S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

Dolik came up and said, “Are you looking to see if the rain has stopped?” (Of all the people in Szibucz, there was no one with whom I was so sparing of words as Dolik.) I nodded my head and said, “Yes.” “It stopped a little while ago,” said Dolik, “and it’s started to come down again.” I nodded and said, “Yes.” “Do you want to go out? In my opinion it is not worth your while, for you may be caught in the rain.” “What a pity,” I said. “If so, I will go back to my room.” “Perhaps you will permit me to visit you in your room?” said Dolik. “I will not detain you long.” I said to myself: Better one friend than a thousand enemies, so I said to him, “Come in.” As he entered he said, “Well, sir, so you live in this room. Isn’t it surprising that since the day you came to live with us I have not entered your room.” I said to myself: One enemy is worse than a thousand friends. I nodded and said, “I am surprised, too.” “Are you tired, sir?” said Dolik. “Yes, I am tired,” said I. “Reb Hayim’s death has made an impression on you,” said Dolik. I nodded and said nothing. Said Dolik, “He was a saint.”

I thought to myself: Of all those who have sung Reb Hayim’s praises, not one of them has used this word, which fits him so well, except this Dolik. “You are right, Mr. Zommer,” said I, “he was a saint.” “All that slanderous talk that his daughter was in Russia was only a slander,” said Dolik. “She wasn’t in Russia, but in a pioneers’ group. What makes such a refined girl work so hard? From the clothes she wears she doesn’t seem to have made money there.” “She is preparing herself for the Land of Israel,” said I.

“So I heard,” said Dolik, “but what for?” “To live a different life,” said I. “A different life?” “There are people who are not satisfied with this life we live here,” said I, “and they look for a different life. Some make their lives by actions and some without actions.” “I don’t quite understand you,” said Dolik. “How can I explain?” said I. “Perhaps you can explain it to yourself. You said, didn’t you, that Reb Hayim was a saint — which you do not say about any other man. Why? Because he used to behave unlike other men.” Krolka came in and said, “The gentleman who leased the forest is looking for Mr. Dolik.” “I am busy,” said Dolik, “and I can’t come.” As soon as Krolka left, he called her back and said, “Tell that fat fellow that in the meantime he can stand on his head, and if time hangs heavy on his hands he can sing hymns. I see you are tired, sir, so I’ll go. Adieu.”

On the first day of the week, after breakfast, I went to Kuba, in order to go with him to visit Reb Hayim’s family in their mourning. On the way I said to myself: Reb Hayim has passed away without leaving a son to recite the Kaddish for the elevation of his soul. Let me perform an act of unselfish kindness for his sake, and study a chapter of Mishna. Immediately I fitted the deed to the thought and went in to the Beit Midrash.

True tranquillity and peace filled the Beit Midrash, utter tranquillity, the like of which I had not seen for many days. The hill opposite shaded the windows and excluded the sun, and the light of the Beit Midrash looked like light that has been severed from the light of the universe and shines by itself.

The lectern stood silent and the reading desk that was on it. Opposite them stood the chest, and on it the prayer book. For months the prayer book had not been opened, and no prayer had risen from it, and the doors of the Ark had not been opened, and no Scrolls of the Law had been taken out for reading, except by the dead who come to the Beit Midrash at night. It was the same with the other books: they lay in their cases, one here and another there, as if they were prostrate and could not get up.

The kindness I had come to do for Reb Hayim escaped my mind, and I picked up a Gemara. I was engrossed in my study until noon came and the sound of the bell was heard from the church. At this hour all the workers in the town stop their work and sit down to eat their meal. I raised my voice until the voice of the Torah overcame the voice of time.

The bell rang out again to spur the workers back to work. I, who had not stopped for a meal, continued to study, but in the morning I had studied standing, one foot on the bench and one on the floor, while now I studied sitting.

There in the hotel they had already laid the table and taken the food off the stove, and if I did not hurry my food would get cold; my hostess would be annoyed at having taken all her trouble for nothing, and perhaps Krolka would be annoyed too, because I was keeping her from washing the dishes.

A man’s thoughts do not stay still. No time had passed before another thought came into my mind. Only think: a man goes out to the market, and sees two men holding onto a garment. One says: I found it; the other says: I found it; one says: It is all mine; the other says: It is all mine. If he is a lover of peace, he steps aside, so that he should not see his fellows in their anger. He goes into the Beit Midrash, opens the Gemara and finds a similar case there; so he becomes fond of them. Why? Because he has studied a page of Gemara and seen that they are spoken of in the Torah. This man is I. Though I am not well versed in the ways of the world, when I study a page of Gemara my heart fills with love and affection for even the trivial affairs of Jews, since the sages spoke of them. Great is the Torah, for it leads to love.

The day drew toward evening and the time came for the Afternoon Service. I stood up to recite a hasty prayer, so as to return immediately to my studies, but when I started “Happy are they that dwell in Thy house,” I drew out the prayer, because it praises those who sit in the Beit Midrash.

There are some who pray quickly and say every word in haste, because they love every single word and wish to swallow it, and there are others who draw out their prayer and pronounce every word deliberately, because they love every single word and find it hard to part from it. I do not know who is more dear to me, the one who runs through his prayer or the one who draws it out. As for myself, I pronounced every word in haste, because I loved it, and for the same reason — that is, because of my love — I said it again. As I did in the Afternoon Service, so I did in the Evening Service. A man should always try to pray with the congregation, for the prayer of many is heard, but at that time this man forgot that there is a congregation and that there are many, but the Holy One, blessed be He, filled, as it were, the entire universe. And this man diminished himself until he was as nothing, so as not to take up the room of the Divine Presence.

After finishing my prayer, I rose and lit a candle. I had hardly fixed it in the candlestick before I was back at my studies. If I studied aloud during the day, I raised my voice more at night. From hour to hour the voice changed, as if it issued from the Gemara itself. And since the voice of the Gemara is sweet, I bent my ear to listen. The candle in my hand was nearing its end, but I did not budge. Perhaps you have once heard that the devotees of study used to hold a candle between their fingers, so that if they dozed off while studying they should scorch themselves and wake up to attend to their studies. This man had no need for such a stratagem, for he that learns the Torah for love neither slumbers nor sleeps, and does not stop except to light one candle from another and a third from the second.

Between one candle and the next I said to myself: At this hour there is not a man in the town sitting and studying, except myself. It was not for boasting’s sake that I thought thus, but because I rejoiced that I was preserving the world.