And he began to describe him: thin, small, a little black beard, black, curly ear-locks, a dreamer, a quiet voice, and so on.

"It may be," said the company, "that it is he; it sounds very like!"

I thanked G.o.d when they began to say grace.

But after grace something happened that I had never dreamt of.

The Brisk Rabbi rises from his seat, calls me aside, and says in a low voice:

"Take me to _your_ Rebbe and _my_ pupil! Only, do you hear? no one must know!"

Of course, I obeyed, only on the way I asked in terror:

"Brisk Rabbi, tell me, with what purpose are you going?"

And he answered simply:

"It occurred to me at grace, that I had judged by hearsay--I want to see, I want to see for myself, and perhaps," he added, after a while, "G.o.d will help me, and I will save a pupil of mine.

"Know, rascal," he said to me playfully, "that if your Rebbe is _that_ Nach who studied with me, he may some day be a great man in Israel, a veritable Brisk Rabbi!"

Then I knew that it was he, and my heart began to beat with violence.

And the two mountains met--and it is a miracle from heaven that I was not crushed between them.

The Byale Rebbe of blessed memory used to send out his followers, at Simchas Torah, to walk round the town, and he himself sat in the balcony and looked on and had pleasure in what he saw.

It was not the Byale of to-day: it was quite a small place then, with little, low-built houses, except for the Shool and the Rebbe's Klaus.

The Rebbe's balcony was on the second floor, and you could see everything from it as if it all lay in the flat of your hand: the hills to the east and the river to the west. And the Rebbe sits and looks out, sees some Cha.s.sidim walking along in silence, and throws down to them from the balcony the fragments of a tune. They catch at it and proceed on their way singing, and batches and batches of them go past and out of the town with songs and real gladness, with real Rejoicing of the Law--and the Rebbe used not to leave the balcony.

But on this occasion the Rebbe must have heard other steps, for he rose and came to meet the Rabbi of Brisk.

"Peace be with you, Rabbi!" he said meekly, in his sweet voice.

"Peace be with you, Nach!" the Brisk Rabbi answered.

"Sit, Rabbi!"

The Brisk Rabbi took a seat, and the Byale Rebbe stood before him.

"Tell me, Nach," said the Brisk Rabbi, with lifted eyebrows, "why did you run away from my academy? What was wanting to you there?"

"Breathing-s.p.a.ce, Rabbi," answered the other, composedly.

"What do you mean? What are you talking about, Nach?"

"Not for myself," explained the Byale Rebbe in a quiet tone, "it was for my soul."

"Why so, Nach?"

"Your Torah, Rabbi, is all justice! It is without mercy! There is not a spark of grace in your Torah! And therefore it is joyless, and cannot breathe freely--it is all chains and fetters, iron regulations, copper laws!--and all higher Torah for the learned, for the select few!"

The Brisk Rabbi is silent, and the other continues:

"And tell me, Rabbi, what have you for All-Israel? What have you, Rabbi, for the wood-cutter, for the butcher, for the artisan, for the common Jew?--specially for the simple Jew? Rabbi, what have you for the _un_learned?"

The Brisk Rabbi is silent, as though he did not understand what was being said to him. And still the Byale Rebbe stands before him, and goes on in his sweet voice:

"Forgive me, Rabbi, but I must tell the truth--your Torah was _hard_, hard and dry, for it is only the body and not the soul of the Law!"

"The soul?" asks the Brisk Rabbi, and rubs his high forehead.

"Certainly, as I told you, Rabbi, your Torah is for the select, for the learned, not for All-Israel. And the Torah _must_ be for All-Israel! The Divine Presence must rest on All-Israel! because the Torah is the soul of All-Israel!"

"And _your_ Torah, Nach?"

"You wish to see it, Rabbi?"

"Torah--_see_ it?" wonders the Brisk Rabbi.

"Come, Rabbi, I will show it you!--I will show you its splendor, the joy which beams forth from it upon all, upon All-Israel!"

The Brisk Rabbi does not move.

"I beg of you, Rabbi, come! It is not far."

He led him out on to the balcony, and I went quietly after. "You may come too, Shemaiah," he said to me, "to-day you will see it also--and the Brisk Rabbi will see--you will see the Simchas Torah--you will see _real_ Rejoicing of the Law!"

And I saw what I had always seen, only I saw it differently--as if a curtain had fallen from my eyes.

A great wide sky--without a limit! The sky was so blue! so blue! it was a delight to the eye. Little white clouds, silvery clouds, floated across it, and when you looked at them intently, you saw how they quivered for joy, how they danced for Rejoicing in the Law! Away behind, the town was encircled by a broad green girdle, a dark green one, only the green lived, as though something alive were flying along through the gra.s.s; every now and then it seemed as if a living being, a sweet smell, a little life, darted up shining in a different place; one could see plainly how the little flames sprang up and danced and embraced each other.

And over the fields with the flames there sauntered parties and parties of Cha.s.sidim--the satin and even the satinette cloaks shine like gla.s.s, the torn ones and the whole alike--and the little flames that rose from the gra.s.s attached themselves to the shining holiday garments and seemed to dance round every Chossid with delight and affection--and every company of Cha.s.sidim gazed up with wonderfully thirsty eyes at the Rebbe's balcony--and I could see how that thirsty gaze of theirs sucked light from the balcony, from the Rebbe's face, and the more light they sucked in, the louder they sang--louder and louder--more cheerfully, more devoutly.

And every company sang to its own tune, but all the different tunes and voices blended in the air, and there floated up to the Rebbe's balcony _one_ strain, _one_ melody--as though all were singing _one_ song. And everything sang--the sky, the celestial bodies, the earth beneath, the soul of the world itself--everything was singing!

Lord of the world! I thought I should dissolve away for sheer delight!

But it was not to be.

"It is time for the afternoon prayers!" said the Brisk Rabbi, suddenly, in a sharp tone; and it all vanished.

Silence ... the curtain has fallen back across my eyes; above is the usual sky, below--the usual fields, the usual Cha.s.sidim in torn cloaks--old, disconnected fragments of song--the flames are extinguished. I glance at the Rebbe; his face is darkened, too.

They were not reconciled; the Brisk Rabbi remained a Misnagid as before.