Thus I stood for some time, until I remembered that the day was passing and the time had come to go to the station. I wiped the lock with my coat and went away.
It is half an hour’s walk from the Beit Midrash to the railway station, but I took less. I did not look at the houses and the ruins as on the eve of the Day of Atonement, when I had come to the town, but I opened my nostrils wide and breathed in the odor of the town — that odor of millet boiled in honey.
At the station I found Yeruham and Kuba standing with my belongings. Kuba had been kind enough to undertake to bring my chattels from his house, so that I should be free for myself.
Besides Yeruham and Kuba there were a number of Jews there, some in Sabbath clothes and some with the skirts of their coats let down as a sign of respect and importance. Since they were standing there without sacks or any other equipment for a journey, I wondered somewhat why they had suddenly come here, but I was so busy with my own journey that I asked no questions.
Meanwhile, Daniel Bach came to take his leave of me. Indeed I had already taken my leave of him and his family an hour before, but he came on behalf of his son Raphael, for Raphael wanted his father to see that man who was going up to the Land of Israel immediately before he left the town. I thanked Mr. Bach for having been my guide in the town and promised that if God privileged me to reach Jerusalem safely, I would go and see his father, and also — for those who are alive here are different from those who live in the after-world — the grave of Yeruham his brother. Daniel sighed and said, “This is the anniversary of my brother’s death.” I gazed at Daniel Bach, who was standing on his artificial leg, which he owed to his ignominious trade in this exile. I recalled all the troubles that had overtaken him and, with them, his brother who had been killed guarding the Land. Now the father of both brothers was living in Jerusalem, where he prayed for the repose of the soul of the son who had been killed and no doubt also remembered the son who lived. Surely it would have been fitting for Daniel Bach to go to the synagogue and recite the Kaddish.
Meanwhile several other people came. Some of them I knew and some I did not, or knew them only by sight. Szibucz is not a large town and its inhabitants are not numerous, but still there were people there to whom I had not happened to talk. “What is special about today?” I asked Daniel Bach. “They have come out of respect for you, sir,” he replied.
I remembered my entry into the town, unnoticed, while now I was leaving with much ceremony. I spoke up and said, “Listen, gentlemen, I know that it is not in my honor that you have come here, but to give honor to the Land of Israel, because this man is going up to the Land. May it be His will that you, too, will soon be privileged to go up to the Land. And do you know who will accompany you? Good angels, who stand and wait for you, will accompany you, for since the day the Holy Temple was destroyed and Israel was dispersed among the nations, the angels have been dispersed with them, and they stand and wait for the men of Israel, so that they, too, may return. And do you know who will bring you there? All the kings and princes of the earth; and, moreover, they will bring you on their shoulders as a gift to the King Messiah, as it is said: ‘Behold, I will lift up mine hand to the Gentiles, and set up my standard to the peoples; and they shall bring thy sons in their arms, and thy daughters shall be carried upon their shoulders. And kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and their queens thy nursing mothers; they shall bow down to thee with their faces toward the earth and lick up the dust of thy feet.’ And until we are privileged to see the longed-for day, may the Almighty grant you the blessing of life eternal, and may the Redeemer come to Zion speedily in our day. Amen!”
Before I came forward and spoke, Reuben and Simon, Levi and Judah, and all the rest had started to recite the Afternoon Service as a congregation, and as I finished speaking they finished their prayer. A voice was heard reciting the Kaddish, and I saw Daniel Bach standing, leaning on his stick, his voice quivering, for it was the anniversary of his brother’s death and his heart had been aroused to recite the Kaddish. And all the congregation answered after him, “Amen.”
The sound of the train was heard coming nearer and nearer, puffing and blowing and whistling, till it stopped at the station. Rubberovitch waved his cloth and cried in his tuneful voice, “Szibucz.”
With the train came a number of Gentiles and one Jew, who looked like Elimelech Kaiser, and perhaps it was really he, but he was very old and bent. Even his mother Freide, peace be upon her, looked younger than he at the end of her days.
All the people pushed forward, shook my hand, and took their leave of me with love and brotherhood and friendship. I kissed my comrade Yeruham, and Kuba, got into the carriage and stood at the window, my head facing the people and my eyes looking into my own heart. Again Rubberovitch waved the cloth in his hand to dispatch the train. I looked at my brethren, the sons of my town, as they stood crowded there looking at me. The train stirred and moved, but they did not move. I said to myself: If they are granted the privilege of coming up to the Land of Israel, we shall see one another again.
Chapter eight and seventy. On the Sea
After two days I reached the port of Trieste and found my wife and children, who had arranged to come on the same day so that we should embark together on the same ship and go up together to the Land of Israel. I kissed them and said, “Blessed be the Almighty, blessed be He, who has brought us as far as here.” “Well,” replied my wife, “so we are going back to the Land of Israel.” I nodded but said nothing, for my throat was choked with emotion, like a man who sees that all his hopes are coming true.
The air was pleasant, the sea was calm, and the ship moved gently. With our own eyes we saw the Land of Israel drawing steadily nearer and ourselves approaching the Land. No tongue or pen could describe our joy. The ship was full of Jews, old and young, men and women. Some were returning from the Zionist Congress and some from conferences; some from bathing resorts and some from healing spas; some from East and West and some from North and South; some from traveling in various countries and some from going around the world; some from a holiday trip and some from a pleasure trip; some from an ordinary journey and some from a journey that was ordinary; some were returning to renew their travel documents and some to start traveling again. Some of them spoke Russian or Polish, Hungarian or Rumanian, and some spoke German or Spanish, Yiddish or English; some the English of England, some the English of America, and some the English of the Land of Israel. Some of them even spoke Hebrew. Both these and those lay stretched out on deck chairs and looked at the new immigrants, who danced and sang and rejoiced.
Among the immigrants I found our comrade Zvi, from the training farm. All those days I was in the boat Zvi was happy that he had succeeded in fitting the deed to the thought and was going up to settle in the Land of Israel. He was so happy that he did not stop dancing, as if through the dance he was moving on and getting nearer to the source of his vitality. From time to time Zvi would come to see me and talk about our comrades in the Diaspora, the boys in the fields and the girls in the cowshed. They were still few, but their work was recognized, and even the peasants sang their praises. And if the farmers sometimes held up their pay, the true reward of work is work. While we were talking, Zvi asked me if I was hungry. “What kind of question is this?” I asked, surprised. Zvi laughed and said, “I remember the Shavuot feast, when they stole all our food and we could find nothing to eat.”