The man sat on the ground with his back to Seth, speaking with his followers in between bites of his meal. Seth paused on his way up the hill. One of the men around the teacher noticed him and beckoned for him to continue. The rest of the group silenced and turned to look at Seth.
He swallowed and climbed the rest of the hill, avoiding the eyes of the Rabbi and his disciples.
"What is it, son?" the Rabbi asked. His face was weathered, but gentle and kind.
"Um, I wanted to ask you something sir."
"Please sit down."
"Now, what is your question?"
Now that he was here, Seth didn't know how to say it - he wasn't even sure he wanted to any more. "Um, well, this morning..." He glanced at the teacher.
The man didn't speak and neither did his followers. They all watched Seth. So they all saw a quick tear slip down his cheek to the ground.
"This morning my mother died. I heard you speaking in the market the past two days, telling stories. I don't know what to do. She just died. And I wasn't there to say goodbye because I was listening to you."
"What is your question?"
Seth shook his head.
The teacher laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that you lost your mother."
"Couldn't you help him, sir?" one of the men spoke up eagerly. "Isn't there something you could do?"
The Rabbi looked at his disciple. "His mother was already dead. She has only died physically."
Seth brushed another tear away and looked into the man's face. "What does he mean? Could you help me?"
"No, son, you must suffer this."
Seth leapt to his feet. "You're supposed to be a great teacher! Isn't there anything you can say? I came to you for help and you offered me nothing! Only that I must suffer." He swept one last angry glance around the circle of men and stormed back down the hill.