On the lower terrace, then, Romans and Greeks must stay their steps, though the former belong to the conquering race, and the latter may be rich merchants. Here, too, Arabs and Babylonians, anciently at war with one another, and aforetime masters of this city, must likewise pause. Farther than this no unbeliever may go. Proud, therefore, are the Jews that even the poorest and raggedest among them may climb the nineteen great steps to the second terrace, to stand in the inner court between high walls, amid tall columns, gazing yet higher, up the twelve steps that lead to the innermost temple on the crown of the hilltop, where, as all know, is the Holy of Holies. The crowd is waiting. Up there the priests have left their cells, have performed their ablutions, have put on clean raiment. Now they are preparing for their daily duties. One must slay the morning sacrifice; another must lay the firing upon the altar; another must clear away the ashes, must see to the incense, must trim the lights, must replenish the shew-bread, must care for the vessels. All is made ready. The lamb is led to the altar, beside which in the twilight each takes up his position. Are the singers in their places? Are the basins ready? Some one gives a signal. Slowly, with a harsh clangour, the huge gates yield to the pressure of many hands, and open. A trumpet sounds thrice, and, from the two terraces below, all eyes are uplifted. At this instant the morning sacrifice is slain; its blood consecrates the temple. Then the priests move in procession into the pillared halls. Prayers follow, and the commandments are read. When the incense is burned on the golden altar, the priests, too, prostrate themselves, the Levites clash metal basins together, there is playing of zithers and harps, the chorus intones a psalm, whose eight intervals are punctuated with trumpet blasts, and at each blast the members of the congregation prostrate themselves anew. As the day advances the courts of the temple become ever more crowded. At noon, when the second service is at hand, there is a babel of voices, for the market is in full swing. Down below, in the court of the heathen, everything is bought and sold everything which Jews fcan sell and foreigners can buy. The livelong day, an old man sitting on the steps offers a he-goat for sale. Should he get a good price for the beast, he will have enough to live upon for three months to come. If only one of the wealthy Jews from Alexandria, visiting Jerusalem for the Passover, would realize what a fine beast this goat is, and how pleasing to God would be such a sacrifice. Flocks and herds are driven in. Buying, selling, and barter go on from hour to hour. There is incense of all colours and perfumes. There is amber from Asia and frankincense from Egypt. Twigs of palm can be bought as mementoes. Scrolls can be purchased, notable texts from the prophets, inscribed upon parchment in the strong and virile Hebrew characters, or in the more elegant and feminine script of the Greeks. The various traders are chattering and shouting, bargaining and cheating. Squatting behind small tables are the money-changers, whose privileged places are handed down from father to son. The money-changers are an essential part of the pageant, for Greek and Roman coins, bearing a human effigy, are not accepted within the temple. Jews from foreign parts must change the money they have brought with them before they can pay the temple dues, or give alms to the poor. Mendicant pilgrims stand on the steps, quiet amid the din. In Athens or Syracuse, in Morocco or Gaul, for years past they have looked forward to this day when they would be able to gaze upon the great home of their faith, the second temple which had taken the place of the first, the temple richly endowed by Herod. Now, praying as they go, they slowly, and with ecstasy, make their way upwards to the holy gates. There it is, the multicoloured, embroidered curtain of which their fathers have told them; and there, too, is the golden vine, emblem of fertility! At last they will be able to enter the vestibule, and to place amid the thousands of costly thank-offerings the ones they themselves have brought with them, the fruit of painful savings, the thank-offerings they clutched to their bosoms when storm-tossed on the seas, the thank-offerings they hid beneath their pillows when sleeping overnight in the inn. Looking toward the dim recesses of the Holy of Holies, they picture in imagination what they hope to see on the day of festival-the brazen basin upborne by oxen, the symbol of the waters upon which, in the beginning, the spirit of God moved. Seated round a pillar are half a dozen or so young men regardless of the clamour made by the praying strangers and the chattering traders. They are listening to a learned rabbi who reads from the ancient texts and expounds them. Every one is free to interrupt the teacher, for the best scholar is he who is most eager to question, and even children are entitled to reasonable answers. Soon the lesson becomes a dialogue, and one who makes his mark in this combat of ideas, one who with keen analysis is able to disclose some unexpected though valuable interpretation of the law, comes quickly to the front, and will himself ere long be noted as a learned expositor. At length the teacher cuts these ambitious disciples short, for below he sees a long train of peasants from Galilee, newly arrived. He knows them by their dress. They have spent the night in the open; now they are leading in the ox they have brought for the sacrifice, an ox with gilded horns; and they bring with them in baskets the first-fruit of their fields. The priests go down to meet them, and the procession sings: "Our feet stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem." Behind them comes a second caravan, composed of pilgrims from afar, richly clad men riding on camels. These bring, as offerings, treasures wrapped in linen cloths. III THROUGH the broiling sunshine of noon the priests make their way to the fortress of the Roman governor. Down one hill and up another so close are Rome and Judea! But the common folk who line the streets through which the procession passes, recognize that there is an invisible chasm between the two hills, and they murmur at the slavery betokened by this visit which is the prelude to every festival. It must be in order to humiliate the chosen people that four times every year he comes to the fortress of Antonia, to give the thousands who flock to Jerusalem from afar a plain demonstration of the fact that Rome rules. He keeps the sacred raiment under lock and key, handing it over on each occasion to those who ask for it as a loan merely. Why should the high priest's mantle be kept in the hands of the heathen from festival to festival? To cleanse it from heathen contamination, long exposure to the fumes of incense is needed! Now the priests enter the gate of the fortress. As officer in command of the legion, he wears helmet and chain, and his sword clanks as he salutes the priests. They make profound obeisance, and await his pleasure. Two soldiers bring the coffer, which is doubly sealed. |