“And what was the end of that Jew?” “I do not know.” “Perhaps the Almighty led him to a Jewish settlement and he married another woman and had sons and daughters.” “Perhaps.” “But even if so, I see no recompense in that. Job, who never existed but was only a parable, was consoled for the death of his wife and children, after the Lord has blessed his end more than his beginning; but I doubt whether a living man would accept such consolation.”
Reb Shlomo stroked his beard and said: “The story is told of a man whose son had become an infidel. He went to the saintly Baal Shem Tov. The Baal Shem Tov told him that he should love his son twice as much as before.” Daniel Bach smiled and said, “You know, sir, what Father means by telling us the story; he means that he loves me. Pity the Almighty doesn’t follow the advice of the Baal Shem Tov.” “How do you know,” said Reb Shlomo, “that the Almighty does not do so?” “Father,” replied Daniel, “is it possible that after all the troubles you have known you should still say so?” “Who else should say so,” replied Reb Shlomo, “one who has known nothing but good all his life and for very happiness does not see the mercies of the blessed Lord? On the contrary, it is fitting for me to say that every hour I see the goodness of the blessed Lord. And I hope I am not sinning before Him by making distinctions between His acts and saying: This is good and this is not good. But I hope that when I have the privilege of living in the Land of Israel the Almighty will open my eyes to see that all His actions are right. And now that we have finished with a good word, let us say good night to the gentleman and go.”
Chapter nine. In Fire and Water
After they had gone, I went to my room and lit a candle, lay down on my bed, and took a book to sweeten my sleep. I had not started to read when I began to think. What did I think of and what did I not think of…
There sits that old man, his chin resting on his stick, the wrinkles shining on his face, giving off sparks of light that flow down his beard. Near him sits his son, stroking his leg, sometimes the leg he was created with at his birth and sometimes the leg they grafted onto him later, and you do not know which is dearer to him, the one that was made by the Almighty or the one that was made by man. Says the one-legged man to his father, “Father, the war of Gog and Magog has already come, but the Messiah, the son of David, has not yet come.” His father replies, “My son, the war of Gog and Magog exists in every generation, in every era, in every hour, in every single man, inside a man’s house, inside his heart, in his heart and the hearts of his children. Be still, my son, be still. Long ago Jeremiah said of the wicked: ‘Thou art near in their mouth and far from their reins,’ and the words still cry out from the heart of Israel.” I say to myself: Soon that old man will go up to the Land of Israel. From the material point of view, that is fine; the air of the Land of Israel is healthy, and his son Yeruham’s comrades will give him food and lodging, and treat him with respect. But maybe that old man will have more regard for his own honor there and waive the honor due his Father in heaven, for he will see that they neglect some of the commandments, such as the observance of the Sabbath, and keep silent. Or maybe a man shuts his eyes to the evil deeds of his son, but not to the evil deeds of his son’s comrades. But then again — his love for others may be as dear to him as his love for his son, like those old men who have suffered many tribulations and have taught themselves to accept everything with love, and not like most young men, who follow after their own hearts, and if they have the opportunity to do a good deed are afraid for their consciences and refrain from doing it. How many compromises does a man make without concern, but when it comes to the observance of the Torah, he is concerned because of his conscience. But why should I interfere with something that I cannot put right? I will close my eyes and sleep.
Before I went to sleep I knew that this night would not pass without dreams. And so it was. I myself opened the door to the Master of Dreams, that he might come and provoke me. But I overcame the Master of Dreams, and left him behind me — whenever I left him — and I arose and embarked in a ship full of Jews, old men and old women, lads and maidens. Never in my life have I seen such beautiful people. I might compare the men with the sun and the women with the moon, but the sun and the moon are covered sometimes and their light cannot be seen, while these people shone without a pause. Once on the Day of Atonement, near the hour of the Afternoon Service, I had seen a marvelous light through the window of the old Beit Midrash and I believed that there could be none to compare with it, but now I suddenly saw a light more marvelous still. Moreover, the light in our Beit Midrash was inanimate, while here the light was alive — or, if you like, eloquent, for every single spark sang. Has light a voice? Can it speak or sing? This is a thing that cannot be explained, and even if I were able to explain it I would not do so — instead I would enjoy the light.
Now, what were these people doing on the sea? The old men and women sat, with their hands on their knees, gazing at the sea, while the lads and maidens danced and sang and danced. And do not be surprised, for that ship was going to the Land of Israel. I too danced, and when I stopped my feet rose up and made me dance again. An old man took hold of me and said, “We are one short of the minyan for prayer.” I wrapped myself in my tallit, and went with him to the room set aside for prayer. All the congregation were surprised, for it was time for the Evening Service, when the tallit is not worn. The old man went up to the Ark and lit a candle. I went after him to take a prayer book. The candle touched my prayer shawl and the fire caught it. I was confused and jumped into the sea. If I had thrown off my tallit I could have been saved from the flames. But I did not do so; instead I jumped into the sea. Not only was I not saved from the flames, but I was about to drown. I raised my voice and shouted, so that others should hear and shout and come to my aid. But they did not shout; no voice was heard except my own, crying out, “Comfort the city that is mourning and burned.” I said to myself: Where is the old man? I raised my eyes and saw him leaning on the rail of the ship, not moving or nodding his beard. A man came up, resembling Daniel Bach, but he is missing one leg and this one was missing his two hands. I despaired and resigned myself to the waves of the sea. The sea lifted me gently and carried me to a certain place. I saw a light glimmering and thought: The place is inhabited, and surely the Jews will have mercy on me and bring me to dry land. I raised my eyes to see where the light was coming from. A strong wind came and put out the candle. I saw that it was the same candle I had lit beside my bed. I turned over and closed my eyes. Sleep fell upon me and I slumbered.
After I had eaten breakfast I took the key and went to the Beit Midrash, opened the door, went in and took out a book, and sat down to study. My book gripped me, and I studied with joy.
Chapter ten. I Must Have an Overcoat Made
The coming of the cold days was in the air; its fear touched every living thing. The sun stayed hidden in the clouds, appearing only briefly, and when it did emerge it no longer looked as it had yesterday and the day before. So it was with the people; they went to market with gloomy faces. More than at other times they talked of clothes; everyone needed them, but not everyone could purchase them.
One day, as I rose from the midday meal, the innkeeper came up to me, examined my clothes, and asked if I had no others. His wife heard him and said, “We have severe frosts in our town, and if you don’t get a warm overcoat made you won’t be able to stand the cold.” Here she hunched her shoulders and bent her neck like one shivering with cold. Her husband looked at her and twitched his eyes, like someone who wants to say something and has been stopped. He looked again at my clothes and said, “You ought to have some warm clothing made, sir.”