“What are you thinking of doing with the key?” said my wife, “send it to Szibucz?” “The one they have is superfluous,” said I, “and you tell me to burden them with a second key!” “Well,” said my wife, “what will you do with it?” There came into my mouth the saying of our sages, of blessed memory: “The synagogues and Batei Midrashot abroad are destined to be established in the Land of Israel.” And I said to myself: When they establish themselves in the Land of Israel, this man will have the key in his possession.
So I rose and put the key in a box, and hung the key of the box over my heart. I did not hang the key of the old Beit Midrash over my heart, for it was too heavy for my heart to bear; the early craftsmen used to make their keys too big and heavy for the measure of our hearts.
The key being put away in its place, I returned to my work, and whenever I remembered it, I would repeat to myself: “The synagogues and the Batei Midrashot are destined…,” and I would open my window and look outside to see if perhaps they were making their way to establish themselves in the Land of Israel. Alas, the land was desolate and silent, and the sound of the steps of the synagogues and Batei Midrashot was not heard. And still the key lies there, waiting with me for that day. However, it is made of iron and brass, and it can wait, but I, who am flesh and blood, find it hard to endure.
Chapter eighty. The End of the Story
Let us leave the key and turn to the owner of the key. I sit in my house and do my work. People come to visit me and ask me about what I saw over there in the land of exile and I ask them about all that has happened here in the Land of Israel. As we talk, the Holy One, blessed be He, brings Szibucz before my eyes, and I close my eyes for a little while and walk among its ruins. Sometimes I stretch out my hand and wish to talk with someone from there.
After a few days I set aside all my affairs and went up to Ramat Rahel to visit Reb Shlomo Bach. I found him standing in the vegetable garden, busy hoeing. The back of his neck was sunburnt and his movements were measured, like those whose business is with the soil. I greeted him and he returned my greeting. When he recognized me, he put down his tools and sat down with me.
I told him about Daniel his son, and Sara Pearl, Daniel’s wife, and Raphael and Erela, as well as about the people from our old Beit Midrash who had gone away, some to America and some elsewhere. I also told him about the other people of Szibucz, whether he asked about them or not. Thus Szibucz was privileged to be recalled in Jerusalem.
“How did you come to work in the garden?” I asked him. “When I came to Ramat Rahel,” he replied, “and saw that they were all engaged in settling the Land, I said to myself: Everyone is engaged in settling the Land and I am doing nothing. So I asked them to make me a teacher for the children and a cantor in our little congregation. But the old men have no need for a permanent cantor, because each of them knows how to lead the service, and the children have their own teachers and do not need this old man. When I saw that I was superfluous, I felt as if the world had darkened, so I lightened the gloom with the Torah and immersed myself in the Mishna. When I reached the tractates that deal with the religious duties that are linked to the soil of the Land of Israel, I saw that my learning was rootless. I had studied these matters abroad and found no difficulty in them, but in the Land of Israel a man’s mind is renewed and he is not content with his earlier interpretations. Once I said to myself: Let me go and see what is this tree of which the sages spoke, and what is this field that is mentioned in the Mishna. When I went out, I heard the young men talking to each other, and through their words the entire subject became clear. It was not that they were referring to the Mishna, but they spoke as usual about trees and plants. I said to myself, ‘Wisdom cries outdoors.’ After that, whenever I found a difficulty in the words of the Mishna I would go to one of our comrades. If he did not know, then the gardener knew. If he did not know how to explain in our way, he explained in his own way and showed me every single thing in tangible fashion. I found out from my own experience, ‘Better is the sight of the eyes than the wandering of the desire.’ I need not say much more; the sages were right when they said, ‘There is no Torah like the Torah of the Land of Israel.’ Here I am, some seventy years old, and I was not privileged to understand the truth of the Torah until I came to the Land.”
And Reb Shlomo continued, “Learning leads to doing. As a result of my meetings with the gardener, I was not sitting idle. When he watered the plants, I filled the vessels with water. When he dug out the thorns, I cleared them from the path. This way, I learned how to water a garden and take out the weeds and make hollows around the vines, how to plow and sow and plant. When our comrades saw this, they gave me a patch to grow vegetables, and if the Almighty grants me the privilege, I shall eat the fruits of my patch.”
And Reb Shlomo continued, “Our young comrades are pleased with me and call me comrade, which is a title of honor and a high degree in the scale of workers. Our old comrades are not pleased with me, for since I work they think I am trying to make myself popular with the members of the kvutza. So long as I am engaged in my work, I pay no heed to what they say, but now that I have stopped working for a while I remember them.” Before I took my leave of Reb Shlomo, he showed me all the things he had planted, and brought me to the children’s house, where he showed me his grandson Amnon. God grant he may be like his father and grandfather.
One more time I went up to Ramat Rahel to visit Reb Shlomo. He was standing in the middle of his patch, while the birds flew over his head and pecked at the trees. “Is it possible that the birds should peck at the trees and the gardener does not drive them away?” said I. “I have many joys in the Land,” Reb Shlomo replied, “but above them all I rejoice in the birds, for they are witnesses that our redemption is at hand. We find in the Midrash: ‘For fifty-two years no bird was seen flying in the Land of Israel.’ Now that the birds have returned to this place it is a sign that Israel will return to their nests.” From the birds of heaven, Reb Shlomo went on to domestic fowl.
He took me and brought me to a place where the chickens were kept, and showed me fowl so fat that their fat had weakened their wings, and children were standing throwing them crumbs. He, too, took some scraps from his pocket and gave them to Amnon his grandson, so that he should give them to the birds. “If you think they keep the birds for food,” said he, “I must tell you that most of our young comrades eat no meat.” And having mentioned his comrades he immediately began to sing their praises.