S. Agnon - Two Scholars Who Were in our Town and other Novellas

Still I sat waiting.

She said in a whisper: His name is Shraga. — Have you written it?

I have written.

She half-closed her eyes as if dozing. After some time she raised herself from her chair to look at the letter, and whispered again: His name is Shraga, his name is Shraga. — And again she sat silent. Then she seemed to bestir herself, saying: I shall tell you in a general way what you are to write. But again she lapsed back into silence, letting her eyelids droop.

I see, she said at last, that I shall have to tell you all that happened, so that you will understand these things and know how to write them. It is an old story, of something which happened many years ago; yes, three and ninety years ago.

She reached for her walking-stick and let her head sink down upon it. Then again she looked up, with an expression of surprise, as one might who thinks he is sitting alone and discovers a stranger in the room. Her face was no longer calm, but showed grief and disquiet as she felt for her stick, then put it by, and again took it up to lean upon, passing her hand over her brow to smooth out her wrinkles.

Finally she said: If I tell you the whole story, it will make it easier for you to write. — His name is Shraga. Now I shall start from the very beginning.

She raised her eyes and peered about her; then, reassured that no one else could be listening, she began.

I was eleven years old at the time. I know this, because father, of blessed memory, used to write in his Bible the names of his children and the dates of their births, his daughters as well as his sons. You will find the names in that Bible you see before you; for when I came to Jerusalem, my late brothers renounced their right to my father’s holy books and gave them to me. As I said before, it is an old story, three and ninety years old; yet I remember it well. I shall relate it to you, and little by little you will understand. Now, are you listening?

I inclined my head and said, Speak on.

So you see, I was eleven years old. One night, father came home from the synagogue, bringing with him some relatives of ours, and with them Pesahya Mordechai, the father of Shraga. When she saw them enter, my dear mother, rest her soul, called me and told me to wash my face well and put on my Sabbath dress. She put on her Sabbath clothes and bound her silk kerchief round her head, and, taking my hand, led me into the big room to meet father and his guests. Shraga’s father looked at me and said: “Heaven protect you, you are not an ugly child.” Father stroked my cheek and said, “Tehilla, do you know who spoke to you? The father of your bridegroom-to-be spoke to you. Mazal tov , my child: tonight you are betrothed.” At once all the visitors blessed me with mazal tovs , and called me “the bride.” Mother quickly bundled me back to her room to shield me from any evil eye, and kissed me, and said: “From now on you are Shraga’s betrothed; and God willing, next year, when your bridegroom comes of age at thirteen for wearing the tefillin , we shall make your wedding.”

I knew Shraga already, for we used to play with jacks and at hide-and-seek, until he grew too old and began to study Talmud. After our betrothal I saw him every Sabbath, when he would come to father’s house and repeat to him all he had learned through the week. Mother would give me a dish of sweets which I would take and offer to Shraga, and father would stroke my cheek and beam upon my bride-groom.

And now they began to prepare for the wedding. Shraga’s father wrote out the tefillin , and my father bought him a tallit , while I sewed a bag for the tefillin and another bag for the tallit that is worn on a Sabbath. Who made the large outer bag for both tallit and tefillin I cannot remember.

One Sabbath, four weeks before the day fixed for the wedding, Shraga failed to come to our house. During the afternoon service, Father enquired at the house of study, and was told that he had gone on a journey. Now this journey was made to one of the leaders of the Hassidim , and Shraga had been taken by his father in order that he might receive a blessing from his rebbe on the occasion of first wearing tallit and tefillin. When my father learned this, his soul nearly parted from his body; for he had not known until then that Shraga’s father was of the “Sect.” He had kept his beliefs a secret, for in those days the Hassidim were despised and persecuted, and father was at the head of the persecutors; so that he looked upon members of the Sect as if (God forbid) they had ceased to belong to our people. After the havdala ceremony, at the close of the Sabbath, father tore up my marriage contract and sent the pieces to the house of my intended father-in-law. On Tuesday Shraga returned with his father, and they came to our house. My father drove them out with abuse; whereupon Shraga himself swore an oath that he would never forgive us the insult. Now father knew well that he who cancels a betrothal must seek pardon from the injured party; yet he took no steps to obtain this. And when my mother implored him to appease Shraga, he made light of her entreaties, saying, “You have nothing to fear: he is only of the Sect.” So contemptible were the Hassidim in my father’s eyes that he took no heed in this thing wherein all men take heed.

Preparations for the wedding had been made. The house was cluttered with sacks of flour and casks of honeym and the baker women had already been engaged to prepare the white loaves and cakes. In short, all was ready, and there lacked nothing but a bridegroom. My father summoned a matchmaker and they found me bridegroom with whom I entered under the bridal canopy.

What became of Shraga, I do not know, for father forbade any of our household to mention his name. Later I heard that he and all his people had removed to another town. Indeed they were in fear of their very lives; since, from the day when father ended my betrothal, they were not called up to the Torah in synagogue; not even on Simhat Torah , when every man is called. They could not even come together for worship, for my father as head of the community would not let them assemble outside the regular synagogues; and had they not gone to another town where they might be called up to the Torah, they would not have survived the year.

Three years after the wedding I gave birth to a son. And two years later, another son was born to me. And two years after that, I gave birth to a daughter.

Time passed uneventfully, and we made a good living. The children grew and prospered, while I and my husband, may he rest in peace, watched them grow and were glad. I forgot about Shraga, and forgot that I had never received a note of pardon at his hand.

Mother and father departed this life. Before his death, my father of blessed memory committed his affairs to his sons and his sons-in-law, enjoining them all to work together as one. Our business flourished, and we lived in high repute. We engaged good tutors for our sons, and a Gentile governess for our daughter; for in those days pious folk would have nothing to do with the local teachers, who were suspected of being free-thinkers.

My husband would bring these tutors from other towns; and whereas the local teachers were obliged to admit any student who came, even if he was not suitably qualified, tutors who had been brought from elsewhere were dependent upon those who engaged them and under no such obligation. Coming, as they did, alone, they would dine at our table on Sabbath days. Now my husband, who because of the pressure of his affairs could not make set times for study of the Torah, was especially glad of one such guest who spoke to him words of Torah. And I and the children delighted in the tuneful Sabbath hymns he would sing us. We did not know that this tutor was a Hassid , and his discourses the doctrines of Hassidism , and the tunes that he sang us, Hassidic tunes; for in all other respects he conducted himself like any other true believer of Israel. One Sabbath eve, having discoursed of the Torah, he closed his eyes and sang a hymn of such heavenly bliss that our very souls melted at its sweetness. At the end, my husband asked him: “How may a man come to this experience of the divine?” The tutor whispered to him: “Let your honor make a journey to my rebbe , and you will know this and much more.”