Ernst Weltfremdt and Manfred Herbst were on the same ship when they went up to the Land of Israel. Inasmuch as they were shipmates who came from the same country, spoke the same language, and had the same purpose, a friendship developed, which endured so long as the university remained small, the yishuv population sparse, and Jerusalem’s neighborhoods few. When the trouble in Germany and other Nazi-controlled countries began to escalate, many Jews arrived. The yishuv grew, the university expanded, new teachers came. Everyone found new friends, and Weltfremdt and Herbst rarely met up with each other. Herbst didn’t notice that he no longer visited Weltfremdt, nor did Weltfremdt notice that Herbst seldom appeared at his door. When they noticed, they saw no reason for a change. When they did meet, they met as friends with an ongoing friendship. Occasionally Weltfremdt dragged Herbst home with him, and occasionally Herbst came on his own to borrow a book, more frequently as Herbst grew interested in patristics. Weltfremdt had brought his books on the subject with him, this being the field he had studied and in which he had earned renown. He was still hoping to return to it, at first in England or the United States, and later on in Germany itself. What was it that attracted Herbst to patristics? He apparently wanted to find out whether he could still deal with unfamiliar material, for he often wondered if what he did in his own field was largely habit.
A few days after Manfred and Henrietta’s conversation about Taglicht and Lisbet Neu, it happened that Manfred went into town. When he was in town, it happened that he was in Rehavia. Once he was in Rehavia, he stopped at Weltfremdt’s.
Weltfremdt was busy preparing lectures for the spring term. He used to write them in German, and Taglicht would translate them into Hebrew, adding comments he considered appropriate from the Gemara and the Midrash, but no one was aware that Weltfremdt was plowing with Taglicht’s horse. Were you to mention this, Weltfremdt himself probably wouldn’t know what you were referring to. How could this be? He paid Taglicht generously, giving good money for what he got. Furthermore, although Taglicht was praised by everyone and considered highly accomplished in every field and discipline, his learning was a mass of disjointed fragments. If not for Professor Weltfremdt, who used this expertise as a resource for lectures, articles, and books, that expert would be lost in his own wisdom.
As soon as Herbst mentioned Taglicht, Weltfremdt was alarmed. When he told him why he had come, he was relieved. He got up and hid his lecture notes, placed his hand on Herbst’s shoulder, and said, “Neu, Neu. Yes, yes…. I know a woman called Neu. Yes, yes. If I’m not mistaken, she’s considerably older than Taglicht.” Herbst said, “If you’re referring to the mother, she’s older than Taglicht. As for the daughter, she’s younger.” Weltfremdt said, “Yes, yes, Dr. Herbst, the old are old, and the young are young. Incidentally, just yesterday I read your paper comparing the Code of Leo the Isaurian to the Hammurabi Code. Not bad, not bad at all. But, judging by the date under the paper, you wrote it two years ago. Two years ago, and you haven’t published anything since. Not a thing. This is contrary to university policy. We don’t require that each faculty member produce a weighty tome annually, but it would be appropriate to publish an article or a monograph every year or so. And you, doctor, turn out one article in two years. As for the piece itself, others have in fact dealt with the same subject, though yours is not without new insights. I pointed it out to our colleagues, especially to Professor Bachlam, who resents other people’s insights and always uses them to support what he has written or what he means to write, even in fields whose terminology he doesn’t understand. What were we talking about? Yes, yes, about Professor Neu’s relative. If I’m not mistaken, you — that is, you and Mrs. Herbst — are interested in making a match between Taglicht and Miss Neu, mainly because he and she are available. In that case, one should speak to them first, to both Dr. Taglicht and Miss Neu. Though you and Mrs. Herbst both agree that they — I mean, Taglicht and Neu — are suited to each other, that’s not good enough. You — I mean, you and Mrs. Herbst — have taken on a big job. I myself can’t imagine how these things happen — how you come to a fellow and say, ‘I’ve found a girl for you,’ not to mention coming to a girl and delivering the same message with the appropriate changes. Yes, indeed. Incidentally, doctor, have you noticed that Leo’s Code, though he is considered an outright atheist, is derived from the Torah and from the Evangelists, which is not the case with Justinian? Incidentally, doctor, if you see my cousin Julian, tell him that, though he maligns me in every café in Jerusalem, he is welcome for coffee at my house anytime. I see you’re hurrying. If you wait a bit, we can have coffee together. Not the kind you usually drink, which keeps you awake, but a harmless brew. Incidentally, tell me, how did you arrive at the comparison between the Code of Leo the Isaurian and the Hammurabi Code? If I were allowed to allow myself the liberty, I could, perhaps, give myself some of the credit, as I was the one who lent you David Heinrich Miller’s edition of the Hammurabi Code. Yes, yes. Incidentally, what do you think about Bachlam? Taglicht says that Bachlam writes ‘flaxen Hebrew.’ I can’t imagine what ‘flaxen Hebrew’ is. Welcome, Mrs. Weltfremdt. Did you manage to rest a bit? Now, Herbst, you can’t escape without drinking coffee with us first. What do you think, Dikchen, will Professor Herbst find some coffee in our house?”
Herbst stayed at Weltfremdt’s, where he drank coffee that doesn’t keep one from sleeping and ate cake that doesn’t keep one’s middle from expanding. They talked about the university, its faculty, and many other matters. When Dr. Ernst Weltfremdt publishes his autobiography, we’ll have more details.
To please his wife, Weltfremdt suggested that she show their guest the rhymes she had composed on the marriage of their eldest daughter. Professor Weltfremdt’s wife, Rikchen, poetized every family event. Her relatives in Germany were fond of her rhymes, but here in Jerusalem, where public events tended to overshadow personal ones and the Hebrew language was beginning to take over from German, she had no audience. If not for her husband, who sometimes told his guests about her rhymes, we would be unaware of Mrs. Weltfremdt’s talent.
While she went to get her rhymes, Weltfremdt gave Herbst the galleys of his article for Bachlam’s jubilee volume. As Herbst leafed through the galleys, Weltfremdt began discussing other individuals who had been similarly honored. Typically, as they approached the age of fifty or sixty, these men would go from professor to professor, asking how to avoid the notoriety to which they were about to be subjected. They would confide that the most erudite scholars had already met and formed a jubilee committee — a committee of unprecedented distinction — which they nevertheless considered flawed, “because Ernst Weltfremdt’s name is not included.” “Whether I want to or not, I add my name. They press me to contribute an article to the jubilee volume to be published in honor of that academic pest. They press me to hand it in immediately and then delay my article, along with the entire book, so that, when it finally appears, my insights are outdated. A learned man once said wisely, ‘All those jubilee volumes are burial grounds for the written word.’ I would amend this — they’re burial grounds for mummies. Yes, for mummies!”