A new yeshiva was founded in Slutsk, and it was founded and headed by Rabbi Pesach, known as Rabbi Pesach the Moshi, after Mosh, the city of his residence from which he came to Slutsk. My heart swept after this new yeshiva and I considered moving to it after spending one year in Rabbi Nehemiah's yeshiva.

Just as Shammai's portrait was reflected in Rabbi Nehemiah, so was Hillel's portrait reflected in Rabbi Pesach, and just as the title “A man who is sharp in everything” well suited Rabbi Nehemiah, the same way suited Rabbi Pesach the title “A man who is smooth in everything” - a kind of silky smoothness was in his body and within him. His face was pure and shone with the light of the Torah and the light of an exceeding soul (neshama yetira), and the tiny clefts in them, the traces of a former smallpox disease, looked like dimples. His eyes were black, glowing and producing good faith and pureness of the soul; Also, the hair of his head and his beard, every hair and hair a thread of glory. He had a beautiful soul, used to care for himself and was meticulous in his clothes, which should be ironed, and in his shoes, which should be polished, and in his walking, which should be upright and one step at a time, and the like in those outwardly minutiae. And this behavior was free from pride, even from that eighth of the eighth that was commanded on a wise scholar. He was not arrogant; He loved the simple and poor people and treated them with brotherhood.

That is why he chose the synagogue of the blacksmiths to house his yeshiva. The blacksmiths in Slutsk were considered the inferior among the craftsmen. They were clumsy Jews, and it was easier for them to wrestle with a rebellious horse when they put his horseshoe to his hoof and with a reluctant wheel that requires an iron hoop, than to handle the letters in the siddur. Due to the disdain on the part of the Torah followers for the artisans, they also withdrew, as did the tailors and hatters and butchers, from the synagogues where the Torah snobbishness prevailed and built synagogues for themselves - the Blacksmiths' Synagogue.

The synagogue of the blacksmiths housing Rabbi Pesach's Yeshiva in it, became a place of Torah for these artisans as well; From time to time, Rabbi Pesach would preach in front of them, and he would recite a lesson in “Chayei Adam” (the life of a person) in front of them every day, between Minchah and Ma'ariv.” This lesson that he recited in front of them included written things, which he recited and explained to them, and oral things, which he added, words of admonishment and things that were intended to carry away the hearts and encourage the soul, with a melody that yearns the heart and brings tears to the eye. He was sitting at the head of the table and they were sitting around it, their calloused and charred palms under their beards, and their eyes looked at him with murmurs of thanks and blessing for this hour of joy that they have with his grace - a taste of the world to come, and it is more beautiful to them than all the life of this world.

Rabbi Pesach minimized himself with the simple and humble people and with his disciples. He did not impose authority on them, he was their friend, a great friend who minimized himself and glorified them. Nevertheless, its yeshiva was privileged from this friendship: he did not impose a great fear on them but great love of a rabbi for them, and they rewarded him with doubled love for the rabbi and love for his Torah.

And here is a story that happened one day:

It was the season “between times” and the time of the melting of the snows, when the ground of Slutsk's streets and alleys became muddy and swampy, and I and three of my friends went to visit Rabbi Pesach at his home, to discuss a matter that he wanted to consult with us about. A festive whiteness overflowed from the walls of his house that were whitewashed in honor of Pesach. Torah nobility was reflected from the

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bookcases of the thick books with the elegant covers that were inside them, and his wife, a young lady, who was all grace and pleasantness, instilled in it a gentleness of soul. We sat before him, just as students sit before their rabbi, and he, our rabbi, discussed with us, as with his fellows, the matter for which we were asked to come to his house and he asked for our advice. When we finished, he turned the conversation to the story of his life, telling us a story of adventures that happened to him until he reached teaching, and what he saw that caused him to replace the rabbinate in which he served as the head of a yeshiva, and turned to teaching Torah to the people of Israel. And his wife occasionally entered into his words with a beautiful folk parable or a story that happened in her hometown.

