It was all very fine of me to take up the poor man’s cause against Dolik, but what I said to him, “How can a man born of a Jewish woman treat this wretched fellow so cruelly?” did not turn out to be in my favor, for when my own turn came I saw that I was as cruel as Dolik. The first time Ignatz came to the Beit Midrash to beg charity from me, I told him to come in and warm himself. He obeyed and entered. When I was ready to go I did not find my coat. Next morning I found Ignatz dressed in my coat, and took it off him. He stared at me with his eyes and the hole in place of his nose and said to me, “How can a man born of a Jewish woman treat his brother so cruelly and take his coat off him on a cold day like this?” So Ignatz paid me back with the same coin I had used for Dolik.
Chapter four and twenty. The Three Conceptions
To return to our subject. Every day we hold three services in our old Beit Midrash, and four on the Sabbath. What shall I tell first and what shall I tell last? Everyday wisdom suggests that I should first describe the six working days, on which we sustain the body; the higher wisdom suggests that I should start with the Sabbath, which sustains the soul. But since the six working days come first in the order of creation, we shall start with them.
Briefly, then, every day we hold three public services, and on Mondays and Thursdays we take out the Scroll and read the Torah. The prayer leader goes from the lectern to the Ark, takes out the Scroll, goes up with it to the pulpit, lays it on the reading desk and begins, “May His kingdom be soon revealed and made visible unto us, and may He be gracious unto our remnant and unto the remnant of His people, the House of Israel, granting them grace, kindness, mercy, and favor…” and then he reads the Torah. Before returning the Scroll to the Ark he says, “May it be His will to establish the house of our life… to preserve among us the wise men of Israel… that we may hear and receive good tidings of salvation and comfort, and that He may gather our scattered ones from the four corners of the earth….” And he begs mercy “for our brethren, the children of Israel, who are given over to trouble and captivity, whether they are on the sea or on dry land, that the All-present may have mercy upon them and bring them forth from trouble to tranquillity, from darkness to light, from subjection to redemption….”
Letters have arrived from our brethren who left Szibucz — every word drenched in tears and every letter crying “Woe!” After they left Szibucz they wandered for days on the roads and went from one place to the next, until their money was exhausted and they had to beg alms from the sons of men, who are sparing with alms but generous with abuse. At last they got on a ship and went out to sea, and the sea threatened to drown them, for this ship was rickety and unfit for the voyage; some believe that the owner intended to sink it, so as to take the insurance money and get himself a new one. (I have heard that articles written about this ship did not mention that it was full of Jews.) When the travelers escaped from the sea to dry land, the land devoured them. Every place to which they made their way cast them out as soon as they arrived. When prominent Jews made representation on their behalf to the nobles and masters of the city, they would be left alone for a day or two, and finally be sent to another city; there the same thing happened. All countries became Gehenna for them, but in Gehenna the wicked are punished on weekdays and rest on Sabbath, while these never had any rest; the wicked are taken out of Gehenna when someone gives charity in memory of their souls, but these suffered soul-destroying torments and were thrust deeper into Gehenna. Grievous were the tribulations of the war, but in the war there were enemies and friends; now the whole world has become their enemy. In the war the Emperor supplied your necessities; now the kings condemn us to hunger.
Freide the Kaiserin comes to me with a letter from her son. All those who had read out the letter to her were hard men, and they had read it in a tone of admonition, piercing her flesh, as it were, with red-hot needles. But I, says Freide, have a good heart and a gentle voice — she still remembers how I used to call her “Feidi”—I would not be cruel to her; I would read to her her son’s letter gently, not like those who read it to provoke her.
I cannot remember all of the letter — only a few lines, and they went like this: “Not even the threat of death itself could force good tidings from me — there is only bad news to tell, for God and men have robbed me of rest and made me forget that I am a man. But alas that I am a man, for no one in the land will have mercy on me, and a dog is happier than I, for people have pity on dogs — but me they drive away. I came to a city and said: Here I shall dwell; from the fruit of my labor I shall eat bread, whether little or much, and also send something to you, my bereaved and unfortunate mother. But they came and drove me away and said: Go. So I went to another city, and there too I found no rest. For hardly had I set foot on its soil when they cried out against me and lowered my honor to the dust and said: Be off with you — go! Thus it shall be done to a man who wants to eat a crust of bread, for from his womb his Maker made a jest of him and a derision; though he has not sinned against his God, except in worshipping Him. To what shall I compare myself, to what shall I liken myself, my forlorn mother? For I have become like the mud of the streets, which every passer-by wipes off his boots. The sun shines on me as on them, and the stars of evening twinkle, but, alas, the star of my fortune is darkened and the sun brings no healing to a man lost and unfortunate. Woe is me, Mother, that you bore me, a prey to human beasts.”
Let us leave our sorely tried brethren and hope that the Almighty will have pity on them and deliver them from trouble to tranquillity and from darkness into light, and may we receive good tidings, for the greater the evil the greater the hope. And now let us speak in praise of the Sabbath, which has been given us.
I am not one of those all of whose days are Sabbath; I say that ever since the world was created we have never had a day of rest. After the servitude in Egypt we served the golden calf and became servants to all the kings of East and West. Now we are weary of toil, and what is wrong with our seeking a day that is all Sabbath and rest?
That first Sabbath in our old Beit Midrash went like this. My hostess donated two coverings for the tables, and I bought a third for the table at which I study. I spread the cloths on the three tables and lit the two lamps and the candles, and all the people of the Beit Midrash came to pray. Between ourselves, they all came in weekday clothes, because they have no clothes for the Sabbath. But you could see a change in them. This is the change that takes place on the eve of Sabbath at dark, for man was born on Sabbath eve so that he should enter the Sabbath pure. Had he not sinned, all his days would have been Sabbath. So when the Sabbath arrives the soul remembers that first Sabbath in the Garden of Eden and changes for the better.
One of our friends, Shlomo Shamir, chanted the Welcome to the Sabbath with the melody that is customary among us. And when he pronounced the blessing “Who spreadest over us the tabernacle of peace,” it seemed as if the Holy One, blessed be He, Himself, in person, were spreading over us His tabernacle of peace. But this peace was still that of a tabernacle, which is a temporary dwelling, but when he said, “And the children of Israel shall keep the Sabbath,” it seemed as if we had entered into a permanent dwelling, in which was everlasting peace. And I do not exaggerate when I say that we could see with our own eyes the Holy One, blessed be He, making a covenant of peace with Israel for all eternity.