hinking of what
a great step he had just taken; how his words had outlawed him forever
in the sight of the English king; had made him an exile from the dear
city of his birth. Again his hands clutched at his stock and he
breathed with difficulty, but only for a moment. For his eyes met
those of his young wife, Elkallah, and he smiled to reassure her and
give her comfort. When he spoke again, his voice was low and clear,
but as strong as a trumpet call in battle.

"Tonight, perhaps; surely, tomorrow, the British will have entered our
city--but they will not find me here. For I will not serve the Lord in
a sanctuary from which Freedom has departed. I will leave the city and
seek for a place of refuge where the soldiers of the colonies fight
for freedom. And, my people, I ask you in the words of Mattathias,
that warrior priest of other days--'Those who are on the Lord's side
follow me!'"

Again a long silence, then an uproar from every side. "He speaks
truly! It is slavery if we remain!" "I cannot leave my property to be
confiscated by the Crown." "The British will never take the city."
"They will be here by sunrise." And suddenly little David's shrill
voice ringing above the others, although he never realized until hours
afterwards, when he was reprimanded by his grandmother, that he had
dared to speak out with all the older and wiser members of the
congregation:

"O Mr. Seixas, please take me along, too! I don't want to live in New
York any more if the redcoats are here."

"And I will follow you," cried another voice, "although my fortune be
forfeit and my land be seized by the king."

"And I--and I," rang out from every corner of the synagogue.

Some were silent, those who were to remain behind, and as Tories, know
the friendship of the invaders. But the greater part of the
worshippers, those whose ancestors like the Pilgrim Fathers had come
to these shores to seek freedom before God, responded to their rabbi's
call like true soldiers about their standard bearer.

"All that the Lord hath laid upon us, that will we do," cried out a
very old man, rising to his feet and trembling with age as he spoke.
"My eyes are dim, but He will not close them in death until they
behold the rising of the sun of freedom upon these blessed shores."

He spoke like an ancient prophet and a hush like death fell upon the
people. Slowly, like a man in a dream, Rabbi Seixas walked to the Ark
and took from it the Scrolls of the Law; wit