Suddenly a shriek of indignation was heard from outside, and when we looked out the window, we saw a farmer standing next to his cart stuck in the mud and whipping the horse, cursing and snarling, and his poor horse pulling with all his might but the cart did not move from its place.

“Let's go,” Rabbi Pesach hastened us, “let's go out to fulfill the mitzvah that has reached us!” Rabbi Pesach hurried and went out into the street and we followed him, wallowing with him in the mud and getting closer to the cart, and pushing with our shoulders and pulling with our hands, together with the trembling and frightened horse, to get the cart out of the swampy mud. As we left the cart, we gazed at Rabbi Pesach and did not recognize him: our rabbi, who has always worn clean and ironed cloths, from his feet to his head, was covered in mud, with mud marks on his face and puddles of mud in his beard. Awestruck we stood before him: From the dirt on him, we felt the light of his noble soul. The farmer also stood awestruck before him, his mouth open, astonished and silent, and finally he took off his hat and crossed himself.

Rabbi Pesach influenced me and instilled in me his nature more than my other teachers and rabbis. He was my rabbi and like a father to me, a rabbi in Torah and my father in guidance. I loved him a profound love, and because of my love, I dedicated myself to my studies with extreme persistence. My mind did not cool down until I began to sit “Mishmar” (learning Torah at night) once a week, on Thursday night. I was weak in my body, and the sleepless nights of Torah studies exhausted my strength, and more than once Rabbi Pesach would rebuke me for the sin that I was committing by studying nights at the yeshiva and disrespecting the health of the body, as the people of Israel were warned to guard their body equally to guarding their soul.

Rabbi Pesach rebuked me, but I continued with my study nights: physical torture in them, but the pleasure of the soul is on the other side. I enjoyed adding a study night to my days of study, and had even more enjoyment in actually studying in the dark silence that filled the space of the synagogue. I was blessed to engage in the Torah, in the future I hope to be a teacher in Israel, and my father would be exalted by me and would receive glory and honor, reparations for his sufferings and insults. Only a few days passed and the students of the yeshiva raised me to be their “chozer” (repeater): every day, after Rabbi Pesach finished reciting his daily lesson, they gathered around me and I would lecture them, in great details, all the innovations of the Torah that he recited in his lesson, his innovations as well as innovations of others, and he, Rabbi Pesach, would sit aside, and from the smile on his face it seemed that he enjoyed listening to his “chozer”.

After we finished two years at the yeshiva, I and one of my friends decided to leave Rabbi Pesach's yeshiva after the celebration of the end of the tractate we studied that season and to move to the higher yeshiva from which we could later go to teaching. We held this graduation celebration with great splendor and with a large crowd - the students' parents and their relatives, including the owners of the “Blacksmiths' Synagogue.” The synagogue seemed as if it was the night of Simchat Torah: its lanterns and chandeliers were lit and it was full of joy, and the crowd filled its space with joy and happiness - happy and cheerful in this Simchat Torah that they celebrate on a secular day. They were happy and Rabbi Pesach was doubly happy. He was the “Chatan Torah” in this Simchat Torah celebration, and his joy shone in his face and sparkled in his eyes. There was also joy in his voice when he said the “Hadran” (the concluding reading in the final study of a tractate in the Talmud) in front of us in which he bound together a halacha and a legend, but there was a note of sadness encapsulated in it. We knew what this sadness means: saying this “Hadran” is saying a farewell blessing for him, a farewell blessing to his students who were retiring from him, and this sadness was absorbed in us as well: We were sorry to retire from our beloved rabbi!

