S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

My dear friends, it would be a good thing if we could make a good ending to our story, especially as we have arrived at the good Land. But since the day we were exiled from our Land, there is no good without evil. When the ship was approaching Jaffa, Zvi jumped into the sea, because the authorities had not given him a certificate to enter the Land, and he relied on the waves to bring him to the shore. The waves were kind at that time; each wave handed him over to the next, and that one to the next again. But rocks and reefs, whose hearts are hearts of stone, struck him, and his blood flowed from their wounds. And when he escaped from the rocks and reefs, the authorities surrounded him and seized him and took him to their hospital, until he should return to health and they should return him into exile.

Zvi’s misfortune abated my joy. After I had brought my wife and children to Jerusalem, I went to a number of men in authority to beg mercy for Zvi. Just as those rocks on which he struck were not softened, neither were the hearts of the men in authority. When I saw that this was useless, I went to the distinguished men of the day. When I saw that they were useless, I went to the leaders of the community. When I saw that they were useless I went to the public benefactors. When I saw that they were useless, I went to the lovers of charity. When I saw that they were useless, I relied on our Father in heaven.

In the meantime I stayed with my family in a certain hotel. The owners of the hotel treated me as a guest and also as a resident. At mealtimes they waited first on the guests from abroad, and when it came to paying the bill they demanded a great deal of money, as is usual with foreign guests.

It is hard to be a guest abroad, and all the more so in the Land of Israel. So we rented a little house and bought a little furniture. I put in the few books the marauders had left me and sent the children to school. I set to and arranged my old books, while my wife arranged the furniture. When I saw my books arranged in orderly fashion in the bookcase and my things lying in their places, I breathed a sigh of relief. For over a year I had been wandering about in foreign lands, like a guest for the night, and suddenly I was living in my own house, among my belongings and my books, with my wife and children.

Zvi’s troubles overclouded my spirits. I tried to put them out of my mind, but I could not succeed in putting them out of my heart. In the meantime I started looking after my own affairs and began to divert my attention from others. That is the way of the world: people are more concerned for their own fingernail than for someone else’s whole body. Finally, the story of Zvi slipped out of my mind entirely, and if his name had not been mentioned in the papers among those who were sent back abroad, I should have forgotten him.

As I sat in my own niche and enjoyed the peace of my house I began putting out of my mind all that had happened in Szibucz; I no longer saw before my eyes the hotel, its owners and its guests, and the old Beit Midrash, with all those who had come to pray and those who had not come to pray. If I remembered them, I did so only to put them out of my heart again, like a man who sits tranquilly in his home and pays no attention to other men’s troubles.

So I sat in the shadow of sweet tranquillity with my wife and children — that sweet tranquillity which no man savors except when he is sitting in his own home. I occupied myself with my affairs, and my wife with hers. One day she was going through my pieces of luggage and laid them out in the sun. Then she took my satchels to mend them, for through much use the leather inside had been torn and holes had appeared. While she was busy with the satchels she called out to me and asked, “What is this?” I saw she was holding a big key that she had found in the crevices of one of the satchels. I was stunned and astonished. It was the key of our old Beit Midrash. But I had given it as a gift to Yeruham Freeman’s son on the day he entered into the Covenant of Abraham, so how had it made its way here? No doubt Yeruham Freeman, who had freed himself from all the commandments, was not pleased that I had made his son the guardian of the old Beit Midrash, and had hidden the key in the satchel so as to give it back to me. As I was feeling angry with Yeruham for returning me the key, my wife handed it to me and I saw that this was not the key the old locksmith had made. It was the key the elders of the old Beit Midrash had handed over to me on the Day of Atonement just before the Closing Service. A thousand times I had sought it, a thousand times I had despaired of it, a thousand times I had sought it again without finding it, and had had another key made, and now, when I had no need of one or the other, it had come back to me. How had it disappeared and how had it appeared again? No doubt one day I had left it in my satchel and it had slipped into a hole so that I could not see it, or perhaps on the day when I put on my new coat I had taken out the key from my summer clothes to put it in my winter clothes and forgotten it. How much sorrow and distress, how much trouble I would have avoided if I had had the key at the right time! But there is no argument against the past. After I had recovered somewhat from my emotions, I told the whole story to my wife, who knew nothing of it, because I had not mentioned it in my letters, for I had wanted to explain the whole matter in detail and had not managed to write before the key was lost, and once it was lost I did not mention it in my letters.

“What are you thinking of doing with the key?” said my wife, “send it to Szibucz?” “The one they have is superfluous,” said I, “and you tell me to burden them with a second key!” “Well,” said my wife, “what will you do with it?” There came into my mouth the saying of our sages, of blessed memory: “The synagogues and Batei Midrashot abroad are destined to be established in the Land of Israel.” And I said to myself: When they establish themselves in the Land of Israel, this man will have the key in his possession.

So I rose and put the key in a box, and hung the key of the box over my heart. I did not hang the key of the old Beit Midrash over my heart, for it was too heavy for my heart to bear; the early craftsmen used to make their keys too big and heavy for the measure of our hearts.

The key being put away in its place, I returned to my work, and whenever I remembered it, I would repeat to myself: “The synagogues and the Batei Midrashot are destined…,” and I would open my window and look outside to see if perhaps they were making their way to establish themselves in the Land of Israel. Alas, the land was desolate and silent, and the sound of the steps of the synagogues and Batei Midrashot was not heard. And still the key lies there, waiting with me for that day. However, it is made of iron and brass, and it can wait, but I, who am flesh and blood, find it hard to endure.

Let us leave the key and turn to the owner of the key. I sit in my house and do my work. People come to visit me and ask me about what I saw over there in the land of exile and I ask them about all that has happened here in the Land of Israel. As we talk, the Holy One, blessed be He, brings Szibucz before my eyes, and I close my eyes for a little while and walk among its ruins. Sometimes I stretch out my hand and wish to talk with someone from there.

After a few days I set aside all my affairs and went up to Ramat Rahel to visit Reb Shlomo Bach. I found him standing in the vegetable garden, busy hoeing. The back of his neck was sunburnt and his movements were measured, like those whose business is with the soil. I greeted him and he returned my greeting. When he recognized me, he put down his tools and sat down with me.