Hebrew itself was very difficult. But he knew
generally what the Feast was about, and his question was only a matter
of form, for he grew up asking it year after year, with a feigned
surprise. Nor, though he learned to understand Hebrew well, and could
even translate his daily prayers into bad Italian, a corruption of the
Venetian dialect finding its way into the Ghetto through the mouths of
the people who did business with the outside world, did he ever really
think of the sense of his prayers as he gabbled them off, morning,
noon, and night. There was so much to say--whole books full. It was a
great temptation to skip the driest pages, but he never yielded to it,
conscientiously scampering even through the passages in the tiniest
type that had a diffident air of expecting attention from only
able-bodied adults. Part of the joy of Sabbaths and Festivals was the
change of prayer-diet. Even the Grace--that long prayer chanted after
bodily diet--had refreshing little variations. For, just as the child
put on his best clothes for Festivals, so did his prayers seem to
clothe themselves in more beautiful words, and to be said out of more
beautiful books, and with more beautiful tunes to them. Melody played
a large part in the synagogue services, so that, although he did not
think of the meaning of the prayers, they lived in his mind as music,
and, sorrowful or joyous, they often sang themselves in his brain in
after years. There were three consecutive "Amens" in the afternoon
service of the three Festivals--Passover, Pentecost, Tabernacles--that
had a quaint charm for him. The first two were sounded staccato, the
last rounded off the theme, and died away, slow and lingering. Nor,
though there were double prayers to say on these occasions, did they
weigh upon him as a burden, for the extra bits were insinuated between
the familiar bits, like hills or flowers suddenly sprung up in
unexpected places to relieve the monotony of a much-travelled road.
And then these extra prayers were printed so prettily, they rhymed so
profusely. Many were clever acrostics, going right through the
alphabet from Aleph, which is A, to Tau, which is T, for Z comes near
the beginning of the Hebrew alphabet. These acrostics, written in the
Middle Ages by pious rabbis, permeated the Festival prayer-books, and
even when the child had to confess his sins--or rather those of the
whole community, for each member of the brotherhood of Israel was
responsible