It was the name of Israel ben Oliel.

Against him they were breathing out threats, foretelling imminent dangers from the hand of man, and predicting fresh judgments from God.

There was no evil which had befallen him early or late but they were remembering it, and reckoning it up and rejoicing in it.

And there was no evil which had befallen themselves but they were laying it to his charge.
Yesterday, when they passed through the town in their procession of penance, following their Grand Rabbi as he walked abreast of the Imam, that they might call on God to destroy the eggs of the locust, they had expected the heavens to open over their heads, and to feel the rain fall instantly.

The heavens had not opened, the rain had not fallen, the thick hot cake as of baked air had continued to hang and to palpitate in the sky, and the fierce sun had beaten down as before on the parched and scorching earth.