Of her father I have already told you. Of her mother there is nothing to tell. She is pleasant, quick in her movements, kind and charitable. I heard that during the war she showed great fortitude and courage, maintaining her household and supporting her father-in-law and his son until they settled in the Land of Israel. She also brought up an orphan and taught him the Torah, and when he wanted to settle in the Land of Israel she gave him his expenses.
This was Yeruham Freeman, whose father disappeared when his mother conceived him and whose mother died when she bore him. Mrs. Bach took him into her house and suckled him with the milk of her breasts, for Yeruham was born in the same month as Erela her daughter.
When his mother conceived him his father disappeared. To describe the affairs of this man we must go back to the beginning.
The beginning was like this. Once a young Lithuanian came to our town. It was a summer day; there was not much work in the market and the storekeepers stood outside talking to each other. Wandering from one subject to another, the talk turned to a Lithuanian who had come to the town and wanted to preach in the old Beit Midrash.
The rumor made no impression. The learned men were not enthusiastic about the preachers, who put the mind to sleep with parables and legends. The Hasidim were not enthusiastic about the preachers, for most of the preachers were Lithuanians, and every Lithuanian is assumed to belong to the Misnagdim, the opponents of the Hasidim. The Zionists were not enthusiastic about the preachers, because most of them at that time used to preach against Zionism on the ground that the Zionists were trying to anticipate the coming of the Messiah instead of waiting for salvation. The socialists were not enthusiastic about the preachers, and would say: The Torah and the commandments only help to dull men’s minds and keep them from perceiving all the tribulations brought about by capital, and the preachers come to exhort them to observe the Torah and the commandments. Even the majority of the people were not enthusiastic about the preachers, for they were sick and tired of sermons about the seven departments of hell and that kind of thing. All that was left were a few old men and artisans, who would come to listen and doze during the sermon until the preacher finished and the beadle banged his alms box; then they would wake up and drop a copper in honor of the Torah and its preachers. And so — there was no one in the town who paid any attention to the Lithuanian.
They were still talking when along came a man carrying a book written by the newcomer, bearing numerous testimonials by great rabbis of Poland and Lithuania declaring that the author was a tremendous genius, a Sinai of learning, and a mover of mountains — and such praise would have been extraordinary even in the early generations. All these authorities wrote as one man: no praise can fully convey his greatness.
In that generation the honor of the Torah had deteriorated in our town, and there was no more respect paid to scholars because it was all paid to doctors. When the scholars saw the book and the recommendations in it, their heads were immediately lifted up. It was like the case of the king whose enemies have conquered his country and weakened his loyal supporters. Suddenly it is rumored that the king is returning to his land with a host of heroes, so all his supporters summon up strength and march out to restore him to his throne.
And why did that Lithuanian take the trouble to come here? Wouldn’t the rich Jews in Russia have jumped at him and squandered large sums to have the privilege of getting him for their daughters? Fine and true — except for a government decree; for when he was called up to the army he had been found free of any blemish, and there was nothing whatever wrong with him to give the authorities an excuse for taking a thousand pieces of silver to exempt him. So, since he was on the government’s list, he decided to go into exile, and the leading men of the time advised him to go to Galicia, where most of the people still had so much love for the Torah.
When evening fell, the whole town assembled in the old Beit Midrash to hear the sermon of the young genius, but since there was not enough room for all who came, they brought him to the Great Synagogue. He went up and took his place before the Holy Ark and preached with sharpness and mastery on the Halacha, on Sifre and Sifra, Tosefta and Mechilta, the Babylonian Talmud and the Jerusalem Talmud, the early authorities and the later authorities; and on each and every matter he raised five or six or seven difficulties and explained them all away with one answer. When all the objections had been answered, he went back and raised more objections about the answers. To these it seemed that there was no answer, but again he explained them away with a single answer. The scholars had lost their grip and could no longer follow the connection between one matter and another, for they already realized that not every mind could grasp the whole give-and-take — it was so subtle. And he was like an ever swelling fountain and a river that knows no rest.
Suddenly the voice of my father and teacher, of blessed memory, was heard. He had already understood the character of that young man, who was distorting the words of the Gemara and blinding the eyes of his hearers. My father and teacher recited the text of the Gemara and showed that its words stood fast as they were, and provoked no objections and needed no explanations. At this, the young man shifted, quoting the text of the Gemara as given by the great scholar Al-Fasi, but he stumbled, for Al-Fasi had never commented on that particular text.
Another scholar, Reb Hayim by name (this is the Reb Hayim whom we mentioned at the beginning of the book in connection with the divorcee’s hotel), trapped the preacher in his own words, for even if one admitted that the text of the Gemara was as the questioner said, his explanation was not sound, and if the explanation was not sound, then the difficulties still remained. Then my father spoke up again, and showed that even if the text of the Gemara was as the preacher said, the supposed difficulties were not difficult, because he had related matters that had no relation to each other. At this, the young man raised fresh difficulties and explained them away in still another explanation, but once again Reb Hayim refuted his explanations. The young man turned and referred him to still another matter, raising other difficulties, and said, “If you are such learned men, come forward and explain them to me.” My father retorted and showed that the speaker had not understood the simple meaning of the text, and therefore the difficulties called for no explanation. And Reb Hayim added that even so they could be explained thus and thus. The questioner refuted Reb Hayim and offered a different answer to the difficulties. And here he blundered in a matter that even school children know.
Then the eyes of some learned men were opened and they saw that the young man had twisted the text so as to display his penetration and learning, and not to bring out the truth of the Torah. Nevertheless, they stood there as if intoxicated by the wine of his learning, resenting my father’s action in annihilating the words of that genius and making him out to be a deceiver, and resenting Reb Hayim as well. And still that young man would not quiet down and he started his give-and-take again. Finally he shifted over to preaching on Agada. And what did he preach? He cited, ‘When He maketh inquisition for blood, He remembereth them”—where “maketh inquisition for blood” can also mean “demands money,” and “remembereth them” can also mean “they are male”—and he commented: It is the nature of the male to bestow himself upon the female; so it is with the preacher who preaches before the people to arouse their hearts to love the Torah, for he partakes of the nature of the male, who bestows love, so that children should be born to the Torah. But in the case of the preacher who preaches for money, for the sake of gain, it is the congregation that plays the part of the male, for they are active now and he is passive, for it is they who pay him for his preaching. And here the young man became ecstatic and said, “Teirinke briderlech, dear brethren, it is not to preach for money that I have come here, but for the sake of our sacred Torah, for it is our life and our length of days, and even if I were given all the money in the world I would not take it.” The Lithuanian lilt, which enfolds the heart and warms the soul, excited the people and they all followed him. The very fact that a young man stood before the congregation and preached was a novelty, especially as he recited many sections of the Gemara by heart just as a man says his daily prayers.