How Isaac loved that hour when he sat in the Land of Israel in the presence of laborers of the Land of Israel who were telling of the building of the Land of Israel. The Land of Israel was acquired with suffering, and he who loves the Land of Israel and lovingly accepts her suffering, is privileged to see her being built.
As they sit, hunger begins to oppress them. One of the group stood up and said, It’s lunchtime. Anyone who had a Bishlik or half a Bishlik began pondering whether to eat at noon or in the evening, and anyone who didn’t have a cent in his hand was exempt from su-perfluous contemplations. It was hard for Isaac to leave the group so he invited them all to dine with him. He really did want to go to the settlement, but it was worth it for him to while away a day with them.
They sat and ate together. They ate to satisfy their hunger, and he who wasn’t used to the food of the Land of Israel ate little, and even that did not accord with his habits. After they ate and drank, he paid their expenses. How heavy is the currency of the Land of Israel and how many kinds there are there, Francs and Megiddos and Bishliks and Matliks. If all the coins were put in one side of the scales and all the food in the other side, the coins would tip the scales.
Tells a Little and Slurs Over a Lot
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At last, Isaac reached the settlement. Who can describe Isaac’s joy when he saw the houses of the Jews in their settlement crowned with fields and vineyards and olive trees and citrus groves. These are the fields and vineyards and olive trees and citrus groves he saw in a dream and now he sees them awake. At that hour, Isaac was like a bridegroom about to enter the marriage canopy and lacks only a best man.
Isaac entered the home of a farmer to hire himself out as a worker. He found him sitting on a glassed-in verandah, drinking tea. The sun settled on the glass and the trees in the garden waved their shadows like a fan and a serene calm was spread over the farmer and his table. The farmer sliced himself a piece of sugar and sucked and drank, and looked with favor on Isaac. Isaac greeted the landlord and the landlord returned his greeting and said calmly, A new man, a new man, like a landlord who gets satisfaction and joy from a guest. Isaac replied humbly, It has been two days since I was privileged to ascend to the Land of Israel to work its soil. Perhaps there is work for me here in the field or the vineyard or the citrus grove. The landlord sucked the sugar in his mouth and took a sip from his glass and replied calmly, Others have been here before you. Isaac envied the others who had been here before him at work, and was sorry for himself that he had tarried so long because of the hotel owner. At last he put off his sorrow and his envy. Thought Isaac, If I didn’t find work with this one, I’ll find it with somebody else. And as others have been fortunate, so shall I. He bade farewell to the landlord and went on his way.
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When he went, he began to worry that he hadn’t behaved decently to the landlord, for it was right to stay a bit and show him affection for receiving him kindly and being willing to take him on as a worker if others hadn’t been there before him. He relied on the heart of the farmer not to be vexed with him, for he was in a hurry to find work.
Isaac went to his neighbor. He did not look favorably upon Isaac nor did he look upon him pleasantly. It is a sin to tell that he didn’t even return his greeting. Isaac gave him the benefit of the doubt, perhaps sorrow had befallen him and his heart wasn’t open. He began seeking words to console him. The farmer looked at him angrily and said something in Russian, which Isaac didn’t know. The farmer’s wife came and told him he should take himself to our neighbor, and she pointed him to the left. Isaac apologized to her for bothering her and her husband. She shook her head in sorrow for the Jew-ish fellows who trudge needlessly from place to place asking for work. Isaac took his leave from her and went to her other neighbor.
Isaac straightened his tie and fanned his face with his hat and knocked at the door. No answer. He knocked again, and no answer. He went around the house and found another door. He knocked, and no one opened. He hung onto the window ledge and looked inside the house. He saw that the room was empty. He went and hung on another window. He heard a kind of throbbing, and saw mice scam-pering in the house. Amazing. An empty house and the neighbors don’t know.
He turned away and went to another house nestling among trees and flowers and surrounded by an iron fence, trimmed with copper flowers and a bell hanging at its entrance. Isaac found the gate open and didn’t have to ring the bell to announce his coming. He wiped his shoes and straightened his tie, ascended stone stairs and entered a handsome vestibule full of handsome furnishings, such handsome furnishings and such a house Isaac had not seen in his hometown. He was proud of his Jewish brother and his spirit was humbled, as are small people who come upon a big house.
Isaac found a fellow standing in the vestibule like a pauper at a gate. His clothes and sandals indicated that he was a laborer, but
it was hard to imagine that any laborers in the Land of Israel wore such paltry clothes as these. Meanwhile, Isaac took his hat off his head and held it in his hand, the way that fellow was holding his hat.
Words came from the room inside in a language Isaac didn’t know, but he did know that it was French. The door opened and a lady came out, made-up and perfumed, and well-dressed. She closed the door behind her and said something in a language Isaac didn’t know, but he did know that it was Russian. And she turned around at once and closed the door behind her. The fellow said to Isaac, You don’t have to wait, because in her answer to me you find an answer to your question. Isaac grasped his meaning and knew there was nothing for him here.
