s himself to
apply his right hand to the beadle's cheek, and the latter has to take
it all in a spirit of love--this same Reb Groinom now humbly approaches
the same poor beadle, lies quietly down with his face to the ground,
stretches himself out, and the beadle deliberately counts the strokes up
to "thirty-nine Malkes." Covered with hay, Reb Groinom rises slowly, a
piteous expression on his face, just as if he had been well thrashed,
and he pushes a coin into the Shamash's hand. This is evidently the
beadle's day! To-day he can take his revenge on his householders for the
insults and injuries of a whole year!

But if you want to be in the thick of it all, you must stand in the
anteroom by the door, where people are crowding round the plates for
collections. The treasurer sits beside a little table with the directors
of the congregation; the largest plate lies before them. To one side of
them sits the cantor with his plate, and beside the cantor, several
house-of-study youths with theirs. On every plate lies a paper with a
written notice: "Visiting the Sick," "Supporting the Fallen," "Clothing
the Naked," "Talmud Torah," "Refuge for the Poor," and so forth. Over
one plate, marked "The Return to the Land of Israel," presides a modern
young man, a Zionist. Everyone wishing to enter the house-of-study must
first go to the plates marked "Call to the Torah" and "Seat in the
Shool," put in what is his due, and then throw a few kopeks into the
other plates.

* * * * *

Berel Tzop bustled up to the plate "Seat in the Shool," gave what was
expected of him, popped a few coppers into the other plates, and
prepared to recite the Afternoon Prayer. He wanted to pause a little
between the words of his prayer, to attend to their meaning, to impress
upon himself that this was the Eve of the Day of Atonement! But idle
thoughts kept coming into his head, as though on purpose to annoy him,
and his mind was all over the place at once! The words of the prayers
got mixed up with the idea of oats, straw, wheat, and barley, and
however much trouble he took to drive these idle thoughts away, he did
not succeed. "Blow the great trumpet of our deliverance!" shouted Berel,
and remembered the while that Ivan owed him ten measures of wheat.
"...lift up the ensign to gather our exiles!..."--"and I made a mistake
in Stephen's account by thirty kopeks...." Berel saw that it was
impossible for him to pray with attention,