old Mr. Gomez, drinking in every word of the sermon the
young rabbi delivered after the Sabbath services were over; an English
sermon, destined to make Jewish history in America.

At first Rabbi Seixas spoke quietly enough, reviewing for his people
the causes which had led up to the break between the mother country,
England, and her colonies. He spoke of the tyranny of the king and his
slavish Parliament, the unjust taxes, the quartering of troops upon a
law-abiding and peace-loving people. With quiet bitterness, he
repeated the old story of the children of Israel who demanded that
their prophet Samuel set a king over them, and of the prophet's
warning that only evil would come to a people who served a king
instead of the Lord of Hosts. "And today," went on Mr. Seixas, "today,
we the people of the Thirteen Colonies have a king over us far more
tyrannical and unjust than the oriental monarch Samuel painted of
old. To this day have I been silent, breathing no word against this
Pharaoh of Egypt, for the mission of Israel has ever been peace, and
next to God we have been loyal to the masters He has set over us. But
in times like these we are serving Him best by defying those who rule
in His name, but know not His laws of mercy and of justice. The time
has come at last for us to enter the Valley of Decision. Where will
you stand now, my people, when the redcoats thunder at our gates?
Shall we bow before Pharaoh? Nay, the same God who rescued our fathers
from the Pharaoh of Egypt will rescue us and all who call upon Him,
from this new tyrant who would bend our necks and fetter us like very
slaves."

There was a solemn hush in the synagogue, broken only by the murmur of
the passing crowds outside, the distant roll of drums. For the first
time that morning David was glad he had not been allowed to run off to
see the soldiers. This was not an every-week sort of sermon about
keeping the Sabbath or about some dead kings with long, hard names;
the rabbi no longer seemed just a quiet man in a dark coat who had a
great many books and knew everything and taught him Hebrew and
history. Instead, he appeared like those splendid fighting priests he
had mentioned that morning, a man who talked to God--and held a sword
in his hand while he prayed.

For a moment Mr. Seixas stood before his congregation, looking down
into the tense, upturned faces, yet past them, as though his eyes saw
visions no other man there might see. Perhaps he was t