The Dawning of the Day by Haim Sabato

The audience gathered around him in a tight ring and strained to hear his every word. The writer stood to the side; he observed the man and observed his audience. He saw the satisfaction on their faces.

That storyteller was Ezra Siman Tov.

From that day on, the writer arranged to accompany Ezra from time to time on his way home from synagogue after the evening prayer. Most of the time they were silent, the writer out of force of habit, and Ezra because he did not know what to say. Occasionally, Ezra would casually remark, “I have a story, a story I heard from Haham Ventura, or a story about Haj Adoniahu, one of those forcibly converted to Islam in Meshed, Persia. Afterwards, Adoniahu escaped and was rescued. A short while later, he came to the holy land and built a synagogue.” Or “a story about Georgie the porter on Porter’s Street in Jerusalem. It was rumored that Elijah had revealed himself to Georgie.” During Ezra’s stories, the writer listened in silence.

On one occasion, they walked a long way in silence. The writer had nearly reached his own house when Ezra suddenly turned to him and suddenly remarked, “Listen to the following story. It happened fifty years ago. A story about four young men who were playing in a field in the neighborhood of Mahane Yehudah in Jerusalem.” He began to talk, yet he did not tell the story in his usual fashion. Normally Ezra told his stories with a sweet smile on his lips. He composed a story like those who ran worry-beads on their fingers. He paused between each sentence in order to allow time for reflection. This time, Ezra spoke without stopping. His voice was different, rising and falling, and occasionally even trembling. When he concluded the story, he released a pent-up sigh and fell silent. The writer, too, was silent. They continued to walk. Suddenly Ezra asked, “What do you say? How do you as a writer think this story ends? Is there any way of putting it right? Does it have a happy ending?”