Even if this was not a prodigy, it was a lesson to those who showed disrespect to the zaddik — even if we explain the incident by way of nature. And how by way of nature? Well, this old man was a weak fellow, and because he was running he became overheated and he sweated and caught cold. And if you like we can explain that his heart was agitated by all the honor that was being paid to one who was not his rabbi, and he fell ill through his agitation. Or, if you like, we can explain that his heart smote him, for that zaddik was of the seed of Ruzhiner and he deserved that the man should pay him honor, but in Tchortkov they had told the man that he need not do so. One way or another, the whole town became aware of the power of the rabbi from Kupiczince, and that anyone who offends his honor is punished. When I went to visit the sick man and told him what people were saying, he took my hand in his and smiled and said, “You surely know Ephraim the idiot, the one whom they call the prophet? When he comes I give him alms. One day I did not have any small change and I sent him away with nothing. He cursed me that my windows should be broken, and before an hour had passed a heavy hail came down and broke some of the windows in my house. I said to my wife, ‘Did you hear the curses of that idiot?’ She sighed and said, ‘Yes, I heard.’ I said to her, ‘If you ever run across another wonderworker, now you’ll be able to recognize him right away.’”
In any case, a third klois was built in Szibucz. This was the Kupiczince klois, which stands in Flourmill Street opposite the bathhouse. The Kupiczince Hasidim in our town came from the simple folk, who envied the Hasidim for whom every day was like a holy day and who treated each other with love, brotherhood, and friendship, regarding everyone who was not a Hasid as lacking in a cardinal principle of Judaism. The Kupiczince Hasidim were joined by a few intellectuals who had been Zionists at first but had not found what they wanted in the Company of Zion. So they changed their clothes and wore shtreimels on the Sabbath, but their heart’s desire became a melancholy of their soul, for Hasidism is not acquired only by a man’s desire and will, but by the preparation of the soul and the devotion of the heart. However it was, a third klois was established in Szibucz. I do not remember whether the Rabbi of Kupiczince came to Szibucz a third time, and if he came whether his spirit was delighted with his Hasidim. If I were one of those who are used to piling up conjectures, I should say that once the klois had been established it was not worth his while to come. So long as he had no klois he might hope that once he had one many Hasidim would come; but now that the klois was established his limits were set, for if many had been inclined to follow him they would already have joined his klois. When a poor man has lit his little stove to cook some grits in milk, he cannot use it to roast an ox.
Thus, in short, there came to be three established hasidic prayer houses in our town, in addition to that of the Kossov Hasidim, which we have mentioned. Then the war came and destroyed them all, and all the Hasidim were scattered, some this way and some that. Some died by sword or famine, by pestilence or other plagues — heaven save us from them — while some submerged themselves in the vanities of this world in coffeehouses and card playing, except for a few individuals who withstood the troubles of the time and held firm to the faith of the sages. When the war quieted down and the roads were opened, some of these returned to the town and found it in ruins; they repaired their houses somewhat and their livelihoods somewhat and dedicated themselves to the affairs of the spirit. The Tchortkov Hasidim joined together as one man and once again made a klois for themselves. It was not like it had been in the beginning, but they achieved what the others did not; so all the Hasidim in the town joined up with those of Tchortkov in their house of prayer. They were almost on the point of becoming one company, all of them, and accepting authority with love, for Israel had already been tried during the days of the war and suffered one exile after another, and it was for them to realize that, so long as we have not been privileged to see the complete redemption, we must bow our heads before the powerful. But Israel has grown accustomed to the exile of Edom, and however difficult it may be, they can endure it; but they cannot endure the exile of Jacob, which is the most grievous of all exiles. So when the other Hasidim saw that there was no future for them in the Tchortkovite klois, they began to split away and leave, one this way and one that, and some of them came to our old Beit Midrash, although prayers were recited there according to the Ashkenazi rite.
Although prayers were recited there according to the Ashkenazi rite, these newcomers did not introduce changes in the customs of the place, nor was confusion brought into the Beit Midrash; needless to say, no one ever brought in brandy, either at a Yahrzeit of his own, to mark the anniversary of a relative’s death, or at a Yahrzeit of his rabbi’s. It was a strict rule in our old Beit Midrash, more than in the others, that anyone who came there to pray became like one of us. Except for the tales they told one another, you would not have known that those who now joined us were Hasidim.
These tales, some of which we have mentioned — some tell of the greatness of the zaddikim of the previous generation, and some of the zaddikim in our generation, but most of them are tales of miracles, in which the miracle is greater than the need for it and cannot be explained quite properly, except on the assumption that the zaddikim are the most beloved of the Almighty and therefore He changes the disposition of nature and transforms the order of creation in order to give pleasure to those who love Him. All of these tales start as earthly and end as spiritual, the hand of man and the hand of God acting in turn and helping one another, so that if one is afflicted by weakness the other comes to support it. And even in matters of the body the Holy One, blessed be He, performs miracles on behalf of the zaddikim, sending Elijah the Prophet to bring them a loaf of bread and bringing down a seraph to light their pipes. Oh that you could have lived to see this day, Rabbi Avigdor, you who one Sabbath eve at nightfall expelled Rabbi Uriel, the rabbi of the Hasidim, and now his disciples’ disciples sit in your Beit Midrash and tell of the miracles and wonders performed by rabbis who could not hold a candle to Rabbi Uriel either in learning or in piety.
Chapter six and thirty. The Letter
Since the day Reb Hayim undertook full care of the Beit Midrash, that burden has been lifted from my shoulders, so that I linger in bed, and take my time over meals, and chat with any visitor I happen to meet.
The visitors I come across in the hotel are practical men and have no inclination for idle talk, but they take time off to speak to that man who has come here, because he is from the Land of Israel, and a Jew ought to know what is going on there.
The Land of Israel has already ceased to be a matter for meetings, speeches, and banquets, and has become a matter about which most people seriously wish to know — some in time of trouble and some before the trouble comes. When another guest talks to me about the Land of Israel, if he is good at accounts he takes out pen and paper and calculates how much is the income from a house in Tel Aviv or a small farm in the countryside. Sometimes the calculation fits in well with his house and store in his own town, and if he sold them he could settle in the Land and set up a business there. But between you and me, the house and the store are mortgaged to someone else, and the stock is not worth much. So the calculator puts down his notebook and sits and wonders: What can a man do when he has no money? Because he is a poor man, must he die here like a dog? “Tell me,” I say to him, “why did you not go when you had the money?” The man of calculations replies with a laugh, “When I had money I was earning a good living and I did not need to haul my bones from one place to another.”