I said to him, “I hear that you now fast on the eve of the New Moon (something they didn’t do before I left for the Land of Israel; they would say the prayers for the “Small Yom Kippur” but not fast). Hayyim said to Shalom, “Answer him.” Shalom took his pipe out of his mouth and said, “So it is. Formerly we would pray and not fast, now we fast but don’t say the prayers. Why? Because we don’t have a minyan; there aren’t ten men to pray left in the city.” I said to Hayyim and Shalom, “You say there’s not a minyan left for prayer. Does this mean that those who used to pray are not left, or that those who are left don’t pray? In either case, why haven’t I seen a living soul in the whole town?” They both answered me together and said, “That was the first destruction, and this is the last destruction. After the first destruction a few Jews were left; after the last destruction not a man of Israel remained.” I said to them, “Permit me to ask you one more thing. You say that in the last destruction not a man from Israel was left in the whole city. Then how is it that you are alive?” Hayyim smiled at me the way the dead smile when they see that you think they’re alive. I picked myself up and went elsewhere.
33
I saw a group of the sick and afflicted running by. I asked a man at the end of the line, “Where are you running?” He placed his hand on an oozing sore and answered, “We run to greet the rebbe.” “Who is he?” I asked. He moved his hand from one affliction to another and, smiling, said, “A man has only two hands, and twice as many afflictions.” Then he told me the name of his rebbe. It was a little difficult for me to understand. Was it possible that this rebbe who had left for the Land of Israel six or seven generations ago, and had been buried in the soil of the holy city of Safed, had returned? I decided to go and see. I ran along and reached the Tzaddik together with them. They began to cry out before him how they were stricken with afflictions and persecuted by the rulers and driven from one exile to another, with no sign of redemption in view. The Tzaddik sighed and said, “What can I tell you, my children? ‘May God give strength to His people; may God bless His people with peace.’” Why did he quote that particular verse? He said it only about this generation: before God will bless His people with peace He must give strength to His people, so that the Gentiles will be afraid of them, and not make any more war upon them because of that fear.
I said, “Let me go and make this known to the world.” I walked over to the sink and dabbed some water onto my eyes. I awoke and saw that the book lay open before me, and I hadn’t yet finished reciting the order of the commandments of the Lord. I went back and read the commandments of the Lord as composed by Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol, may his soul rest.
34
There was nobody in the shack; I sat in the shack alone. It was pleasant and nicely fixed up. All kinds of flowers which the soil of our neighborhood gives us were hung from the wall between branches of pine and laurel; roses and zinnias crowned the ark and the reader’s table, the prayer stand, and the eternal light. A wind blew through the shack and caused the leaves and flowers and blossoms to sway, and the house was filled with a goodly smell; the memorial candles gave their light to the building. I sat there and read the holy words God put into the hands of the poet, to glorify the commandments He gave to His people Israel. How great is the love of the holy poets before God! He gives power to their lips to glorify the laws and commandments that He gave to us in His great love.
35
The doors of the holy ark opened, and I saw a likeness of the form of a man standing there, his head resting between the scrolls of the Torah, and I heard a voice come forth from the ark, from between the trees of life. I bowed my head and closed my eyes, for I feared to look at the holy ark. I looked into my prayer book and saw that the letters that the voice from among the scrolls was reciting were at the same time being written into my book. The letters were the letters of the commandments of the Lord, in the order set for them by Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol, may his soul rest. Now the man whom I had first seen between the scrolls of the Torah stood before me, and his appearance was like the appearance of a king.
I made myself small, until I was as though I were not, so that he should not feel the presence of a man in the place. Is it right that a king enter one of his provinces, and he not find any of his officers and slaves, except for one little slave?
But my tricks didn’t help any. I made myself small, and nevertheless he saw me. How do I know he saw me? Because he spoke to me. And how do I know that it was to me he spoke? Because I was alone in the house of prayer; there was no one there with me. He did not speak to me by word of mouth, but his thought was engraved into mine, his holy thought into mine. Every word he said was carved into the forms of letters, and the letters joined together into words, and the words formed what he had to say. These are the things as I remember them, word for word.
36
I shall put down the things he said to me, the things he asked me, and the things I answered him, as I brought my soul out into my palm, daring to speak before him. (But before I say them, I must tell you that he did not speak to me with words. Only the thoughts that he thought were engraved before me, and these created the words.)
And now I shall tell you all he asked me, and everything I answered him. He asked me, “What are you doing here alone at night?” And I answered, “My lord must know that this is the eve of Shavuot, when one stays awake all night reading the Order of Shavuot night. I too do this, except that I read the hymns of Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol, may his soul rest.”
He turned his head toward me and toward the book that stood before me on the table. He looked at the book and said, “It is Solomon’s.” I heard him and was astonished that he mentioned Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol and did not affix some title of honor before his name. For I did not yet know that the man speaking to me was Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol himself.
37
Now I shall tell the things that transpired after these former things. The memorial candles lit up the shack, the thronged flowers that crowned the eternal light before the holy ark and the other flowers gave off their aromas, and one smell was mixed with another — the aroma of the house of prayer with that of the roses and zinnias from the gardens. A restful quiet was felt on the earth below and in the heavens above. Neither the call of the heart’s pleas on earth nor the sound of the heavens as they opened could be heard.
I rested my head in my arm, and sat and thought about what was happening to me. It couldn’t have been in a dream, because he specifically asked me what I was doing here alone at night, and I answered him, “Doesn’t my lord know that this night is the eve of Shavuot, when we stay awake all night and read the Order of Shavuot eve?” In any case, it seems a little difficult. Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol is the greatest of the holy poets. Why did he see fit to descend from the Palace of Song to this shack in this neighborhood to talk with a man like me?
38
I took my soul out into the palms of my hands and raised my head to see where I was, for it was a little hard to explain the things as they had happened, though their happening itself was witness to them, and there was no doubt that he was here. Not only did he speak to me, but I answered him. Maybe the thing happened when the heavens were open. But for how long do the heavens open? Only for a moment. Is it possible that so great a thing as this could happen in one brief moment?