Two Tales: Betrothed & Edo and Enam Page 16

  “After the service they went to greet each other with kisses on the shoulder and beard, and wished each other a peaceful Sabbath and left for their homes after this exchange of Sabbath blessings. I went back with my host and dined with him, his two wives and his children all seated on the mat as they ate and drank and sang hymns which were unfamiliar to me and which I had not come across in any collection. Before sunrise I awoke to the sound of singing, and saw the master of the house seated on his mat as he raised his voice in hymns of praise. I duly washed my hands and listened attentively to these poems which I had never heard in my life, never seen in any book of devotional verse. So moved was I by their sweetness and holiness that it did not occur to me to inquire who was their author nor how they had reached this simple villager. But even had I asked, he would have declined to answer, for in those parts they avoid speaking before they have said their prayers. After he had finished his hymn-singing, we went to the synagogue, their custom being to pray at dawn.

  “The entire community was gathered in the synagogue, seated round the four walls, singing psalms. Their way is for one of the congregation to recite a single psalm in a loud voice, word by word; after him, another takes his place, and then another. It is as if each man is given an audition to discover if he is fit to be an emissary of Israel before the Divine Presence; after finishing the psalm he lowers his voice, realizing that he is not fit for such a mission. When they reached the blessing for the daily renewal of light, the leader of the congregation came down from the dais and stood before the Ark, where he recited the call to prayer and the blessing for light, and then returned to his place.

  The congregation went on with the regular order of the Service through to the end of the Silent Devotion. For the repetition of the prayer, the leader again took his place before the Ark, while the congregation stood with willing heart, and responded ‘Amen’ with great devotion. While taking the Torah scroll from the Ark, their way is to say ‘Happy is the people whose lot is thus’ and ‘The Lord will reign.’ And their scrolls are of deerskin, the writing is in large letters, and they do not allow more than the prescribed seven readers of the weekly portion. To the reading of the Torah the women come, and sit down in the synagogue on each side of the door; and I heard that this was an ancient custom which not even the most righteous or saintly of men had ever opposed. For at the time when the Torah was given to Israel, no evil desire could prevail; and to this day it cannot prevail with those whose thoughts are wholly upon the Torah.

  “After the prayers I went home with my host. He seated himself on his mat and began with melodious hymns to the Divine Presence, who had chosen His people Israel and given them the Sabbath day. Next he sang in praise of Israel, the people who had been so honored; and then in praise of the Sabbath, which, being holy, makes all who keep it holy. Afterwards we washed our hands and ate the chief meal of the day. The meal ended, but not the singing of hymns. I asked him about these hymns, about their origin. He said, ‘I have them from my father. He was a great scholar and knew all that is in the books.’ ‘And where do the books come from?’ He reached into a recess in the wall and brought out a bundle of writings, containing a great number of awe-inspiring devotional poems. Some were by Rabbi Dosa the son of Rabbi Penuel who originated the hymn El Adon and in his great humility did not sign his name to it, except in the fourth line, where he wrote of how the two great angels Knowledge and Understanding, who encircle the majesty of the Holy One, revealed themselves to him; and as he wrote of their works he introduced his name in an acrostic. In similar fashion I identified the poems of Rabbi Adiel, who composed the hymn, ‘This people which Thou didst create, Thy holy commandments they shall keep,’ and similarly those of other early poets who concealed their names. I broached the question of his selling me his book. He said, ‘Even if you gave me an ox I would not sell it.’ I asked him for permission to copy two or three of the poems. He said, ‘Even if you gave me a sheep I would not let you.’ He would not sell his book even in return for an ox, nor let me make copies even for a sheep. I went away despairing and came back to the city. Three days later he came to my home and presented the volume to me as a gift. I offered to pay him what it was worth; he would not agree. I raised the sum, and still he refused. I said, ‘Even that amount, it seems, is not equal to the value you set upon it.’ He answered, ‘God forbid that I should take it. I am giving the book to you for nothing.’ ‘But why?’ I asked. ‘What concern is that of yours?’ he said. ‘You want it, and I am giving it to you.’ I said, ‘I do not wish to take it without payment. I shall give you what it is worth.’ He put his hands behind his back and went away. It was hard for me to take a precious article like this from a poor man. I went to the learned men of the city to seek their advice; as soon as they saw me coming they hastened to meet me and greeted me with great deference. I said, ‘My masters, why have you seen fit to do me such honor?’ ‘How else could it be,’ they said, ‘seeing that you are favored by heaven?’ ‘I do not deserve to be addressed in this way,’ I said. ‘Why do you think that I am favored on high?’ They answered, ‘There came a villager, who told us that he was instructed in a dream to give you a holy volume in manuscript which he had inherited from his father, who had it from his father, and so back for many generations.’ I said, ‘I have come to you because of this book. Set a value upon it and I shall leave the money with you.’ They answered: ‘God forbid that we should take money from you.’ I said, ‘I swear that I will not budge from here until you tell me how much I must pay.’ When they saw that I was determined, they agreed to take from me a certain sum of gold dinars, and I left the sum with them. I do not know if the poor villager took what I left for him or not. Possibly he was told in his dream to give the money to charity, and did so. That is the story of the collection of devotional poems which came into my possession not long before I became acquainted with Gemulah.”

