Shira (24 page)

The next day, the professor told his colleagues about Taglicht’s work. They all read it and said approximately, “In all our years at the university, no one has ever submitted such a dissertation.” They told Taglicht, “Present your work to the senate, and you’ll be awarded a degree.” Taglicht didn’t submit his dissertation. His devoted teacher saw that all his efforts with Taglicht were futile. He and his colleagues did something that was probably never done in any other university. Let me tell you about it.

One day, his favorite professor invited him to his house for coffee. They sat around talking. Another professor, who was one of Taglicht’s teachers, arrived, followed by a second and a third. They sat for a while, talking about this and that, and they did not stir from that spot until Taglicht was granted a doctorate. Taglicht concluded his affairs at the university, went back to his parents’ home, from there to Vienna and on to the Land of Israel.

When he came to this country, he looked for work in the fields, the vineyards, the orchards. He didn’t find any work on the land. Those jobs were still being done by Arabs. They were everywhere – even in the very settlements that swore not to let in Arab labor after the first round of riots, since the rioters included the very same Arab neighbors who had worked there earlier. The entire country was inundated with Arab labor, so our friend couldn’t find work. Taglicht joined the
halutzim
engaged in paving the roads.

Taglicht found work, but the work didn’t find him worthy. The youngsters he was with laughed and teased, but they were drawn to him. They instructed him in the ways of work. He took sick and was brought to the hospital. The doctors examined him and discovered all sorts of ailments the patient was unaware of. He stayed for a while, until he was dismissed to make room for others, among them some of the youngsters he had worked with on the roads, who also came down with the local maladies.

From conversation with Taglicht, his doctor recognized that this patient was an intellectual, and not an ordinary intellectual, but one who had both broad knowledge and expertise in several fields. Other doctors who came from abroad and visited the hospital had known Taglicht and were told about his experiences in this country. They said to him, “You see that this country doesn’t want your sort of labor, so why not present yourself to the university administrators? Most of the departments still need lecturers.” Taglicht answered them, “Could I be so naive as to apply for a position in the university when the world is full of distinguished Jewish scholars seeking appointments and finding none?” This was before the rise of that appalling monster who annihilated one-third of the Jews. Throughout the world, there were still learned men filled with wisdom and knowledge.

The words of Taglicht’s champions were not wasted. He didn’t listen, but others did. They began seeking him out, courting him, and enjoying his conversation, which became part of them – and, in some cases, of their books.

Some of the departments had already found excellent lecturers, but not everyone was well versed in the Hebrew language. Whoever was somewhat versed in the language, but not fluent, hired an editor to correct errors; those who could barely read Hebrew had their lectures translated. Those who came to Taglicht fared especially well, for, not only did he do his work, but, in the course of translating, he added to the text. And what he added was often more interesting than the rest; this applies to manuscripts he was given to edit as well. He returned translations and edited manuscripts with one condition: that his name not be mentioned. There were those who complied; others, who were of two minds, credited Taglicht with minor contributions, overlooking the significant ones. I have said more than I had to. Still, these details may be of some use.

Little by little, Herbst felt reassured. His worries took flight; his anxiety was dissipated. Henrietta didn’t ask, and Taglicht didn’t tell. There was really no reason for Herbst to be afraid. It was not Henrietta’s way to ask many questions, and it was not Taglicht’s way to indulge in many words.

Manfred, Henrietta, and Taglicht sat, as usual, sharing news of the outside world. We used to be baffled by people in the Land of Israel. Every little thing that happened in the country was more important to them than all the monumental things that were happening in the world. In time, we became like them, ignoring all other countries because of this one. But, in the end, we were back where we started. Once again, because of certain events, our attention was drawn to the lands we left years ago. Foremost among those countries was Germany. The events taking place there were brutal beyond what the most brutal imagination could envision. Anyone who was not affected by the events tried to ignore them. Then, suddenly, everyone was totally obsessed with them. Henrietta’s correspondence with relatives and friends in Germany had become limited, and it was sheer habit that kept up the flow of letters; in three or four years, they would, most likely, no longer have been writing to one another. A shift in place leads to a shift in thought; shifts in thought disrupt habit; disrupted habits lead to disrupted action. All of a sudden, there were major actions that affected every other action. There wasn’t a postal shipment from Germany that didn’t include many bundles of letters. The very people who were appalled at Manfred and Henrietta when they left Germany for this wasteland now urged them to get them out of Germany and into this land, lest they be lost. Some of them meant to settle in the Land of Israel, to live here as Jews. Others hoped to emigrate to America, but, in the meanwhile, they needed certificates for Palestine, as life in the lands of their birth was becoming impossible for Jews. Most difficult of all were the ones who asked nothing. There were rumors that they were already lost; some had taken matters into their own hands, others had fallen into the hands of the Nazis.

