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TAKEN FROM: ADVENTURES
IN ENGLISH
UNIT TWO: ANCIENT
TALES
If Not Higher
I.
L. Peretz ( Poland (1852- 1915)
Early every Friday morning, at the time of the Penitential
Prayers,1 the Rabbi of Nemirov would vanish.
He
was nowhere to be seen—neither in the synagogue nor in the two Houses of Study
nor at a minyan.2 And
he was certainly not at home. His door
stood open; whoever wished could go in and out; no one would steal from the
rabbi. But not a living creature was
within.
Where could the rabbi be? Where should he be? In heaven, no doubt. A rabbi has plenty of business to take care of just before the Days of Awe. Jews, God bless them, need livelihood, peace, health, and good matches. They want to be pious and good, but our sins are so great, and Satan of the thousand eyes watches the whole earth from one end to the other. What he sees he reports; he denounces, informs. Who can help us if not the rabbi!
That
is what the people thought.
But
once a Litvak3 came, and he
laughed. You know the Litvaks. They think little of the Holy Books but
stuff themselves with Talmud and law.
So this Litvak points to a passage in the Gemarah4—it sticks in
your eyes—where it is written that even Moses, our Teacher, did not ascend to
heaven during his lifetime but remained suspended two and a half feet
below. Go argue with a Litvak!
So
where can the rabbi be?
“That’s
not my business,” said the Litvak, shrugging.
Yet all the while—what a Litvak can do!—he is scheming to find out.
That
same night, right after the evening prayers, the Litvak steals into the rabbi’s
room, slides under the rabbi’s bed, and waits.
He’ll watch all night and discover where the rabbi vanishes and what he
does during the Penitential Prayers.
Someone
else might have got drowsy and fallen asleep, but a Litvak is never at a loss;
he recites a whole tractate of the Talmud by heart.
At
dawn he hears the call to prayers.
The
rabbi has already been awake for a long time.
The Litvak has heard him groaning for a whole hour.
Whoever
has heard the Rabbi of Nemirov groan knows how much sorrow for all Israel, how
much suffering, lies in each groan. A
man’s heart might break, hearing it.
But a Litvak is made of iron; he listens and remains where he is. The rabbi, long life to him, lies on the
bed, and the Litvak under the bed.
Then
the Litvak hears the beds in the house begin to creak; he hears people jumping
out of their beds, mumbling a few Jewish words, pouring water on their
fingernails, banging doors. Everyone
has left. It is again quiet and dark; a
bit of light from the moon shines through the shutters.
(Afterward
the Litvak admitted that when he found himself alone with the rabbi a great
fear took hold of him. Goose pimples
spread across his skin, and the roots of his earlocks pricked him like needles. A trifle:
to be alone with the rabbi at the time of the Penitential Prayers! But a Litvak is stubborn. So he quivered like a fish in water and
remained where he was.)
Finally
the rabbi, long life to him, arises.
First he does what befits a Jew.
Then he goes to the clothes closet and takes out a bundle of peasant
clothes: linen trousers, high boots, a
coat, a big felt hat, and a long wide leather belt studded with brass
nails. The rabbi gets dressed. From his coat pocket dangles the end of a
heavy peasant rope.
The
rabbi goes out, and the Litvak follows him.
On
the way the rabbi stops in the kitchen, bends down, takes an ax from under the
bed, puts it in his belt, and leaves the house. The Litvak trembles but continues to follow.
The
hushed dread of the Days of Awe hangs over the dark streets. Every once in a while a cry rises from some minyan reciting the Penitential Prayers,
or from a sickbed. The rabbi hugs the
sides of the streets, keeping to the shade of the houses. He glides from house to house, and the Litvak
after him. The Litvak hears the sound
of his heartbeats mingling with the sound of the rabbi’s heavy steps. But he keeps on going and follows the rabbi
to the outskirts of the town.
A
small wood stands behind the town.
The
rabbi, long life to him, enters the wood.
He takes thirty or forty steps stops by a small tree. The Litvak, overcome with amazement, watches
the rabbi take the ax out of his belt and strike the tree. He hears the tree creak and fall. The rabbi chops the tree into logs and the
logs into sticks. Then he makes a
bundle of the wood and ties it with the rope in his pocket. He puts the bundle of wood on his back,
shoves the ax back into his belt, and returns to the town.
He
stops at a back street beside a small broken-down shack and knocks at the window.
“Who
is there?” asks a frightened voice. The
Litvak recognizes it as the voice of a sick Jewish woman.
“I,”
answers the rabbi in the accent of a peasant.
“Who
is I?”
Again
the rabbi answers in Russian. “Vassil.”
“Who
is Vassil, and what do you want?”
“I
have wood to sell, very cheap.” And, not waiting for the woman’s reply, he goes
into the house.
The
Litvak steals in after him. In the gray
light of the early morning he sees a poor room with broken, miserable
furnishings. A sick woman, wrapped in
rags, lies on the bed. She complains
bitterly, “Buy? How can I buy? Where will a poor widow get money?”
“I’ll
lend it to you,” answers the supposed Vassil.
“It’s only six cents.”
“And
how will I ever pay you back?” said the poor woman, groaning.
“Foolish
one,” says the rabbi reproachfully.
“See, you are a poor sick Jew, and I am ready to trust you with a little
wood. And I am sure you’ll pay. While you, you have such a great and mighty
God and you don’t trust him for six cents.”
“And
who will kindle the fire?” said the widow.
“Have I the strength to get up?
My son is at work.”
“I’ll
kindle the fire,” answers the rabbi.
As
the rabbi put the wood into the oven he recited, in a groan, the first portion
of the Penitential Prayers.
As
he kindled the fire and the wood burned brightly, he recited, a bit more
joyously, the second portion of the Penitential Prayers. When the fire was set he recited the third
portion, and then he shut the stove.
The
Litvak who saw all this became a disciple of the rabbi.
And ever after, when another disciple tells how the Rabbi of
Nemirov ascends to heaven at the time of the Penitential Prayers, the Litvak
does not laugh. He only adds quietly,
“If not higher.”