the Saken Rav passes his hands
across his serene and pious countenance, pulls out both earlocks,
straightens his skull-cap, and prepares to expound a passage of the
Torah as God shall enlighten him. There sit with him at table, to one
side of him, a passing guest, a Libavitch Chossid, like the Rav himself,
a man with yellow beard and earlocks, and a grubby shirt collar
appearing above the grubby yellow kerchief that envelopes his throat; to
the other side of him, his son Sholem, an eighteen-year-old youth, with
a long pale face, deep, rather dreamy eyes, a velvet hat, but no
earlocks, a secret Maskil, who writes Hebrew verses, and contemplates
growing into a great Jewish author. The Rebbetzin has been suffering two
or three months with rheumatism, and lies in another room.

The Rav is naturally humble-minded, and it is no trifle to him to
expound the Torah. To take a passage of the Bible and say, The meaning
is this and that, is a thing he hasn't the cheek to do. It makes him
feel as uncomfortable as if he were telling lies. Up to twenty-five
years of age he was a Misnaggid, but under the influence of the Saken
Rebbetzin, he became a Chossid, bit by bit. Now he is over fifty, he
drives to the Rebbe, and comes home every time with increased faith in
the latter's supernatural powers, and, moreover, with a strong desire to
expound a little of the Torah himself; only, whenever a good idea comes
into his head, it oppresses him, because he has not sufficient
self-confidence to express it.

The difficulty for him lies in making a start. He would like to do as
the Rebbe does (long life to him!)--give a push to his chair, a look,
stern and somewhat angry, at those sitting at table, then a groaning
sigh. But the Rav is ashamed to imitate him, or is partly afraid, lest
people should catch him doing it. He drops his eyes, holds one hand to
his forehead, while the other plays with the knife on the table, and one
hardly hears:

"When thou goest forth to war with thine enemy--thine enemy--that is,
the inclination to evil, oi, oi,--a--" he nods his head, gathers a
little confidence, continues his explanation of the passage, and
gradually warms to the part. He already looks the stranger boldly in the
face. The stranger twists himself into a correct attitude, nods assent,
but cannot for the life of him tear his gaze from the brandy-bottle on
the table, and cannot wonder sufficiently at so much being allowed to
remain in it at the end