Manfred Herbst, Henrietta Herbst, and Taglicht sat together recalling the names of relatives and friends left behind in Germany, some of whom wanted to settle in the Land of Israel, some of whom wanted to use it as a stepping stone. The power of exile is great. Barely out of one exile, a Jew already seeks another. After a while, Henrietta went off to prepare supper.

As soon as Henrietta left, Manfred was relieved. He knew the reason and was ashamed. Anyway, it was good that Henrietta had gone and he didn’t have to worry that Taglicht might mention their encounter of the previous night. Herbst thought of referring to it, so the subject would be exhausted by the time Henrietta returned and he wouldn’t have to worry that Taglicht might say something about it in her presence. He was about to begin, but it occurred to him that Henrietta might come back while Taglicht was talking. His anxiety began to surface again. He got up and took a cigarette, put it down and took another – one of those black ones with a special tip – lit it, and turned to Taglicht, saying, in a tormented voice, “And you, Taglicht, you still don’t smoke? But that’s not what I wanted to say. What did I actually want to say?” He put down the cigarette, picked up a book, and waved it in the air, holding it tight, as though afraid it would be taken from him. “What’s this?” Herbst said, looking at the cigarette in alarm. “Didn’t I put it out?” He turned to Taglicht. “A first edition. I bought it for one shilling. Only one shilling.” Taglicht looked at the book Herbst was holding, without saying a word. Herbst glared at Taglicht and said to him, “Wouldn’t you like to see it?” Taglicht laughed and said, “But you’re holding it so tight that I can’t possibly see.” Herbst gave him the book. Taglicht opened it, tried to decode the name of the author, and didn’t succeed. The letters were stylized, so it wasn’t clear whether they were German letters in Greek form or Greek letters in German form. Herbst said, “Did it ever occur to us that, here in Jerusalem, it would be possible to find a first edition of
The Birth of Tragedy
? In Jerusalem’s bookstores there are many volumes for which the great collectors would give an eyetooth.”

Herbst took back
The Birth of Tragedy
and said, “Since the Nazis came to power, Jerusalem has become a center for German books.” He added, changing his tone, “The German immigrants are on a downhill course; every year they move to a smaller apartment. Those who brought crates full of books can’t find room for them in a small apartment, so they call in a dealer and sell him a sack of books for a shilling, to make room for themselves. Now every street corner in Jerusalem is overflowing with rare books. One could almost say that you’re more likely to find a rare German book in Jerusalem than in Germany. And now,” Herbst said, “I’ll show you a book that would delight me, were it not for the fact that it came from the estate of a scholarly couple, a man and woman who threw themselves off the roof of their house.”

Herbst took out a copy of the Apocrypha and proceeded as with
The Birth of Tragedy
. He waved it at Taglicht and stood watching his face gradually expand and fill with wonder. Herbst said to Taglicht, “Having worked on the Apocrypha, are you familiar with this edition? I wasn’t familiar with it myself until it fell into my hands. Incidentally, two rival scholars have already appropriated your insights about the giants in the Book of Enoch, each one proclaiming loudly, ‘These are my discoveries,’ and I already picture a third one about to claim them as his own. Don’t you see, Taglicht, the modesty that keeps you from publishing anything in your own name causes respectable citizens – people one would never suspect of stealing so much as a fingernail – to take credit for stolen wisdom.” Taglicht laughed and said, “Still, what they reject survives.” Herbst laughed and said, “You are referring to that word in Ecclesiastes that every scholar relates to a different ancient language, but for which you found an explanation in Kohelet Rabba? I forget the word.” He told him. Herbst said, “You told me that the Tanaim and Amoraim went beyond first meanings in their responses to the language of the Torah, yet those who make dictionaries don’t always take this into account, a situation that ought to be corrected. If only you would listen to me…. I hear Wechsler’s voice.”

