ent, and they were written, not printed, for the
printing-press is not like the reverent hand of the scribe. The child
thought it was a marvellous feat to read it, much less know precisely
how to chant it. Seven men--first a man of the tribe of Aaron the High
Priest, then a Levite, and then five ordinary Israelites--were called
up to the platform to stand by while the Scroll was being intoned, and
their arrivals and departures broke the monotony of the recitative.
After the Law came the Prophets, which revived the child's interest,
for they had another and a quainter melody, in the minor mode, full of
half tones and delicious sadness that ended in a peal of exultation.
For the Prophets, though they thundered against the iniquities of
Israel, and preached "Woe, woe," also foretold comfort when the period
of captivity and contempt should be over, and the Messiah would come
and gather His people from the four corners of the earth, and the
Temple should be rebuilt in Jerusalem, and all the nations would
worship the God who had given His law to the Jews on Mount Sinai. In
the meantime, only Israel was bound to obey it in every letter,
because only the Jews--born or unborn--had agreed to do so amid the
thunders and lightnings of Sinai. Even the child's unborn soul had
been present and accepted the yoke of the Torah. He often tried to
recall the episode, but although he could picture the scene quite
well, and see the souls curling over the mountains like white clouds,
he could not remember being among them. No doubt he had forgotten it,
with his other pre-natal experiences--like the two Angels who had
taught him Torah and shown him Paradise of a morning and Hell every
evening--when at the moment of his birth the Angel's finger had struck
him on the upper lip and sent him into the world crying at the pain,
and with that dent under the nostrils which, in every human face, is
the seal of oblivion of the celestial spheres. But on the anniversary
of the great Day of the Decalogue--on the Feast of Pentecost--the
synagogue was dressed with flowers. Flowers were not easy to get in
Venice--that city of stones and the sea--yet every synagogue (and
there were seven of them in that narrow Ghetto, some old and
beautiful, some poor and humble) had its pillars or its balconies
twined with roses, narcissi, lilies, and pansies. Prettier still were
the customs of "Tabernacles," when the wooden booths were erected in
the square or the courtyards