After saying the “Hadran” and eating some sweet delicacies, we held each other's hands, with Rabbi Pesach in the middle, and danced around the bimah with joy and happiness and later we went outside and danced in the square in front of the synagogue in the open air. The days were the days before the eve of Passover. The winter passed by with its snows and ices, storms and colds. A bleached moon, as if it was ready for Passover, floated in the azure of the sky, and its white light was woven in the puddles of water that flowed in the canals towards the street. A warm wind soaked with fresh moisture blown through the air, patted our faces with affection, curled our hair and whispered in our ears a whisper of good news, good news that spring is about to affect the world, and the branches of the bushes near the synagogue that have begun to burst out the first buds, moved and responded amen to its good news. In addition, from a bakery came the sound of the ladies who were rolling matzah cakes - a sound that heralded good news: the spring holiday was approaching and it was time for joy! Also, the croaking of the frogs somewhere and the chirping of the crickets on the wall of the synagogues - their grief had turned into happiness, they were chanting for the good news of spring that was being heard in the world. It seemed as if the whole world was dancing with us, dancing and singing: Sisu vesimchu beSimchat Torah (rejoice and be happy in Simchat Torah)! Rejoice and be happy with the joy of spring!

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a. He was a tailor in his youth: for the work In Torah he was designated while still a lad, His Torah was restricted: the reading of the Siddur, Prayer from it to the G-d Who awakened his soul. One day - when he was already married - He decided and said: I will separate from work And to Torah, study Torah, to its study He dedicated himself with his entire soul, his entire means. His wife agreed, and her neck Took upon itself the yoke of a livelihood - her husband imparted to her A half of the recompense for Torah - he left his work And sat studying Torah day and night. The studiers of the Beis Midrash acceded to him, For he urged them, and they set times for him They volunteered to teach him: this one a portion In Chumash, and this one a chapter in Mishnah. This one a page of Midrash, and this one a folio of Gemara - He added day to day and night to night, he did not depart From the Beis Midrash - the study was difficult to him But his will was ironclad, may the flint rock forgive! After years of toil, he was ordained for teaching Rabbi Yossel the Gaon, he was the rabbi of the city And the heads of the nearby community gave him a writ of rabbinate Urging him to accept it. But he refused to serve as a rabbi: His Torah will be disseminated To his brethren like him, the simple masses, To the tailor, the shoemaker, the smith, the woodcutter And the water drawer, his trust was with them. They gave him space in the wing of the Beis Midrash So he separated. He studied Torah there, and he Taught Torah to his brethren of his type To them he cleaved, and he imbued his light upon them. He imbued his light on them through the illumination of his countenance Through which his noble heart shone, And the words of his mouth dripped out, as medicine drips To those who are hurt, he bandages their afflictions. He paid attention to the downtrodden and those with a lowly spirit Saying G-d will be with them. He granted a blessing To those who were encountering difficulties. Hope to the despairing heart, And comfort to the groaning soul. Anyone who had a bad dream would hasten to his door And tell it to him with a palpitating, trembling heart. He would interpret it in a positive way, and as he left - With a crestfallen spirit, he would encourage him. He would extend his benevolence to the crazies of the city Peering at him like fungus and mushrooms, Wandering about on the streets during the day, and at night Hanging out in the synagogues. If a crazy person played a prank And the one without mercy urged him to have mercy! And at times, those brazen ones who heard his reproof Were sullied by the sin of the crazy ones. He would corner them and haul them to the bathhouse Until they started to scream, like those dragged To slaughter there. He would wash them, and they would exchange Their worn-out clothes with donated clothes. If he heard that a quarrel had broken out between a man and his wife He would go to them in the morning, and make peace between them - He would plead with them, and would not leave Until they made up with each other. It once happened that a certain person was angry with his wife Before the seven days of Marriage celebration had passed - as he got angry With his father-in-law for tricking him, and a dispute broke out. Rabbi Rafael Yosel would demand from their neighbors To inform him of the reason for the dispute, and he would Speak with the person, he would speak at length And in his voice was soft with moans of mercy: “No my son, abandon the dispute! Did you find something wrong With your wife?” “No but,” he answered, “I found something wrong with her father, Rabbi, For he did not come through with what he promised to give:” “He promised to give a Ritonda but a cloak He gave her instead, and she was silent!” Even though he had formerly been a tailor He made male clothes, but not female clothes -- And he will ask him: “My son, of what use are these clothes That he promised to give, that you call Ritonda?” - “This is an outer garment made without sleeves For beauty and splendor of a bedecked woman.” “My son” - he innocently said to him - “There is a remedy, You can fix it with her extra cloak: Undo the sleeves and remove them And this will be a Ritonda for splendor.” “Tear off a pair of sleeves from the cloak But do not, my son, disrupt a united couple with discord. Make peace with your partner, and may it be His will That you shall merit to sew her a Ritonda yourself!” b. And remember him, Rabbi Rafael Yosil Positively also for me, for he stood to save me When I was in difficulties, in the bathhouse, in the boiling water For my grandfather was going to judge me on Friday. On the eve of that day, the evil people snuck out of Gehinnom [Hell], and their punishments stopped. For me, Gehinnom was prepared: the bathhouse, my grandfather Was going to drag me there by force. He would sentence me to lashes first For he would take me up to the upper balcony With the section of rope in it, and he would bind me As someone sentenced to have the verdict carried out, on the back. And I would be whipped with a small bundle of twigs My body would be flogged, not forty minus[1] And the punishment of strangulation[2] is added to the verdict For I will be tormented there by the mist. I will fall apart without recourse from my suffering When the flogging and the strangulation end And I will cry out from the violence - and the sound of my cries Will be stifled by the mist, hoarse and heavy. And my grandfather will not tell you: the sentence of boiling water On my body will make a mist, completely cleansing - And it is literally boiling: if you put an egg into it In a moment you will take it out cooked! My flesh, the majority of it will be fried It will be purged well in the bathhouse With the boiling water drawn from a pail, and I in it will be disgusted To me, it tastes like a burning pressure! I will be cleansed in my pain, and my voice Will scream out. It will not itch, and the mist will no longer be obscured

