"Well, and," continues Reb Shachneh, coolly, "he used to pray with the most extravagant gestures, with shouts and whispers.
"His 'they shall remember' reminded one of sprinkling fire with water."
"Let that pass!"
"You can fancy the uproar when a fellow like this sat down to the Haggadah. In the Rebbe's chamber we could hear every word. He read, of course, like a butcher, and the laugh went round.
"The Rebbe of blessed memory scarcely moved his lips, and yet everyone could see that he was smiling. Later, however, when the butcher began to count the plagues, so that they shot from his mouth like bullets, and brought his fist down on the table, so that the glasses rang again, the Rebbe of blessed memory became melancholy."
"Melancholy? On a feast-day? Passover? What do you mean?"
"Well, we asked him the reason why!"
"And what did he answer?"
"God Himself," was his reply, "became melancholy on the occasion of the Exodus."
"Where had he found that?"