S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

The young men were embarrassed to see their landlord shaming their guest, so they spoke up and explained that the work I did was of great importance and the world was in great need of it. “All right,” said the farmer, scratching his forehead again. “Every day people come and tell me what the world needs. But I tell you the world needs people to bring forth bread from the soil. Bread, sir, bread from the soil.”

The sun had almost set. The girls came back from the cowshed bringing the milk, went into their room and washed, and put on holiday clothes; then they set the table and lit the candles. The young men went out to the spring, washed and dressed themselves. We went into the room and welcomed the festival with prayer. A fine smell rose from the gardens and fields and vegetable plots, driving out the smell of the pigs who grunted from the nearby houses. After we had finished our prayer we recited the blessing over the wine, broke the bread, and ate what our comrades had prepared. Between one dish and the next they sang songs sweet as honey, and I told them something of the Land of Israel.

Shavuot nights are brief, and our comrades had not heard their fill of the Land before night came to an end. We said grace, rose from the table, and set out for the nearby town to pray with the congregation and hear the reading of the Torah.

We walked among the fields and gardens, vegetable patches and hedges, along crooked and winding paths. This world, which I had thought was still by night, was busy with a thousand labors. The heavens dropped down dew, the earth brought forth its grasses, and the grasses gave out fragrance. Between heaven and earth was heard the voice of the Angel of Night, saying things not every ear can hear. But the higher ear can hear, and the heavens answer that angel’s voice. And down below, between our feet, played little creeping things, which the Almighty has abased to the dust, but His merciful eye watches over them even in their abasement, so that they should not be crushed. While we were walking the dawn began to break, and the town appeared out of the pure mists, which divided, then separated, then came together again as one and covered the town, until in the end town and mist were absorbed in each other, and the rooftops seemed like fringed sheets. Few are the hours of favor when this man rejoices, but this was one of them. Finally, the whole town was submerged in a white mist and all that was in the town was submerged. At that moment the cocks crowed and the birds began to twitter, to tell us that everything was in order, and that He who in His goodness continually, every day, renews the work of creation had renewed His world on that day too. At once, a new light shone, and the forest, too, which had been hidden in darkness, emerged and revealed all its trees. And every tree and branch glistened with the dew of night.

The morning of the festival had left its mark on every house; even the streets looked as if this were a special day for Israel and they need not be in a tumult as on all other days. When we entered the synagogue the congregation was in the middle of the Additional Service, and a second quorum was beginning to collect for prayer. The synagogue was adorned with branches and greenery, and its fragrance was like the fragrance of the forest.

The Kohanim went up to the pulpit and blessed the congregation with the Shlaf-Kratzel melody, like men who are seized by sleep and want to arouse themselves. The other worshippers, too, still had the night in their eyes. They finished their prayer and we began ours.

The cantor chanted the “Great love” prayer with the special melody for Shavuot and dwelt upon the verse “And to fulfill in love all the words of instruction in Thy Law.” And when he came to the verse “Enlighten our eyes in Thy Law,” he seemed like one who wanders alone in the night and entreats the Almighty to be merciful and lighten his darkness.

More beautiful was the melody of the Akdamut hymn; even more beautiful was the reading of the Torah. This was a little town and the professional cantors did not reach it, so the ancient melodies were preserved and not mingled with foreign tunes. After the prayer we went out into the street. All the houses in the town were small and low, some of them actually down to the ground, and their roofs were made of straw. Some of the windows were ornamented with rosettes of green paper, in memory of the Revelation on Mount Sinai, as our forefathers used to do in honor of Shavuot.

At the doors of the houses the women stood and watched the young men, who plowed and sowed and reaped like Gentiles, but came to pray like Jews. One woman pointed at me, mentioning the Land of Israel. My comrades were delighted and said, “Now that they have seen a man from there they will no longer say that the whole business of the Land is sheer wishful thinking.” In the big cities, where emissaries frequently come from the Land, the arrival of a man from there makes no impression; in this small town, to which no man from the Land had come before, even a man like me made an impression.

Meanwhile, a number of the townsfolk came along and invited us to say the Kiddush with them, but the two girls were furious and would not let us go, because they had prepared a fine feast in honor of the festival and wanted us to start the meal hungry, so that our enjoyment might be doubled.

Most of the townsfolk went along with us on our way to hear something about the Land of Israel. To please the old men, I told them about the Wailing Wall of the Temple, and the Cave of the Patriarchs, and the Tomb of Rachel, and the Cave of Elijah, and the Tomb of Simon the Just, and the tombs of the Great Sanhedrin and the Lesser Sanhedrin, and the Lag B’Omer celebrations at Meron, and all the other holy places. What did I tell and what did I not tell? May the Almighty not punish me if I exaggerated somewhat and went a little too far; after all, it was not for my honor that I did so, but for the honor of the Land of Israel, whose glories it is meritorious to relate even when it is in ruins — to make it beloved of Israel, that they may take to heart what they have lost and turn again in repentance.

As I was still walking and talking, an old man said to me, “And were you in Tel Aviv as well, sir?” “That is a great question you ask me, my old friend,” said I. “I was in Tel Aviv before it was Tel Aviv, for this Tel Aviv was a desert of sand, a lair of foxes and jackals and night robbers. From my attic in the suburb of Neveh Zedek I used to look out on this wilderness of sand, and it did not occur to me that days would arrive when they would come and build a great city there for God and men. But suddenly Jews like you and me came and turned a desolate wilderness into a populated place, and the jackals’ lair into a fine city, with some hundred thousand Jews and more. Such a city, my friends and brothers, you have never seen even in a dream. You walk about in the streets and you do not know what to wonder at first and what last: at the tall houses or the men who built them; at the wagons full of merchandise or the baby carriages in which the daughters of Israel take out their little sons; at the great sea that girds the city with its might or the flourishing gardens; at the shops full of every good thing or the signboards with their inscriptions in Hebrew. You may think that only shops selling tzitzit and tefillin have signboards in Hebrew, but I tell you that there is not a single shop in Tel Aviv that does not have a Hebrew sign over it. This Tel Aviv is like a great courtyard of the Great Synagogue, for Tel Aviv is the courtyard of Israel and Jerusalem is the Great Synagogue, for all the prayers of Israel rise from there.”

Now that I had mentioned Jerusalem I was thoroughly aroused and began to tell its praises. What did I tell and what did I not tell? Can anyone tell all the glory of Jerusalem? The city that the Holy One, blessed be He, established as His dwelling — no son of woman can proclaim all its glory.