S. Agnon - Shira

More about Tamara. She has found herself a boyfriend, a lapsed yeshiva student. Whether or not he is worthy of her, it’s too soon to consider him her mate. Many of Tamara’s friends are attracted to her, and there is no reason to single out anyone in particular as her mate. Furthermore, an impulsive approach to marriage suits neither Henrietta nor Manfred, though Henrietta, with a mother’s intuition, is sure that such a mate would always be faithful to his wife, despite their differences in education, origin, and background. His parents are from one of those renowned Jewish communities, whereas her parents are from Germany. Though they themselves were both born in Jerusalem, it is doubtful that their characters are similar. Actually, Tamara’s views are not contingent on her parents’, and she does as she pleases. In any case, I have presented her parents’ view.

And then there is Sarah. For the time being, she is little and hasn’t arrived at the age of worry, but she is ever so clever. She has never been to nursery school and hasn’t heard a teacher’s voice, but she gains knowledge constantly. From what source? Father Manfred doesn’t teach her, because he is occupied with his students, and Tamara doesn’t teach her, because of her concerns. Henrietta, who would like to teach her, is hampered by the discomforts of pregnancy. So, from whom does she learn? She learns from everyone she sees and from everything she sees, even from the cat, the dog, and the chickens; most of all, from Firadeus, whose knowledge is very limited. Firadeus can’t even read the prayerbook, but she knows things not everyone knows, such as why the moon and stars give light by night while the sun gives light by day: because the night was made for sleep, for which the moon and stars provide sufficient light. This is not the case by day, when workers need abundant light, which is why the sun shines all day, giving abundant light. Similarly, on Yom Kippur night, when a lot of light is needed for prayers, many candles are lit in the synagogue. And why did the sea choose to locate itself in Tel Aviv rather than Jerusalem? Because Jerusalem is high up, and the sea prefers not to undertake the climb. And why are there wild animals in the world? So wicked people, when they see us running away from wild animals because of their wickedness, will realize it’s not good to be wicked. Sarah learns many other things from Firadeus. Since she loves Firadeus, she loves her teachings as well.

Now for Henrietta herself. Henrietta is at peace with herself and with her unborn baby. He is at rest in her womb, not troubling her at all. Not that she is absolved from all the troubles of pregnancy, but, since she tolerates these troubles well, it’s as if she were untroubled. When she has no household chores to do, she sits watching Sarah play with an insect, the lid of a jam jar, a toothpaste tube, singing to herself and not bothering anyone. At such a time, Henrietta says to herself: I was mistaken to avoid getting pregnant all those years.

Henrietta and Manfred are at dinner. The table is set; the salad provides a riot of color; the bread, made of sprouted wheat, is nutritious and tasty, as are all the other dishes. Henrietta didn’t cook artichokes, as she had planned, but she made several other dishes Manfred was fond of, which he would eat and enjoy. They are having dinner in the dining room, not outside, because of Henrietta’s fatigue, which prevented her from setting the table in the yard and dragging out whatever might be needed for dinner. Henrietta and Manfred are in the dining room, enjoying the bounty of their table.

The windows to the garden are open. A pleasant scent wafts in from the bushes and flowers Manfred has watered. An oil lamp lights the table without producing soot. Why do I mention the oil lamp? Because there are people in Jerusalem who assume that, without electricity, there is no light. I mention the oil lamp for this reason. Although it is one of the old ones, it gives light that is modest and discreet, light that may even be more pleasant than electric light, so long as it doesn’t produce soot. All of a sudden, they hear a bird call. What is this call? It is the call of a bird returning to its nest and finding it changed. Or is it the bird himself who is the source of change, and is he apologizing to his mate for being so late? What do we know? All we can do is speculate, and we have offered two speculations as one.

Henrietta got up and brought two bottles of tomato juice she had chilled — not on ice, though she has an icebox — but by hanging them from a rope attached to a pole placed over the water tank, which is what she is in the habit of doing with watermelons and other foods that are at their best when chilled. Some women are in despair if their ice isn’t delivered every day in the summer; some women feel that the world is about to end if their refrigerator breaks down. I therefore applaud Henrietta Herbst, who never loses her equilibrium. Along with the juice, Henrietta brought a pie filled with potatoes, squash, and eggs, and topped with sour cream. The Arabs are scheming to starve us, blocking the roads to prevent their women from bringing us poultry, eggs, fruit, and vegetables. As it turns out, they don’t know what to do with their poultry and eggs now, and we, because we are no longer supplied with Arab food, raise our own chickens, who lay eggs that are now on our tables. Arab shepherds send their sheep into the gardens in our towns to demolish the fruit and vegetables, but our rural communities make up for the loss, providing the produce that adorns our tables. I don’t mean to celebrate the kvutzot and moshavim , but merely to commend Henrietta Herbst, whose table is not wanting, whose meals are no less ample since the women from Bethlehem and Kfar Hashiloah stopped bringing in their eggs and produce. The eggs aren’t visible, because they are mixed into the potato pie I described, but anyone can see the vegetables and fruits. What is more, they are superior to those from Kfar Hashiloah, which are irrigated with sewage water from all over Jerusalem, whereas our settlements rely on the generosity of the good Lord, who seems personally to provide rain and dew for watering. Even when we don’t do His bidding, so that He causes the skies to withhold, His mercy is not depleted, nor is the water in the wells and cisterns depleted. We turn on the sprinklers, and they make the waters rain down. Rabbi Samuel Mohilever, of blessed memory, was asked the following question: A young Jew, a student at the university or perhaps at the Technion, invented a device that produces rain. Is he required to publicize his invention to advance humanity, or does he have the right to hide his secret in the interest of settling the Land of Israel, first buying land and installing Jews there? For, if the nations of the world were to discover that even such arid earth as ours could be reclaimed with the help of this device, they would refuse to sell us a single handful of soil. I don’t know how that wise man responded, nor do I know if the inventor disclosed his invention or how that device was constructed. In any case, as we see with our own eyes, as soon as Jews began returning to their land, subject as it is to drought and barely responsive to being worked, God was compassionate and imbued His sons with the wisdom to devise sprinklers that water the earth and soak it thoroughly, as needed.

Summer evenings in Jerusalem are delightful; summer dinners are delightful too. One eats, enjoys, is satisfied. To whom does this apply? To a man with a wife such as Henrietta, who is attuned to her husband’s wishes. If only Manfred were as attuned to his wife’s wishes. I must nonetheless state that he didn’t upset his wife, nor did he reveal his innermost thoughts to her. Which was both good and not good. It was good for Henrietta not to know; it was not good for Manfred to withhold his innermost thoughts. They began to press on his heart, with a force that was intense and unrelenting.