The Parable and Its Lesson: A Novella Read Online Free PDF Page B

communities. Our Master continued, “Our many sins compel us to live where we live and go where we go, and no one can be sure on what ground his feet are treading or where exactly he is standing. But a Sukkah, which epitomizes the mystery of the clouds of glory that God spread over Israel in the desert, requires a taintless spot on which to be erected, and we have to be very, very careful about that.” When our Master said, “and go where we go” I had the feeling that we were already on the way to the place where the young agunah’s husband was. Our Master gave me an approving look and indicated that our conversation was over.
    On the way home I went over every word I had heard. How good it is to know that we have leaders whose words keep us on the straight path and sustain us in this Exile.
    I came home and began making preparations for the Sabbath. Not only what was needed in the synagogue but at home as well, for my wife, may she rest in peace, was quite weak and could hardly stand on her feet. After the Sabbath I turned to Yom Kippur preparations. God’s mercies were with us, because the holy day passed without incident. No one fainted from the fast, those who led the service did not stray from the proper melodies, the Torah reader made no mistakes in chanting the text. Not a single candle went out, neither those lit for the living nor those lit for the dead. There were so many candles that they all melted together. A great many people had perished in the slaughter and their surviving relatives lit candles in their memory. Our Master lit many for his own family. The only one left was that little girl now in limbo because of the sin her husband committed.
    The next day I brought over to our Master the silver case in which he kept his etrog. Every year my first wife, may she rest in peace, would polish it in honor of the approaching festival. She always did this between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. That year, because she was not well, she waited until the day after Yom Kippur. This meant a change in our Master’s routine, for it was his custom in the evening, at the end of Yom Kippur after havdalah, to take out his etrog and put it in its case. Our Master did not even notice the change.
    I entered to find him in the company of two men, the venerable magnate Reb Akiva Shas, so named because he was fortunate to own a complete set of the Talmud, and, like him distinguished in stature and character but not in wealth, Reb Meshullam, a Jew from Germany who was a descendant of the composer of the Akdamut hymn read on the festival of Shavuot. Old age had kept them from visiting the evening before, right after Yom Kippur, so they came the next day.
    I put the etrog case down in front of our Master. He looked at it and remarked, “I understand your wife is in need of mercy from on high.” “Yes,” I said, “she is sick. And, thank God, we have a houseful of little children.” I expected our Master to make some kind of blessing for her recovery, but he did not. Only later did I understand why. He knew what we did not: that her end had already been ordained. She died that year. Our Master then placed the etrog in the case and left the case open.
    The etrog gave off its fragrance as our Master resumed reminiscing with his two elderly visitors about bygone days, and in due course he told a story that, in the particular context, was disconcerting. There was a time when for many years etrogs were scarce and people began to worry that Jews would soon forget what an etrog was. One year, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, two Jews from a distant country showed up with etrogs for sale. The community bought one at a very steep price. No one seemed to care that the community was mired in debt, having borrowed money from the local priests to ransom prisoners. Many doubted that the etrog was kosher or if one could even make the blessing over it. Nevertheless, everyone did, even the doubters, because the commandment to bless the