"Materialism? After all the misery and the hard labor--after the long exile of the Divine Presence? In my opinion, there ought to be a custom introduced of repeating the plagues seven times, and seven times 'Pour out thy wrath!' But the great thing is the plagues! I delight in them. I wish I could open the door at the plagues--let _them_ hear! Why should I be afraid? Do you suppose _they_ understand Hebrew?" Reb Shachneh is silent for a while, and then he relates the following: "Listen! This is what happened one day with us. I assure you I won't exaggerate. In perhaps the tenth house from the Rebbe's of blessed memory, there lived a Shochet who was (may I be forgiven for saying so--he is no more of this world) a mad butcher, a butcher among butchers, one in a thousand. A neck like a bull's, eyebrows like bristles, hands like logs, and a voice, a voice! When he spoke, it sounded like distant thunder, or musketry. He must have been at one time or another a Belzer." "Well, well," growls Reb Zerach. "Well, and," continues Reb Shachneh, coolly, "he used to pray with the most extravagant gestures, with shouts and whispers. "His 'they shall remember' reminded one of sprinkling fire with water." "Let that pass!" "You can fancy the uproar when a fellow like this sat down to the Haggadah. In the Rebbe's chamber we could hear every word. He read, of course, like a butcher, and the laugh went round. "The Rebbe of blessed memory scarcely moved his lips, and yet everyone could see that he was smiling. Later, however, when the butcher began to count the plagues, so that they shot from his mouth like bullets, and brought his fist down on the table, so that the glasses rang again, the Rebbe of blessed memory became melancholy." "Melancholy? On a feast-day? Passover? What do you mean?" "Well, we asked him the reason why!" "And what did he answer?" "God Himself," was his reply, "became melancholy on the occasion of the Exodus." "Where had he found that?" "It's a Midrash![114] When the children of Israel had crossed the Red Sea, and the water had covered up and drowned Pharaoh and all his host, then the angels began to sing songs, seraphim and ophanim flew into all the seven heavens with hymns and glad tidings, all the stars and planets danced and sang, and the celestial bodies--you can guess what rejoicings! But the Creator put an end to them. A Voice issued from the Throne: "'My children are being drowned in the sea, and you rejoice and sing?' "Because God created even Pharaoh and all his host, even the devil himself, and it is written: 'His tender mercies are over all His works.'" "Certainly!" sighs Reb Zerach. He says nothing more for a while, and then asks: "And if it _is_ a Midrash, what has he added to it to deserve praise?" Reb Shachneh stands still, and says gravely: