A Bride for One Night: Talmud Tales

Sorrow in the Cave

115 Sorrow in the Cave Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai was hidden in a cave for thirteen years, In a cave of carobs in Truma Until his body rusted. At the end of the thirteen years, he said: Should I not go out to see what is new in the world? He went out and sat by the mouth of the cave. He saw a hunter hunting a bird. The hunter laid out a trap. Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai heard a heavenly voice that said: Freed! And the bird flew off. He said: If not for the will of Heaven, a bird would not get trapped; all the more so is this true of human beings.1 —J. Shevi’it 9:1, Leiden manuscript Earth. The body is buried once again. All that remains after the tremendous effort of digging is some loose earth buried beneath the fingernails. Until the sun climbs to the highest point in the sky, it is best for the body to cling to the dirt. But by early afternoon the skin begins to tingle. Sometimes the itching is unbearable, but it is impossible to free a hand with which to scratch. Afterward the skin stops crawling. The hours pass, and when it comes time for the evening prayer, it is once again hard to get out. The fingers shake with a familiar motion in an effort to free the palms. And the man who is planted in the cave worries that perhaps he will not be able to extricate himself this time and all that will be left of him will be his head, protruding from the ground like a bulb. By tracing semicircles in the earth, he manages to break free his elbows and shoulders ; his chest is now released from the clumps of earth around it. But 116 Sorrow in the Cave the man’s imprint remains in the earth—an emptiness filled with air. Ben Yohai has learned to extract his lower body like a radish. Filthy limbs, bones, and tendons. The years in the cave have made his legs gray and cracked, and they stick out awkwardly like two stilts or two carob trees—a far cry from Torah, and a far cry from angels. He walks in pain to the depths of the cave, to the back room, where he relieves himself. Thanks to a diet of carobs and water, that which comes out of his body resembles that which goes in. On his return to the main room, he is made aware of his body in the effort required to step forward. He walks, dragging his knees in an exaggerated motion, as if dancing. Water. The waters of the spring are sweet, and he tastes them each day anew. He blesses, “that all is accordance with His word,” and nibbles on the carobs left over from the morning meal. Over the years he has learned to distinguish the various tastes of the carob: The softer ones function as his main course, and the sweet ripe ones that ooze with golden liquid from their black cases serve as dessert. “Who creates the fruit of the tree.” Before he bathes, he washes himself, including his nails and eyelashes . Sometimes he finds insects caught in his hair from his hours underground . He chants, “A spring or cistern in which water is collected shall be clean” (Leviticus 11:36). The water springs forth from an opening hidden between the carob leaves. The smell of the ripe fruit is like the smell of a human body. Once he thought he saw the image of a woman hidden in the green foliage. After a few steps he is entirely immersed in the clear waters. If only he could study in the water, sleep in the water, find inner peace in the water. The light from the mouth of the cave penetrates the water and makes it shine. His eyes are open; there is nothing separating him from the water. “Pure, pure, pure.” In the embrace of the water, the dust on his body becomes smooth and muddy, and he washes between his fingers . Once he removes the mud, his limbs are like new. His thoughts are pure. Drops of water flow into his mouth. The words of Psalms well up inside him as he thinks, “O Lord, open my lips, and my tongue shall sing your praises.” He prays water. In the water he recites the prayers for the Sabbath. He closes with the blessing for...