Herbst went out, closed the door behind him, and checked the fence, the bushes, the vegetables, and the flowers, which were drooping because of the heat. He felt sorry for them and resolved to come back and water them before dark. He meant to go back in and tell Henrietta he would water the garden later. Meanwhile, he forgot what was in his mind and didn’t go back. It’s just as well he forgot. Had he gone in, he would have wakened her, and she needed her sleep, because she had been up all night with the baby, who had a stomachache from eating bad grapes and had cried all night. He turned back to the garden and glanced at the flowers, deciding which to take to Lisbet’s mother. He was distracted and didn’t take any. It’s just as well he forgot. Had he brought Lisbet’s mother flowers, she would not have accepted them, because he had picked them on Shabbat. He felt his pocket to be sure he had the book. He opened it and marked the passages he would read to Lisbet Neu and her mother. One could not assume the ladies would understand, but, if he explained, they would surely understand. Again, he pictured Lisbet Neu’s mother, sitting in her chair, hands folded over her heart, gazing at Lisbet, and saying to her, wordlessly: Listen, my child; listen, Lisbet. The scene conveyed a message: all the world’s goodness has not been totally consumed, and even in these troubled times there are ways to help others as well as yourself. Imagine yourself sitting with two respectable ladies, reading to them, and diverting your mind from that woman who was created to torment you.
The little neighborhood of Orhot Hayim was unusually quiet. As in most of Jerusalem’s neighborhoods, no work was done there on Shabbat. There was no one in sight. Some people were at home reading; others were in bed. Six days have been provided for work and labor; one, for rest and pleasure. Anyone with sense rests on that day and turns away from mundane concerns. Those with even more sense pursue wisdom as well as rest. How? By reading the Five Books of Moses, the commentaries of Rashi, the Ramban, Ibn Ezra. For the Torah is not to be taken literally and must be studied to be understood. If you find the key to its riddles, you are in on the secret of creation and the wisdom of the world. No day is so suited to such pursuits as the seventh, Shabbat, when the world rests. An object at rest is easier to observe, and observers are quiet, as a rule. Only their eyes are astir, exploring the Bible and its commentaries. God’s ways are wondrous. There are realms whose essence is feeling rather than thought. The Holy and Blessed One has granted our sages the wisdom to present these essentials again and again, until you feel you’ve already heard them. And you have in fact heard them. Where did you hear them? It was at Mount Sinai that we heard them, each and every one of us. For whatever our sages have discovered was already conveyed to Moses at Mount Sinai, and, what is more, the soul of every Jew was there listening. Because of the golden calf, forgetfulness was introduced into the world. Most things were forgotten, and it is the task of true commentators to restore what was lost. Man struggles six days, unable to provide essentials. When Shabbat comes, the intelligent soul pursues its true needs, those that relate to the living God. True sages appear and interpret the Torah and commandments, which they then impart to us effortlessly.
The above ideas are not Dr. Herbst’s, but those of the people in that neighborhood, whose grandparents came from the lands of exile to serve God, preserve His teachings, and fulfill His commandments in His chosen city. Dr. Herbst is an intellectual, whose thoughts center on his academic field. Now that he decided to write that article, he walked along thinking about the emperor Justinian and wondering if he really considered himself worthy of being swept up to heaven in a storm. His mind wandered from Justinian to his faithful servant General Belisarius, whom Justinian had blinded out of envy. His mind wandered from Justinian and Belisarius to Antonia, a woman of the court, and Yohanan, who were to be the heroes of the tragedy he planned to write. He didn’t dwell on this, because, whenever he thought about his tragedy, he was in the habit of smoking, and it would be disrespectful to smoke out of doors in Jerusalem on Shabbat, especially in an Orthodox neighborhood. Herbst refrained from smoking out of respect, not fear. This was before zealots in Jerusalem started attacking people for violating the Shabbat in public. They still remembered the special committee that supplied water, food, clothes, and medicine to a hungry Jerusalem in the wake of war, and they closed one eye to public violations of Shabbat, realizing that the offenders might be from the very committee whose help they might need tomorrow, for most of the communities they had depended on for support were now dependent on others and could not be counted on.
Even before the war, Jerusalem’s vigilantes had learned to close an eye when necessary. The following story is still being told. During the language war, when classes in all the Ezra schools were conducted in German and the Zionists demanded that they switch to Hebrew, an Ezra leader came from Berlin to investigate. All of Jerusalem expected a large contribution from him. Jerusalem’s leading citizens went to call on him at his gentile hotel on one of the intermediate days of Passover. He was in the dining room, dipping his biscuit in coffee. It was one of those thin biscuits that German bakers make from flour, egg, and butter. They remarked to him in mock-scholarly terms, “So you agree with those sages who regard watched-matzah and soakedmatzah as ritually independent of one another.”
Herbst abstained from smoking, but his mind did not. It led him to contemplate those brown cigarettes praised by Julian Weltfremdt. Since he didn’t think they were superior in taste or smell, he began to wonder why anyone preferred them. He was once out somewhere, and, noticing that everyone was smoking those cigarettes, it began to seem as if there were a secret society whose members recognized each other by this sign. Dr. Krautmeir was there too, with one of those long cigarettes stuck between her thin lips. Was there some special connection between her and Julian? Or was it the influence of Mimi, Julian’s wife? Was she also a patron of that skillful peddler, promoting his wares?
It’s not likely that there is anything between Julian and Krautmeir. Julian has no interest in women, and Krautmeir is such a cold person, totally devoted to her work, to the young sluts who beat a path to her door, eager to be relieved of their burden of shame. Julian has no interest in women, and Krautmeir, as was already noted, is cold. I wouldn’t be surprised if the cigarette in her mouth has a cold flame.
So much for Krautmeir; let’s consider why Julian is not attracted to other women. Is it because his wife is so lovely, charming, and gifted, with a fine voice and pleasant ways? Or is it precisely because his wife is lovely, charming, et cetera, that he isn’t attracted to others? This is not a paradox. If he has so little regard for this woman who is lovely and charming, he will certainly have no regard for others whose charm and beauty are no match for hers. So the facts explain each other, but what do we know about the workings of the heart and mind? Would it ever occur to you that a man such as Herbst is attracted to the woman —? We will suppress her name and refrain from saying “Shira,” for, if we say who she is, it will be totally baffling that a man with an intelligent, kind, industrious wife would pursue such a woman. And what is even more surprising: in his heart, he doesn’t fault himself for his actions. Shira herself, on the other hand, protects and safeguards him, by keeping him at a distance.