The fellow took off his sandals, picked them up, and left. Isaac trudged after him and went with him. They went down the stone steps and closed the gate behind them. The bell sounded. Isaac looked upon the ground and saw that his companion was barefoot. His feet shriveled up in his shoes, as if they were pricked by thorns. The fellow spat and said, Had any tea? Isaac looked at him and was stunned. What did tea have to do with this? But since he was tired, he trudged behind his comrade, who walked along silently, his sandals in his hand.
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The sun set and adorned the village with the gold of its fire. The streets began filling up with old men and young men, women and maidens. Old men went to pray, and young men came out to greet the coach returning from the city, and women came to greet their husbands returning in the coach. And others came for no good rea-son. Some spoke in the manner of the village and some measured their shadow.
Tranquility prevailed over the whole village and a kind of mellow warmth bubbled out of the ground. The trees gave a fragrance above and the bushes gave a fragrance below and the setting sun adorned folks’ faces and made them affable. Suddenly the earth opened up and a plethora of Arabs covered the village. Gangs of three, one plodding along behind the other. Soon the whole village
was filled with Arabs and soon the Jews were dissolved, turned into an insignificant minority. Isaac got scared, as if he had come upon a Gentile market fair. His comrade put a hand on his shoulder and said, Look at those people, they’re laborers who work for our brothers the farmers. How much dust they raise. Come my friend, let’s pour a cup of tea down our throat.
They got up and walked until they came to the edge of the village, to one of the ruins remaining there as an example of the first houses. Isaac’s comrade walked around the ruin and went with him into a room whose walls were broke open and whose ceiling was ram-shackle and whose floor was part dirt and part stones, and two holes peeping from the door let in the light. The host put his hand on the guest’s shoulder and said, My house is your house. He sat Isaac down on a bed and told him, Soon we’ll drink tea.
He went out and brought water from the cistern, put on a kettle and a kerosene lamp. He put on the kettle and lit the wick. The wick caught fire and illuminated the room. The host spread a sheet of
The Young Laborer
on an upright box, as if he were spreading a cloth on his table, and looked upon Isaac amiably. He took out bread and olives and tomatoes, and said, Take and eat.
Never in his life did Isaac feed at someone else’s table and never in his life had he tasted olives and tomatoes. For he did not yet know that tomatoes are fit for human consumption, for in his hometown, they call tomatoes fools’ apples, and clever people won’t put a finger on them. Suddenly, Isaac finds himself sitting at someone else’s table and tomatoes are placed in front of him. Hunger came and told him to eat. He took a slice of bread and two or three olives for which the Land of Israel was famous and wouldn’t put a finger on the tomatoes. When he tasted the olives he twisted his mouth. The host smiled and said, Just as you twisted your mouth from them today, so you will be happy with them tomorrow, have a tomato. Isaac took a piece of tomato, ate a little of it, and put it down, like a person who says no to your sweet and no to your sour. His companion looked at him and said, If you want to be one of the Land of Israel, eat what you find. Give me your glass and I’ll pour you some tea. Isaac gave him his glass and the host poured him tea, which he liked better than
all other drinks. In fact, Isaac wasn’t used to many drinks, but of all the drinks he had drunk, he didn’t enjoy any of them as much he enjoyed that drink at that time.
After he drank his fill, he looked at the host and pondered, I gave a proper rejoinder to that old man on the ship who asked me if I had relatives in the Land of Israel and I told him that all the Children of Israel are comrades, especially in the Land of Israel. Better a close friend than a distant relative, for among all his relatives he didn’t find one who loved him even halfway, because they disagreed with him for being enrapt in Zionism, and differences of opinion led to differences of heart. Among Isaac’s relatives there are Hasids, and among Isaac’s relatives there are Maskilim. The Hasids among them see him as a kind of heretic, the Maskilim among them see him as an errant Hasid. The former keep him at a distance because of his apostasy and the latter keep their distance from him because of his excessive Judaism. And still others of Isaacs relatives see him as an idler who doesn’t lift a finger to make money. His schoolmates from the Heder and the prayerhouse weren’t close to him either. Rich ones because he was poor, and poor ones couldn’t stand him because he was arrogant about his Zionism. To make a long story short, until he ascended to the Land of Israel, he hadn’t found himself a comrade. When he did ascend to the Land of Israel, he found himself a comrade.
This comrade was named Rabinovitch. If you saw ten Russian Jews, know that nine of them are called Rabinovitch. In Isaac’s hometown, there was no one named Rabinovitch. From books and newspapers, Isaac knew that name, for it is the name of several fa-mous writers and Zionists. Isaac was fond of Rabinovitch for himself and he was fond of him for his name.
