It backwatered with one of its fins and began paddling toward the thing that seemed to it like a mountain, a reef, or a living creature. Not even in its imagination did the fish envision what it really was.
The other fish saw it running toward the net. Fear fell upon them, and they panicked, since of those who enter that net, none returns. They wanted to shout, “Stay away! Keep your distance from the snare!” Terror froze their tongues in their mouths. They did not lose their panic until it gave way to wonder: did the fish not know that was the evil snare in which fish are seized? But in their innocence some of them believed that the fish was such a great hero that even a snare was child’s play for it. They began to glory in its heroism and to scorn the snare, since they had a hero who was not frightened of the snare. They still called the net a snare, that is, a fishhook that is nothing more than a needle, an expression used by King Solomon, may he rest in peace, when he sought to portray human weakness, as he said: “For a man cannot know his time, as fish are enmeshed in an evil snare,” et cetera. While some fish were praising the fish’s heroism, others sought to warn it: “Pick up your fins and flee for your life, for if you draw close sudden disaster will befall you.” They held a council and agreed unanimously to get rid of it completely. They played dumb and told it nothing. Those who did not shut their mouth in great joy on seeing a murderer’s impending disaster embraced a language of flattery and lies, and told it things that in our tongue go approximately as follows: “Our lord, you are worthy to make yourself a greater palace than that, but this is a time of distress, for the people of Buczacz have forsworn all pleasure from fish, and they won’t even buy a fish for the Sabbath.” The fish was seduced into thinking that they had prepared a palace in its honor. It flashed its scales to them and opened its eyes as though to say, “Let us go and see.” Some of them began to be remorseful and reflective: “Alas, what have we done? It will see immediately that we wanted evil to befall it, and it will take its revenge upon us.” But the fish had already been fated to die. Its foolishness trapped it, and it entered the palace, that is, the net.
The fisherman’s hand began to be pulled downward. The fisherman was used to the small fish of the Strypa at Buczacz, and he thought it was not a fish tugging at him and his net but a corpse, a bastard’s corpse. He cursed all the wanton women who endanger his nets with the infants they throw into the river. He wanted to leave the net in the river, so that if the baby were still living, it would die a long death and exact its torments from its mother. His hand began to tire and was pulled downward. He gathered that the corpse was conspiring to pull him into the river. He quickly drew in his net.
Our fish felt itself being pulled up. It began to wonder: Is this not the ascent of the soul? Since nothing like this had ever happened to it in its life, and all its life it was used to having everything its way, our fish came to the conclusion that this was the ascent of the soul that all the righteous gloried in. It began to see itself as righteous, in addition to all the praises that had been offered it from the day it had begun to rule over the tides of the Strypa, and it was angry at its ministers and servants for not calling it righteous.
Even if we had no books of moral teachings, we could learn the nature of temporary success from that fish. It was a great creature whose dread oppressed all the creatures in the Strypa, who were all prepared to render up the souls of their brothers and relatives to it, and there was no end to the words of flattery they would utter. Suddenly disaster befell it, and after that, no one could be found to stand by it in its troubles, not even to console it, not even insincerely. At that time all the swamp fish raised their voices and began to mock it, saying, “They are raising you up in order to crown you king on high, just as you ruled as a king below.” Come see these tiny ones, as our sages of blessed memory said, “The smallest of the small,” who had never opened their mouths in their lives, and who saw themselves only as food for the big ones, and whom the big ones took note of only for a snack. Suddenly they became heroes and mocked the fish to its face. Of this type of thing I say, with a slight change in the wording to satisfy the demands of the present subject, what they said in the Gemara: “Everything on dry land is also in the water.”
6
Ascent that is Descent
The fisherman drew in his net and found a big fish. He had not seen its like in the waters of the Strypa in his entire life. It was huge in flesh and fat, and its fins were crimson with blood, and its scales glistened like fine silver. The fisherman began to think well of himself and see himself as a wise man and hero. But what can wisdom and heroism offer if they are not accompanied by wealth?
At that time in Buczacz people refrained from buying fish, even for the Sabbath, which one is commanded to make pleasant with fish. And why did Buczacz refrain from buying fish even for the Sabbath? Because the fishermen had raised the prices higher than their due. Even though the eminent rabbi, the head of the court, had not declared a ban upon fish, everyone refrained from buying fish, except for one man, as I have recounted elsewhere.
The fisherman began to grumble about the fish that had come his way when people were not jumping to buy fish. If it had come in normal times, he would have made a good name for himself and made money and drawn girls’ hearts after him. Now it was doubtful whether he would find a customer aside from the priest, who paid with words and not with coin.
The fisherman reflected about what to do, but he came to no thought leading to action. The fish’s lodging in the net was hard for it. It began to flop around and to tug the net. The fisherman was afraid the fish would escape. He ran and fetched a basin and filled it with water and took the fish out of the net and placed it in the basin.
The fish was consigned to the basin. Never in its life had it been relegated to such a narrow place, and never in its life had its thoughts been so expansive. Needless to say, not when it was a king and exempt from thinking, for it is the way with kings that their ministers think for them, but even before being crowned it had not been used to thinking. Now, confined in the basin, it was thinking, and the world grew ever smaller: In the days of my forefathers, fish swam in the sea, then in the big rivers which spread out over every land, and then in the Strypa, which is called a river only in honor of Buczacz, and finally the world has been reduced to a basin of water.
Come and see how great the power of thought is. Not only does one thought lead to another, but it also passes from creature to creature. You see, while the fish was in the basin of water, gathering up its entire world in its thoughts, the fisherman laid himself down on his sack and his straw, wanting only to sleep, but thoughts came and visited him. As I have said, the fish was thinking about seas and rivers, about its forefathers and itself, and the fisherman was thinking about the Jews and the fish and himself. God may have graced him and sent him a fish worth a lot of money, but what did the Jews do? They stopped eating fish even on their Sabbath, when they are commanded to do so. And were it not for the pact the Jews had made among themselves not to buy fish, he would have sold the fish to a Jew and drunk wine and offered others a drink and hired a musician to play. The girls would have heard and come out to dance with him. He would have chosen one of the pretty ones and done with her what his heart desired. When he thought about what the Jews had done to him, rage blazed within him. He rolled on his bed and could not fall asleep. He rose and poured a full bottle into his mouth. When the bottle was empty, he threw it against the wall. The bottle broke and its fragments rang like church bells. The priest heard and said, “Thus they ring the bells for a priest who has died. Therefore I am dead, and I have to prepare a death banquet.” And because it was Lent, when it is forbidden to eat meat, he sent to the fisherman to have him bring him the fish. The fisherman was sad. Every single one of the fish’s scales is worth a penny — why must he part with it for nothing? He pounded his head against the table and wept. The innkeeper saw and asked him, “Why are you weeping?” The fisherman kicked his belly and scolded, saying to him, “Jew, don’t stick your tongue into things between me and the church. If you don’t shut up, I’ll say that your wine is mixed with Christian women’s blood, that you pierce the nipples of their breasts and kill their children and throw them into the river, and they get into my nets and ruin them.” The innkeeper was alarmed and frightened. He began to console him with a bottle as big as the wall. The wine entered and softened his heart. He revealed his trouble. The innkeeper said to him, “It’s a difficult problem. If the priest has asked you for the fish, you can’t put him off with a scale or two. I have an idea.” But he did not need the Jew’s advice, for meanwhile another Jew had come along and bought the fish.