WHILE in the Holy City I was requested by a friend to accompany him on a visit to the Jewish educational establishment. Being eager to familiarize myself with the nature of Jewish instruction, I gladly accepted this invitation.
Passing through the Zion Gate, we gradually reached that point of the city known as the “Turkish Quarter,” where a grotesque combination of filth and cleanliness, of distress and ease, of squalor and magnificence presented itself to our view. In the bazaars the merchants were sluggishly reposing behind their counters, which were replenished with articles of oriental luxury, such as the far-famed Jerusalem soap, the mild perfumes from Arabia, the golden alcanna powder from Egypt and the am- brosial spices from beyond the Euphrates. In direct contrast to the opulence displayed in the stores was the long line of despondent and vitiated poor whispering in pitiful accents the melancholy “Blackshish.” By repeated turns, through a maze of streets and avenues, impeded here and there by a procession of camels or by a turbaned multitude of Moslems, we finally came into an unfrequented alley, long and rather straight, where, among a number of ancient structures, we caught sight of the school-building, which, as my friend informed me, was at the same time the residence of the Rabbi.
Grass and weeds grew in the crevices of the walls, and the moss on the roofs gave the quaint houses the semblance of abandonment as well as that of high antiquity. For centuries, indeed, these buildings have been tottering to their fall but were constantly redeemed from that fate by a generous climate. To judge from the aspect which they wore, some of these decayed structures were attributable to the days of the Second Temple. Various in-
fluences have fashioned them, for there could be clearly discerned Jewish designs with later Chaldaic and Arabian modifications. In the lofty cupolas, the lancet-shaped windows, the balustered, and arabesque-covered balconies, were the graceful expressions of Syrian art and suggestions of Byzantine fancy. Had these stones been gifted with the power of speech they would have, no doubt, communicated to our astonished ears volumes of unwritten history.
Approaching the establishment we perceived a fountain fashioned from stone and superbly decorated. Not less stately were the gloomy arches and long colon- ades,the latter resembling those among the ruins of Baalbec. But suddenly, as if to eclipse them all in magnificence, there burst forth into full view, through an open space, that masterpiece of Moslem Architecture, the Mosque of Omar with its golden dome, glittering in the sunshine and towering upwards into the roseate clouds.
A better location for impressing uponyoung minds the great thrills of history,could not have been chosen. A panoramaso vastly significant as that of MountMoriah could perhaps not be found on anyother portion of the planet. Surroundedon all sides by feeble remnants of theglories their forefathers once reared to God,the pupils are taught the important lessonthat only sacrifices made in the true spiritare acceptable unto Him and that templesbuilt without the foundation of moraleffort, are abominations unto the Eternal.In an atmosphere that has almost constantlyvibrated with the great struggles betweentrue faith and superstition, between innocent love and selfishness, the thought-boy imbibes the courage so essential forhonorably fighting out moral battles. Environments such as these could also not failto cultivate the æsthetic emotions, whichare closely allied to those of morality.