"Peace be with you, Nòach!" the Brisk Rabbi answered.
"Sit, Rabbi!"
The Brisk Rabbi took a seat, and the Byàle Rebbe stood before him.
"Tell me, Nòach," said the Brisk Rabbi, with lifted eyebrows, "why did you run away from my academy? What was wanting to you there?"
"Breathing-space, Rabbi," answered the other, composedly.
"What do you mean? What are you talking about, Nòach?"
"Not for myself," explained the Byàle Rebbe in a quiet tone, "it was for my soul."
"Why so, Nòach?"
"Your Torah, Rabbi, is all justice! It is without mercy! There is not a spark of grace in your Torah! And therefore it is joyless, and cannot breathe freely—it is all chains and fetters, iron regulations, copper laws!—and all higher Torah for the learned, for the select few!"
The Brisk Rabbi is silent, and the other continues: