"And what if he suffers?" exclaimed Shmul. "His fathers went to school, and I went there and suffered the same; it cannot be helped; it is necessary."
"And have you never thought, Shmul, that things might be different?" questioned Meir gently.
Shmul's eyes flashed.
"Morejne!" he exclaimed, "do not utter sinful words under my roof. My hut is a poor one, but, thanks to the Lord, we keep the law and obey the elders. The tailor Shmul is very poor, and by the work of his hands supports his wife, eight children, and his blind mother. But he is poor before the Lord, and before the people, because faithfully he keeps the covenant and the Sabbath, eats nothing that is unclean, says all his prayers, crying aloud before the Lord. He does not keep friendship with the Goims (aliens) as the Lord protects and loves only the Israelites, and they only possess a soul. Thus lives the tailor Shmul, even as his fathers lived before him."
When the flexible and fiery Shmul had finished, Meir asked very gently:
"And were your fathers happy? and you, Shmul, are you happy?"
This question brought before the tailor's eyes a vision of all his sufferings.
"Ai! Ai! Let not my worst enemy be as happy as I am. The skin sticks to my bones, and my heart is full of pain."
A deep sigh, from the corner of the room, seemed to re-echo the tailor's sorrowful outburst.
Meir turned round, and seeing a big shadowy figure in the corner, asked, "Who is that?"