S. Agnon - The Parable and Its Lesson - A Novella

I spoke before of twelve pence. In the past a penny was worth much more than it is now, and people donated twelve pence to correspond to the twelve tribes of Israel. Poor people gave three for the three patriarchs or two for the two tablets of the Ten Commandments. Today, however, when it takes one hundred pence to buy what you could once get for a penny, people donate eighteen or twenty-six pence or more, according to whatever gematria calculation occurs to them.

But let me get back to how things unfolded. The assembly did not break up until it was determined that henceforth the shamash would stand on the bimah throughout the entire service, from beginning to end, and if he would see anyone talking he would rap on the table top regardless of whether the offender was an important member of the community, or a rich man, or the son-in-law of a rich man, a scholar, a ruffian, or someone who had privileges at the court. Normally in the Great Synagogue a rap on the table top could not be heard because of the crowd, but now the shamash would bang on the Pralnik book as he might during the repetition of the silent devotion to signal the congregation to respond Amen, or as he might when he was about to make an announcement. And what, you may ask, is the Pralnik book? A bunch of empty pages bound together like a book on which you bang a stick the way a woman beats her laundry to get the water out. The congregation further ordained that the cantor include a special blessing on behalf of all who take care not to utter a word in the synagogue from the time the leader of the service begins the prayer “Blessed be the One who spoke” until the service is concluded. This special blessing was instituted in Buczacz by our forbears on the very first Sabbath after they arrived there, before they founded the actual town of Buczacz, as I have told elsewhere. They brought the blessing with them from the Rhineland, where local custom went back to the days of such renowned rabbis as Rabbenu Gershom, Light of the Exile, Rabbi Shimon the Great, the eminent Rabbi Meshullam ben Kalonymus, and the other illustrious sages of Ashkenaz, may they rest in peace, whose traditions were authoritative in Buczacz in former days.

In order to lend authority to these new directives it was instructed that they be inscribed in the pinqas, the great communal register, because anything written down there was meticulously followed. They further instructed that the entire story told by the shamash also be recorded in the pinqas, because stories awaken the heart, especially of those who cannot picture something unless they read it in writing. So shortly thereafter a scribe wrote out all the details of the story, and he considered it so important that he decided to begin it on a new page in the pinqas lest it get lost among all the things written there previously. The town leaders then read the story and decided that it deserved a wider hearing beyond Buczacz. They agreed amongst themselves that should anyone ever find himself in another town, he would be sure to tell there the whole tale, certainly if he would see someone talking during the service or the reading of the Torah. And he would tell it without fear of intimidation by any of the locals, for the impudent pass on while the word of our God stands firm forever.

So the scribe wrote out the whole story in words true and wise, in the way words were used in Buczacz at the time when Buczacz was Buczacz. Some of the words were from the Torah, some from the sages, all of them had an eloquence that gives tongue to knowledge. The town leaders read the document and showed it to the local maskilim. In Buczacz and the Kingdom of Poland of those days, the term maskilim referred to men broadly learned in many branches of wisdom, men who exemplified the ideal of Understanding and knowing Me . It did not apply to those who strayed from the path of reason, of whom David complained, Is there any man of understanding who seeks after God? The maskilim read what was written and saw that the scribe indeed had a sophisticated sense of style and grammar, and they acknowledged it, one with words of praise, one with a simple nod of the head. There was one who equivocated and could not say whether it was good or bad, for it is human nature that what one person deems beautiful, another does not. In the end, though, even he admitted that the scribe had expressed everything exactly as it was meant to be written.

The scribe took the document and looked it over a few times, changing a word here, a phrase there. Sometimes the revisions needed are apparent to a writer from the language itself, and sometimes simply from how the words look to him on the page. The writer has to struggle mightily until he finds the appropriate words, and then when he thinks he has found them, others occur to him that look even better. Were it not for the mercies of Heaven, this process of revision could go on forever. Only a writer who is a fool will think that he has found exactly the right words; a wise one knows that the only correct words are the ones revealed in the Torah, the prophets, and the other books of the Bible. Therefore, the more a writer truly knows the Hebrew language, the more anxious he will be that in his writing he may have, Heaven forfend, tarnished a word.

Why is it that all the other languages are spoken and written without difficulty, whereas Hebrew requires that every word be given extra consideration and that careful attention be paid to word order and syntax? Because all the other languages were devised by humans, whereas Hebrew is the language in which the Torah was given and with whose letters the world was created. Just as there is no letter in the Torah that does not hold great significance, so there is nothing in the world that is superfluous, because everything is ordered as God desires. In the same way, anything composed in Hebrew, the language of holiness, cannot have words that are superfluous or anything in it that is out of place. Hebrew is special for other reasons too, as those who have studied the matter know.

After he made his corrections, the scribe sat down and copied everything out in a handsome script, the letters written the way they were written in Buczacz at the time when Buczacz was Buczacz, each letter distinct unto itself and each one in its place on the line, like people standing for the silent devotion, where the tall ones stick up like a lamed and the short ones are small as a yod , and all of them are directed to the same place. Had the pinqas not been consumed in the flames, we could have read the entire story just as it was set down in its true and original form, with the unique blend of wisdom and faith that marked all that our ancestors wrote and did and thought and said. But now that book is no more, and Buczacz is destroyed, and many thousands of Jews have been slain, the least of them the equal of the most eminent of the Gentiles, who watched the loathsome monsters destroy the world and did nothing. From our town there were those who were buried alive in graves they dug for themselves; there were those who were never buried; and there were those upon whom the murderers poured kerosene and were immolated one by one, limb by limb.

So now, since that pinqas went up in the flames, and Buczacz has been destroyed, and the deeds of the former generations have been forgotten in the recent suffering, I pondered the possibility that the Gehinnom of our time would make us forget the Gehinnom that the shamash saw, and the story about it, and all we can learn from that story. So I said to myself, Let me put it all down in a book and thus create a memorial to a holy community that sanctified its life in its death as its ancestors sanctified their lives with Torah, which is our life.

(And may I achieve some merit if what I write will motivate some denizens of Jerusalem. For I have seen even here in Jerusalem, the holy city, the gate of heaven, from whence all prayers ascend, that there are people who sit in synagogues and houses of study and talk during the service and the reading of the Torah. I asked my pen, Will you join me in writing this story? And my pen said, Give me your words and I will put your story down on paper. I gave it my words and now the story is written on paper.