THREE WHO ATE
Once upon a time three people ate. I recall the event as one recalls a dream. Black clouds obscure the men, because it happened long ago.
Only sometimes it seems to me that there are no clouds, but a pillar of fire lighting up the men and their doings, and the fire grows bigger and brighter, and gives light and warmth to this day.
I have only a few words to tell you, two or three words: once upon a time three people ate. Not on a workday or an ordinary Sabbath, but on a Day of Atonement that fell on a Sabbath.
Not in a corner where no one sees or hears, but before all the people in the great Shool, in the principal Shool of the town.
Neither were they ordinary men, these three, but the chief Jews of the community: the Rabbi and his two Dayonim.
The townsfolk looked up to them as if they had been angels, and certainly held them to be saints. And now, as I write these words, I remember how difficult it was for me to understand, and how I sometimes used to think the Rabbi and his Dayonim had done wrong. But even then I felt that they were doing a tremendous thing, that they were holy men with holy instincts, and that it was not easy for them to act thus. Who knows
