"But a note—what harm could a note do you?"
"Without my husband's knowledge, nothing!" she answers, as a good Jewess should answer, and turns away from me, and I see that she only does it to hide her tears—a mother—"the heart knows," her heart has felt the danger.
But when I heard the first cry, I ran to the Rebbe myself.
"Shemaiah," he answered me, "what can I do? I will pray!"
"Give me something for her, Rebbe," I implore, "anything, a coin, a trifle, an amulet!"
"It would only make matters worse, which heaven forbid!" he replied. "Where there is no faith, such things only do harm, and she would have none."
What could I do? It was the first day of Tabernacles, there was nothing I could do for her, I might as well stay with the Rebbe. I was like a son of the house. I thought, I will look imploringly at the Rebbe every minute, perhaps he will have compassion.
One heard things were not going on well—everything had been done—graves measured, hundreds of candles burnt in the synagogue, in the house-of-study, and a fortune given away in charity. What remains to be told? All the wardrobes stood open; a great heap of coins of all sorts lay on the table, and poor people came in and took away—all who wished, what they wished, as much as they wished!
I felt it all deeply.
"Rebbe," I said, "it is written: 'Almsgiving delivers from death.'"