Wechsler barely had time to open the door from outside and already he was closing it from inside. His arms dangled, his face was agitated, his glasses were at an angle – the left lens high and the right one low, or the reverse. He himself was also agitated. He was never a relaxed person, and that night he had a special reason. Bihlul’s
Grammar
was the alleged reason, but really it was because of his compassion. Professor Wechsler, as you know, was not excited by books. He was content with the files I have already mentioned. If I haven’t already mentioned them, I am ready to do so now. Apart from those files, he had several reference books and several dictionaries, among them Bihlul’s
Grammar.
Sitting there for a thousand and one years, Bihlul was never disturbed by Wechsler. Nor was Wechsler disturbed by Bihlul. All of a sudden Hitler appeared, confusing everyone, most of all us. Those who could, escaped from Hitler’s land and came to the Land of Israel. Wechsler was occupied with his own affairs, as usual – sorting amulets, seals, and family emblems; making files for each object – leaving Hitler to kill, the Jews to deliver themselves. Now we get to the heart of the matter. Those who maintain that politics is one realm and scholarship another – that a scholar can withdraw from the events of the world and concentrate on his research – don’t know how things work. Whether the scholar is willing or not, he becomes involved. If he doesn’t involve himself, others involve him. I will offer one example out of many. Many of those exiled because of Hitler came to Jerusalem. Those who brought money were well off, while those who came with a craft were sometimes well off, sometimes not. I can’t say that a rich man is well off wherever he goes, because everyone pursues his money. But a craftsman has to pursue potential employers. Just such a craftsman came from Germany or Austria, perhaps Czechoslovakia – can one mention all the countries conquered by Hitler? So, this craftsman came to Wechsler and told him, “I am a bookbinder. Surely the professor has some books that need to be rebound?” Wechsler was filled with compassion for this man, compelled by fate to search for work. There was another reason, which you may already know. In his childhood, Wechsler had been sort of a bookbinder, and he had destroyed more than one pair of shoes to get leather for a binding. If not for his mother’s ambitions, he probably would have become a bookbinder rather than a professor, and he probably would be like this man who was searching for work. So his heart went out to him, and he took about half a meter of books and handed them over to be rebound without even looking to see what they were. After the bookbinder left, Wechsler had second thoughts and realized he had behaved rashly, allowing his emotions to prevail over his good sense and ordering bindings for books that didn’t need them. He tried to remember which books he had given out. He thought of one, of another, and finally of Bihlul’s
Grammar
. He realized that he needed that particular book. He decided to borrow a Bihlul from Ernst Weltfremdt. On the way, he thought to himself: When Weltfremdt lends a book, he expects it back in three weeks. Actually, he had only one word to look up in Bihlul, but he hated any transaction that was conditional. So, instead of borrowing Weltfremdt’s Bihlul, he went to borrow a Bihlul from Herbst.

Herbst brought him his Bihlul. Wechsler said to him, “You’ve earned my envy. When I need Bihlul, I search through half of Jerusalem without finding it. When you need it, you come up with it instantly. Furthermore, your Bihlul is torn and tattered, and you haven’t sent it to the binder, whereas my Bihlul is good as new, yet I sent it to be rebound. I’ll go now.” Wechsler barely had time to open the door from inside and already he was closing it from outside.

Wechsler never lingered anywhere longer than his business required. Since that amulet fell into his hands, he was even more careful not to waste time on conversation, though it is more useful than thinking. If so, why did he run off? We know only too well the limits of scholarship and that new discoveries are not made every day. If Taglicht and Herbst do discover something new, it would be best for the two of them to clarify it together, and in a day or so we will have word of it. Then we will copy what we hear from them and file it away.