From our comrades in the village we went on to talk about the other groups in Poland, where young men and women were living to prepare themselves for work in the Land, and thus we came to speak of Hannah, the daughter of that righteous man Reb Hayim, may he rest in peace. She was still living in exile and waiting for Zvi to bring her up to the Land of Israel.
“And who gave you an immigration certificate?” I asked Zvi. He laid his hand on his heart and answered, “I myself am my own certificate.” I thought he meant that he kept his certificate over his heart, and asked no more. But the end showed that this was not so.
Let me leave Zvi and go back to myself, and my wife and children. My wife and I also hired two deck chairs, and we sat and talked about everything that came into our heads and onto our tongues. There were many, many things to talk about — no book could contain them.
So we sat and talked about the days we had endured abroad and the days that were in store for us in the Land. There were many, many things to talk about; many books could not contain them.
“I am tired of living abroad,” said my wife. “To all appearances, I was short of nothing, for our relatives tried to make our stay pleasant, but I missed the Land of Israel.”
“What were you short of there?” I asked the children. And since I was in a good mood I spoke up in the defense of that rabbi who did not know the Hebrew for a footstool. “Because his mind was floating among matters of the highest import he did not pay attention to something as low as a footstool,” I said to the children. “Children,” I said to them, “didn’t you hear that rabbi singing the praises of Israel? Didn’t you hear him saying that Israel is a light to the Gentiles?” “Father,” said my daughter, “what are you talking about? He compared Israel to the Greeks.” “What’s wrong with comparing Israel to the Greeks?” said I. “The Greeks were a wise and clever people, weren’t they?” My daughter laughed and said, “But then they bowed down to idols.” ‘What of it?” said my son. “They used to make dolls and play with them. You make dolls, too, don’t you?” “When I was a little child I played with dolls,” my daughter answered, “but they did it even when they were big.” “Praised be your good sense,” I said to my daughter. “Now tell me what you did all the time. Did you finish all the Tales from the Scriptures?” “You are laughing at me, Father,” said my daughter, “I studied the Bible itself.”
Several people had gathered around; they stood listening to the children’s conversation and praised them for their cleverness. I said to one of them, “When a child says something clever, you should stop him before he lets slip something foolish.” So I stopped the children’s conversation and talked with the people in my company about the education of the younger generation and the way they study the Bible, which makes the Holy Scriptures an everyday matter. Some said one thing and some another. I told them the story of that old man from the village who came to the Beit Midrash and heard the story of David and Goliath and the story of Bathsheba. Everyone laughed, until their laughter could be heard from one end of the ship to the other. But, as is usual with most people, they drew no moral from the story.
So we sat and talked. We talked about everything under the sun, about the great world and our little country, about summer and winter, sea and dry land. Finally I turned away from my company and turned to my children. I tested them in the Bible and made the time pass pleasantly with questions, such as: “Where is the place where they threw Jonah into the sea?” And they replied, “Ask the fishes and they will tell you.”
My dear friends, it would be a good thing if we could make a good ending to our story, especially as we have arrived at the good Land. But since the day we were exiled from our Land, there is no good without evil. When the ship was approaching Jaffa, Zvi jumped into the sea, because the authorities had not given him a certificate to enter the Land, and he relied on the waves to bring him to the shore. The waves were kind at that time; each wave handed him over to the next, and that one to the next again. But rocks and reefs, whose hearts are hearts of stone, struck him, and his blood flowed from their wounds. And when he escaped from the rocks and reefs, the authorities surrounded him and seized him and took him to their hospital, until he should return to health and they should return him into exile.
Chapter nine and seventy. The Find
Zvi’s misfortune abated my joy. After I had brought my wife and children to Jerusalem, I went to a number of men in authority to beg mercy for Zvi. Just as those rocks on which he struck were not softened, neither were the hearts of the men in authority. When I saw that this was useless, I went to the distinguished men of the day. When I saw that they were useless, I went to the leaders of the community. When I saw that they were useless I went to the public benefactors. When I saw that they were useless, I went to the lovers of charity. When I saw that they were useless, I relied on our Father in heaven.
In the meantime I stayed with my family in a certain hotel. The owners of the hotel treated me as a guest and also as a resident. At mealtimes they waited first on the guests from abroad, and when it came to paying the bill they demanded a great deal of money, as is usual with foreign guests.
It is hard to be a guest abroad, and all the more so in the Land of Israel. So we rented a little house and bought a little furniture. I put in the few books the marauders had left me and sent the children to school. I set to and arranged my old books, while my wife arranged the furniture. When I saw my books arranged in orderly fashion in the bookcase and my things lying in their places, I breathed a sigh of relief. For over a year I had been wandering about in foreign lands, like a guest for the night, and suddenly I was living in my own house, among my belongings and my books, with my wife and children.
Zvi’s troubles overclouded my spirits. I tried to put them out of my mind, but I could not succeed in putting them out of my heart. In the meantime I started looking after my own affairs and began to divert my attention from others. That is the way of the world: people are more concerned for their own fingernail than for someone else’s whole body. Finally, the story of Zvi slipped out of my mind entirely, and if his name had not been mentioned in the papers among those who were sent back abroad, I should have forgotten him.
As I sat in my own niche and enjoyed the peace of my house I began putting out of my mind all that had happened in Szibucz; I no longer saw before my eyes the hotel, its owners and its guests, and the old Beit Midrash, with all those who had come to pray and those who had not come to pray. If I remembered them, I did so only to put them out of my heart again, like a man who sits tranquilly in his home and pays no attention to other men’s troubles.
So I sat in the shadow of sweet tranquillity with my wife and children — that sweet tranquillity which no man savors except when he is sitting in his own home. I occupied myself with my affairs, and my wife with hers. One day she was going through my pieces of luggage and laid them out in the sun. Then she took my satchels to mend them, for through much use the leather inside had been torn and holes had appeared. While she was busy with the satchels she called out to me and asked, “What is this?” I saw she was holding a big key that she had found in the crevices of one of the satchels. I was stunned and astonished. It was the key of our old Beit Midrash. But I had given it as a gift to Yeruham Freeman’s son on the day he entered into the Covenant of Abraham, so how had it made its way here? No doubt Yeruham Freeman, who had freed himself from all the commandments, was not pleased that I had made his son the guardian of the old Beit Midrash, and had hidden the key in the satchel so as to give it back to me. As I was feeling angry with Yeruham for returning me the key, my wife handed it to me and I saw that this was not the key the old locksmith had made. It was the key the elders of the old Beit Midrash had handed over to me on the Day of Atonement just before the Closing Service. A thousand times I had sought it, a thousand times I had despaired of it, a thousand times I had sought it again without finding it, and had had another key made, and now, when I had no need of one or the other, it had come back to me. How had it disappeared and how had it appeared again? No doubt one day I had left it in my satchel and it had slipped into a hole so that I could not see it, or perhaps on the day when I put on my new coat I had taken out the key from my summer clothes to put it in my winter clothes and forgotten it. How much sorrow and distress, how much trouble I would have avoided if I had had the key at the right time! But there is no argument against the past. After I had recovered somewhat from my emotions, I told the whole story to my wife, who knew nothing of it, because I had not mentioned it in my letters, for I had wanted to explain the whole matter in detail and had not managed to write before the key was lost, and once it was lost I did not mention it in my letters.