Two Scholars Who Were in Our Town and Other Novellas (35 page)

Again I must say that I have no intention of recounting all that happened to me in those days. A man does many things, and if he were to describe them all he would never make an end to his story. Yet all that relates to that old woman deserves to be told.

At the
eve of the New Moon I walked to the Western Wall, as we in Jerusalem are accustomed to do, praying at the Western Wall at the rising of each moon.

Already most of the winter had passed, and spring blossoms had begun to appear. Up above, the heavens were pure, and the earth had put off her grief. The sun smiled in the sky; the City shone in its light. And we too rejoiced, despite the troubles that beset us; for these troubles were many and evil, and before we had reckoned with one, yet another came in its wake.

From Jaffa Gate at far as the Western Wall, men and woman from all the communities of Jerusalem moved in a steady stream, together with those newcomers whom
The Place had restored to their place, albeit their place had not yet been found. But in the open space before the Wall, at the guard booth of the Mandatory Police, sat the police of the
Mandate, whose function was to see that no one guarded the worshippers save only they. Our adversaries, wishing to provoke us, perceived this and set about their provocations. Those who had come to pray were herded together and driven to seek shelter close up against the stones of the Wall, some weeping and some as if dazed. And still we say, How long, O Lord? How long? For we have trodden the lowest stair of degradation, yet You tarry to redeem us.

I found a place for myself at the Wall, standing at times amongst the worshippers, at times amongst the bewildered bystanders. I was amazed at the peoples of the world: as if it were not sufficient that they oppressed us in all their lands, yet they must also oppress us in our home.

As I stood there I was driven from my place by one of the British police who carried a baton. This man was in a great rage, on account of some ailing old woman who had brought a stool with her to the Wall. The policeman jumped to it and gave a kick, throwing the woman to the ground, and confiscated the stool: for she had infringed the law enacted by the legislators of the Mandate, which forbade worshippers to bring seats to the Wall. And those who had come to pray saw this, yet held their peace: for how can right dispute against might? Then came forward that same old woman whom I knew, and looked the policeman straight in the eyes. And the policeman averted his glance, and returned the stool to its owner.

I went up to her and said: Your eyes have more effect than all the pledges of England. For England, who gave us the
Balfour Declaration, sends her officers to annul it; while you only looked upon that wicked one, and frustrated his evil intent.

She replied: Do not speak of him so; for he is a good
goy
, who saw that I was grieved and gave back her stool to that poor woman. But have you said your afternoon prayer? I ask because, if you are free, I can put in your way the
mitzva
of visiting the sick. The
rabbanit
is now really and truly ill. If you wish, come with me and I shall take you by a short route.—I joined her and we went together.

From alley to alley, from courtyard to courtyard, we made our way down, and at each step she took she would pause to give a sweet to a child, or a coin to a beggar, or to ask the health of a man’s wife, or if it were a woman, the health of her husband. I said, Since you are concerned with everyone’s welfare, let me ask about yours.

She answered: Blessed be God, for I lack nothing at His hand. The Holy One has given to each of His creatures according to its need; and I too am one of these. But today I have special cause for thanking Him, for He has doubled my portion.

How is this? I asked.

She replied: Each day I read the
psalms appointed for the day: but today I read the psalms for two days together.

Even as she spoke, her face clouded over with grief.

Your joy has passed away, I said.

She was silent for a moment. Then she said: Yes, my son, I was joyful, and now it is not so.

Yet even as she spoke, the light shone out again from her face. She raised her eyes and said: Blessed be He, Who has turned away my sorrow.

Why, I asked, were you joyful, yet afterwards sad, and now, joyful again?

She said, very gently: Since your words are not chosen with care, I must tell you, this was not the right way to ask. Rather should you have said, “How have you deserved that God should turn away your sorrow?” For in His blessed eyes, all is one, whether sorrow or joy.

