His friend. His good friend. The Rav’s only son. And now he has left his father’s home. A good home, a Torah home
ITbegins innocently enough on a quiet Shabbos eve in Valiokei. The sky is weeping, leaving the roads thick with mud. The drizzle and whipping wind discourage the town’s Jews from leaving their homes; the place seems empty, abandoned.
A dark-clad figure appears, passing the droplets of candlelight creeping through a house’s shuttered windows. Night sounds: a dog barking in the distance, a baby’s cries, a mother sternly rebuking her child.
Yes, a mother can be stern, critical, unforgiving.
And so can a father.
Even if that father happens to be the most respected man in his village.
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