This does not prove that I had it in mind to return immediately, for I had not yet found anyone to whom I could hand over the key, but I thought it was worth knowing how much money I had, as Father, of blessed memory, used to do when he would count his money before going to sleep. Not like my grandfather, may he rest in peace, who never counted his money in his life, because the sages said: “There is no blessing except in what is hidden from the eye.” So, if a poor man approached him, he would put his hand in his pocket and give. At first he would look at the money he had brought up, to see how much that poor man was worth to the Holy One, blessed be He; when he grew older he did not look, but put his hand in his pocket and gave. He used to say, “What have you to do with the secrets of the Merciful One?” In some respects a man is like his mother’s father; in others like his own father. I am like my mother’s father in that I do not look how much I give, but my grandfather did not look out of respect for the secrets of the Holy One, blessed be He, and I, out of laziness, for I am too lazy to look at money. I am like my father in that I sat down to count my money, but my father was a skilled calculator, while I am not good at calculations, and I have forgotten even the arithmetic I learned when I was a child.
How did I come to have money? If I have not told this before, I shall tell it now. When my house was destroyed the last time, and the Arabs looted my belongings, the authorities compensated me with money, but this scant sum was not enough to rebuild the house as before and buy new furniture. Besides, my wife was exhausted by our misfortunes, and she could not look after the household. So she and our children went to her relatives in Germany and I went to the town of my birth to bow down at the graves of my fathers; it was many years since I had been there, for so long as I lived in peace I found it difficult to go abroad. Since my wife and children were living with relatives, she had no need of money, so I took for my own needs all the money the authorities had given me.
It was not much money the authorities gave us, but money that comes from the Land of Israel has a special quality: what is a copper in the Land is a pound abroad, for the Land has the quality of magnanimity, and there a pound counts as a copper, while in the lands of the Gentiles, which are regarded as petty, every copper counts as a pound. This man, who had come from the Land of Israel, was therefore able to maintain himself, although he treated his money after the way of the Land of Israel, namely, with magnanimity.
I have already said above that I am not good at calculations, but I saw that I had not much money left. And so that I should not enter the Sabbath ill at ease, I stopped counting my money and left it lying until after the Sabbath.
Chapter five and sixty. Sicknesses of the Body
So long as my coat was hanging in the closet, the book The Hands of Moses was not to be seen; when the coat was taken away, the book was revealed.
There lay the book, and I did not know what to do with it, but I knew that it had no power, for it was not the manuscript of the saintly author, but of his amanuensis Elyakim, who was called Getz. I do not say that it was an accident that women were saved by it, but no doubt there was some other reason unknown to me. I have learned from experience that there is no accident in the world, since all events are caused by the Almighty, but men have invented this word so that we should not have to give praise and thanks to the Cause of all causes.
I picked up the book and looked at it. How comely is this writing; how comely are these letters. This is how our forefathers used to write when they wrote words of Torah, for they loved the Torah and trained their script in copying it. If most of my years had not passed, I too would train my hand according to these letters, for my script has been spoiled over many years, because I wrote in haste and was not careful with the letters. When Father, of blessed memory, started to teach me to write, he dictated to me a verse from the Torah, and then a verse from the Prophets, because there is no verse in the Torah that contains the whole alphabet including the final letters. When I knew how to write all the letters, I wrote verses from the Psalms starting with the letters of my name, such as: “Sing unto the Lord, bless His Name…,” “And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water…,” “My defense is of the Lord, which saveth the upright of heart…,” “Unto Thee, O Lord, do I lift up my soul…,” “Examine me, O Lord, and prove me…,” and “Lead me, O Lord, in Thy righteousness.” When my hand became stronger, I wrote verses that I made up myself. And still it was good, for I composed prayers and supplications, and stuck them into my prayer book to repeat after the prayers. When my hand grew more powerful, I wrote songs and poems, and it was still good, for all the songs and poems I made were made in honor of Jerusalem. When my hand became still stronger I made other songs, about a different kind of love. And when a man’s heart is overflowing with trivial matters he writes in haste and is not careful about his writing. Had not most of my years now passed I should look into the book and improve my handwriting.
Most of this man’s years have already passed, and if it is a question of improvement he has things that need improving more. It occurred to me to use the book to improve my children’s script. I thought I would pluck out a page to send them as an example. But every generation writes its own way, and how could I impose upon them the script of bygone generations? As far as I am concerned, I think the writing of the past more beautiful. But not all that seems beautiful to me seems beautiful to others.
Time is divided into several times; into past and future and present. As far as I am concerned, all times are the same to me. What was fitting in the past is fitting in the present and fitting for the future, but in this my friends disagree with me: they say that what was fitting in the past is a burden in the present and even more in the future.
Let us leave the subject of handwriting.
The sunny days are in full force and I am shivering with cold. My blood is cold and my body chilled; if I had not given my coat to someone else I would wrap myself in it.
I sit outside, in front of the hotel, and look up. The sun is hidden among the clouds and does not look at me, because it is concerned with its travels, for it has already started to journey toward the Land of Israel.
My spirits are low. When a man comes and talks to me I bow to him, as if he were doing me a favor. And when I speak, my voice is weak. I ask myself: Did he notice that my voice was weak? And since I am engrossed in that question, I do not hear what he is saying; I become confused, and my spirits get lower still. So I wait for night, when I can go into my room and lock it against everyone.
Even on the day I came back from the village I was aware that all was not well with my body, but I paid no attention to it, until my body took me by force and shook my bones.
So again I sit all by myself and meditate, like a man who has nothing in his world but himself and his sufferings. Who was the cause of the sufferings that have befallen me? Much was due to the bad food, much to food at the wrong time, and much to hunger; finally, all the causes combined into one cause, and there befell me what befell.
I went into the pharmacy and bought drugs that people take to heal themselves of fever. When I took a pinch of quinine, I felt a pain in my heart. This heart, which I thought was strong as a rock, has suddenly become weak as wax, and in its weakness a heavy stone lies upon it and presses it down. Every day, as soon as the stars come out, I get into bed, cover myself up, and close my eyes to sleep. Before I doze off and fall asleep, a sigh is wrenched out of my heart: what a pity for that man, who has lain down and will not get up.