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And Rabbi Rafael Yosil Will instill fear in my grandfather, for he has heard. And he will beg him, “O, arouse your mercy For your grandson. And mix cold water Into the boiling water of your pail - G-d will also bless You for blending the trait of justice with mercy!” And my grandfather will agree - one does not refuse The modest Rabbi Rafael Yosil! - And he will cool the boiling waters for me - and in that way, his mercy He will extend to me every Friday. G-d will also not judge me from that time With boiling water. I am filled with its shots I supplicate, suffer from it, and in my prayers it seems like: The voice of Rabbi Rafael Yosil I hear: “Merciful Father, cool down your wrath, O, mercy to judgment and merit to guilt Come and join for him!” And when I hear his prayer I am encouraged, and hope for salvation soon. c. And blessed is that Rabbi Rafael Yosil Who saves me from the judgment of the boiling water of my grandfather, naïve In the bathhouse I am on Fridays, for My nightmare has been interpreted positively. And I did not dream this dream about myself - About someone else, my friend, the friend of my youth From when we got to know each other, We were bound in bonds of brotherhood and friendship.[3] We were both students in the Cheder of Rabbi Yosil. It was housed in the Beis Midrash, its anteroom was the Yeshiva, And we were both diligent in the study of Gemara. Rabbi Yosel paved our path for us We both reviewed the lesson every day, And prepared for the new lesson. We helped each other, and in the evening we moved over to The wing of the Beis Midrash, the secret corner. We talked there together, a secret discussion Yearning hearts and effervescent hearts, We even discussed dreams while awake, For we were both dreamers. We traveled in our dreams to hidden places Where wonderful treasures are buried, And we made a covenant to divide them between us The desired treasure would be split in half. And that Beis Midrash in which we studied Can be compared to a river. Old and young During the comforting summer days Went to enjoy themselves in bathing and swimming. We too were both among the group of bathers. We learned to swim properly with our arms and legs, Even though we did not put a great effort into swimming, It is a very serious issue! And one night I dreamt: We are both swimming In the river. Floating in splendor like the splendor of light gold And suddenly my friend immersed himself And before he came up - he sunk into the depths! His body reddened in the depths for some time But as it sunk deeper It got covered up, disappeared, and was no more! And I woke up, and my voice rose in a scream. Sleepless the rest of the hours of the night I tossed and turned in my bed, overtaken by trembling I rose quickly in the morning, and hurried To Rabbi Rafael Yosil, pacing quickly. I met him in the wing of his Beis Midrash In the early minyan, where he had Concluded his prayers. And I told him my dream. My voice was talking through a treasury of tears. “Calm down, my son!” - he answered me. His voice Was speaking pleasantly, with love - “It is a good dream, my son, you saw in your dream Only good and fine things you prophesied for your friend. “For water is a sign of blessing. For a blessing This will be to your friend. And water Is compared to Torah - he dove to its depths And dredged up from there unique pearls. “However, today, my son, your friend Should avoid bathing in the river! G-d will have mercy on you, and cast his shadow at your right hand Through his Torah. It will protect you from all evil.” And that day my friend asked me To go bathe. His desire for it Was sevenfold. With a strong force The river attracted him! - and I followed after him: When he was still a lad, the reading of Hebrew books Took hold of his heart. He swallowed them as his birthright. From them, as we talked as friends, He would tell me wonders and secrets. And within a few days, good news He told me. He was happy as if he found a hidden treasure: He had the opportunity to read a book of wonders From then he would seek it, “Emek Haarazim.” With this book, I used a pretext To turn his mind away from bathing: I asked him: What are The wonderful adventures in this book of wonders? Tell them to me, so I can enjoy them and know them! I opened a concealed faucet in the midst of his soul And precious things came from his mouth, from the recesses Adventures from days of yore - the vibrancy of his soul With his voice in wonder and his eyes shining He told me about adventures from old times His wellsprings and senses were swallowed up He was alert to them when the time of our studies stopped And we returned to study for the second half of the day. However, a river can also describe the suburb In which my friend lived. And before the end Of the day, for it was long, when our studies finished We would go there for dangerous bathing! I accompanied him when he returned Home in the evening, and I tarried In his house, I talked with him a great deal Until the danger passed: the sun set! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Dreams follow after the mouth - the holy mouth Interpreted the dream well to me: I was a blessing For my friend. Many special pearls Did he dredge up from the depths in which he swam - The depths of Torah and also the depths of literature, The light of Torah illuminated from its perplexity - And perhaps in the merit of Rabbi Rafael Yosil A writer was raised in Israel!

