Two Scholars Who Were in Our Town and Other Novellas (38 page)

Three years after the wedding I gave birth to a son. And two years later, another son was born to me. And two years after that, I gave birth to a daughter.

Time passed uneventfully, and we made a good living. The children grew and prospered, while I and my husband, may he rest in peace, watched them grow and were glad. I forgot about Shraga, and forgot that I had never received a note of pardon at his hand.

Mother and father departed this life. Before his death, my father of blessed memory committed his affairs to his sons and his sons-in-law, enjoining them all to work together as one. Our business flourished, and we lived in high repute. We engaged good tutors for our sons, and a Gentile governess for our daughter; for in those days pious folk would have nothing to do with the local teachers, who were suspected of being free-thinkers.

My husband would bring these tutors from other towns; and whereas the local teachers were obliged to admit any student who came, even if he was not suitably qualified, tutors who had been brought from elsewhere were dependent upon those who engaged them and under no such obligation. Coming, as they did, alone, they would dine at our table on Sabbath days. Now my husband, who because of the pressure of his affairs could not make set times for study of the Torah, was especially glad of one such guest who spoke to him words of Torah. And I and the children delighted in the tuneful Sabbath hymns he would sing us. We did not know that this tutor was a
Hassid
, and his discourses the doctrines of
Hassidism
, and the tunes that he sang us,
Hassidic
tunes; for in all other respects he conducted himself like any other true believer of Israel. One Sabbath eve, having discoursed of the Torah, he closed his eyes and sang a hymn of such heavenly bliss that our very souls melted at its sweetness. At the end, my husband asked him: “How may a man come to this experience of the divine?” The tutor whispered to him: “Let your honor make a journey to my
rebbe
, and you will know this and much more.”

Some days later, my husband found himself in the city of the tutor’s
rebbe.
On his return, he brought with him new customs, the like of which I had not seen in my father’s house; and I perceived that these were the customs of the
Hassidim.
And I thought to myself, Who can now wipe the dust from your eyes, Father, that you may see what you have done, you who banished Shraga for being a
Hassid
, and now the husband you gave me in his stead does exactly as he did? If this thing does not come as atonement for sin, I know not why it has come.

My brothers and brothers-in-law saw what was happening, but they said not a word. For already the times had changed, and people were no longer ashamed to have
Hassidim
in the family. Men of wealth and position had come from other towns and married amongst us, who followed the customs of
Hassidim
, and even set up a hassidic synagogue, and would travel openly to visit their
rebbes.
My husband did not attend their services, but in other respects he observed
Hassidic
customs and educated his sons in these ways, and from time would make journeys to his
rebbe.

A year before our first-born son became
bar mitzva
, there was plague in the world, and many fell sick. There was not a house without its victims, and when the plague reached us, it struck our son. In the end the Lord spared him—but not for long. When he rose from his sick-bed, he began to study the practice of the
tefillin
from the great code of the
Shulhan Arukh.
And I saw this and was glad, that for all his
Hassidic
training, his devotion to the Law was not lessened.

One morning our son rose up very early to go to the house of study. As he was about to enter, he saw there a man dressed in burial shrouds, resembling a corpse. It was not a dead man he had seen, but some demented creature who did many strange things. The child was overcome with terror and his senses left him. With difficulty was he restored to life. Restored to life he was indeed, but not to a long life. From that day on, his soul flickered and wavered like the flame of a yahretzeit candle at the closing prayer of Yom Kippur. He had not come of age for wearing
tefillin
before his soul departed and he died.

Through the seven days of mourning I sat and meditated. My son had died after the
havdala
, at the ending of Sabbath, thirty days before he came of age for
tefillin.
And at the end of the Sabbath, after the
havdala
, thirty days before I was to marry Shraga, father had torn up the marriage contract. Counting the days I found to my horror that the two evils had come about on the same day, at the same hour. Even if this were no more than chance, yet it was a matter for serious reflection.

Two years later, the boy’s brother came of age—came, and did not come. He happened to go with his friends to the woods outside our town to fetch branches to decorate the synagogue on the
Shavuot
holiday. He left his comrades in the woods, intending to call on the scribe who was preparing his
tefillin;
and he never returned. We thought at first that he had been stolen by gypsies, for a band of them had been seen passing the town. After some days his body was found in the great marsh beside the woods; then we knew he must have missed his way and fallen in.

When we concluded the week of mourning, I said to my husband: “Nothing remains to us now but our one little girl. If we do not seek forgiveness from Shraga, her fate will be as the fate of her brothers.”

Throughout all those years we had heard nothing of Shraga. When he and his people left our town, they were forgotten, and their where-abouts remained unknown. My husband said: “Shraga is the
Hassid
of such and such a
rebbe.
I shall make a journey to this man, and find out where he lives.”

Now my husband was not a disciple of this same
rebbe:
on the contrary, he was opposed to him, because of the great dispute that had broken out between the
rebbes
, on account of a slaughterer, whom one had appointed and the other had dismissed. In the course of that quarrel a man of Israel was killed, and several families were uprooted, and several owners of property lost their possessions, and several persons ended their days in prison.

Nevertheless, my husband made the journey to the town where this
rebbe
lived. Before he had arrived there, the
rebbe
died, after dividing his followers amongst his sons, who went away each to a different town. My husband journeyed from town to town, from son to son, enquiring of each son where Shraga might be. Finally he was told: “If you are asking after Shraga, Shraga has become a renegade and rejoined our opponents.” But no one knew where Shraga now lived.

When a man is a
Hassid
, you may trace him without difficulty. If he is not the disciple of one
rebbe
, he is the disciple of another. But with any ordinary unattached Jew, unless you know where he lives, how may he be found? My husband, peace be upon his soul, was accustomed to making journeys, for his business took him to many places. He made journey after journey enquiring for Shraga. On account of these travels his strength in time began to fail and his blood grew thin. At last, having travelled to a certain place, he fell sick there and died.

