S. Agnon - A Book that Was Lost

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And just who was Rabbi Elimelech the Scribe? He was a transcriber of holy books and objects who lived during the time of the Tzaddik of Buczacz. But if I were going to tell you of the greatness of this holy man I wouldn’t know where to begin. For someone who was eager to learn the laws of the Halacha, this righteous man of blessed memory would review eighteen laws every single day. And for one who wanted to hear about miracle workers, this Tzaddik of blessed memory would dwell on tales of miracles. And if it chanced that he heard it said about himself that he received revelations from the prophet Elijah, he would say that any man, after all, could receive such revelations from Elijah. How? By studying a chapter from Tana Devei Eliyahu. How wonderful for the righteous that they know whom to cling to and how equally wonderful for the righteous that they know whom to clasp to themselves. How fortunate for Rabbi Elimelech that he followed the Tzaddik of Buczacz and how fortunate for the Tzaddik that he embraced Rabbi Elimelech. The entire alphabet is insufficient to encompass his wonders. And I haven’t gathered here more than can be contained in one small drop of ink.

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Writers of holy books and tefillin also transcribe a get, a bill of divorce. And a scribe earns more from the latter than from the former. After all, someone who wants to be rid of his wife and asks a scribe to write a get doesn’t bargain over pennies. One penny more, one penny less…just as long as he gets his divorce. We’ve heard of cases where a wedding was called off because the two sides could not agree on a dowry, but we’ve never heard of a case of a man who called off a divorce because he couldn’t come to terms with a scribe on the cost of writing the get. So when a man in such a circumstance comes to a scribe, the scribe gathers his writing equipment and writes a get. But in the case of Rabbi Elimelech, before he would write a get he would fast all day, and that night he would approach in tears the involved couple and plead: I am a frail man. I can’t prolong this fast.

Have pity on me and make peace between the two of you. If they agreed, he would make a party that very night; if they refused, he would continue his fast. It was said of Rabbi Elimelech that he would not budge until the couple reconciled and passed from gloom and confusion to peace and celebration. If they had had no children before, they subsequently had children; if they only had girls, then boys were born to them. And that’s why, when someone is about to arrive at the age of commandments, the bar mitzvah, one seeks out Rabbi Elimelech to inscribe a pair of tefillin. It has been said that one who is fortunate enough to wear tefillin inscribed by a peacemaker will himself be a peacemaker and will live happily with his wife. Thus the tefillin of Rabbi Elimelech.

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Mornings I would run to the synagogue. Sometimes I would arrive before the appointed hour for prayer and I would stare out the window at the sky to spot the sunlight when it would first appear so that I could then put on my tefillin. When prayer time arrived I would take out my tefillin, and a fragrance of prayer would emanate from them. As I lay the tefillah on my arm I could feel my heart pounding alongside them and I would then wind the warm straps around my arm until they pressed into my skin. And then I would circle my head with the other tefillah. When the cantor recites the prayer that thanks God for “girding Israel with strength and crowning Israel with splendor,” I stand astonished that I myself am “girding” and “crowning” like a man of Israel and I am overjoyed. I ask my tallit not to be cross with me for being less enthusiastic about it. After all, when a holiday falls on the Sabbath, isn’t it true that the standard Sabbath prayer of the Shemoneh Esreh is set aside in favor of a special prayer for the holiday?

That’s how I used to stand in the old synagogue praying, one tefillah on my arm and the other on my head. Sometimes my praying would be soulful and plaintive, sometimes melodious and joyful. In either event, I would continually touch my tefillin — something like a shepherd making music out in the field who periodically remembers his charges and looks around to see if any of them have wandered off — until I completed my praying, removed my tefillin, and saw pressed in my arm’s flesh the remaining evidence of the straps. I wouldn’t eat or drink until the indentations on my arm had completely disappeared. Often I would spend time studying before I removed my tefillin. My eyes would focus on a book, accompanied by my tefillin, or would pause between the letters on a line, and the tefillin would pause with them. I was filled with sadness for having been born into this generation. If only I had been born during the time of the Talmud I would have worn my tefillin for the entire day. How I loved them. Maimonides, of blessed memory, had surely done the right thing when he included the regulations pertaining to tefillin in his Book of Love.

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Now I know that some of you will claim that the story about the tefillin is nothing less than an allegory about God and the people of Israel. Rabbi Elimelech the Scribe represents the Lord, King of Kings, and the tefillin stand for Israel, which we learn from the fact that the blessings over the tefillin include the phrase “and who is like your nation Israel.” And God is living in a simple dwelling because He had a desire to live among the earthlings. The absence of even a chair in His house signifies the absence of the Shekhinah. And He rushes to the parlor room because He anticipates the return of God’s glory to Zion in our very own time. On the contrary, however, I tell you that far from being allegorical, everything is just as it appears. The tefillin are simply tefillin, as is stated in the Torah: “Bind them as a sign upon your arm and let them be a band between your eyes.” I’ve got much to tell, but living at a time when the taste for performing the commandments has been lost, it’s best that I simply do my part and let those who are enlightened remain silent.

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My grandfather, of blessed memory, used to say that there are two things that a man never stints on: bread and tefillin. I am a descendant of good people and I was spoiled as a child. I used to think to myself: Grandpa, how do you compare bread and tefillin? After all, when my mother used to give me bread I would risk offending her by asking if I could have cake or pastries or wafers or pretzels (Heaven forbid!) rather than bread. But tefillin, on the contrary, have been dear to me every single day from the very first time that I wore them. When I was despondent I would put on tefillin in preference to a piece of bread which I was too distracted to look for. On my wall I hung my tefillin bag with the two tefillin tied securely inside; the aroma of my tefillin was contained within, and the Holy One did not smell it. My friends, you undoubtedly know the story of the son who left his father’s table and ceased practicing good deeds and performing the commandments. Better that I should conceal my appearance within my tefillin bag and not parade my sins in public.

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Did I really expect that my tefillin would remain mine for all time? After all, before they came to me they belonged to someone else and before that to yet another person, and in the same way, after one hundred and twenty years, they will pass from me to someone new. Someone once found in an old notebook a story of a Jew who, on his deathbed, wrote to the local rabbi a description of his specific place in the synagogue so that in the distant future, when all the synagogues and houses of study in the Diaspora are destined to be reassembled in the Land of Israel, his proper seat will be assigned to him. In that same future, who will inherit my tefillin? Maybe I myself, or the man who owned them before me, or the man before that. But I’ve always said: Don’t be a dark cloud. It might very well be that in an earlier incarnation I was the man who owned these tefillin, and in a still earlier incarnation I was that other man who wore these tefillin. Since there is no proof to the contrary, it must be so, for, after all, the headband of the tefillin is fitted to a specific head. So in the distant future I will lift my head out of my coffin and flex my arm, and the two tefillin will fly to me like doves returning to their nest.