1. The Biblical punishment of lashes is 40 (Deuteronomy 25:3), but it is in actuality reduced to 39. It is the custom in a bathhouse to be whipped by a bundle of twigs for health reasons - and the author is comparing this to the Biblical edict of flogging. Return
2. One of the four types of capital punishment in the Torah. (The author clearly does not like the bathhouse to which is grandfather takes him - although he is using the entire experience as a simile for extrication of the suffering of the Jewish people as a whole). Return
3. There is an editor's footnote here: The author is referring to his friend Y. D. Berkowitz. Return

The main street in the provincial town of Slutsk is paved with stones and is called “Shusey”. Horses' hooves are tapping with rapid sounds, carts and carriages are rattling on the edges of the stones, and new faces that he has not seen before, - perhaps he will never see them again - pass in front of the boy, who came from the town, and expand his world. Once in a while, a car belonging to one of the Polish noblemen passes in front of the hotel of Butnitsky (Bukshitsky); Grocers and homeowners go out into the street, arguing and estimating its price, and children run after it in noise and commotion.

Isaac walks down the street with a crowd of high schoolers, his uniform ironed and his buttons shiny. Isaac wouldn't run after the car, even though he wanted to run like those boys. He will be laughed at if he does so. He misses and does not miss the wide market of his town, where he used to run fast from the Beit Midrash to the low fence of the House of Awe.

It's good that he found here in the high school (gymnasia) Alyosha Yaakobovitz, the son of the owner of a remote and tiny estate. One of the visitors of his father's house, who reminds him of oblivion. Alyosha's father is one of the poor Shlyachtits, that the “Polish noblemen”, who own the big estates, see them as peasants, but they actually see themselves as nobles. That's why he was such a man, who usually lived at the edge of the village, or in a four-by-four estate, who loses out from both ways. Usually, he would connect with one of the wealthy Jews and tell him about his troubles.

This is how Yaakobovitz also socialized with Fayvel Halber. When he came from the village to the town, he would park his horse and cart in Fayvel's yard, enter the kitchen, put his things down, speak loudly to the maid and hand out hazelnuts, pumpkin seeds, apples and pears to the children.

