Chapter six
I will omit the Herbsts’ visit with Bachlam, which went well. When they left Bachlam’s house, Herbst said to his wife, “I don’t expect him to praise me lavishly, but I hope he won’t be too critical.” Now let’s get back to Herbst’s other affairs.
M. Herbst’s article was accepted and published. In style and content, it worked out well. When Dr. Manfred Herbst arrived in the Land of Israel, he couldn’t say anything in proper Hebrew, and, were it not for two or three students who corrected him continually, those who came to hear his lectures would be beside themselves with laughter. Gradually he acquired the language, so that it enhanced his lectures and he was able to write in it. Those who see style as more than mere word combinations are moved to exclaim: “This German, who probably arrived with only the rudiments of biblical grammar, writes more elegant prose than many of those learned old-timers who are considered the creators of modern Hebrew style.” How can this be? Some said that a stylist in one language is a stylist in any language he touches. Others said that, having learned Hebrew as an adult, Herbst read only good books and didn’t fill his belly with vulgar prose that doesn’t stick to the ribs.
Until that article appeared, he had produced nothing in Hebrew, so he treated it like a book. He ordered offprints, had them bound, and distributed them to colleagues, including some Jewish scholars abroad. As long as he was busy inscribing these offprints and mailing them out, time was passing but he didn’t notice. When he was finished, he didn’t know what to do.
He did, actually, know what to do. But, because he was discouraged, that was how it seemed. It goes without saying that he has notes to sort out and, even more important, to classify. If he was going to put his book in order, it would be good to have the notes arranged by subject. Right now, a great deal of effort is being wasted. He often copies material that has already been copied once, because the notes are in a mess and it is hard to confirm whether or not a particular item has been copied. Similarly, he often finds something that is worth copying and doesn’t copy it, assuming it has already been copied; later, when he goes through his papers, he discovers this is not so, and, if he still wants to copy it, he has a hard time tracing either the source or the subject.
He would occasionally go back to his box of notes, taking out a note, putting another in, comparing texts, adding marginal notes, et cetera — including them, not because of their content, but because of pedants and polemicists who, should he omit a reference, would argue that, had the author seen what So-and-so wrote in such-and-such a book, he would not have arrived at such a misguided conclusion. Hence those footnotes and citations that add nothing but are inserted to silence critics, a gratuitous display of erudition.
While dealing with these papers, Herbst sometimes formulated fragmentary ideas he didn’t hesitate to write down, in some cases briefly, in others at length. He was sometimes caught up in his writing, as in the days when he wrote his first book, when ideas flowed, along with the ability to express them and the documentation to support his views. When this occurred, he mourned the early days, which were gone, never to return again. Herbst forgot that then, too, there were arid times. Now it seemed that those days had been altogether good.
Herbst was distressed about the work that remained undone; about Shira, who avoided him; about himself — about the fact that he needed to get rid of Shira in order to be free to work. It can’t be, Herbst would say. It can’t be that I’ll spend my days and years thinking about women. Many times Herbst cried inwardly: What does she want from me? Actually, it was not that she wanted anything of him; it was he who wanted her. What do I want from you? I want to see you, that’s all. Better still, not to see you. If you were to go away, or if I were to go somewhere, I would be rid of you. I would be free. Isn’t it enough that I’ve wasted two years because of you? And that verse “Flesh such as yours / Will not soon be forgotten” played itself in his mind.
The Herbst household was in good order. Herbst had his concerns; his wife had hers. Herbst concerned himself with his books, his lectures, his students, and his major work on burial customs of the poor in Byzantium, while Henrietta concerned herself with the needs of the household — cooking, baking, sewing, ironing, shopping, health care, family matters locally and abroad. In addition, she tended the garden and tended her little girl, Sarah, who was no longer a baby in a crib but was not yet ready for nursery school, which is just as well, for there is no nursery school in Baka. The closest one is in Talpiot, and how could anyone find time to take her there and pick her up? Herbst’s salary is barely adequate to pay for household help. The Herbsts really ought to have moved to a Jewish neighborhood. In fact, they should have done so right after the riots of 1929 and all the more so now, when Arab bands are wreaking havoc, and Arabs are like wolves to Jews. But, being so fond of their home and garden, the Herbsts are reluctant to move. Anyone who has toiled over a house and garden will not abandon them easily. And you know what an investment Henrietta has made in her house and garden. She rented a heap of rubble and transformed it into a fine home. Henrietta ignores danger and lives as she did when she first came to Jerusalem, when the high commissioner, who was Jewish, used to go to the Hurva Synagogue on a special Shabbat, read from the Torah, and sit between the two chief rabbis on a throne adorned with the verse “Suffer not a stranger to sit upon His throne.” After the service, he would attend a reception in his honor, where the country’s leaders sang his praises over a full glass of wine. And the German consul, who sent his children to a Jewish nursery, used to ask Dr. Ruppin to intercede on his behalf when he needed a favor from the high commissioner. The German consul’s brother-in-law, who was a frequent guest in Jewish homes, used to praise all the Carmel wines. At night, after Shabbat, Hasidim would dance down from Mea Shearim to the Old City and from the Old City back to Mea Shearim, and young men and women would stroll all night, wherever they wished. If an Arab met a Jew, he would say hello. If they were acquainted, he would say more — and in Hebrew, so that those who presumed to foresee the future predicted that in another generation the Arabs would become assimilated. How? It remained for the future to fulfill their heart’s desire.
And so the Herbst household is in good order. Nothing has changed except for the help. Sarini is gone, and Firadeus has taken her place. Firadeus is alert and agile, dark and attractive. Her eyes are like two sweet raisins, and she never says a sharp word. She is the embodiment of humility, enhanced by modesty and reticence.