5. The righteous from paradise come to the author’s aid
Once somebody came to ask me a favor. In the course of the conversation he revealed to me that he was a descendant of Rabbi Jacob of Lissa. I put aside all my other concerns and did him great honor. I took the trouble to offer him some honey cake and a glass of whiskey. I fulfilled his request gladly, out of respect for his learned ancestor whose Torah we study and out of whose prayer book we pray.
After I’d accompanied him on his way, I ran into a certain scholar who was carrying a book under his arm. I asked him, “What’s that you’ve got there? Isn’t that the prayer book of the Sage of Lissa?” He smiled and said to me, “Sometimes you get so clever that you forget a simple custom of prayer and you have to look it up in a prayer book.” I said to him, “It shows a special quality of that true sage, one who had already written novellae and commentaries known for both sharp insight and breadth of learning, that he would take the trouble to briefly lay out the laws of prayer and other matters in such an accessible way. His is a book that anyone can use to find the law and its sources, written right there with the prayers themselves. Our holy rabbis have left us lots of prayer books, filled with directions and commentaries both hidden and revealed, with matters grammatical or sagacious, with permutations of letters, secrets, and allegories, all to arouse the hearts of worshippers as they enter the King’s palace. But if not for my respect for our early teachers, I would say that the prayer book of the Sage of Lissa is better than them all. In many of those prayer books the light is so bright that most people can’t use them, while this one appeals to any eye.”
While I was talking, my own heart was aroused and I started to tell of some things that happened to that sage whose teachings had spread throughout the scattered communities of Jews, who in turn followed his rulings. I told of some of his good qualities, things I had heard from reliable sources and had found in books.
Finally we parted from one another, he with his prayer book and I with my thoughts. I went home and lay down on my bed to sleep a sweet sleep. Since I had done a Jew a favor and had gone to bed after telling tales of the righteous, my sleep was a good one.
I heard someone trying to awaken me. I was feeling lazy and I didn’t get up. On the second try I awoke, and I saw an old man standing before me. The prayer book Way of Life lay open in his hand; his eyes shone and his face bore a special radiance. Even though I had never seen a picture of Rabbi Jacob of Lissa, I recognized him right off. It wasn’t that he looked like any of the members of his family. The great among Israel just don’t look like their relatives, because their Torah gives their faces a special glow.
When a person darkens his face over study of Torah, the blessed Holy One gives him that radiant glow and makes his face shine.
While I was still staring, the prayer book closed, the old man disappeared, and I realized it had been a dream. But even though I knew that, I said: There must be something to this. I washed my hands, got out of bed, and walked over to the bookcase. I picked up the prayer book Way of Life. In it I noticed a slip of paper serving as some sort of marker. I opened up to that place and there I read: “One uses lots of flowers that smell sweet to make the holiday joyous.” It seemed that I had once been reading that page and had put the slip of paper there as a marker.
I thought to myself: He wouldn’t have used such language on his own, without some authority in Torah. In any case, I took the prayer book Pillars of Heaven, by his uncle the sage Javetz, of blessed memory, and there I found the same expression. I was glad that I hadn’t failed in my words and had done no harm to our holy tongue. If these two great pillars of the universe wrote this way, it must indeed be proper. The grammarian who had shot off his mouth at me would one day have to pay his due.
6. Reciting psalms
How Rashi, of blessed memory, interprets for the author a verse from the Psalms and lights up his spirit
It was hardly worth going back to bed, since most of the night had passed, but it wasn’t yet time for morning prayers. I got up and took a Book of Psalms. Reciting psalms is good anytime, but especially early in the morning when the soul is still pure and the lips are not yet defiled by wicked chatter. I sat and read a few psalms; some I understood on my own, and the rest were explained to me by Rashi, of blessed memory, until I’d completed the first book of the Psalter. My soul still wanted to say more. I did its bidding and read psalm after psalm, until I got to the Psalm for the Chief Musician upon Lilies. This is a song in praise of the sages’ disciples, those who are soft as lilies and pleasant as lilies, so that they come to love their learning.
That was a beautiful hour of psalm-saying. The lamp on the table was lit, crowning with light every word, every letter, every vowel point, every musical notation. Opposite it there was a window open, facing the south. Outside, the predawn breezes blew, but they didn’t put out the lamp or even challenge its wick. The breezes danced about the trees and shrubs in the garden, and there wafted in a sweet fragrance of laurel and dew, smelling something like wild honey or perfume.
The light from the lamp had begun to pale. It seems that the night was over. It may be that God hangs up the sun in the sky at that hour for the sake of those simple folk who don’t know the whole morning prayer by heart but who recite it out of the prayer book.
A sound was heard from the treetops, the voice of a bird reciting her song. Such a voice could interrupt a person’s studies. But I didn’t get up from my book to listen to the bird’s voice, even though it was both sweet to the ear and attractive to the heart. I said: Here I am reciting the Psalms. Should I interrupt these to listen to the talk of birds?
Soon another voice was to be heard, even more attractive than the first. One bird had gotten jealous of another and had decided to outdo her in song. Or maybe she wasn’t jealous and hadn’t even noticed the other. She was aroused on her own to sing before her Creator, and her voice was just sweeter than the other bird’s. In the end they made peace with one another, and each bird seemed to complement the other one’s melodies. They sang new songs, the likes of which no ear had ever heard. Melodies and voices like these certainly could keep a man from studying, but I made as though I didn’t hear. There is nothing especially wondrous or praiseworthy about this, because the psalm played itself like an instrument of many strings. A Song of Love, next to which all other songs are as nothing. I followed after its every word with melody.