I do not recall exactly when it happened – whether it was an extra-curricular gathering, or in the course of a Sheur, or slightly afterwards when he was unwinding – but this is the gist of his remarks, which were wistful – and revealing of a larger pathos than any of us ever expected. The Rav said: “why do not my talmidim ever think of sending me Rosh Hashanah greetings?” I was thunder-struck – not only at his felt need for friendship rather than admiration alone, but at my/our sheer indifference to his inner feelings. Why, in our boundless esteem, did we not ever realize that he had a heart and that he was oh so very human, that he experienced the need for approbation not as the intellectual giant he was but as a basar ve'dam, as a sentient and sensitive individualHis greatness created a natural distance between him and his disciples, and that was probably the cause of his loneliness. But it was inexcusable for us to be so unconcerned for him as a person, to allow our near apotheosis of him to lead us to near apathy, to imagine him as a perpetual motion machine of great ideas, of fine distinctions, of intellectual creativity - without recognizing him as a person, as a sensitive human whose emotional needs were not that different from our own. Perhaps that is the price one pays for fame and genius - but that is not an excuse for us.The following year and ever since, until he passed away, I never failed to send him a greeting card for Rosh Hashanah. He always answered - -always[ — with a handwritten letter of blessings for the New Year.Here again I confess - in shame - that I merely sent him a printed card, whereas he replied in his own handwriting, personally. 1 failed to learn the lesson. I shall always feel the dull presence of guilt.There were, in my or our collective experience (as the Rav himself might say, following the Brisker form of analysis...) two Rabbi Soloveitchiks.The first was the one we met in class: endlessly creative, unbelievably profound, posses…