  VI

  Perfect as the moon was Gemulah; her eyes were sparks of light; her face was like the morning star; her voice was sweet as the shades of evening. When she lifted up her voice in song, it was as if all the gates of melody were opened. She knew, besides, how to bake kavanim and how to roast meat on hot coals. Though Gemulah was only twelve years old when Gamzu first chanced upon her home, her wisdom shone out like that of a mature woman, for her father had passed on to her the secret knowledge laid up by his ancestors. She was his only child, his wife having died in giving birth to her. He had taken no other wife, and since he could not bear to think of so much wisdom perishing, he had handed on what he knew to his daughter.

  Gamzu spent about a year in her father’s house, until his strength began to return to him. Then he went his way and traveled to Vienna to have his eye treated. He spent a year in Vienna and left with one eye only. All the time he was in the hospital he consoled himself with the thought that his sight would return and he would then go back to Gemulah. When he left the hospital he had no funds for travel; all his resources had been eaten up in doctors’ fees. Akiva Amrami met him and said, “Obadiah and Obadiowitz are seeking a man like you, who would be willing to travel on their behalf to distant countries and bring back rare books.” He went to see Obadiah and Obadiowitz; they marked out all the places he was to go to, paid his traveling expenses, and authorized him to spend on their account as much as he needed. God prospered his way and Gamzu gave satisfaction to his employers. He was able to save some of his earnings, and so he set out for the land where Gemulah lived.

  In the meantime something had happened in Gemulah’s country, the like of which hardly occurred once in a jubilee cycle. A holy man, a Hakham of Jerusalem, had appeared there and stayed for six months. Six more months had already gone by since his departure, yet his name was still on everybody’s lips. Those who had been sick spoke of how Hakham Gideon had relieved their suffering. Others told of how Hakham Gideon had taught them ways to ease the burdens of life. He had also shown how all kinds of illnesses might be avoided, even without incantations, even in the case
of infants who normally die of the evil eye. He had taken no fees from them, and if they had given him a present he had made them a gift in return. Gamzu was of the opinion that this Hakham Gideon was no Jerusalem Hakham, but a European man of learning, an ethnologist or something of the kind. He saw as evidence of this the fact that Gideon had recorded in his notebook all the songs he had heard from Gemulah and even her conversations with her father in the language they had devised for themselves.

  So Gamzu returned to Gemulah’s home, and when Gemulah saw him, she rejoiced as a bride over her bridegroom. She roasted a kid for him and baked kavanim and sang for him all the songs that Hakham Gideon had liked. Nor did she concern herself with the affairs of Gadi Ben Ge’im, her neighbor, who insisted that Gemulah had been betrothed to him since the time when they were nursed together at his mother’s breast; for Gemulah’s mother having died in giving birth to her, the mother of Gadi had reared her as a daughter.

  At this time evil fell upon Gevariah, Gemulah’s father. He had gone up to the mountaintop to learn from the eagles how they renew their youth. There an eagle had attacked him, not heeding the fact that Gevariah came in peace, without any weapon, not even a stick. Gevariah fought back, and had he not managed to beat off the eagle, he would have been mauled beneath its talons and torn to pieces and devoured. Even so, the eagle injured his left arm, lacerating the flesh. Gevariah neglected the wound until he took sick and died.

  Before his death, he appointed a night of dancing, for his own and Gemulah’s sake, for such was the custom in their country. Seven nights before a betrothal they appoint a night of dances, and it is usual on such occasions for the young men to come, and each snatches a wife for himself from among the girl dancers. Gamzu was aware that Gadi Ben Ge’im intended to snatch Gemulah, but he anticipated him and won her and made her his bride.

  For seven days and seven nights they held the wedding feast. Gevariah lay upon his mat and conducted the dances with his uninjured hand. Seven different dances he conducted each night, and eight kinds of dances each day, that Gemulah might give birth to a son who would be circumcised on the eighth day. With the end of the seven days of feasting, Gevariah’s life ended, too.

