My host sat as usual and said nothing. Ever since I have known him he has not uttered a single superfluous word; he does not mention the days of the war, although he was in the army from the beginning to the end. Like him, most of the people in the town who have survived the war never mention it — though their wives recall those days on every possible occasion.
I have already remarked that the innkeeper’s sons and daughters do not eat at the hour of the meal. This does not mean that they make a point of not coming in for the Sabbath eve meal with their parents; sometimes they come and sometimes not. In any case, they do not come together, nor do they come to hear the Kiddush; they usually arrive in the middle of the meal and sit down to eat as on any other day.
Babtchi comes in from wherever she comes, throws down her hat and her bag, wriggles out of her coat, pats her hair with her left hand, takes a chair, sits down, and snatches up her food. Sometimes her father raises his eyes to look at her, though more than looking at her he gazes at her things, which she has scattered here and there. Then he closes his eyes again and fingers his prayer book in silence, or goes back to singing the Sabbath hymns. When Rachel comes, he shifts his chair and asks, “Where have you been for the Kiddush? Did you hear it or didn’t you? Why don’t you answer me?” Whether she replies or not, it is not good. One way or other, he gives her a scolding; then he puts his hand on his prayer book with the hole in it, waits a bit, and sings his hymns.
If Dolik or Lolik comes, their father raises his eyes and looks to see whether their heads are covered. On weekdays he does not care if they sit bareheaded, but at the Sabbath meal he is strict. Once Dolik forgot and did not cover his head, and his father scolded him. “Are you still selling hats,” said Dolik, “that you keep trying to fit me with one?” His father rose, took the young man’s hat, put his two bent thumbs inside it, and pushed it down angrily on his son’s head, until Dolik howled “Ouch!”
This Sabbath eve passed without a snag. The sons and daughters did not come, and there were no guests in the hotel. So the three of us sat together, ate and drank, and said the grace after meals. After grace, I went out for a walk and reached the Beit Midrash. I saw it was still lit up, and felt the urge to go in. I took out the key, opened the door, and entered. Not long had passed before a number of our group had come. And you need not wonder, for in our Beit Midrash there is light and warmth, while in their homes it is cold and dark. True, they too have lit the Sabbath candle, but their candle is small, and gives light only close by, leaving the rest of the house in darkness.
When they entered, they started to praise the Sabbath, to praise the Beit Midrash and that man who came here and stocked the stove and lit many candles. That man was afraid he might grow proud, for he might think he deserved all the praise. So he lowered his head, that he might remember he is dust of the earth, and raised his eyes, that he might ponder in his heart that only by the will of the Almighty did he live and only by His will were all things made, and He would one day remove him from the earth, like a painter who removes the soot from the ceiling and covers it with plaster. At that moment fear and trembling entered into that man’s heart, and he began to be proud of his fear of the Almighty, like the child upon whom his father has hung his jewels. He saw that there was no escape from immodest thoughts. What did he do? He opened a book of the Pentateuch and read. As soon as he had read two or three words of the Torah, his heart was quieted and restored to wholeness.
When the people in the Beit Midrash saw that I was in a good mood, they said to me, “Perhaps you will tell us a word of the Torah, sir.” “The Torah is given to all Israel,” I replied, “and even if a man does not know how to speak, it is enough for him to begin with a word of Torah, and the Torah will tell him how to go on.” “If so,” said they, “perhaps you will begin.” I opened the Pentateuch and started to expound a verse from the portion of the week: “And Jacob awakened out of his sleep. And he was afraid, and said, How awesome is this place! this is none other than the house of God.” Not like Abraham, who said, “the Lord shall appear on a hill,” nor like Isaac, of whom it is said, “And Isaac went out to meditate in the field,” but like Jacob who spoke of a house. And I expounded on these three conceptions of worship. One conception sees worship as a mountain, for man seeks high things and walks about all the time with high thoughts. The second conception sees worship as a field, for in a field you sow and reap, and there is a pleasant fragrance, as it is said, “See, the smell of my son is as the smell of a field.” The third conception of worship, which is most dear to the Holy One, blessed be He — for Jacob our Father is described as the choicest of the Patriarchs — likens worship to a house. And He too, blessed be His Name, praises Himself by saying, “For my house shall be called a house of prayer.” It is said in the Book of the Zohar, “A house for Israeclass="underline" a house that is to be with them, as a woman liveth with her husband in one house in joy.” For the mountain and the field are places of freedom, but a house is a guarded and respected place.
These matters may also be interpreted as referring to three eras in the annals of Israel.
In the first era, some of the sages believed that we had no need of houses and fields, for a field enslaves its owner, as it is written, “The king is in bondage to the field.” And in the matter of houses they said, “And who will summon up strength to build himself a house?” And if it is built, its end is to fall. For we find it written, “And the house fell upon the lords,” and in many scriptural passages we are told of the destruction of houses, as, “Thou shalt build a house, and thou shalt not dwell therein,” or “And he shall break down the house.” And there is no support for a man in a house, as it is said, “And he went into the house, and supported his hand on the wall, and a serpent bit him.” But it is better that Israel should lift up their eyes to the hills, as David said, “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,” for a hill is a high and free place, and there is no quality better than freedom, as in the case of Saul, for the main recompense he promised to the man who would kill Goliath was freedom, as it is said, “And I will make his father’s house free in Israel.”
In the second era, some of the sages spoke out against their predecessors and said: The benefits of freedom are outweighed by its disadvantages, for it leads to extinction and destruction, as it is said, “Free among the dead, like the slain.” And similarly, we are told that when Uzziah became a leper, he “dwelt in the house of a free one.” Rabbi Jonah the son of Jannah explains that it was called “free” because the lepers isolated themselves there from all men. On the other hand, it is written, “Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field,” to till it and guard it and eat its produce, as in “She moved him to ask of her father a field.”