the van; the undying idea is the true immortality. Have courage, the courage to be patient. We shall. . . .
A wild scream from the street interrupted the speakers. Solomon sought to rush away, but the Rabbi stayed him.
“I know the cause of this cry. Stay,” in an imperious voice. “Stay, Aaron, the enemy hath entered our gates and carried off thy daughter for his lust. Stay, Aaron, stay and hold Solomon. Have no fear, know thy enemy, take counsel with me and by our lore the greatest, deepest dungeon shall not hold Rachel nor shall the most degraded wanton harm her. Fear not, by to-morrow she shall be free.” There was not a tremour in the Rabbi’s voice. He spoke with a ring in his voice that left no room for dispute. The hearts of the father and the lover longed to follow that agonized shriek, but their aged mentor had spoken firmly. It was a question of faith. They trembled and endeavored to read in each other’s eyes obedience. Unwilling of heart they stayed with the Rabbi, who, sublime in his self-reliance, did not even heed what was passing in the looks of Aaron and Solomon. He turned to his prayer-book and was at once lost in prayer.
Meanwhile, the greatest consternation prevailed in the street; an idea of what had occurred was in the minds of most and the shouts in the town led the Jews to believe that an attack was about to be made upon them.
(To be continued.)
Hanukah, 5664
O captive heart of Israel! burst thy bonds and thrill—And throb again through the thick worldy wallOf thine own little vanities and cares.Lo! a million tapers kindled are to-day,To flood thy path with streams of memory.To wed the present with a glorious Past;To tell of deeds that throb on History's page,When Judah's sons for liberty struck brave,Undaunted by the phalanxes of Greece,Unyielding to the armored legions of Imperial Rome,Defiant in the face of Syrian hosts—Forced the foeman from the Temple hallsAnd kindled again the light that is not spent.Light of the ages! dawn on Israel's night,And soothe the spirit sick with wandering.Ye, too, that court ease, happiness and pelf,That dwell in safety 'neath the shade of self—