S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

“Surely you say the same things we do,” said Pinhas Aryeh. “I say the same things, yet we disagree,” I replied. “The reason we disagree is that you have aroused disagreement in Israel, estranging one Jew from another, for you regard anyone who does not belong to your group as if, heaven forbid, he had no share in the God of Israel.” “And is it we who have caused the estrangement?” said Pinhas Aryeh. “Surely it is you who have caused it, by estranging yourselves from the Torah, and thereby estranging yourselves from Israel!” “You are a happy man,” said I, “to have solved all doubts and grasped the truth with your own hand; grasp it firmly, or it may escape. And now that we have truly finished, I am going.” “Where?” “To the old Beit Midrash.” “I am going with you,” said Pinhas Aryeh. “I will take the key and open the door,” said I.

As soon as we entered the Beit Midrash, Pinhas Aryeh declaimed, “How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob,” and extolled the Torah and its students, praising me for abandoning the idols of my youth and returning to the Beit Midrash. When I wanted to sit down he drew me outside. It was plain that all he had said in praise of the Torah and its students came readily to his lips from the speeches he used to deliver at meetings. Or perhaps he really loved the Torah, but since he was so busy making others love it he did not manage to study it himself. Or perhaps it was enough for him to go over that daily page of the Talmud, which perhaps he studied every day.

Although Pinhas Aryeh, the rabbi’s son, was born in Szibucz, he was a new man to the town. Of the other men who grew up in Szibucz before the war, some studied the Torah because they loved it and some because they had nothing else to do, but this Pinhas Aryeh — may God save him — did not open a book, nor did I ever hear a word of commentary on the Torah from his lips. Nevertheless, he used the Torah as a keystone for his actions, whether in matters arising out of the Torah or those that had nothing to do with it.

Like his father, he loved to tell jokes, but a joke that served the father to flavor his talk served the son as a complete conversation, like a man who is frivolous and jests. Once I said to him, “I am surprised at the way you jest and joke.” “And I am surprised that you do not like jokes,” he answered. “If you want to know the spirit of the people, listen to their jests.” I said, “That is the spirit of the people in its dispersion and not in its ingathering.”

Each of us seemed strange to the other. He seemed strange to me because he loved argument, and I to him because I refrained from argument. Finally I became argumentative against my will because he credited me with ideas that had never come into my head. He seemed strange to me because he was immersed in newspapers, and I to him because I did not read them. Once I asked him where he found the time. He said he made the time because he had to read, for the sages said, “And know what thou shalt reply to a heretic.” When he said this I knew that his enjoyment in the reading came first, and the purpose second. “Do you also read the books they send you for review?” said I, jesting. “I write reviews of them,” he replied, jokingly. “What do the authors say?” I asked. “If I praise them, what have they to say?” he answered. “And if you disparage them?” “Why should I pain scholars by disparaging them?”

I learned much from Pinhas Aryeh’s conversation. He was acquainted with most of the pious men of the day and familiar with the leading Jews of Poland and Lithuania. All the time I was walking with him he used to tell how clever they were, and how highly regarded by the Gentile ministers, how Rabbi So-and-so had over-borne a leader of the Mizrachi, and what the zaddik from So-and-so had replied to a Zionist rabbi. I would not say that his stories were gratifying, but through them I came to know what figures are popular with this generation.

Shortly before his departure I met his new wife, a tall and comely blonde, her head covered with a silken kerchief, and a single curl peeping out in memory of her beautiful hair. Her forehead was broad and her chin narrow, like half a Shield of David slightly rounded. I heard that she was the daughter of a rich Hasid from a large city in Poland, and that she had studied in Gymnasium. Her husband boasted of her to me, saying, “I am sure you will find her conversation pleasant.” Of all her conversation I remember only that she asked in a languid voice, Isn’t there a café here?”