Perhaps in the future, said I, my words will be chosen with care, since you teach me how one must speak. “Happy is the man who does not forget Thee.” It is a text of much meaning.

She said: You are a good man, and it is a good verse you have told me; so I too shall not withhold good words. You asked why I was joyful, and why I was sad, and why I now rejoice.

Assuredly you know as I do, that all a man’s deeds are appointed, from the hour of his birth to the hour of his death; and accordingly, the number of times he shall say his psalms. But the choice is free how many psalms he will say on any one day. This man may complete the whole book in a day, and that man may say one section a day, or the psalms for each day according to the day. I have made it my custom to say each day the psalms for that day; but this morning I went on and said the psalms for two days together. When I became aware of this I was sad, lest it mean that there was no more need for me in the world, and that I was disposed of and made to finish my portion in haste. For “it is a
good thing to give thanks to the Lord,” and when I am dead I shall not be able to say one psalm, or even one word. Then the Holy One saw my grief, and showed His marvelous kindness by allowing me to know that such is His very own will. If it pleases The Name to take my life, who am I that I should grieve? Thus He at once turned away my sorrow. Blessed be He and blessed be His name.

I glanced at her, wondering to myself by what path one might come to a like submission. I thought of the men of ancient times, and their virtuous ways; I spoke to her of past generations. Then I said, You have seen with your own eyes more than I can describe in words.

She answered: When a person’s life is prolonged for many days and years, it is granted him to see many things; good things, and yet better things.

Tell me, I said to her, of these same good things.

She was silent for a little while; then she said: How shall I begin? Let me start with my childhood. When I was a little girl, I was a great chatterbox. Really, from the time I stood up in the morning till the time I lay down at night, chatter never ceased from my lips. There was an old man in our neighborhood, who said to those delighting in my chatter: “A pity it is for this little girl; if she wastes all her words in childhood, what will be left for her old age?” I became terribly frightened, thinking this meant that I might die the very next day. But in time I came to fathom the old man’s meaning, which was that a person must not use up in a short while what is allotted him for a whole lifetime. I made a habit of testing each word to see if there was real need for it to be said, and practiced a strict economy of speech. As a result of this economy, I saved up a great store of words, and my life has been prolonged until they are all finished. Now that only a few words remain, you ask me to speak them. If I do so it will hasten my end.

Upon such terms, said I, I would certainly not ask you to speak. But how is it that we keep walking and walking, yet we have still not come to the house of the
rabbanit?

She said: You still have in mind those courtyards we used to take for a short cut. But now that most of the City has been settled by the Arabs, we must go by a roundabout way.

We approached one of these courtyards. She said: Do you see this courtyard? Forty families of Israel once lived here, and here were two synagogues, and here in the daytime and night-time there was study and prayer. But they left this place, and Arabs came and occupied it.

We approached a coffee house. She said: Do you see this house? Here was a great
yeshiva
where the scholars of the Torah lived and studied. But they left this house, and Arabs came and occupied it.

We came to the asses’ stalls. She said: Do you see these stalls? Here stood a soup-kitchen, and the deserving poor would enter hungry and go forth satisfied. But they abandoned this place, and Arabs came and occupied it. Houses from which prayer and charity and study of the Torah never ceased now belong to the Arabs and their asses. My son, we have reached the courtyard of the
rabbanit’s
house. Go in, and I shall follow you later. This unhappy woman, because of the seeming good she has known abroad, does not see the true good at home.

What is the true good? I asked.

She laughed, saying, Ah my son, you should not need to ask. Have you not read the verse, “
Happy is he Thou choosest and bringest near to dwell in Thy courts?” For the same courts are the royal courts of the Holy One, the courts of our God, in the midst of Jerusalem. When men say “Jerusalem,” their way is to add the words, “ – the Holy City.” But when
I
say “Jerusalem,” I add nothing more, since the holiness is contained in the name; yes, in the very name itself. Go up, my son, and do not trip on the stairs. Many a time have I said to the treasurer of the community funds that these stairs are in need of repair; and what answer did he give me? That this building is old and due to be demolished, therefore it is not worth while spending a penny on its upkeep. So the houses of Israel fall into disuse until they are abandoned, and the sons of
Ishmael enter and take possession. Houses that were built with the tears of their fathers—and now they abandon them. But again I have become a chatterer, and hasten my end.

