S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

Once, on a Sabbath eve, when Reb Hayim came to sweep the floor and fill the basin with water, he said to me, “God willing, after the Sabbath I shall go to my son-in-law.”

I should have been glad that this old scholar, who had endured so many trials, was leaving the woodshed and going to stay with his daughter in the village, where he would have all his needs met without any effort; but I was not glad, for so long as Reb Hayim was here, all the cares of the Beit Midrash were on his shoulders, and now that he was going, I should have to bring water and sweep the floor and do all the other things that I was not accustomed to.

I began pondering all these things, and each seemed to me harder than the other. I could already see myself standing by the wall and filling the pitchers with water, sweeping the floor of the Beit Midrash, all covered with dust like Yeruham Freeman in the streets of Szibucz.

When Reb Hayim had swept the Beit Midrash and was about to go, I asked him where he was leaving the broom. “Why do you ask, sir?” said he. “If you are leaving, sir,” said I, “who will sweep the Beit Midrash if not I?” “And when are you leaving, sir?” he asked. “Where to?” said I. “Home,” said he. I replied, quoting the Prophet, “For my house is a house of prayer.” “A man’s house — that means his wife,” said he, and then he added, “The sooner the better.” I laughed and said, “Are you afraid the sea will freeze?” “Happy is he that returns to his home while he is a man,” he replied. “Will you stand up for a moment,” said I. “Look, we are both of the same height.”

I took his hand in mine and bent my head over it, and said, “I had a coat made in the winter and I have no need of it in the Land of Israel, for the Land is warm and I do not wish to bring back with me anything superfluous. I beg of you, Reb Hayim, do not refuse me, and take the coat.” Reb Hayim bowed his head and went with me to the hotel. I gave him my coat and said to him, “How heavy this coat is. I wonder how this man’s shoulders suffered under it six months or more.” Reb Hayim took the coat and put it on. I said to him, “I could not stand it in the cold days, and you wear it on a hot day,” Said Reb Hayim, “Honor your garment when you do not need it, and it will honor you when you do need it.” As he spoke, he took my hand and said, “May the Almighty speed your way and bring you home in peace.” And am I going on a journey,” said I, “that you have blessed me with the traveler’s blessing?” Said he, “Go slowly, peacefully, until you have need to hurry in sorrow.”

The peg on which my coat used to hang juts out, prominent and gleaming. So long as the coat was hanging on it, I did not see the peg; when the coat was taken away the peg was visible. And it, too — namely the coat — stands prominently before me, as if it were wrapped in itself. Heaven forbid that I should cast an envious eye at Reb Hayim for taking my coat, but that is how it is with a garment: even when it leaves a body, the body remembers it. A man is not a snake, who casts his skin, leaves it lying, and goes off. Finally, the coat disappeared and went off. Apparently it had grown accustomed to being with Reb Hayim. And it was good that it had grown accustomed to him and no longer troubled my heart, for at that time I had to have a free mind so as to count my money to see if I had enough for the journey.

This does not prove that I had it in mind to return immediately, for I had not yet found anyone to whom I could hand over the key, but I thought it was worth knowing how much money I had, as Father, of blessed memory, used to do when he would count his money before going to sleep. Not like my grandfather, may he rest in peace, who never counted his money in his life, because the sages said: “There is no blessing except in what is hidden from the eye.” So, if a poor man approached him, he would put his hand in his pocket and give. At first he would look at the money he had brought up, to see how much that poor man was worth to the Holy One, blessed be He; when he grew older he did not look, but put his hand in his pocket and gave. He used to say, “What have you to do with the secrets of the Merciful One?” In some respects a man is like his mother’s father; in others like his own father. I am like my mother’s father in that I do not look how much I give, but my grandfather did not look out of respect for the secrets of the Holy One, blessed be He, and I, out of laziness, for I am too lazy to look at money. I am like my father in that I sat down to count my money, but my father was a skilled calculator, while I am not good at calculations, and I have forgotten even the arithmetic I learned when I was a child.

How did I come to have money? If I have not told this before, I shall tell it now. When my house was destroyed the last time, and the Arabs looted my belongings, the authorities compensated me with money, but this scant sum was not enough to rebuild the house as before and buy new furniture. Besides, my wife was exhausted by our misfortunes, and she could not look after the household. So she and our children went to her relatives in Germany and I went to the town of my birth to bow down at the graves of my fathers; it was many years since I had been there, for so long as I lived in peace I found it difficult to go abroad. Since my wife and children were living with relatives, she had no need of money, so I took for my own needs all the money the authorities had given me.

It was not much money the authorities gave us, but money that comes from the Land of Israel has a special quality: what is a copper in the Land is a pound abroad, for the Land has the quality of magnanimity, and there a pound counts as a copper, while in the lands of the Gentiles, which are regarded as petty, every copper counts as a pound. This man, who had come from the Land of Israel, was therefore able to maintain himself, although he treated his money after the way of the Land of Israel, namely, with magnanimity.

I have already said above that I am not good at calculations, but I saw that I had not much money left. And so that I should not enter the Sabbath ill at ease, I stopped counting my money and left it lying until after the Sabbath.

So long as my coat was hanging in the closet, the book The Hands of Moses was not to be seen; when the coat was taken away, the book was revealed.

There lay the book, and I did not know what to do with it, but I knew that it had no power, for it was not the manuscript of the saintly author, but of his amanuensis Elyakim, who was called Getz. I do not say that it was an accident that women were saved by it, but no doubt there was some other reason unknown to me. I have learned from experience that there is no accident in the world, since all events are caused by the Almighty, but men have invented this word so that we should not have to give praise and thanks to the Cause of all causes.

I picked up the book and looked at it. How comely is this writing; how comely are these letters. This is how our forefathers used to write when they wrote words of Torah, for they loved the Torah and trained their script in copying it. If most of my years had not passed, I too would train my hand according to these letters, for my script has been spoiled over many years, because I wrote in haste and was not careful with the letters. When Father, of blessed memory, started to teach me to write, he dictated to me a verse from the Torah, and then a verse from the Prophets, because there is no verse in the Torah that contains the whole alphabet including the final letters. When I knew how to write all the letters, I wrote verses from the Psalms starting with the letters of my name, such as: “Sing unto the Lord, bless His Name…,” “And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water…,” “My defense is of the Lord, which saveth the upright of heart…,” “Unto Thee, O Lord, do I lift up my soul…,” “Examine me, O Lord, and prove me…,” and “Lead me, O Lord, in Thy righteousness.” When my hand became stronger, I wrote verses that I made up myself. And still it was good, for I composed prayers and supplications, and stuck them into my prayer book to repeat after the prayers. When my hand grew more powerful, I wrote songs and poems, and it was still good, for all the songs and poems I made were made in honor of Jerusalem. When my hand became still stronger I made other songs, about a different kind of love. And when a man’s heart is overflowing with trivial matters he writes in haste and is not careful about his writing. Had not most of my years now passed I should look into the book and improve my handwriting.