3
After dinner I went outside. The heavens were black, but many stars glittered in them and lit up their darkness. Not a man was outdoors, and all the houses were sunk in sleep. And I too started to doze off. But this sleep was not really sleep, for I could feel that my feet were walking. And I kept walking and walking like this until I arrived at a certain place and heard the sound of music, and I knew I had reached the concert hall. I took out my ticket and entered.
The hall was full. Men and women violinists, men and women drummers, trumpeters, and players of a variety of instruments all stood, dressed in black, and played incessantly. The great conductor was not to be seen in the hall, but the musicians played as if someone were standing over them and waving his baton. And all the men and women musicians were my friends and acquaintances, whom I knew from all the places I had ever lived. How did it happen that all my acquaintances came together in one place and in one chorus?
I came upon a place, sat down, and concentrated. Each man and woman was playing for himself. However, all the melodies joined to form a single song. And every man and woman was bound to his instrument, and the instruments were fastened to the floor, and each one thought that he alone was bound, and was ashamed to ask his neighbor to release him. Or perhaps the players knew that they were fastened to their instruments, and their instruments fastened to the floor, but thought that it was by their free choice that they and their instruments were so bound, and it was by their free choice that they played. One thing was clear, that though their eyes were on their instruments, their eyes did not see what their hands were doing, for all alike were blind. And I fear that perhaps even their ears did not hear what they were playing, and that from much playing they had grown deaf.
I slid out of my seat and crept toward the door. The door was open, and a man whom I had not noticed upon entering was standing at the entrance. He was like all other doorkeepers; but there was about him something like the air of that same old judge, who, once you have turned to him, does not let you go.
I said to him: “I would like to leave.” He plucked the word out of my mouth and replied in my voice: “To leave? What for?” I said to him: “I have prepared myself a bath, and am in a hurry lest it grow cold.” He replied in a voice that would have terrified even a man stronger than I, and said to me: “It’s flaming. It’s flaming. Your brother has already been scalded by it.” I replied, apologetically: “I was occupied with correspondence, and didn’t have time to take my bath.” He asked: “With what letters were you occupied?” I took out a letter and showed him. He bent over me and said: “But I wrote that letter.” I replied: “I intended to answer you.” He looked at me and asked: “What did you intend to answer?” My words hid because of his voice, and my eyes closed, and I began to grope with my hands. Suddenly I found myself standing before my house.
My daughter came out and said: “Let me bring you a candle.” I answered her: “Do you really think the candle will light my darkness?” By the time she had gone to bring it, the fire escaped from the furnace and blazed around about. And some woman stood before the furnace heaping wood on the fire. Because of the fire and the smoke, I could not look on. And I didn’t see if it was old Charni who stood before the furnace, or if it was my young relative Ora who heaped up the fire.
A terror descended upon me, and I stood as if fixed to the earth. My spirit grew despondent within me that, at the time when all who sleep were sleeping, I should be so awake. In truth, not I alone was awake, but also the stars in heaven were awake with me. And by the light of the stars of heaven I saw what I saw. And because my spirit was lowly, my words hid in my mouth.
The Letter
1
All that day I was busy writing a letter of condolence to the relatives of Mr. Gedaliah Klein. Mr. Gedaliah Klein had been one of the most prominent men in our city, well-born and wealthy like his fathers before him, liked by the authorities and respected by the community, blessed with a long life and a full one. He had married his daughters to the most learned men of his time; he had taken wealthy wives for his sons; and he had lived to see them producing shrewd and gifted sons and daughters, fit for anything the country needed. In short, he had achieved in this world every temporal success, and no doubt all good things awaited him in the world to come, through legacies he had left behind for works of charity and mercy.
When good men are successful in life, it is good for them and good for the world; moreover, they provide convincing testimony that virtue pays, for everyone can see that a man does not toil for nothing or waste his strength in vain. The whole world, therefore, mourns the passing of successful men. Relatives and friends, companies and charities, banks and business firms, managers and administrators, householders and craftsmen, speculators and agents, authors and teachers — all proclaimed their grief in public: in the press and on every wall. The newspapers also praised him at great length, and if they exaggerated, the exaggeration itself showed that the deceased was a great man, for if anyone is praised, he must be praiseworthy.
I too put aside my work to sympathize with his relatives and write them a few words of condolence, for I had been his friend and acquaintance for thirty years. It started when I arrived in the Land of Israel with nothing in my possession but love of the land and love of labor. I went to Mr. Klein to ask his advice, because I had heard that he was an amiable man and one could get advice and assistance from him; but since he had his hands full with the general good, he could not manage to deal with each individual, and he put me off time and again. Several years later, when I had married into a good family and become a family man, he took notice of me and showed me affection and friendship, as if we had been friends all the time. He honored me in the presence of my neighbors and visited me at home; and he used to rebuke me, saying: “I was the first you came to, as soon as you arrived in the country, and now you do not show me your face.” He remembered that I had waited at his door, but forgot that he had put me off. Because he was a great doer and was always doing good to people, he thought he had done good to me as well, like all the public benefactors, who feel as if they have worked for each and every man. I, too, felt as if I had benefited from him. Anyone who has asked another man for a favor, even if it is not granted, feels in his bones an attachment to him, as if he had received a benefit from him.
At the time when Mr. Klein was friendly to me, he had given up all his business and was busy only with his body, treating it with baths and medicines and taking a walk every day. But even during his walks he did not ignore the public needs, like a man of property who surveys his possessions to learn what they require. And during his walks he would call over anyone he met by the way, like those who are accustomed to company and do not like to walk alone. Often he would summon me and walk with me. It is not my way to boast, but I may be permitted to boast of this, because it shows Mr. Klein’s affection, for he took the trouble to tell me all that had been done in Jerusalem during the years of his life. Sometimes he repeated himself, like an old man who is fond of his memories, and sometimes he changed a little, according to the needs of the time and the place.