Isaac's studies seem easy, the grades are good, and he would proudly await to the teacher calling him to the blackboard. It's nice to repeat the things he acquired during his studies. Speaking in front of the department summarizes his knowledge and, in this manner, he clarifies himself the subject. It's quiet in the department and he hears the sound of his voice. The theorems in geometry are placed on top of each other and the conclusions come from each other. “Quod Erat Demonstrandum” …(what should have been proved). Even these words themselves, heavy and strong, are a nice taste of the victory... “Quod Erat Demonstrandum” - metal scraps are ringing... Sometimes these words seem like the trees of the great forest, that was seen from the window of his father's house.

The boy with the light hair stands by the blackboard and speaks Russian with the rustic intonation of Policia residents, and the teachers smile at him, at this excellent boy, with sympathy. And so do the students, thanking Isaac for bringing the skinny little Alyosha close to him, even though they themselves did not express any closeness to him. Apart from that, Isaac serves as a sort of middleman between the Russians and the Jews in his department. Those and those speak to him with excessive closeness, although he has not yet become friends with one group or another. - - -

The first years of the war did not bring with them a noticeable change during the life of the boy studying at the high school in the district city: the paved road of exams and grades, sailing on the river that flows to the Prift, and sitting in the evenings on the hotel's balcony, continued. It seems as if the war broke out in another country and it did not reach the hotel or the high school, except for dull echoes.

Isaac read the newspapers every day and knew what was going on: somewhere in the Galician towns the wounded and the dead rolled in, in East Prussia thousands died in the swamps. Isaac heard about this horrible death from an eyewitness soldier: the swamp soil slowly pulls and absorbs the man and he sees his death with his eyes, tries in horror to pull out one leg and the other sinks deeper. After that, the despairing man stops his war on his life and helplessly waits for the impending death. From the refugees, Isaac also knew about the acts of the Cossacks in Galicia and Poland. But all these were nothing but stories, such as he read in books: the stories of Versayev about the war with Japan or Tolstoy's descriptions in “War and Peace”. - - -

Over time, the heavy, threatening feeling also spread to the district city. Near Bukshitsky's balcony, the noise and commotion grew significantly. Horses' hooves and carts wheels now rattled day and night. The front drew closer, the soldiers multiplied, and the “Shusey” was filled with convoys of deportees from Poland and Galicia: Jews in long clothes, wearing small hats, who spoke in a soft and prolonged tone. Isaac heard their stories and the events became closer to him and touched his heart.

The winds blowing during the war also broke through the walls of the school. The one who was a high schooler some time ago was now an officer, who goes around freely for his pleasure and does what his heart desires. The boys and girls looked enviously at these young officers and looked forward to the day when they too could get rid of their books. As the prices increased, the salary of a respected teacher, dressed in uniforms, was not enough for them, and restlessness was imposed on their faces and movements. You should now smile at the boy, whose father is rich and you can get a favor from him, and you should be wary of a cheeky boy, because who knows how the boy will act the next day. The mood of the boys is also changing for the worse from day to day, and the paved roads to their heart are weakened. And when a student is called to explain a theorem in geometry to the department, he stands and answers boldly and arrogantly, and the students smile in anticipation. One must therefore overcome regular and accepted habits and smile. At a time when the house is being destroyed, what is the point of taking care of every tool and tool, that it be standing in the place designated for it in advance?

Isaac did not feel and did not know how and when this happened. Suddenly he realized that his knowledge had become an obstacle.

In the midst of this chaotic laxity, which is felt within the walls of the school, Isaac's diligence is weakening. The excitement that accompanied the writing of the essays faded due to the tensions. The visions no longer accumulate to a single point, but rater wander here and there.

