock those who had committed sin. Now he understood the weakness of man, and how plentifully life was strewn with dangers, and his lips muttered acridly, “All of us here below are even as criminals who are released on bail, and a net of transgression is spread over all existence.” JOHANAN THE HIGH PRIEST JOHANAN THE HIGH PRIEST I