Although time is long, it has a limit. When you sit alone by yourself you imagine that time stands still, for between five before the hour and five past the hour you have thought enough to fill a whole universe; when a man accosts you, time jumps and passes by. It happened once that I left the hotel to go to the Beit Midrash and was accosted by Daniel Bach. In no time at all half a day had passed. First I asked how he was, then I asked after his father; and then he asked how I was. In the meantime half a day was gone and the time had come for lunch. So I returned to my hotel as if the key of the old Beit Midrash were of no use at all.
Chapter seven. A Parable and Its Meaning
At first I thought that all the disabilities must have come from the war, but Daniel Bach told me that some came from earning a living, as in his case. So long as he was in the line of battle he was sound of limb; when he took up the burden of earning a living he lost his leg.
This is how it happened. After the war he went back to his town, and found his home in ruins, his sawmill a heap of rubble, and his wife and daughters sitting on the rubble lamenting and wishing they had never come back. For when the sword of war rested, the people mistakenly thought the days of the Messiah had come, so Daniel Bach’s wife took her daughters and went back to her own town. But they did not know that the Messiah was still dressing his wounds; the world had not yet returned to health, and there was no difference between one place and another except for the tribulations specific to that place. Today Daniel Bach has only one daughter and a sick child that was born after the war. But on the day he came back from the war he had three daughters, one of whom died immediately after his return and another at the beginning of the influenza epidemic; there had also been a son who was buried on the roadside by his mother when she fled before the approaching Russian armies.
So his wife and his daughters sat on the rubble, half-naked, barefoot, and hungry; the town was in ruins and most of the houses were burned down; all trade and barter was at a standstill; his father was wandering at the other end of the country, and they had no idea where he was, until he came back naked, barefoot, and hungry like everyone else. Daniel Bach was even hungrier than everyone else. So long as he had been in the army, the Emperor had provided him with food, and when there was not enough to satisfy, the terror of war had mitigated his hunger; but here a man had nothing else but his hunger. He was hungry when he rose in the morning and hungry when he went to bed; hungry in the daytime and hungry at night; hungry awake and hungry in dreams. Then the charity officials came to the town, gave bread to the hungry, and helped those who wanted to start in trade. He too managed to set up a business, not like the one he had before the war, but a small soap business. Soap was a commodity much in demand after the war, because everyone felt soiled and wanted to cleanse himself. Even the peasants who had never seen soap in their lives came to buy soap. Daniel Bach’s business prospered and he earned a very good living. Once, however, he said to himself: Esau wants to wash his hands of the blood he has shed during the war. Shall I make a profit out of it? So he lowered the price. Once he had lowered the price his profits disappeared. Before very long his stocks were gone and he had no money to buy more. So hunger came back to plague him and his household more than at the beginning, for they had already become used to eating, and now they had nothing to eat. At that time our people were struck by the first pogroms. The charity officials came and gave money to the victims. With the money Daniel Bach went and bought saccharin, which had become a good business in those days, for as a result of the war many had fallen sick with diabetes and sweetened their food and drink with saccharin. But the trader had to be careful not to be caught with his goods; saccharin was a state monopoly and the government was on the lookout to prevent any harm to its own revenue. Anyone who had a head on his shoulders was careful, but the head is far from the feet, especially in the case of Daniel Bach, who is a tall man, and by the time his feet managed to hear what his head was thinking, the deed was already done. Once he jumped onto a train and his right foot got stuck in the wheels; the train moved off, dragging the foot with it, and cast it out far from the station. By rights, he should have been paid for damages, distress, harm, disuse, and injury, according to law, but they did not pay, and moreover they fined him six hundred zlotys because they found grains of saccharin in the sock on his foot. And now how does he make a living and earn his food? He has a stock of wood in his house for building and heating, and his wife is a midwife. For the time being no one is building a new house and no one lights his stove, but when the babies his wife brings into the world grow up they will build new houses and light their stoves, so that he will find income flying in from all sides. But the trouble is that, since they came back from the war, many Jews have become ascetics, and will neither marry nor beget children, and were it not for the uncircumcised the seed of our father Adam would have died out. And the daughters of the uncircumcised do not resort to our midwives except in times of danger.
Wherever you cast your eyes you find either suffering or poverty. But there is one place in the town where you find no suffering. This is the old Beit Midrash, the key of which is in my possession. Ever since I noticed this, I have doubled my stay there. If I was accustomed to sit there in the morning, I now sit there in the afternoon too. Sometimes I sit and study, and sometimes I stand by the window and look out at the facing hill.
Once, the whole of that hill was settled. Porters and craftsmen used to live there, and they had a fine Beit Midrash, which the dwellers on the hill built with their own hands by moonlight, since in the day they were busy with their trades in the town. And they had a regular teacher who used to teach them the scriptural portion of the week and the Sayings of the Fathers. When the war came, the young men fell by the sword and died; the old men died of hunger; and their widows and children were killed in the pogroms. So the community was uprooted; not one stone of their Beit Midrash was left standing on another; and the hill was desolate, and could no longer enlarge the mind. Not so with books. The more you look into them, the more your mind is enlarged and your heart gladdened.
I do not study to enlarge my mind or to become wise and know the works of the Lord. I am like a man who walks by the wayside — the sun beats on his head, the stones bruise his feet, the dust blinds his eyes, and all his body is weary. Then he sees a booth and enters — and the sun no longer beats on his head, nor do the stones bruise his feet or the dust blind his eyes. As he is weary, he wishes to rest, and pays no attention to anything. After he has recovered, he notices the booth and its furnishings. And if he is not ungrateful he gives praise and thanks to Him who made a booth for him and prepared everything in it to supply his needs.
I am that man, and that booth is our old Beit Midrash. I had been walking in the sun among the stones and dust, when suddenly I found myself sitting in the Beit Midrash. And since I am not ungrateful, I give praise and thanks to the Almighty and look upon His furnishings, namely the books that are in the Beit Midrash.