Rabinovitch asked Isaac, Would you like some more to drink? No. Well then, we’ll put out the machine and light the lamp. When he lit the lamp, mosquitoes and other wingèd insects found their way there, leaping from here to there and from there to here, from the face of the host to the face of the guest, and from the face of the guest to the face of the host. If Isaac twitched his shoulder, Rabinovitch jumped up and killed a scorpion on the wall with his sandal. He threw it away and said, They’re frequent guests in my house. Why are you trembling like this? Now let’s talk about your affairs a little. So, you came from Galicia? Tell me, why are the people of your country so remiss about ascending to the Land of Israel? Perhaps they’re waiting for Emperor Franz Josef to lead them here in golden cars. It seems to me that, aside from Rabbi Benjamin and Doctor Thon, I haven’t seen anyone from Galicia. Are they from your hometown? No? But you do know Rabbi Benjamin’s essays?
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A voice was heard at the door and a fellow came in. He greeted the host and looked at the guest in amazement. Rabinovitch said, I am honored to introduce you to our new guest, oh dear, I forgot to ask his name, so let’s call him brother in sorrow. The fellow held out his hand to Isaac, greeted him, and said, And I’m a comrade in calamity. And so he wouldn’t think he was hiding his name from him, he said, That really is my name, Comrade in Calamity.
Comrade in Calamity Gorishkin is his name, for Gore means Calamity in Russian. And why is he called that? Because wherever his comrades came to look for work and didn’t find any, they did find Gorishkin. There’s no work at all in the field or the vineyard or the citrus grove that he didn’t try, and there’s no work that he wasn’t pushed out of by the Arabs. Only one place was left him by the Arabs—in the wine-press, and so he is about to go to Rishon Le-Zion or to Zikhron Ya’akov, perhaps he’ll find work to do there.
Rabinovitch examined the kettle and saw that it was hot. He took a glass and poured him some tea and said, You surely haven’t eaten dinner. Take and eat. Gorishkin said, Let me think first, when did I dine. Rabinovitch said to him, Eat first and then we’ll deal with the chronicles of hunger. Here’s bread and here are olives and here are tomatoes. Put sugar in the glass and sweeten your life.
Gorishkin sliced himself a big slice and ate heartily, and sweetened his meal with sweet tea, and looked at the tomatoes like a hungry man who sees a tasty dish. Rabinovitch said to him, Take a tomato and add spice to your bread. Gorishkin said, Where did you get this nice fruit? Rabinovitch smiled and said, From the place
where all the tomatoes come, from the gardens of the Arabs. Gorishkin picked up a tomato, caressed it with his eyes, and said, A delight to behold, a delight to behold. He sank his teeth in it and licked its juice from his mustache.
Rabinovitch said to him, And you still complain about our farmers? Gorishkin looked at him in amazement. Rabinovitch added, Let’s be grateful to the farmers who don’t give us work, for because of that even you and I enjoy a fresh tomato. Gorishkin said, If there’s no work, where does the money come from, and if there’s no money, where does the tomato come from? If I do get work, I don’t have time to look for tomatoes. For our farmers in Judea don’t grow vegetables and they wait for the vegetables the Arabs bring them, just as they bring them chickens and eggs. And when do they bring? When the laborers are at work and can’t go out to the Arabs to get tomatoes from them, and I add spice to my bread with old herring that dries up my guts, because I can’t go into a hostel and buy me something hot to eat because the owners of the hostels demand that I pay the money I owe them.
Rabinovitch twirled the ends of his mustache and started humming a song to the melody of
Du schönes Mädchen:
Oh what a fool you are, how and why. If the farmers give me work I’ve got no time to buy tomatoes, now that I’m idle, I’ve got time to buy tomatoes.
When he had eaten and drunk, Gorishkin went back to talking about the Land and the work and the farmers and the laborerers, until he came to that story that some farmers were about to invite laborers from Egypt. It’s not bad enough that they flooded the village with Arab laborers, but now they wanted to add Egyptians to boot and endanger the Yishuv with foreigners from outside.
Rabinovitch knew that Gorishkin knew that the farmers had already changed their mind, but to let him get rid of his anger, he didn’t stop him. Gorishkin sensed that. He changed his tone of voice and said, But, to the credit of
The Young Laborer
, it did warn of the danger. And even though Gorishkin is a member of
Poalei Tsion
and doesn’t approve of
The Young Laborer
, because it is too spiritual, that didn’t prevent him from praising it for standing in the breach, and the village committee had already issued a circular letter denying the
matter, and even though everybody knows the truth, there’s some benefit in that denial, so everyone will see that the world hasn’t gone to the dogs.
Rabinovitch sat and smiled. He seemed to be smiling at his comrade who thought the village committee was scared of a newspaper article and the farmers were scared of a circular letter. But in truth, he was smiling at himself and at his comrades, who hadn’t yet shed their naiveté. Gorishkin said to him, Why are you laughing? Rabinovitch said, If I had money for the trip, I would go up to Jerusalem and put my hoe in the Bezalel Museum. And once again he smiled. But the sadness in his face betrayed that he wasn’t joking.
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