After I had set up his tombstone, I went back to my town and entered into business. While my husband was still alive, I had helped him in his affairs: now that he was dead, I speeded them with all my might. And the Lord doubled my powers until it was said of me, She has the strength of a man. It would have been well, perhaps, had wisdom been granted me in place of strength, but the Lord knows what He intends and does not require His own creatures to tell Him what is good. I thought in my heart: all this toil is for my daughter’s sake. If I add to my wealth, I shall add to her welfare. As my responsibilities became ever greater, I found I had no leisure to spend at home, except on Sabbaths and holy days: and even these days were apportioned, half to the service in synagogue, and the other half to the reception of guests. My daughter, so it seemed, was in no need of my company: for I had engaged governesses and she was devoted to her studies. I received much praise on account of my daughter, and even the Gentiles, who make fun of our accent, would say that she spoke their language as well as the best of their own people. Furthermore, these governesses would ingratiate themselves with my daughter, and invite her to their homes. In due course, I called the matchmakers, who found her a husband distinguished for his learning, and already qualified for the rabbinate. But I was not to enjoy a parent’s privilege of leading my daughter to her bridal canopy: for an evil spirit took possession of her, so that her reason became unhinged.

And now, my son, this is what I ask of you — write to Shraga for me, and say that I have forgiven him for all the sorrows that befell me at his hand. And say that I think he should forgive me, too: for I have been stricken enough.

FOR
a long, long time I sat in silence, unable to speak a word. At last, wiping a tear from my eye, I said to Tehilla:

Allow me to ask a question. Since the day when your father tore up the marriage contract, ninety years and more have elapsed. Do you really believe that Shraga is still alive? And if so, has anyone informed you where he may be found?

Tehilla answered: Shraga is not alive. Shraga has now been dead for thirty years. I know the year of his death, for in that year, on the seventh day of Adar, I went to a synagogue for the afternoon service. Following the week’s reading from the Prophets, they said the memorial prayer for the dead, and I heard them pray for the soul of Shraga. After the service, I spoke to the beadle of the synagogue, and asked him who this Shraga might be. He mentioned the name of a certain relative of the dead man, who had given instructions for his soul to be remembered. I went to this relative, and heard what I heard.

If Shraga is dead, then, how do you propose to send him a letter?

Tehilla answered: I suppose you are thinking that this poor old woman’s wits are beginning to fail her, after so many years; and that she is relying upon the post office to deliver a letter to a dead man.

I said: Then tell me, what will you do?

She rose, and picking up the clay jar that stood on the table, raised it high above her head, intoning in a kind of ritual chant:

I shall take this letter—and set it in this jar;—I shall take this wax—and seal up this jar;—and take them with me—this letter and this jar.

I thought to myself, And even if you take the jar and the letter with you, I still do not see how your message will come to Shraga. Aloud I said to her: Where will you take your jar with its letter?

Tehilla smiled and said softly: Where will I take it? I will take it to the grave, my dear. Yes, I shall take this jar, and the letter inside it, straight to my grave. For up in the Higher World they are well acquainted with Shraga, and will know where to find him. And the postmen of the Holy One are dependable, you may be sure; they will see that the letter is delivered.

Tehilla smiled again. It was a little smile of triumph, as of a precocious child who has outwitted her elders.

After a while she let her head sink upon her walking-stick and seemed again to be half asleep. But soon she glanced up and said: Now that you understand the whole matter, you can write it yourself. —And again her head drooped over her stick.

I took up the quill and wrote the letter. When I had finished, Tehilla raised her head and enquired: It is done now?—I began to read the letter aloud, while she sat with her eyes closed, as if she had lost interest in the whole matter and no longer desired very greatly to hear. When the reading was over, she opened her eyes and said:

Good, my son, good and to the point. Perhaps it might have been phrased rather differently, but even so, the meaning is clear enough. Now, my son, hand me the pen and I shall sign my name. Then I can put the letter in the jar; and after that I shall go about my lease.

I dipped the pen in the ink and handed it to her, and she took it and signed her name. She passed the pen over certain of the characters to make them more clear. Then she folded the letter and placed it inside the jar, and bound the piece of parchment over the top. Then she kindled the lamp, and took wax for sealing, and held it against the flame until the wax became soft; then she sealed the jar with the wax. Having done these things, she rose from her place and went towards her bed. She lifted up the coverlet and placed the jar under the pillow of the bed. Then she looked at me fairly, and said in a quiet voice:

I must make haste to confirm my lease. Bless you, my son, for the pains you have taken. From now on I shall not bother you any more.

So saying, she made smooth the coverlet of her bed, and took up her stick, and went to the door, and reached up that she might lay her lips to the
mezuza
, and waited for me to follow. She locked the door behind us and walked ahead with brisk steps; and I overtook her and went at her side.

As she walked, she looked kindly upon every place that she passed and every person that she met. Suddenly she stopped and said:

My son, how can they abandon these holy places and these faithful Jews?

At that time, I still did not comprehend all she meant by these words.

When we reached the parting of the ways, she stopped again and said: Peace be with you. But when she saw that I was resolved not to leave her, she said no more. She went up by the wide steps that lead to the courtyard of the Burial Society, and entered, and I followed.

We went into the Burial Society, which administers the affairs of the living and the dead. Two of the clerks sat there at a desk, their ledgers before them and their pens in their hands, writing and taking sips at their black coffee as they wrote. When they saw Tehilla, they set their pens down and stood up in respect. They spoke their welcome, and hastened to bring her a chair.