S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

Before I came forward and spoke, Reuben and Simon, Levi and Judah, and all the rest had started to recite the Afternoon Service as a congregation, and as I finished speaking they finished their prayer. A voice was heard reciting the Kaddish, and I saw Daniel Bach standing, leaning on his stick, his voice quivering, for it was the anniversary of his brother’s death and his heart had been aroused to recite the Kaddish. And all the congregation answered after him, “Amen.”

The sound of the train was heard coming nearer and nearer, puffing and blowing and whistling, till it stopped at the station. Rubberovitch waved his cloth and cried in his tuneful voice, “Szibucz.”

With the train came a number of Gentiles and one Jew, who looked like Elimelech Kaiser, and perhaps it was really he, but he was very old and bent. Even his mother Freide, peace be upon her, looked younger than he at the end of her days.

All the people pushed forward, shook my hand, and took their leave of me with love and brotherhood and friendship. I kissed my comrade Yeruham, and Kuba, got into the carriage and stood at the window, my head facing the people and my eyes looking into my own heart. Again Rubberovitch waved the cloth in his hand to dispatch the train. I looked at my brethren, the sons of my town, as they stood crowded there looking at me. The train stirred and moved, but they did not move. I said to myself: If they are granted the privilege of coming up to the Land of Israel, we shall see one another again.

After two days I reached the port of Trieste and found my wife and children, who had arranged to come on the same day so that we should embark together on the same ship and go up together to the Land of Israel. I kissed them and said, “Blessed be the Almighty, blessed be He, who has brought us as far as here.” “Well,” replied my wife, “so we are going back to the Land of Israel.” I nodded but said nothing, for my throat was choked with emotion, like a man who sees that all his hopes are coming true.

The air was pleasant, the sea was calm, and the ship moved gently. With our own eyes we saw the Land of Israel drawing steadily nearer and ourselves approaching the Land. No tongue or pen could describe our joy. The ship was full of Jews, old and young, men and women. Some were returning from the Zionist Congress and some from conferences; some from bathing resorts and some from healing spas; some from East and West and some from North and South; some from traveling in various countries and some from going around the world; some from a holiday trip and some from a pleasure trip; some from an ordinary journey and some from a journey that was ordinary; some were returning to renew their travel documents and some to start traveling again. Some of them spoke Russian or Polish, Hungarian or Rumanian, and some spoke German or Spanish, Yiddish or English; some the English of England, some the English of America, and some the English of the Land of Israel. Some of them even spoke Hebrew. Both these and those lay stretched out on deck chairs and looked at the new immigrants, who danced and sang and rejoiced.

Among the immigrants I found our comrade Zvi, from the training farm. All those days I was in the boat Zvi was happy that he had succeeded in fitting the deed to the thought and was going up to settle in the Land of Israel. He was so happy that he did not stop dancing, as if through the dance he was moving on and getting nearer to the source of his vitality. From time to time Zvi would come to see me and talk about our comrades in the Diaspora, the boys in the fields and the girls in the cowshed. They were still few, but their work was recognized, and even the peasants sang their praises. And if the farmers sometimes held up their pay, the true reward of work is work. While we were talking, Zvi asked me if I was hungry. “What kind of question is this?” I asked, surprised. Zvi laughed and said, “I remember the Shavuot feast, when they stole all our food and we could find nothing to eat.”

From our comrades in the village we went on to talk about the other groups in Poland, where young men and women were living to prepare themselves for work in the Land, and thus we came to speak of Hannah, the daughter of that righteous man Reb Hayim, may he rest in peace. She was still living in exile and waiting for Zvi to bring her up to the Land of Israel.

“And who gave you an immigration certificate?” I asked Zvi. He laid his hand on his heart and answered, “I myself am my own certificate.” I thought he meant that he kept his certificate over his heart, and asked no more. But the end showed that this was not so.

Let me leave Zvi and go back to myself, and my wife and children. My wife and I also hired two deck chairs, and we sat and talked about everything that came into our heads and onto our tongues. There were many, many things to talk about — no book could contain them.

So we sat and talked about the days we had endured abroad and the days that were in store for us in the Land. There were many, many things to talk about; many books could not contain them.

“I am tired of living abroad,” said my wife. “To all appearances, I was short of nothing, for our relatives tried to make our stay pleasant, but I missed the Land of Israel.”

“What were you short of there?” I asked the children. And since I was in a good mood I spoke up in the defense of that rabbi who did not know the Hebrew for a footstool. “Because his mind was floating among matters of the highest import he did not pay attention to something as low as a footstool,” I said to the children. “Children,” I said to them, “didn’t you hear that rabbi singing the praises of Israel? Didn’t you hear him saying that Israel is a light to the Gentiles?” “Father,” said my daughter, “what are you talking about? He compared Israel to the Greeks.” “What’s wrong with comparing Israel to the Greeks?” said I. “The Greeks were a wise and clever people, weren’t they?” My daughter laughed and said, “But then they bowed down to idols.” ‘What of it?” said my son. “They used to make dolls and play with them. You make dolls, too, don’t you?” “When I was a little child I played with dolls,” my daughter answered, “but they did it even when they were big.” “Praised be your good sense,” I said to my daughter. “Now tell me what you did all the time. Did you finish all the Tales from the Scriptures ?” “You are laughing at me, Father,” said my daughter, “I studied the Bible itself.”

Several people had gathered around; they stood listening to the children’s conversation and praised them for their cleverness. I said to one of them, “When a child says something clever, you should stop him before he lets slip something foolish.” So I stopped the children’s conversation and talked with the people in my company about the education of the younger generation and the way they study the Bible, which makes the Holy Scriptures an everyday matter. Some said one thing and some another. I told them the story of that old man from the village who came to the Beit Midrash and heard the story of David and Goliath and the story of Bathsheba. Everyone laughed, until their laughter could be heard from one end of the ship to the other. But, as is usual with most people, they drew no moral from the story.

So we sat and talked. We talked about everything under the sun, about the great world and our little country, about summer and winter, sea and dry land. Finally I turned away from my company and turned to my children. I tested them in the Bible and made the time pass pleasantly with questions, such as: “Where is the place where they threw Jonah into the sea?” And they replied, “Ask the fishes and they will tell you.”