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

February 1914

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.

Fourteen-year-old Meilech, only son of Rav Dovid Briskman, the “Roiteh Rav,” makes his wet and muddy way to the home of his best friend, Yeruchum Freed.

Born just six months apart, the Rav’s son, Meilech, and Yeruchum, son of Reb Yoinasan Mordche Freed, were friends. Good friends. Friends like brothers.

For the first 13 years of their lives, they walked together to cheder, fished in the local streams, climbed the highest tree in the village. Soon the two of them expected to leave their village for the town of Ponovezh, whose yeshivah, founded just a few years earlier, had begun to win a reputation for excellence. Yeruchum — shorter, quieter, and calmer than his redheaded comrade — usually followed Meilech’s merry and often mischievous lead.

On this chilly winter’s night, Yeruchum has just climbed into his narrow cot. He’s grateful for the luxuries his father’s general store enables him to enjoy: a feather quilt to shelter him in Lita’s winters, a downy pillow to rest a head weary after poring over a sefer for hour upon hour.

A sudden banging on the door startles him into alert wakefulness. It’s been quiet here in Valiokei, no pogroms for several years, and yet….

His parents and brother are still asleep. Cautiously, he steps out of bed, pushes aside a white curtain, and peers out of the shutter.

Before the knocking can wake up his parents, he dashes to the door. “Meilech, vus teest duch du, what are you doing here?” he whispers.

“Let me in. Now.”