"Forty years ago on a summer morning, we children were
taken for a walk along the den", the green belt which surrounded the old
town of Frankfort-an-Main . We were
not far from the "Schoene Aussicht", close to the bank of the River Main
where Samson Raphael Hirsch lived, when my brother, my senior by two years.
took hold of my arm and whispered: "The Rabbi". We stopped. Accompanied
by one of his grand-daughters. Samson Raphael Hirsch, stooping slightly, but
with firm steps, passed by. He raised his hat to the two small boys who stared
at him with curiosity. His dark eyes were lit up by a kindly smile on beholding
two members of the third generation of his community. I have never forgotten
the friendly gesture of the Rabbi whose venerable figure had become part of my
life at a very early stage."
HERMANN SCHWAB: MEMORIES OF FRANKFORT
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