S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

Reb Shlomo smoothed his beard with one hand and said, “On the contrary, my son, let us be grateful to our rabbis for elucidating matters and explaining events; for were it not for them we should have had to wear ourselves out, but now that they have given the explanation for every single thing we can spend our lives in study and good deeds, and no one need waste his time on questionings, but can serve his Creator and obey His commandments. And a man should make a particular effort to obey commandments in which he is weak, like you, my son, with the commandment to put on tefillin.” “Father,” said his son, “just as it is right to give an injunction that will be obeyed, so it is right not to give an injunction that will not be obeyed.” “In what connection?” “In connection with what you have said,” replied Daniel. “Meaning?” “Meaning the matter of putting on tefillin. I give you my solemn word that I shall not put on tefillin.” Said Reb Shlomo, “How can a man swear not to do a thing that he has been sworn to do ever since Mount Sinai?”

“What are you so excited about?” I asked Daniel Bach. “Ach, nonsense!” replied Reb Shlomo. “Something happened to him during the war.” Daniel Bach jumped up from his chair in a rage and shouted, “Nonsense you call it?” “What is the story?” I said to him. “Were you in the war?” he asked. “I was sick,” I replied, “and they did not find me fit to fight the Emperor’s wars.” “I went to war from the beginning, and continued fighting until the final defeat,” said Daniel Bach. “I was a great patriot, like all the other Jews in this country. As the days went on my patriotism grew less, but once you go in you don’t get out again. All the time I was in the army I did not eat a forbidden thing and observed all the commandments, and it goes without saying that I was careful to put on tefillin every day.” Reb Shlomo looked at his son with great love, nodding his beard above the stick on which he leaned as he sat, and his warm eyes shone in his face.

Daniel went on: “So careful was I to put on tefillin every day that if I did not manage to put them on I ate nothing the rest of the day. One night I was lying in the trenches, buried up to the neck and over in soft, rotting earth. The guns fired without stopping; piles of dirt erupted and slid into the trench, and the smell of burnt flesh rose all around me. I felt the fire had caught my flesh and I was being burned to death, and I was almost sure I would not come out alive: I would either be consumed by the fire or buried in the ashes. At that moment the sun appeared in the sky; the time had come for the morning prayer. I said to the Angel of Death: Wait for me until I fulfill the commandment of tefillin. I put out my hand to seek my tefillin. My hand touched a tefillin strap. I thought a bullet had struck the bag where the tefillin were kept and they had been scattered all around. But when I pulled the strap and touched the tefillin, I was struck by a stench. I saw that one strap was fastened to the arm of a dead man, for that trench was a mass grave, and that arm belonged to a Jewish soldier, who had been blown to pieces as he stood in prayer adorned with his tefillin.”

Reb Shlomo wiped his eyes with both hands, and the stick on which he was leaning fell. He choked down his sighs and looked at his son with great compassion. No doubt he had heard the story many times before, yet his eyes were moved and he wanted to weep. Daniel bent down and lifted the stick, and the old man leaned on it once more. Daniel tucked in his legs and rubbed his left knee with his right hand, and a kind of smile hung on his lips, like a child who has done wrong and then been caught in his naughtiness.

The people of the hotel had gone to sleep; Reb Shlomo, Daniel his son, and I sat silent. Daniel’s smile faded away; a look of melancholy appeared on his lips, spread, and was absorbed in his sunken cheeks.

I took Daniel Bach’s hand and said to him: “Let me tell you a story; I read it in the book The Rod of Judah . It tells of a group of exiles from Spain, who set out to sea. On the way something went wrong with the ship, and the captain cast them ashore at a desolate spot where no one lived. Most of them died of hunger, but the survivors summoned up strength and set out to look for a place of human habitation. One woman collapsed by the road and died. The woman’s husband took up their two children in his arms and went on. All three of them fainted away for hunger. When the man came to himself he found his two children dead. He stood up and said, ‘Lord of the Worlds, Thou dost much to make me abandon my faith; know that in spite of heaven I am a Jew and a Jew I shall be, and all that Thou hast brought upon me and may bring upon me will be of no avail.’ So he gathered dust and grasses, covered up the boys, and went to seek a place of habitation. The group of Jews had not waited for him, lest they too should die of hunger, for each was engrossed with his suffering and paid no heed to the sufferings of his fellows.”

“And what was the end of that Jew?” “I do not know.” “Perhaps the Almighty led him to a Jewish settlement and he married another woman and had sons and daughters.” “Perhaps.” “But even if so, I see no recompense in that. Job, who never existed but was only a parable, was consoled for the death of his wife and children, after the Lord has blessed his end more than his beginning; but I doubt whether a living man would accept such consolation.”

Reb Shlomo stroked his beard and said: “The story is told of a man whose son had become an infidel. He went to the saintly Baal Shem Tov. The Baal Shem Tov told him that he should love his son twice as much as before.” Daniel Bach smiled and said, “You know, sir, what Father means by telling us the story; he means that he loves me. Pity the Almighty doesn’t follow the advice of the Baal Shem Tov.” “How do you know,” said Reb Shlomo, “that the Almighty does not do so?” “Father,” replied Daniel, “is it possible that after all the troubles you have known you should still say so?” “Who else should say so,” replied Reb Shlomo, “one who has known nothing but good all his life and for very happiness does not see the mercies of the blessed Lord? On the contrary, it is fitting for me to say that every hour I see the goodness of the blessed Lord. And I hope I am not sinning before Him by making distinctions between His acts and saying: This is good and this is not good. But I hope that when I have the privilege of living in the Land of Israel the Almighty will open my eyes to see that all His actions are right. And now that we have finished with a good word, let us say good night to the gentleman and go.”

After they had gone, I went to my room and lit a candle, lay down on my bed, and took a book to sweeten my sleep. I had not started to read when I began to think. What did I think of and what did I not think of…

There sits that old man, his chin resting on his stick, the wrinkles shining on his face, giving off sparks of light that flow down his beard. Near him sits his son, stroking his leg, sometimes the leg he was created with at his birth and sometimes the leg they grafted onto him later, and you do not know which is dearer to him, the one that was made by the Almighty or the one that was made by man. Says the one-legged man to his father, “Father, the war of Gog and Magog has already come, but the Messiah, the son of David, has not yet come.” His father replies, “My son, the war of Gog and Magog exists in every generation, in every era, in every hour, in every single man, inside a man’s house, inside his heart, in his heart and the hearts of his children. Be still, my son, be still. Long ago Jeremiah said of the wicked: ‘Thou art near in their mouth and far from their reins,’ and the words still cry out from the heart of Israel.” I say to myself: Soon that old man will go up to the Land of Israel. From the material point of view, that is fine; the air of the Land of Israel is healthy, and his son Yeruham’s comrades will give him food and lodging, and treat him with respect. But maybe that old man will have more regard for his own honor there and waive the honor due his Father in heaven, for he will see that they neglect some of the commandments, such as the observance of the Sabbath, and keep silent. Or maybe a man shuts his eyes to the evil deeds of his son, but not to the evil deeds of his son’s comrades. But then again — his love for others may be as dear to him as his love for his son, like those old men who have suffered many tribulations and have taught themselves to accept everything with love, and not like most young men, who follow after their own hearts, and if they have the opportunity to do a good deed are afraid for their consciences and refrain from doing it. How many compromises does a man make without concern, but when it comes to the observance of the Torah, he is concerned because of his conscience. But why should I interfere with something that I cannot put right? I will close my eyes and sleep.