I entered, and found the
rabbanit
lying in bed. Her head was bandaged and a poultice had been laid upon her throat. She coughed loudly, so that even the medicine bottles placed by her bedside would shake at each cough. I said to her:
Rabbanit
, are you ill?—She sighed and her eyes filled with tears. I sought for words of comfort, but the words would not come. All I could say, with my eyes downcast, was: So you are ill and deserted.

She sighed again and replied: Yes, I am ill as ill can be. In the whole world there is no one so ill as I am. All the same, I am not deserted. Even here in Jerusalem, where nobody knows me, and nobody knows the honors done to me in my own town, even here there is one woman who waits on me, who comes to my room and fetches a drop of soup for my bedridden meal. What do you hear from my grandson? No doubt he is angry with me, because I have not written to thank him for the stove. Now I ask you, how shall I go out to buy ink and pen and paper for the writing of letters? It is hard enough even to bring a spoonful of soup to my lips. I am surprised that Tilli has not come.

If you are speaking, said I, of that gracious old woman who brought me here, she told me that she would come very soon.

Said the
rabbanit
, I cannot tell whether she is gracious: at least she is efficacious. Look you, how many holy, holy women there are about Jerusalem, who go buzzing like bees with their incantations and supplications, yet not one of them has come to me and said, “
Rabbanit
, do you need any help?”—My head, oh my head. If the pains in my heart won’t take me off, the pains in my head will take me off first.

I said to her, I can see that speech is difficult for you.

She answered:
You
say that speech is difficult for me; and
I
say that my whole existence is difficult for me. Even the cat knows this, and keeps away from his home. Yet people say that cats are home-loving creatures. He finds my neighbors’ mice more tasty, to be sure, than all the dainties I feed him. What was I meaning to say? I forget all I mean to say. Now Tilli is so different. There she goes, with the bundles of years heaped up on her shoulders, bundle on bundle; yet all her wits serve her, although she must be twice my age. If my father—God bless his pious memory—were alive today, he would be thought of as a child beside her.

I urged the
rabbanit
to tell me about this Tilli.

And did you not mention her yourself? Nowadays people don’t know Tilli; but there was a time when everyone did, for then she was a great, rich woman with all kinds of business concerns. And when she gave up all these and came to Jerusalem, she brought along with her I can’t say how many barrels of gold, or if not barrels, there is no doubt that she brought a chest full of gold. My neighbors remember their mothers telling them, how, when Tilli came to Jerusalem, all the best people here came a-courting, either for themselves or for their sons. But she sent them packing and stayed a widow. At first she was a very wealthy widow, and then quite a well-to-do widow, until at last she became just any old woman.

Judging from Tilli’s appearance, said I, one would think that she had never seen hard times in her life.

The
rabbanit
replied with scorn:
You
say that she has never seen hard times in her life: and
I
say that she has never seen good times in her life. There is no enemy of mine whom I would “bless” with the afflictions that Tilli has borne.
You
suppose that, because she is not reduced to living off the public funds, she has enjoyed a happy life: and I believe that there is not a beggar knocking on the doors who would exchange his sorrows for hers.—Oh, my aches and my pains! I try to forget them, but they will not forget me.

I perceived that the
rabbanit
knew more than she cared to disclose. Since I felt that no good would come of further questioning, I showed myself ready to leave by rising from my chair.

Said the
rabbanit: “
The sweep hadn’t stepped into the chimney, but his face was already black.” You have scarcely sat down in your chair, and already you are up and away. Why all this haste?