S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

“I thought,” said the child, “that because they are not under the yoke of the Gentiles and the servitude of the nations, it is more beautiful near the Sambatyon.” “Perfectly true,” I replied, “they are not under the yoke of the Gentiles and the servitude of the nations, but they do not have the joy of the Land, for there is no joy of the Land but in the Land of Israel.” “Are they really not under the yoke of the Gentiles?” said the child. “Haven’t you read that in your book?” said I. “And aren’t the Gentiles jealous of them?” “Indeed they are jealous of them; that is why the Gentiles go out to war against them.” “And what do they do?” “They fight back.” “Like here?” “What do you mean, like here?” “Like what happened here in our town, when the Gentiles came and fought each other and killed each other.” I stroked his cheek and said to him, “How can you compare the Sons of Moses our Teacher to the nations of the world? For the Sons of Moses are pure and holy, and heaven forbid that they should shed blood and defile their souls.” “Well, then,” said Raphael, “if people make war against them and try to kill them, what do they do? If they don’t kill their enemies, their enemies will kill them.” “They have made themselves staves of magnetic stone,” I told him, “and when the enemy attacks them, they go out to meet them with their staves, and draw the weapons out of the enemy’s hands. And when the enemy sees that he has no weapons, he turns tail and runs away. But anyone who has not managed to escape comes to the Prince of the Jews, lays his head on the doorstep of his house, and says, ‘My life is in your hands, my lord. Do to me as I wished to do to you.’ So the Prince comes out of his house, raises his hands to heaven, and says, ‘May the Lord witness your afflictions and restore you to better ways.’”

“Where did they get these staves?” asked Raphael. “It is a secret of the Lord for them that fear Him.” “Have you ever seen one of them?” “I have never seen any of them, but I have seen Gentiles who came from there, and they told me about them.” “And have you seen one of our Jews who has been there?” “No,” I replied. “Why have Gentiles deserved to go there and not Jews?” asked the child. “There are Jews who have had that privilege,” said I. “But anyone who has found his way there does not come back. Tell me, if you were there would you want to come back here?” “And why have the Gentiles come back from there?” “Gentiles who cannot endure the righteousness of the Sons of Moses cannot live with them. And sometimes the Gentiles leave because they long for their own town and their own home, as in the story I told you of one of the princes of Ishmael who found his way there during the war of the Turk. You remember the story you read under the tree?” “That prince was with the Jews of Khaibar and not with the Sons of Moses,” said Raphael. “If so,” said I, “I will tell you a story of a certain Arab who happened to meet the Sons of Moses. I saw this Arab in Jerusalem, and he was a great lover of the Jews; he would bow down to every single Jewish child, for every Gentile who has had the privilege of living among good and pious Jews no longer hates the people of Israel, but loves them and proclaims their righteousness to the world.” While we were talking, the child’s father came up.

Daniel Bach was content, first, because he was content by nature, and second, because he had received a letter from his father. “And what did your father write?” I asked. “Well, he did not mention the quarrels in his congregation in Ramat Rahel, and he didn’t write about the graves of the righteous men on which he prostrated himself.” “Then what did he write about?” “About the vineyards and the chickens and the cows, and the plantations they planted in Ramat Rahel, and how much milk each cow gives and how many eggs the chickens lay. If I did not recognize my father’s handwriting, I would say the letter had been written by someone else, for what has my father to do with cattle and chickens and plantings?

“Now I know why they disparage the Land of Israel,” said Daniel Bach. “If this is what happens to an old man who has spent all his life in study and prayer, what can you expect of all the young men who do not study and pray?”

Sara Pearl came out. When she saw me she said, “Where have you been, sir, all this time? Since the eve of Shavuot I believe we have not seen you.” I told her about my comrades on the farm, with whom I spent the festival, and while I was talking I felt glad I had not told Yeruham Freeman about them first, for when you talk about something a second time it does not have the same power as the first time.

Daniel Bach has already heard about those boys and girls who have gone out to work in the fields, and he is not impressed. “If I did not know their fathers,” said Mr. Bach, “perhaps I would be impressed by them. But since I know their parents I am not happy about the children.” However, he has no intention of spoiling my joy; anyone who wants to be happy, let him be happy.

And I am happy about them and about the time I spent with them. Let not God regard it as an offense on their part that through them I neglected the Torah for several days and have not yet returned to my studies.

“And are there children, too, who have reached the River Sambatyon?” asked Raphael. “Didn’t I tell you,” I replied, “the story about the rabbi, author of The Light of Life , who had found one of the Sons of Moses on Sabbath eve at dark and put him in his pocket and forgot him there? On the Sabbath night he went into the synagogue to pray, and he heard a voice coming from his pocket and giving the response, ‘Amen, blessed be His Great Name.’” “That was not what I asked,” said Raphael, “I asked if there is a child who got there.” “Wait a moment, Raphael, and let me remember,” said I. “You’re always saying: Wait and let me remember,” said Raphael. “First,” I replied, “it is not proper to reply at once, because a man should first arrange his thoughts, so that they may be pleasant to his listeners. And second, it is natural for a man to forget, for exile weakens the power of memory. Now, my dear, I have remembered. There was one child in Jerusalem who reached the River Sambatyon and came back. As for how he reached there and what made him return, listen and I will tell you.

“The child’s father had shoes made for his wedding day. The bridegroom asked the shoemaker if his shoes would last a long time and would not tear quickly. ‘You can cross the River Sambatyon in them,’ said the shoemaker. And the young man took these things to heart.

“After the wedding, the bridegroom told the bride what the shoemaker had said. ‘I can see,’ said she, ‘that you want to go to the Ten Tribes, and I know that you will go there, for this shoemaker is one of the Thirty-six Saints, and if he has said a thing it will not prove wrong.’ ‘When you bear a male child,’ said he, ‘call him Hanoch, after this Reb Hanoch the shoemaker, and when you are privileged to see the time come for him to put on the tefillin, have the tefillin prepared for him and send him out on the road, and the Holy One, blessed be He, in His mercy, will see that he reaches me.’ So the bridegroom rose from his bed, took his tallit and tefillin, kissed the mezuza on the doorpost, and set off on his journey. He walked and walked until he reached the River Sambatyon. When he saw the Sambatyon casting up stones to the heart of the heavens, a great terror fell upon him and he said, ‘How shall I cross this awesome river?’ But his feet were lifted up of themselves and he crossed the river safely, and he found himself alongside the Sons of Moses.

“When the Sons of Moses saw this, they realized that he was a great saint, since he had been granted permission to reach their land, which no other man had been privileged to do, except Rabbi Meir, the author of the Akdamut , and the author of The Light of Life , and one or two other saints. They gathered around him and found him full of learning and piety; so they welcomed him and made a feast in his honor. During the feast he analyzed for them a passage from the Torah, and they recognized that his teaching was cogent, so they established a great academy for him, where he taught the Torah and did not interrupt his teaching except for prayer.