udy of the Torah he found the balm for all his wounds;
the minute observance of traditional rites became the expression of
his spiritual cravings; and in the dream of a restoration to Palestine
he forgot the world.

What did it matter to us, on a Sabbath or festival, when our life was
centred in the synagogue, what czar sat on the throne, what evil
counsellors whispered in his ear? They were concerned with revenues
and policies and ephemeral trifles of all sorts, while we were intent
on renewing our ancient covenant with God, to the end that His promise
to the world should be fulfilled, and His justice overwhelm the
nations.

On a Friday afternoon the stores and markets closed early. The clatter
of business ceased, the dust of worry was laid, and the Sabbath peace
flooded the quiet streets. No hovel so mean but what its casement sent
out its consecrated ray, so that a wayfarer passing in the twilight
saw the spirit of God brooding over the lowly roof.

Care and fear and shrewishness dropped like a mask from every face.
Eyes dimmed with weeping kindled with inmost joy. Wherever a head bent
over a sacred page, there rested the halo of God's presence.

Not on festivals alone, but also on the common days of the week, we
lived by the Law that had been given us through our teacher Moses. How
to eat, how to bathe, how to work--everything had been written down
for us, and we strove to fulfil the Law. The study of the Torah was
the most honored of all occupations, and they who engaged in it the
most revered of all men.

My memory does not go back to a time when I was too young to know that
God had made the world, and had appointed teachers to tell the people
how to live in it. First came Moses, and after him the great rabbis,
and finally the Rav of Polotzk, who read all day in the sacred books,
so that he could tell me and my parents and my friends what to do
whenever we were in doubt. If my mother cut up a chicken and found
something wrong in it,--some hurt or mark that should not be,--she
sent the housemaid with it to the rav, and I ran along, and saw the
rav look in his big books; and whatever he decided was right. If he
called the chicken "trefah" I must not eat of it; no, not if I had to
starve. And the rav knew about everything: about going on a journey,
about business, about marrying, about purifying vessels for Passover.

Another great teacher was the dayyan, who heard people's quarrels and
settled them according