Purim at Jerusalem
IN the house of Mrs. Aryeh, a woman famous throughout Jerusalem for her delightful entertainments and magnanimous bestowments upon charity, I once had occasion to spend a pleasant Purim. Her residence was a neat cottage built of a soothing variety of limestone and situated in a picturesque recess of the Valley of Hinnom, known locally as Djorat El Enab, "Vale of Grapes." At the entrance of this beautiful villa was a garden exhibiting an unusual degree of luxuriance and farther to the front a green meadow extended itself almost to the foot of the Mount of Olives.
At the open window of the chamber assigned to me I sat on Purim morning feasting my eyes on the pale hyacinths and brilliant roses in the garden. Gay butterflies played on the fresh leaves of the dwarf peas and beetles, their backs resplendent with the rays of the sun, were creeping among the flower beds. Blue daisies and red anemones were blended with the verdant grass of the meadow. The entire landscape displayed the quickening effects. of the mild rains that follow the wane of winter and that are so peculiar to Palestine. Even the trees upon the Mount of Olives gazed serenely from their proud height as if in expectation of that day when they shall dispense their grateful shadow upon a new generation of Israel more fortunate than those that had gone before.
While thus meditating upon the scenes around me a servant girl came into my room to inform me that breakfast was ready.
In the dining room, sunlight entered through the two large windows on the east while through the lattice on the western side blew a refreshing breeze. A brazier, whose contents glowed with hyacinthine color, stood in the centre of the room sufficiently heated to convey a sense of pleasurable although not needed warmth. Upon a chair near the fire sat Mrs.
Aryeh's eldest daughter, a comely girl of about nineteen, absorbed in embroidering a handkerchief. Her mother busied herself in arranging cheese cakes and almond macaroons upon trays for distribution among her friends; and her little brother was pounding spices in a brass mortar, producing those merry sounds which in the Jewish homes of Jerusalem, form an indispensable prelude to a banquet or festival.
As soon as the servant girl had brought in the coffee we seated ourselves at the square table upon which breakfast was served. A small willow basket containing "Haman cakes" of a triangular shape and filled with jelly, was placed before each plate. We also had excellent Petach Tikwah butter, delicious honey from the teeming beehives along the brook Cherith, and grapes from the vineyards about Hebron.
Mrs. Aryeh, who sat directly opposite me, was extraordinarily merry this morning, as if the day which had just dawned had brought her good fortune. A radiant smile played about her lips—lips which bore testimony to high resolve and firm patience.
In no less a happy mood seemed Rebecca, who, indeed, was almost an exact copy of her mother. The same brilliancy of the eyes, the same soundness of the cheeks, the same curve of the lips, and the same ivory-whiteness of the teeth.
During the conversation Mrs. Aryeh revealed deep understanding of the Holy Scriptures and familiarity with post Biblical literature. Her views were entirely free from that fanaticism which, unfortunately, often besets many women brought up under the strong religious influence of the Holy City.
Rebecca was not as well versed as her mother in the curious chapters of "Sefer Hayashar" or "Eyn Yacob," but, nevertheless, excellent in the use of fluent Hebrew. With