“The midrash on Song of Songs states that a parable should not be regarded as something trivial. It can lead us to understand what the Torah is saying. The midrash offers a parable itself to illustrate this point. A king had a gold coin or a precious pearl that went missing in his palace. How would he find it? With a pennyworth wick of the candle that would lead him to it. Likewise, a parable can lead us to discover what the Torah is saying. So do not regard it as a trivial thing.”
The shamash interrupted his narration and observed:
Most people today know this parable, but in our Master’s day collections of midrash were largely unavailable, except for Midrash Tanhuma, and so any teaching from the midrash was regarded as something brand new. Furthermore, whenever our Master would cite a parable from the Talmud or the midrash, he quoted it word for word, as “it is like a king who. ..” But when he told a parable in his own words he never introduced it that way. I once heard a theory about this. In the past, kings had stature and were worthy examples for parables; today, when their power has been diminished, as is the case with the Polish kings who did not rise up to save themselves during the Khmelnitski pogroms, it is not flattering to compare anything to them. I now return to the words of our Master, may the memory of the righteous be for a blessing.
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“I bring the parable I will tell not to illuminate a point in the Torah but to illuminate a point about transgression against it. Maimonides, of blessed memory, says in his Code that it is a positive commandment to pray each day, as it is written, You shall serve the Lord your God. The Oral Tradition teaches that 'serving' entails prayer, as it is written, And serve Him with all your heart, and the Sages have taught, What is the service of the heart? It is prayer.”
Whenever he quoted a biblical verse our Master would recite it in a melody, the way a melamed teaches Torah to children, and he would explain it as he went along. Each one would receive it according to his capacity. There were about two hundred householders in Buczacz in our Master’s day, besides servants and wayfarers, and they all eagerly drank in his words.
Our Master then noted that according to the opinion of Naḥmanides the commandment to pray is rabbinically ordained, and then he cited Maimonides’ view in his Book of the Commandments that prayer is a commandment mandated by the Torah itself. He analyzed both positions and came out for Maimonides’ view and against that of Naḥmanides, after which he turned to Reb Akiva Shas and asked him, “Is this not so, Reb Akiva?” Reb Akiva nodded and said, “Certainly, certainly.” Flustered, he added, “But does our Master need me to agree?” The interpreters of mystic secrets explained his seeking Reb Akiva’s opinion this way: according to those who delve into secret wisdom, Naḥmanides was descended from the right earlock of the great teacher Rabbi Akiva, and since our Master was going against Naḥmanides’ view, he sought confirmation for his approach from Reb Akiva Shas in deference to Reb Akiva’s venerable namesake. Personally, I have no concern with secret matters. Would that I could comprehend even a fraction of the Torah’s revealed meaning.
Our Master then began to explain the sublimity of prayer, which enables a mortal human being, born of woman, fashioned from the dust, and food for the worms, to extol the eternal living and exalted holy God, and even to beseech Him for our needs. Then he dwelt on the sublimity of the Hebrew language, from which our prayers are formed, and on the secret of the holy tongue, which holds the mystery of the perfect unity, and which was bestowed before the sin in the Garden of Eden and certainly before human speech was confounded and diffused into seventy tongues. Our Master expressed it in these words: “Come and see how great prayer is. In prayer a person can raise himself up to the original state he was in before the generation of the tower of Babel; for at that time, as we find in the book Gates of Light, God apportioned the nations among the angels on high and reserved Israel for Himself, since Israel is an element of the supernal God.” Here our Master looked out at the entire congregation, householders and craftsmen, servants and wayfarers, surveying them all in a single glance. He pulled his talit over his forehead, causing the phylactery on his head to jut out under it and create an opening on the side through which his white curls fell out. They were illumined by all the shining lights, light from above and light from below, the light of the setting sun and the light of the memorial candles burning as on Yom Kippur. There was not a man or women who did not light a candle in memory of their departed. Even beggars and those who could only afford to light them on Sabbath eve and holidays, even those who were wards of charity — they all borrowed candles to light.
As our Master stood there between the Ark and the congregation, he added, “In the Midrash ha-ne’elam we find that the idea of creating Israel arose in the divine mind before the creation of the world and even before the creation of the angels. Because of God’s great love for them they were destined to be called Israel, which is God’s name. In the Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer it is told that when Jacob asked the angel ‘What is your name?’ the angel bestowed upon him his own name, Israel.” Our Master again looked around at all the people in the synagogue, householders and craftsmen, servants and wayfarers, and then said in his sweet-sounding voice, “Israel! An element of the supernal God! An element of the supernal God!” I do not remember if he actually repeated that phrase or if I just think he did. As the saying in the Talmud goes, “the nobleman took hold of me and his fragrance rubbed off on my hand.” Because I served our Master, his voice resounds within me. These are profound and sublime matters, and not every mind can handle them.
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Our Master picked up his talit with both hands, one on each side, laid it back on his neck, and paused for a moment. No one could tell whether he had concluded his sermon or if he had more to add, but we were all quite prepared to continue standing and listening, even those who were weak from the fast. The synagogue then did not yet have benches to sit on, other than a chair for the rabbi and one for Elijah the prophet.
The heart knows its own bitterness. We knew in our heart that this was our Master’s last sermon, may the memory of the righteous be for a blessing. On Hoshana Rabba, when we got to the prayer “Answer the faithful,” his voice lost its resonance, and on the day after Simḥat Torah he passed into eternal life. I do not want to interrupt what I am relating here but I would only note that the reward of humility is grace, and our Master’s humility in life was matched only by his grace in death.
And so all of us remained standing, waiting to hear more. Even the little boys who could not stand still even for a minute stood motionless. Whether they understood what was being said or not is uncertain, but words of truth are always eagerly heard even if they are not understood.
Our Master loosened his talit from around his neck, lifted his hands in gratitude, and the light in his eyes took in the entire congregation. In his pleasant voice he said, “The three Patriarchs did us a great kindness when they instituted the prayer services, and after them, the men of the Great Assembly when they arranged the order of the prayers, and, no less importantly, the reading of the Torah, which was ordained by Moses to be read on Sabbaths, festivals, New Moons, and the intermediate days of the festivals, as it is written And Moses announced the festivals of the Lord to the children of Israel. Ezra ordained that Israel should read from the Torah on Mondays, Thursdays, and at the afternoon service on the Sabbath.” For each of these points our Master cited their sources in the Babylonian Talmud, the Jerusalem Talmud, the midrashic collections Sifre, Sifra, and Mekhilta, the Tosafot, Alfasi, Rambam, and the Tur — all these sources he cited by heart. Most of them he had not seen since the day he left Nemirov, where he studied with his holy teacher, may the Lord redeem his blood. I have heard that the faculty of memory is a male attribute and the faculty of forgetting a female one, as is implied in the verse Hearken, O daughter, take note and incline your ear, forget your people and your father’s house. We see there that forgetfulness goes with being a daughter. Today there are individuals in Buczacz who own more holy books than there were in the entire town in our Master’s day. I know of a great scholar, the rabbi of several communities, who at the time of his passing remarked that while it is certainly hard to take leave of a world in which one can acquire the merits of Torah, commandments, and good deeds, in the Academy on High he would get to see tractate ‘Eruvin, which he never laid eyes on in his lifetime. I also remember two yeshiva students who once came to our town after walking for two days, so they could view the minor tractates, having heard that there was here in Buczacz a man who owned all the volumes of the Talmud.