On the evening the festival ended I found Pinhas Aryeh sitting in my hotel. I thought he had come to say goodbye before leaving, and I went and sat down beside him. Then he revealed that he had come to inquire into the character of Babtchi, the innkeeper’s daughter, with a view to a match. The principal, that is to say the girl, was an intelligent young woman and, as his wife told him, she was good-looking. The main thing was that his son had seen her last year and had a certain liking for her. But the prospective in-law, Babtchi’s father, was something of a question mark.

I asked Pinhas Aryeh if his son was a member of Agudat Israel. He smiled. “In any case, he is not a Zionist,” said he. “Does he keep the commandments?” If he kept the commandments he would be a member of Agudat Israel,” he replied.

As he spoke he sighed. “Let me tell you a story a friend told me,” he said. “Once the talk between us turned on the worries of bringing up children. My friend said, ‘I can forgive my sons and daughters for not following the way of the Torah, but I cannot forgive them for their spitefulness. I admit,’ says my friend, ‘that a young man sometimes has to go to a theater, and I have already agreed, unwillingly, that he should go there on Sabbath eves, for then he is free from work. When he goes to the theater he shaves, so as not to look untidy. I do not inquire whether he shaves with paste or with a razor. Today, when even yeshiva students shave their beards, a man turns a blind eye on his son and does not ask whether he shaves his beard by permitted or forbidden means. But what annoys me is that, when I come back from the synagogue and chant “Peace unto you, O ministering angels,” my son is standing there shaving. I ask him, “Why do you have to have in the living room and not in the bathroom?” And he, “My sister is having a bath and I can’t go in.” I say, “A girl who is going to the opera needs to have a bath first, but what made her take a bath at the very moment when her father is going to recite the Sabbath Kiddush?” I do not suspect her, heaven forbid, of stoking the stove on the Sabbath, but I find it hard to bear.’” Here a sigh broke from Pinhas Aryeh’s heart, and I knew that his friend’s trouble was his own.

Pinhas Aryeh returned to his town and I returned to my Beit Midrash. Again I sit and study the Torah and no one hinders me in my study. If I said that Pinhas Aryeh was a new man in Szibucz, I should add that this is truly so, for there is no one like him among those who grew up in the town. Elimelech Kaiser, for instance, keeps the commandments; though not for love — and sometimes he does so in anger, like those grumblers who serve their master because they cannot free themselves from his service. Or Daniel Bach: he believes in the Creator, although he does not keep His commandments. Because of the evil things that have befallen him, he is of the opinion that the Holy One, blessed be He, does not want to be worshipped by him. If his life had been normal he would have served God like his father and the other faithful sons of Israel. Or Nissan Zommer: he keeps the commandments of God honestly and faithfully; for him, whatever the Holy One, blessed be He, does is right. “The precepts of the Lord are just, rejoicing the heart.” It is good for a man to put aside the cares of the hour and rise to recite the Afternoon and Evening Services. Better still is the Sabbath day, which was given for sanctity and repose; and even better are the festivals of the Lord, on which a man puts away his cares and clears them out of his heart. To sum up, whatever the Holy One, blessed be He, does is good, so long as men do not come and spoil it. How goodly were the days when the world was conducted according to God’s will, until men began to offend, and made wars, and disturbed the order of the world — and their offense still continues. In his simplicity, Mr. Zommer mistakenly believes that God and man are two equal powers, acting and activating against each other, but that God is the good power, while man, on the other hand, is the evil power. Nevertheless, we may classify Mr. Zommer among the simple servants of God who serve their Creator without affectation, although their faith is not pure. Or Hanoch, may he rest in peace, who bore the yoke like a horse and the burden like an ass, whether it was the commandments he was commanded to do by the Creator or things commanded to him by men. Or all the other sons of Szibucz, who serve their Creator, some with a broken heart and some in deep dejection. And even if they commit various offenses, they rely on His blessed mercy to turn a blind eye to their bad deeds and see their broken hearts. There are some who know not what they do, and their lack of knowledge makes them as happy as free men, because they do not examine their acts, and believe that they too come from the will of the Almighty, for if He did not will them He would not make them perform them.