When young Rabbi Eleazar of Koznitz, Rabbi Moshe's son, was a guest in the house of Rabbi Naftali of Roptchitz, he once cast a surprised glance at the window, where the curtains had been drawn. When his host asked him the cause of his surprise, he said: "If you want people to look in, then why the curtains? And if you do not want them to, why the window?"
"And what explanation have you found for this?" asked Rabbi Naftali.
"When you want someone you love to look in," said the young rabbi, "you draw aside the curtain."
--from Martin Buber, Tales of the Hasidim: Later Masters
I don't know what this means. I mean, I understand the obvious meaning, as a description of how people act in relationships. In that sense, it's painfully true. But this is a religious text, and I can't make out what the broader argument is. Is the house the soul? The true believer? Is the person passing by an image of God? Of the people?
What's difficult about this for me:
If the people walking by represent the people to whom the rabbi is ministering (I know my language ain't very Jewish), then I understand the desire to have them look in as a desire to have them learn from his example. But then, why the curtain? Does he sometimes do things that aren't exemplary?
Maybe it's just that the rabbi is an old man, trying his best to guide a flock but well aware of his own limitations and willing to hide them from those under his tutelage.
Somehow, that doesn't fit the magic of the story, though. I know PRECISELY the feeling he's writing about, and it ain't that one.