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The symphony of generations suffering in exile, longing for life and redemption Enters my heart like strong wine of agony in the loneliness of night; Illuminating me and causing me to have tears, and refusing to die Of them only it remains. The symphony of generations, the progeny of the funeral of an elderly, faithful person; The violin of their soul during their wanderings in the hallways of time – It is still in its sadness with refreshing, flowing clearness As it was born in sadness. Like a ray of light shining forth from the heart in the darkness of the netherworld In it shines the faith and bereavement smiles. A ray of anguish opposite G-d, calling out loudly, And dancing with the melody. A wonderful symphony, moving every heart without words Imbued with sweet suffering, pride in the depths. And it is a ladder, in it is a ladder on which those who thrust off the yoke ascend To the heights of “One.” Generations raised the symphony, and it raised them In the depths of despair, in the hopeless agony, the seed of the holiness of the age Dancing on pyre with them, pouring out nauseating joy And it is burned with them. Now, old and childless, flowing over the graves – A silent violin with no hand to move the strings. It is silent and will be silent: no more will the generations of singing be heard. Their voices have been silenced forever – – – The symphony of generations suffering in exile, longing for life and redemption Comes into my heart like strong wine of agony in the loneliness of night; Illuminating me and causing me to have tears, and refusing to die Of them only it remains.

Natives of Slutsk and its environs in Tel Aviv at a memorial ceremony for the martyrs of the community on 3 Adar

Avraham Epstein was a personality studded with charming gems, some bright and some modest. He was an esteemed and humbled man with God and people and a noble man in his manners - to the point of weaving a thin partition between him and the other person - while his heart was a heart that listens, in fact, to every heartbeat of the other person; He was tired of wanderings and tribulations, he was uprooted and exiled from place to place - while his spirit was not turbid and the character of his nobility was not blurred in any way.

I remember that once, when Epstein returned from his wanderings and tribulations all over the “settlments area” to his beloved city, he was in total despair and gripped by doubts from various sources, about the way he captured himself - he was half a Hebrew teacher and half an external - swifts in the stream of the detached people, without a visible safe harbor. In this mental crisis Epstein found himself surrounded by enthusiastic followers, who followed him in the evenings during the group walks along the road and listened passionately to his words, which were seasoned with witty intelligence and a touch of forgiving wisdom. While the little ones, his students in the “reformed cheder”, would also, upon the completion of the study, follow their admired teacher. And why should it be surprising? Their teacher was then a children's poet; A modest and unknown poet – he was of high quality and comprehensive. However, these little ones found with the power of intuitive achievement peculiar to them (and to the poets) - the spring of poetry that was repulsive in their teacher's soul; they found it and drank from it thirstily, to their pleasure and the teacher's pleasure as well. To the appearance it seemed that the little followers had finally brought a cure to the sad soul of the teacher and the mental crisis has already passed. After all, there was a brightness on the face of a teacher. But who can understand the spirit of a poet? And even more so when it comes to a children's poet. And indeed, one day Epstein got up and took his walking stick and his cape and went to an unknown destination and he never again returned to his beloved city, if I'm not mistaken.

The last stop on Epstein's life path was America. And this is where Epstein was “discovered”. And this is also where one enigmatic issue is revealed, as precisely here, in loud America, Epstein, who is humble, found himself as a critic writer who earned him the right of citizenship in Hebrew literature; Unexpectedly here, in the material and feverish America, Epstein was able to praise with thin and pleasant explanatory threads and heartfelt words of praise for the poets and writers who conquered Epstein's heart. Admittedly, it is to be regretted that Epstein for some reason did not write about the issues of Hebrew education in America that he himself debated about - at the time: in that first and difficult period at the Etz Haim Yeshiva, in Borough Park, and later at the Flatbush Yeshiva and finally in Herzliya. Indeed, this is also an enigmatic issue. Here are the necessary signs: an observing eye, a listening heart, hard trials and a writing talent. And why does his educational canvas remain empty, most of it intact? It is an enigma. However, who can understand the spirit of a man full of inspiration? Whether it is one way or another - this chapter, the Avraham Epstein chapter, is one of the most beautiful chapters, even if few in number, in the tractate of Hebrew America.

* This list (printed in “ HaDoar” (The Post)), was received late and due to its importance for the evaluation of the personality of the late A. Epstein, we print it in this section.

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