Here the reader dropped the hands that held the papers, and an expression of rapture shone in his face.
"He was my teacher from whom came all my joy and all my sorrow." Strange coincidence! Both he and his ancestor who had died three hundred years ago had listened to the same teacher. In the hearts of both he had kindled the heroic, self-sacrificing love, the greatest upon earth—the love of the ideal. But the descendant who read these words which one by one dispersed all his doubts, felt no sorrow; nothing but a great joy and hope.
A hoarse and thick voice shouted from the crowd:
"Hear! hear! he praises alien flames! He calls the accursed heretic a second Moses!"
All heads turned towards the door to see who had spoken. It was Reb Moshe, who had climbed upon the bench near the door and was thus raised above the crowd; he shook his head, laughed derisively, and fixed his malignant eyes upon Meir. But the people's curiosity was not yet satisfied; under their ragged garments many hearts were beating with a new, and by themselves undefined sensation.
"He speaks to us through the mouth of his descendant. Listen to him whose soul dwells already amongst the Sefirots."
An old man with stooping back, who leaned upon his stick, raised his white head and said to Meir, plaintively:
"How could Israel warm himself at the sun of knowledge when he was driven away from it by his enemies? And we once had, Reb, famous physicians and wise men who were ministers at the courts of kings; but when they thrust us from the portals of knowledge we went forth and said: Henceforth Israel will hold aloof from the stranger, like an elder brother whom the younger brethren have offended."
Meir looked at the old man with a gentle, half-triumphant smile.
"Reb!" he replied, "the voice of my ancestor will give an answer to your question:"