  Gemulah mourned her father for seven days and nights, with songs of lamentation every day and night. At the end of her first week of mourning she made a great memorial, with songs and dances full of dread and wonder. After thirty days had passed, Gamzu began to speak to her of the journey they must take. Gemulah heard him out, but could not grasp what this meant for her. When she understood she protested strongly. Little by little she was persuaded, until she consented to leave, but she put off making the journey from week to week and from month to month. All this time the moon did not affect her; it seemed that because of her grief at her father’s death the moon had no power over her. She was also protected by the charms, though there was no change in her condition, and she was like an unripe fig that is still closed up, on the tree, her sweetness all stored within. At the end of the year of mourning, she said of her own accord that she was ready for the journey. Gamzu hired two camels, and they rode until they came to the edge of the desert, where the caravans go out. They joined a caravan, journeying for forty days until they came to a settled region. Gamzu bought shoes for her feet and dresses for her to wear and a kerchief for her head, and they rode on until they reached a port. There he hired a ship, and they sailed to the Land of Israel. And because they were traveling to the Land of Israel, God preserved them from all evil. But it was not so in the Land itself. As Rabbi Alshikh wrote, concerning the dispute in the Talmud as to whether a man is judged every day or on Rosh Hashanah only: the latter applies outside the Land, but in the Land of Israel one is judged daily; each single day the Holy One sits in judgment upon His people. The beginning of the judgment was that Gemulah no longer sang her sweet songs. Later, all speech was withheld from her. Next, she was possessed by melancholy. Lastly, she fell seriously ill. With her sickness she began to torment Gamzu. His plight grew worse from day to day.

  As Gamzu was relating this, I heard a sound like the opening of a window. At the same moment I could hear spoken words. I was not afraid, but I was certainly astonished, since besides myself and Gamzu there was no one in the house, and neither he nor I had opened a window. I began to recollect the dream I had had on the previous night, the train I saw and the window that opened. And again I was amazed at the power of dreams, which come back to us when we are awake as if they were real happenings. Once more I heard the same sound. I listened attentively and thought, Ginat must have come home and opened a window. But how could one explain the sound of spoken words? Gamzu saw I was distracted, and said, “You are tired. Do you want to sleep?”

  “No, I am not tired, and I don’t want to sleep.”

  “Are you troubled about something?”

  “I can hear footsteps.”

  “If I can trust my own ears,” said Gamzu, “there has not been a sound or even an echo of one.”

  “If that is so, I must be mistaken. Let us go back to what we were talking about.”

  Gamzu began to speak again about his experiences with Gemulah in Jerusalem. Many a time her life had hung by a thread, and had not the Holy One helped him, he would not have been able to endure his distress for a single day. But God’s mercies are great. He sends a man afflictions, but He also gives him the strength to withstand them.

  I do not remember the exact sequence of Gamzu’s remarks, but I recall that he told me again about the garment, and in bringing this to mind made mention of his teacher. Having spoken of him, he also mentioned the time of his youth, which he had spent as a student in yeshivas.

  You know Gamzu as a man with many connections, in demand among scholars of the East and West alike for books and manuscripts. But he had begun as any other yeshiva student, boarding out on the charity of the local townspeople. Once a certain householder sent him to buy a copy of the Concise Shulhan Arukh. At the bookseller’s he came across a book quite different from the rest. Every other line of print was indented, and every word had vowel points; some lines resembled the Great Hymn of Praise sung by the ministering angels, some the confessional Al Het. He looked at it for a long while, full of wonder; never in his life had he seen a book like this. The bookseller watched him, and told him he could have it for forty kreutzer. For a yeshiva student, forty kreutzer was a large sum; even if he sold his long coat, he would not get that amount for it. But he had a box which a carpenter had made him in return for giving lessons to his son. It was something of a luxury, since all his possessions, apart from the clothes which he stood up in, could be wrapped in his shirt; but it gave him the kind of pleasure one feels in owning an article of intrinsic beauty. He gave his box to the bookseller and received the book. It was the divan of the poems of Judah Halevi, edited by S. D. Luzzatto. He read it again and again, until he knew all the poems by heart. And still he was unsatisfied. He began to pore over festival prayers and penitential hymns and elegies and old prayer books, reading and transcribing for himself. He could not afford the paper to copy down all the things he liked, so he noted down only the opening lines as reminders. Because he was so fastened to poetry, he came unfastened at the yeshiva. Accordingly he went and hired himself out to a bookseller. The shopkeeper could see that he knew a great deal, and sent him out to widows with the books of their husbands left on their hands, as well as to the “enlightened” rich who were clearing their homes of sacred literature. In time he began to make his own purchases. Later, he started traveling to far-off countries, and still later, to lands which no European had ever crossed. He reached the farthest edge of the desert and brought out books and manuscripts of which the most eminent bibliographers had no knowledge, as well as divans by anonymous poets who in their holiness and humility had left no record of their names.