17
As the shamash was narrating, the sun glowed crimson from the radiance of the flowers and the red hot stones of Eden, in accordance with the explanation of the reddening of the sun in the late afternoon in the Book of the Angel Razi’el. And so as the sun grew crimson, the time for the afternoon service arrived, and everyone went and washed their hands and recited the passage about the daily sacrificial offering in the Temple and then stood for the silent devotion. The evening service followed immediately. After the Aleinu prayer and the concluding kaddish, they all crowded around the shamash to find out how the matter ended.
The old man looked at them and said, “If you are so intent on listening to stories, how will you be able to hear the sound of the Messiah’s shofar on the day when it is sounded? Why do you need to know the end of the story when it was already clear from the beginning? You heard then that we have to be very, very careful not to talk during prayer and certainly not while the Torah is being read.” The shamash repeated the word “very” so intensely that everyone began to tremble at the severity of the transgression. After that they stopped asking how the story ended.
But he did not leave it at that and proceeded to tell the story to its end, and his words sank deep into their bones and stayed with them all their days. And when they passed away, they saw in another world everything the shamash had told them in this one.
18
The shamash continued:
Because I treasure every word our Master uttered, I now return to what he said. The details of the story are clear, but the depths of his teachings — who can plumb them, especially now that fifty-four years have passed since they were spoken.
And so our Master stood before the Holy Ark facing the congregation, with Reb Akiva Shas and Reb Meshullam on either side of him. I stood below facing the congregation so as to prevent anyone from pushing forward to go up the bimah, all the while keeping an eye on our Master to be ready at a moment’s notice in case he needed me.
Our Master was reaching the end of his eulogy when it looked as if his talit was falling off his left shoulder, as it often did at the end of his sermons and never did when he stood for the silent prayer, when it stayed in place all the time. I heard from Reb Shmuel the scribe that Reb Yosef Halevi, who wrote a book about the victims of the 1648–49 massacres and another about the shofar that the Messiah will one day sound, once opined that our Master’s soul belonged to those Rabbi Yoḥanan had in mind when he made the statement in the Talmud, “Would that a person might pray the whole day long.” That is why our Master’s talit clung to him even after prayer. But this was not the case after his sermons, which in our time have largely become messages of moral instruction and rebuke for the Jewish people’s shortcomings. This whole matter can be explained in different ways, and I do not want to belabor it. In any case, it seemed to me that our Master was motioning to me, so I hurried up to him.
He looked at me as if he were puzzled why I was standing next to him. He had definitely motioned me to come up, but since he had taken flight to worlds where people like us can never go, his visage had altered, and what people like us think they see is often not so.
Our Master continued looking at me and quoted the verse that God said to Moses after the sin of the golden calf, But you remain standing here with Me. Then he added the verse from the laws in the book of Exodus By the word of two witnesses or three shall a case be established. I would be surprised if there was anyone in the synagogue who could fathom our Master’s intention. I myself began to understand it only when he was halfway through his sermon, for after he concluded the eulogy he continued to sermonize. That is one thing I take pride in: if I do not understand our Master’s words right away, later on I do. I heard from the saintly Rabbi Isaac the Chastiser, the son of Reb Yedidiah Lieberman, the nephew of the holy Rabbi Mikhl of Nemirov, may the Lord avenge his blood, that the deeds of the righteous correspond to their thoughts, and therefore their words are coherent from beginning to end.
19
Our Master began as follows: “My brothers, dear members of the congregation, you who love God, blessed be His holy name. I will offer no words of rebuke today, for God has visited upon us a double measure of punishment for our transgressions.” Our Master turned to the Holy Ark and said: “You, O Lord, know that I had in mind only the sins known to us. Our hidden sins and iniquities and transgressions are known only to You.” He then recited a verse from the book of Ezra. Which one it was I forget because I could not find a single copy of the full Bible anywhere in town and thus was unable to check the text. Our Master then turned to the congregation and continued: “God is righteous, and so our only task is to ask for the strength to withstand our sufferings until He will deem them sufficient. And we must never stop hoping for them to end”—and here our Master wiped away a tear with his talit. That tear was surprising, for our Master never teared up in public except when he mentioned his holy teacher, may God redeem his blood. When he faced God in prayer he certainly shed tears, but not when he faced people. This is why I think his eyes always glistened and a light shone from them, even in the hour of his passing.
Our Master continued: “Nor will I offer any words of Torah. Words of Torah require a joyful heart and a clear mind, and all of us here today are weighed down by mourning and fasting. But the day is long and we stand in a holy place sanctified by Torah and prayer, and so let us say some things about Torah and prayer. In truth, in a holy place we should not even speak about mundane matters, but since I want to talk about silence, let speech come and serve the cause of silence.”
Here our Master stopped talking and just stood there. I stood beside him in mute astonishment and the whole congregation stood in hushed silence. Nothing stirred in the synagogue other than the rustle of his snowy white curls. Because of headaches resulting from an old sword wound, our Master never shaved his head, even for Shavuot. Then he raised his eyes and looked out upon the assembled. He scrutinized each and every person to see how much he could absorb.
After surveying the congregation, our Master closed his eyes and said: “Though I have not seen it, I have heard that there are people who do not restrain themselves from talking during the services and even while the Torah is being read. I am not referring to those who are compelled by circumstances to do so. Rather, I have in mind those whose vocal chords function independently, everywhere, all the time, on any subject, for no purpose in particular and for no purpose in general, even during the services, even during the reading of the Torah. When you tell such people that what they are doing is not appropriate, they answer you by saying that, yes, it is indeed forbidden to talk during the services, and so on. Do you think they hear what they are saying? No, they continue chattering away. Then there are those who, when you rebuke them for talking, reply, ‘For only two or three words spoken aloud you are making such a fuss?’
“And so, my beloved friends, as I have said, I am not here to chastise you for the sin of talking during the services and the Torah reading. One only rebukes those whose actions demand it, whereas you have been blessed by God not to be guilty of this transgression, and you are not in need of my reprimand. But since we are in a house of God consecrated to Torah and prayer, and since it is customary to offer admonitions concerning this particular sin, let me say a few words about it. Not by castigating you but by way of a parable.