And then there was Sinai itself, which we went up at night and then watched the dawn and descended the mountain by the very path Moses came down with the tablets; and there is so much more which everybody knows from Scripture but when you read it, it seems abstract history, legends, myths, and when you get into a minibus and travel around all these places in a matter of hours, you realize it is not history but geography. This happened here, that happened there, and everything becomes true. Do you know where that feeling comes from? Because there are actual witnesses here, mountains, wadis, caves. Daniel showed us the cave where young David hid with his reed pipe from crazed King Saul. Saul came in and squatted down to relieve himself. David crept up and cut off the corner of his cloak and then showed him. See, you were defenseless, I could have killed you but I did not, so I am not your enemy. And this cave is a witness, and the plants and the animals which to this day live there just as they did then are also witnesses. At every such place we prayed, and everything was filled with such profound meaning that there is no describing it. In fact, everything that occurs here is very difficult to convey in words. They are inadequate and very approximate.
If you had stood next to me when Daniel was celebrating the Mass almost at the top of Mount Sinai! The sun was rising and what I wanted most was to die right then, because if I live a long time everything will be eroded, washed away, sullied by all sorts of rubbish, but at that moment there was such clarity and union with the world that it is difficult to describe. At all events, it had nothing to do with faith, because faith presupposes the existence of something which cannot be seen, and you make an effort to give that unseen and unfelt thing pride of place, and you repudiate seen things in favor of unseen things. But here there is an end to all faith because no effort is needed. You just stand and are happy and filled to the brim not with faith but with certainty. Forgive me, for God’s sake, for this torrent of words, but I am writing to you in order not to burst. Perhaps I won’t even send this letter. I’ll reread it in the morning before deciding!
Mama, this year I will come and spend my holiday with you, but next year you really must promise to come here. Give me your word! I know, I have guessed long ago why you do not want to come. But do you know, half the Germans who were in the group are the children of those who fought in the war, children of SS men and all that, and you and I are not the only descendants of people for whom it is difficult to pray. Mama, I know perfectly well that you do not like Jews and are ashamed of it and still cannot like them. Please come. It will not be I or Daniel but the land here itself that will tell you more than you knew before, both about love and about history, and we will drive around Kinneret with you and then go up to Tsfat and you will see down below how small the Sea of Galilee is, like an elongated drop of water, and around it are the villages—Kfar Nahum, that is, Capernaum, Magdala, Cana, Gergesa—and you will take in at one glance all the Bible’s history. It would be good if you could come in the spring when everything is green, covered in wild flowers, poppies, wild irises, and wild mustard.
But now I must not forget the most amazing thing about our trip. Believe it or not, we were already returning home and had passed the turn to Zikhron Yaakov, which is not far from Haifa at all. Daniel suddenly braked, turned the bus, and, without saying a word, took us to that town. Pretty cottages, some five-story blocks in which repatriates live. Daniel stopped at a small round plaza beside a café and said, “The perfect time for a cup of coffee! I’ll just leave you for half an hour.”
Off he went, somehow vanishing between the identical cottages. We sat and waited for him. Half an hour later he hadn’t come back. He likes to say that he and I are very punctual people, but I in a German way and he in a Jewish way. To my question as to what the difference is, he replies, “A German comes on time, and a Jew when necessary!”
Anyway, he came back not half an hour but an hour later looking very pleased with himself. The whole way home he said nothing, although by this time he had lost his voice anyway and could only whisper. We reached Haifa, took everybody back to their lodgings, and returned to the community house. I put the kettle on and Daniel sat down and told me. “Listen, Hilda. What a day it’s been. It must be five years ago that I received a letter from an old Jewish woman saying she wanted to be baptized. Her son had had an operation and his heart had stopped. The old lady was convinced that Jesus had saved her son because her Russian daughter-in-law, Vera, had prayed so fervently she had practically blown the roof off. I went to see her again. There was a whole district full of Russian Jews. They were all spying on each other, and the moment anything wasn’t quite right they were writing denunciations. Well, not all of them, of course, but there are people like that. In this sense, whether they are Soviet or Polish all Communists are the same. They keep a close watch to make sure nobody else is getting more than them. Anyway, daughter-in-law Vera, because all the neighbors knew she was Christian, had a certain amount of trouble. The old lady, although she believed, was scared to death of the neighbors. ‘Can you baptize me so that not a living soul should know?’
“She was a tiny little old woman, barely larger than a cat, but glowing. She was bent double and could barely move her legs, but she had cooked something for me, pies and the like.
“I looked at her and asked, ‘Well, why have you taken it into your head to get christened, Olga Isaakovna?’ ‘Sonny,’ she said, ‘I’m alive and I’m so grateful, so grateful to Christ. I had a dream about him and he said, “Come, come to me!” He called me, and it was such fun, like when I was a girl! Perhaps I’ve gone back to my childhood. But when he said “Come to me,” what else could he have meant? I decided it could only mean being christened. But in secret! Otherwise the neighbors will all spread it around and my son will lose his job.’
“The old lady was very frail, but so light and joyful! A cheery old lady like that would be loved by any god: baking pies, loving her daughter-in-law.
“I said, ‘Fine, I will baptize you. Meanwhile, prepare yourself, read the Gospels with your daughter-in-law, rejoice and thank God, and before you die I will christen you. Not now, because you may change your mind and start being upset at being unfaithful to Abraham!’
“I left my telephone number and said that if she became seriously ill her daughter-in-law should phone me and I would come.
“I forgot all about the old lady until we were driving past that turn to Zikhron Yaakov. As we went past, it was as if someone cuffed the back of my head. I had forgotten the old lady!
“While you were drinking coffee I went to see them. The daughter-in-law is tall, broad, and as soon as she opened the door, she threw up her great arms in the air and said, ‘We’ve been trying to phone you at the monastery for three days and they said you were away. I’m so glad they got through to you. Olga Isaakovna is not at all well.’
“I didn’t bother to tell them it was an angel from heaven who’d told me about their phone calls when he thumped me on the head at the turn. Olga Isaakovna was fully conscious but barely breathing. Her little eyes were shining. She saw me and said very weakly, ‘You’re keeping me back. I have waited for you such a long time.’ The daughter-in-law was radiant. At the back stood an enormous bearded husband, David, and two sons who were also big lads. I had nothing with me, not even a crucifix. The daughter-in-law took a little cross from her neck and that was it. That was how I baptized Olga Isaakovna.