Read Online The Parable and Its Lesson: A Novella by S. Y. Agnon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: S. Y. Agnon
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Jewish, History & Criticism, Criticism & Theory, Regional & Cultural, World Literature, Movements & Periods
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affairs. While he was still looking around he continued:
Now listen to me all you people of Buczacz. You think that Gehinnom is only for Torah scholars. Well, let me tell you otherwise. There is one area there compared to which all the rest of Gehinnom is like Gan Eden. I never noticed it at first because it was covered in dust. But the voices that could be heard through the dust suggested that there were people there. I could not tell if they were people or cattle or fowl until I went in and saw that it was one huge market fair, like the ones our great-grandparents and those who came before them used to tell about, before Khmelnitski, may his name be blotted out. There were traders, dealers, noblemen and noblewomen, goods galore—like you’ve never seen before. Silver and gold and all kinds of expensive things. Then suddenly the whole fair was thrown into a panic. The Tatars had arrived. They came on swift horses in rumbling hordes. My body trembles even now as I recall it. I will stop talking about it and go back to where I left off.
So our Master was looking at me and said, “We have to go.” My heart broke within me, but I followed him.
The earth was drenched in dew and the firmament moist with the perspiration generated by the stars in their efforts to illumine the world. The whole way along, our Master said not one word. Was he ruminating about Aaron’s death, or about liberating the young agunah from her bonds? Who am I to say? Once or twice our Master looked up at the heavens and I could hear him whisper, “The stars are bunched together like a brood of chicks under a hen.” Truthfully, I have no idea if he really said that or if I just thought he did. Because on the eve of Yom Kippur, at first light, when I went into the chicken coop to get the atonement chickens for my wife and me, may she rest in peace, I saw chicks roosting under the mother hen and I was reminded of a line in the Book of the Angel Razi’el, “many stars are clustered together like chicks under a hen.” And so when I saw our Master look upward and whisper, those words came to me. By the time the sun rose, we were back in the courtyard of the synagogue.
Our Master kissed the mezuzah and then placed his walking stick in the courtyard behind the door and the mezuzah. I really should have taken it from him, but our Master never let anyone help him with his walking stick. After all, when Samson was blind he never asked anyone to get his staff for him in all his twenty-two years of judging Israel, and the Sages praised him for that. Our Master always took his stick and put it back by himself. But whenever he went to the sink to wash his hands, I would go and place it right near him so he would not have to bend down to get it.
He washed his hands, dried them and with his customary humility recited the Torah blessings in his sweet voice. I am not among those who claim to know what goes on in Heaven, but I am reasonably sure that when our Master said those blessings, each one was answered with an “Amen” from on high.
When he was seated in his usual place, I went over to him to ask him who should lead the morning service. In his day no one ever approached the lectern to lead unless our Master himself gave him permission to do so. He asked whether there was anyone present who had an obligation to lead, such as a man observing yahrzeit. Before I could answer he told me to go up.
I put on my talit and tefillin and went up to the Ark. I am an old man and I do not like to exaggerate, but I can tell you that I felt as if my feet were standing on the roof of Gehinnom and that this was the very last prayer that I would be allowed to utter. Miracle of miracles, I was still alive when the service ended.
That day I went to a scribe to have him check my tefillin to see if perhaps some letter on the parchment inside had faded. The fear and anxiety I had felt during the trip made me perspire so profusely that it was possible that the parchment had
Now listen to me all you people of Buczacz. You think that Gehinnom is only for Torah scholars. Well, let me tell you otherwise. There is one area there compared to which all the rest of Gehinnom is like Gan Eden. I never noticed it at first because it was covered in dust. But the voices that could be heard through the dust suggested that there were people there. I could not tell if they were people or cattle or fowl until I went in and saw that it was one huge market fair, like the ones our great-grandparents and those who came before them used to tell about, before Khmelnitski, may his name be blotted out. There were traders, dealers, noblemen and noblewomen, goods galore—like you’ve never seen before. Silver and gold and all kinds of expensive things. Then suddenly the whole fair was thrown into a panic. The Tatars had arrived. They came on swift horses in rumbling hordes. My body trembles even now as I recall it. I will stop talking about it and go back to where I left off.
So our Master was looking at me and said, “We have to go.” My heart broke within me, but I followed him.
The earth was drenched in dew and the firmament moist with the perspiration generated by the stars in their efforts to illumine the world. The whole way along, our Master said not one word. Was he ruminating about Aaron’s death, or about liberating the young agunah from her bonds? Who am I to say? Once or twice our Master looked up at the heavens and I could hear him whisper, “The stars are bunched together like a brood of chicks under a hen.” Truthfully, I have no idea if he really said that or if I just thought he did. Because on the eve of Yom Kippur, at first light, when I went into the chicken coop to get the atonement chickens for my wife and me, may she rest in peace, I saw chicks roosting under the mother hen and I was reminded of a line in the Book of the Angel Razi’el, “many stars are clustered together like chicks under a hen.” And so when I saw our Master look upward and whisper, those words came to me. By the time the sun rose, we were back in the courtyard of the synagogue.
Our Master kissed the mezuzah and then placed his walking stick in the courtyard behind the door and the mezuzah. I really should have taken it from him, but our Master never let anyone help him with his walking stick. After all, when Samson was blind he never asked anyone to get his staff for him in all his twenty-two years of judging Israel, and the Sages praised him for that. Our Master always took his stick and put it back by himself. But whenever he went to the sink to wash his hands, I would go and place it right near him so he would not have to bend down to get it.
He washed his hands, dried them and with his customary humility recited the Torah blessings in his sweet voice. I am not among those who claim to know what goes on in Heaven, but I am reasonably sure that when our Master said those blessings, each one was answered with an “Amen” from on high.
When he was seated in his usual place, I went over to him to ask him who should lead the morning service. In his day no one ever approached the lectern to lead unless our Master himself gave him permission to do so. He asked whether there was anyone present who had an obligation to lead, such as a man observing yahrzeit. Before I could answer he told me to go up.
I put on my talit and tefillin and went up to the Ark. I am an old man and I do not like to exaggerate, but I can tell you that I felt as if my feet were standing on the roof of Gehinnom and that this was the very last prayer that I would be allowed to utter. Miracle of miracles, I was still alive when the service ended.
That day I went to a scribe to have him check my tefillin to see if perhaps some letter on the parchment inside had faded. The fear and anxiety I had felt during the trip made me perspire so profusely that it was possible that the parchment had
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