On the Night the Festival Is Sanctified

the multitudes who came from the four corners of the country to pour out prayer on the Day of Judgment in the Jerusalem of Poland and in the holy yeshiva steeped in Torah and prayer.

On the Night the Festival Was Hallowed

The city of Lublin shed its secular form and donned the splendor of ancient days. Lublin’s streets, which remain still throughout the year, hum and surge with the masses of Hasidim streaming straight to the yeshiva. Royal splendor flows from the yeshiva. Dozens of chandeliers affixed to the ceiling shower forth a sea of lights and cast their rays across the breadth of Lublin, while extending a welcoming countenance to those entering its gates. A certain tension is perceptible on the faces of the community’s leaders. They are somewhat perplexed, for they have not yet decided whether to honor Rabbi Meir Shapiro with the evening prayer out of courtesy and respect, as their host and the local rabbinic authority, or to disregard all the compelling considerations—for, in the final analysis, a Hasidic following is a Hasidic following, and Rabbi Meir is not numbered among their Hasidim. Meanwhile, our acquaintance Shlama Yuda passed before the lectern for the afternoon prayer; when he finished the prayer and the rabbi took his place beside the platform and opened with the piyyut “Ahot Ketanah,” matters changed. His regal appearance, the majesty of his noble face, and his pleasant, serious voice influenced the heads of the community in the opposite direction: not only were they prepared to honor him with the evening prayer, but even with the Musaf prayer. Here the decision was reached: the rabbi of Lublin would pass before the lectern for the evening prayer. A delegation of dignitaries headed by the great spiritual mentor, Rabbi Yitzhak Breiter, presented itself before the rabbi; in the name of the holy community bound to the “flowing brook, source of wisdom,” the rabbi was asked to hallow the festival with his pleasant prayer. Rabbi Meir’s face shone with happiness; he did not conceal his satisfaction at the honor that had fallen to his lot. Although his voice was not as strong as Shlomo Yuda’s, through the pleasantness of his words, his distinctive sweetness, and his personal charm, he rose and surpassed all the prayer leaders at the gathering and swept the worshippers’ hearts by storm. The prayer of the multitudes intertwined with Rabbi Meir’s stirring prayer, and a precious pearl was formed and set into the royal crown of the Hearer of Prayers. Like b’nei maron—those passing one by one in judgment—the Breslovers pass before the rabbi and, with genuine joy, wish him a good year; he answers the blessings with a smile and an expansive spirit.

Faithful to their rabbi’s teaching that on the night of Rosh Hashanah one must refrain from all association, the Breslov Hasidim dispersed to their lodgings, while the rabbi and his students reclined for the festival meal. A considerable number of Breslov Hasidim from among the community’s leaders were invited to the rabbi’s table, and among those invited was Rabbi Ben Zion Apter. I believe there is no need to introduce Rabbi Ben Zion, one of the Holocaust survivors. The years that had passed left their mark on his face