ond best dress, walked to temple Yom Kippur
eve, her son at her right side, her daughter at her left. She had made
up her mind that she would not let this next day, with its poignantly
beautiful service, move her too deeply. It was the first since her
husband's death, and Rabbi Thalmann rather prided himself on his
rendition of the memorial service that came at three in the afternoon.

A man of learning, of sweetness, and of gentle wit was Rabbi Thalmann,
and unappreciated by his congregation. He stuck to the Scriptures
for his texts, finding Moses a greater leader than Roosevelt, and
the miracle of the Burning Bush more wonderful than the marvels of
twentieth-century wizardy in electricity. A little man, Rabbi Thalmann,
with hands and feet as small and delicate as those of a woman. Fanny
found him fascinating to look on, in his rabbinical black broadcloth
and his two pairs of glasses perched, in reading, upon his small hooked
nose. He stood very straight in the pulpit, but on the street you saw
that his back was bent just the least bit in the world--or perhaps it
was only his student stoop, as he walked along with his eyes on the
ground, smoking those slender, dapper, pale brown cigars that looked as
if they had been expressly cut and rolled to fit him.

The evening service was at seven. The congregation, rustling in silks,
was approaching the little temple from all directions. Inside, there was
a low-toned buzz of conversation. The Brandeis' seat was well toward
the rear, as befitted a less prosperous member of the rich little
congregation. This enabled them to get a complete picture of the room in
its holiday splendor. Fanny drank it in eagerly, her dark eyes soft
and luminous. The bare, yellow-varnished wooden pews glowed with the
reflection from the chandeliers. The seven-branched candlesticks on
either side of the pulpit were entwined with smilax. The red plush
curtain that hung in front of the Ark on ordinary days, and the red
plush pulpit cover too, were replaced by gleaming white satin edged with
gold fringe and finished at the corners with heavy gold tassels. How the
rich white satin glistened in the light of the electric candles! Fanny
Brandeis loved the lights, and the gleam, and the music, so majestic,
and solemn, and the sight of the little rabbi, sitting so straight and
serious in his high-backed chair, or standing to read from the great
Bible. There came to this emotional little Jewess a thrill that was