S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

I could have questioned what she said, but I answered nothing. Better she should think she had vanquished me. I do not know women, but I know that if a woman has vanquished you, in the end she will come back to your words.

I speak here of Rachel, the innkeeper’s younger daughter, although she is not that close to the center of my concerns. The girl does not really hate me, and there is no reason why she should. In her eyes I am like a guest for the night, here today and elsewhere tomorrow.

Rachel is no longer a child, but not yet a young woman. Her neck is slender, her forehead high, and her eyes sad, and a kind of smile rests on her lips. At first sight it seems that there is something impudent about her, but by the way she bends her head it can be seen that she does not think much of herself and is prepared to submit to one greater than herself. And this is surprising, for she has no respect for kings or noblemen, no fear of her father and mother; and it goes without saying that she has no fear of our Father in heaven. So who could this be to whom she is prepared to bow her head? Often she will twitch her shoulders, as if a hand had touched them, and half close her eyes. Not like her father, who wants to preserve what he has already seen, but like one who half closes his eyes to see what is still to happen.

What is this girl waiting for? Surely there is nothing to be expected of this world, and men are not so made as to bring good. I held my tongue and examined my own self. Not that I am better than anyone else, but I am not so made as to bring any harm to that girl. And I am glad I said nothing to her and did not lead her into despair.

I looked at my watch and said, “Oh, it is already after midnight.” So I went into my room to sleep.

One night I found the old cantor, Reb Shlomo Bach, sitting in the hotel, bent over his stick. As I entered he rose, put out his hand, and greeted me. I returned his greeting and said to him, “You are still here. I thought you had already gone up to the Land of Israel.”

“I am partly here, and partly in the Land of Israel,” replied Reb Shlomo, “for my late son Yeruham’s comrades have already sent me a ticket, and I wanted to see you because I heard that you came from there. Perhaps you will give me some good advice about the journey.”

“Nothing simpler,” said I. “You go to the railway station and give the clerk money, and he gives you a ticket. You get into the coach and travel to Trieste. There you board a ship and travel five days by sea until you reach Jaffa. Once you have reached Jaffa, you are standing in the Land of Israel.” So long as I was describing his journeyings outside the Land, he did not seem to be listening, but as soon as I mentioned Jaffa, he fixed his eyes on me and repeated my words.

Daniel, his son, came in. “I am sorry for you, son,” said his father, “that you did not hear what the gentleman was telling me.” Daniel Bach looked at me, as if wondering what it was this man had said that he should be sorry for not having heard. “I was telling your father how to go to the Land of Israel,” said I. Daniel brought his feet together and said, “Yes, yes” (meaning: I knew it was something simple that this man told you). “Take a piece of paper and write,” said I, “so that your father can know the order of the journey.”

After he had written down the order of the journey to the Land of Israel, he asked me to explain the route from Jaffa to Ramat Rahel, where his father was going. I said, “You leave the ship, embark in a boat, and land. If your father finds a young fellow from the kvutza, so much the better; if not, let him book a place in an automobile and travel to Jerusalem. When he arrives in Jerusalem he takes the bus for Talpiot. When he gets to the end of Talpiot, he will see young men and women setting out for Ramat Rahel; he walks with them until he reaches the place.”

Since I had mentioned Talpiot, I remembered the trouble that had overtaken me there when the Arabs destroyed my house and left me not even a pillow for my head. At that moment I was sad and Reb Shlomo was happy. I was sad because I had left there, and he was happy because he was going there.

I ordered tea and cakes for my guests. Reb Shlomo said the blessing over food, broke off a small piece of the cake and ate it, then said the appropriate blessing over tea and drank. He took out a letter he had received from Ramat Rahel and spread it out before me. Although he knew the letter by heart he read it over again. Then he folded it up, put it in his pocket next to his heart, and said, “So I am going to the Land of Israel.” Daniel Bach nodded his head and said, “Yes, Father, you are going to the Land of Israel.” Said Reb Shlomo, “How pleasant my journey would be if you promised me, my son, that you would follow the right way.” Daniel jumped up from his chair, placed his right hand on his heart, and pointed upward with his left. “Was it I that made the way crooked?” he cried. “It was He that made the way crooked.” “Enough, son, enough,” said his father. “Whatever the Almighty does He does to test us. If we stand the test, so much the better. If not, He sends a test harder than the first.” Said Daniel, “Doesn’t the Almighty see that we can’t stand His first test, that He takes the trouble to subject us to new ones?” “Evil thoughts are a great stumbling block,” said Reb Shlomo, “but I am not speaking to you about thoughts. What I ask of you, my son, is that you should obey His laws and observe His commandments; then in the end He will take away your evil thoughts from your heart. We have troubled the gentleman too much; let us say the final grace and go.” Reb Shlomo shook the crumbs from his beard, wiped his mouth, said the grace, and rose.

When he was about to leave he said, “It is not right to sing a man’s praises to his face, but we may sing part of them. Daniel, my son, was once a good Jew, as strict in his observance of minor duties as of major ones. Isn’t that so, son?” “Just like all the good Jews who obey the commandments without thinking what they are doing,” replied Daniel Bach. “Who asks you for thoughts!” said Reb Shlomo. “What does God demand of you, except to fear Him and love Him?” “In return for my love, He is my adversary,” said Daniel, to the tune of the scriptural chant. A sadness unlike any other appeared on his face.

“Do you remember the episode of the tefillin?” said Reb Shlomo. Daniel Bach’s eyes darkened and his forehead wrinkled as he recalled the story. “The episode of the tefillin is one out of many,” said he, looking at his father. “It happened only to test you,” said Reb Shlomo. “There’s never a trouble but they explain it as a test,” replied Daniel. Said Reb Shlomo, “And how else would you fulfill the commandment to love God ‘with all thy soul,’ as our sages explain: even if He takes your soul?” “A man can bind himself on the altar and give up his life for the glory of God,” cried Daniel. “With his dying breath he can pronounce the confessions of faith, ‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One,’ and prolong the final ‘One,’ like the great Rabbi Akiba in his torment, until his soul departs. But to be bound every day, every hour, every moment, on seven altars, to have one limb consumed today and another tomorrow — that is something not every man can stand. I’m only a human being, flesh and blood, and when my flesh rots and my blood stinks, my lips cannot utter the praises of the Almighty. And if I do utter His praises, is it to the glory of God if a lump of rotting flesh or a skinful of stinking blood cries out, ‘Thou are righteous, no matter what befalls me, and I have been wicked,’ and even then He does not lift His hand from me and continues to afflict me?” “What have you to do with the secrets of the Merciful One?” said Reb Shlomo. “Whatever the trouble that befalls a man, they sweeten it for him with a saying of the sages,” replied Daniel.