Recalled by the rough tone from the divine harmonies, the teacher rose heavily, and went to the basin to wash, dragging his great boots.
He continued to speak as he went, but with less assurance, and the pupil followed him with greedy ears and glowing, dreaming eyes.
"But I," repeated Reb Yainkil, sadly, "was not even worthy of understanding to what category it belongs, of knowing under what heading it is classified. However," he added with a smile, "the initiatory mortifications and purifications, those I do know, and perhaps I will teach them you to-day."
The pupil's eyes seem about to start from their sockets with eagerness; he keeps his mouth open so as to catch every word. But the teacher is silent, he is washing his hands; he repeats the ritual formula, comes back to the table and says "Thou who bringest forth,"[55] with trembling lips.
He lifts the dish with shaking fingers, and the warm steam rises into his face; then he puts it down, takes the spoon in his right hand, and warms the left at the dish's edge; after which he masticates the rest of the bread with some salt between his tongue and his toothless gums.
Having warmed his face with his hands, he wrinkles his forehead, purses his thin lips, and begins to blow the porridge.
The pupil has not taken his eyes off him the whole time, and when the teacher's trembling mouth met the spoonful of porridge, something came over him, and he covered his face with both hands and withdrew within himself.
A few minutes later another boy came in with a bowl of porridge and some bread:
"Reb Yòsef sends the pupil some breakfast!"
But the pupil did not remove his hands from his face.