S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

I told him about Daniel his son, and Sara Pearl, Daniel’s wife, and Raphael and Erela, as well as about the people from our old Beit Midrash who had gone away, some to America and some elsewhere. I also told him about the other people of Szibucz, whether he asked about them or not. Thus Szibucz was privileged to be recalled in Jerusalem.

“How did you come to work in the garden?” I asked him. “When I came to Ramat Rahel,” he replied, “and saw that they were all engaged in settling the Land, I said to myself: Everyone is engaged in settling the Land and I am doing nothing. So I asked them to make me a teacher for the children and a cantor in our little congregation. But the old men have no need for a permanent cantor, because each of them knows how to lead the service, and the children have their own teachers and do not need this old man. When I saw that I was superfluous, I felt as if the world had darkened, so I lightened the gloom with the Torah and immersed myself in the Mishna. When I reached the tractates that deal with the religious duties that are linked to the soil of the Land of Israel, I saw that my learning was rootless. I had studied these matters abroad and found no difficulty in them, but in the Land of Israel a man’s mind is renewed and he is not content with his earlier interpretations. Once I said to myself: Let me go and see what is this tree of which the sages spoke, and what is this field that is mentioned in the Mishna. When I went out, I heard the young men talking to each other, and through their words the entire subject became clear. It was not that they were referring to the Mishna, but they spoke as usual about trees and plants. I said to myself, ‘Wisdom cries outdoors.’ After that, whenever I found a difficulty in the words of the Mishna I would go to one of our comrades. If he did not know, then the gardener knew. If he did not know how to explain in our way, he explained in his own way and showed me every single thing in tangible fashion. I found out from my own experience, ‘Better is the sight of the eyes than the wandering of the desire.’ I need not say much more; the sages were right when they said, ‘There is no Torah like the Torah of the Land of Israel.’ Here I am, some seventy years old, and I was not privileged to understand the truth of the Torah until I came to the Land.”

And Reb Shlomo continued, “Learning leads to doing. As a result of my meetings with the gardener, I was not sitting idle. When he watered the plants, I filled the vessels with water. When he dug out the thorns, I cleared them from the path. This way, I learned how to water a garden and take out the weeds and make hollows around the vines, how to plow and sow and plant. When our comrades saw this, they gave me a patch to grow vegetables, and if the Almighty grants me the privilege, I shall eat the fruits of my patch.”

And Reb Shlomo continued, “Our young comrades are pleased with me and call me comrade, which is a title of honor and a high degree in the scale of workers. Our old comrades are not pleased with me, for since I work they think I am trying to make myself popular with the members of the kvutza. So long as I am engaged in my work, I pay no heed to what they say, but now that I have stopped working for a while I remember them.” Before I took my leave of Reb Shlomo, he showed me all the things he had planted, and brought me to the children’s house, where he showed me his grandson Amnon. God grant he may be like his father and grandfather.

One more time I went up to Ramat Rahel to visit Reb Shlomo. He was standing in the middle of his patch, while the birds flew over his head and pecked at the trees. “Is it possible that the birds should peck at the trees and the gardener does not drive them away?” said I. “I have many joys in the Land,” Reb Shlomo replied, “but above them all I rejoice in the birds, for they are witnesses that our redemption is at hand. We find in the Midrash: ‘For fifty-two years no bird was seen flying in the Land of Israel.’ Now that the birds have returned to this place it is a sign that Israel will return to their nests.” From the birds of heaven, Reb Shlomo went on to domestic fowl.

He took me and brought me to a place where the chickens were kept, and showed me fowl so fat that their fat had weakened their wings, and children were standing throwing them crumbs. He, too, took some scraps from his pocket and gave them to Amnon his grandson, so that he should give them to the birds. “If you think they keep the birds for food,” said he, “I must tell you that most of our young comrades eat no meat.” And having mentioned his comrades he immediately began to sing their praises.

A few days later Reb Shlomo came to my house to tell me the good news that Hannele his son’s daughter (this was Hannah, namely Aniela, otherwise Erela) had become betrothed to a certain doctor called Jacob Milch. I congratulated Reb Shlomo, we drank to their good health, and I told him what a fine man Kuba was. “I am certain,” I said to Reb Shlomo, “that the couple will soon come up to the Land of Israel, and it will be a good thing for you to have relatives in the Land. Sometimes they will come to visit you, and sometimes you will go to visit them, especially on festivals, when a man wishes to sit with his family.”

So we sat for some time and talked, until evening approached and the time came for the Afternoon Service. Reb Shlomo rose and asked, “Which side is the East?” I showed him from my window the direction of the Holy Temple. He sighed, washed his hands, and prayed. After he had completed his prayer I said to him, “ Perhaps you would leave the congregation in Ramat Rahel and pray with me.” “There is a quorum there without me, thank God,” said Reb Shlomo.

From this the talk turned to the old men in the kvutza, who kept quarreling with each other about every little thing, for each of them believed that the Torah had been given in his town alone, and every custom that he had not seen in his town did not seem to him to be a Jewish custom at all. “Perhaps you would like to go back,” I said to Reb Shlomo. “Where?” “To Szibucz,” I said. He looked at me like a deaf man who can neither hear nor speak. “If you hurry,” I said, “you will arrive in time for Erela’s wedding. And if you wish to sit and study there I will give you the key of our old Beit Midrash.” I rose, opened the box and showed him the key, telling him the whole story. “Here is the key before you,” I said. “You can take the key and go back to Szibucz.” Reb Shlomo smiled and said, “If the Almighty helps me I will sit and wait here for the footsteps of the Messiah.”

“If so,” I said to the key, “you stay here with me.” The key was silent and gave no answer, first, because it was an inanimate thing and could not speak, and second, because the people in the Beit Midrash had already discussed that matter on the day they gave it to me.

After some time the old man took his leave of me. I went with him to see him on his way. When we reached the crossroads we parted, he going to his home and I to mine. I turned my head and saw that the birds were flying above his head. The fowl of the heavens, who had returned to the Land of Israel, were flying to accompany the old man who was returning to his nest.

I went into my house, put away the key in the box, locked the box on the outside, and hung the key over my heart. I know that no one is enthusiastic about the key of our old Beit Midrash, but I said to myself: One day our old Beit Midrash is destined to be established in the Land of Israel; better, then, for the key to be in my possession.

Here endeth the story of that man of whom we have spoken in this work that is before us, since he has returned to his home and is no longer in the category of a guest.