like the sun, and stretches its flowery branches over the Shochet's head like a tent. And a quantity of birds hop among the twigs and join in singing the Song of Songs. I am so astonished that I stand there with open mouth and eyes, rooted like the trees.
He ends his chant, the tree is extinguished, the little birds are silent, and he turns to me, and says affectionately:
"Listen, Yüdele,”—Yüdel is my name—"I have a request to make of you."
"Really?" I answer joyfully, and I suppose he wishes me to bring him out some food, and I am ready to run and bring him our whole Sabbath dinner, when he says to me:
"Listen, keep what you saw to yourself."
This sobers me, and I promise seriously and faithfully to hold my tongue.
"Listen again. You are going far away, very far away, and the road is a long road."
I wonder, however should I come to travel so far? And he goes on to say:
"They will knock the Rebbe's Torah out of your head, and you will forget Father and Mother, but see you keep to your name! You are called Yüdel—remain a Jew!"
I am frightened, but cry out from the bottom of my heart:
"Surely! As surely may I live!"
Then, because my own idea clung to me, I added:
"Don't you want something to eat?"
And before I finished speaking, he had vanished.
