Scarcely had the Phoenician inspected his own camp, and eaten his
breakfast, when Manasseh approached. His coming was heralded by a
commotion among the people, who everywhere recognized the aristocratic
descendant of the high priest, his well-known freedom of life and
liberalism in opinion rendering him at once the most popular and
unpopular of the young men of Jerusalem. He insisted upon acting the
part of host to Marduk, or at least of guide for the day.
"Our Jewish customs will interest you; and, in turn, I would learn from
you the ideas of the many peoples you have come to know in your travels,
so that our obligations will be mutual and equal, to say nothing of your
courtesy yesterday," was the argument by which Manasseh overcame the
Phoenician's scruples. Together the young men mingled in the crowds,
each carrying the lulabh, a bunch of myrtle and palm entwined with a
willow spray.
At the temple they saw the two processions, one headed by a priest
bearing in a golden pitcher water from the pool of Siloam, the other by
a priest carrying a pitcher of wine, which they poured together at the
base of the altar. Manasseh explained this beautiful ceremonial as an
oblation of gratitude for the rain that fertilized the fields and for
the yield of the vineyards.
They afterwards joined with a multitude in front of a raised platform,
from which was an almost continuous reading of the ancient laws of
Israel by different persons. The readings were only interspersed with
brief interpretations by rabbis of repute.
The deepest interest was manifested when the venerable Scribe, Ezra,
mounted the platform, accompanied by Malachi. The former began to speak,
but his voice was not heard beyond the group immediately about him. It
was evident, however, that he had said little beyond commending to the
people his disciple Malachi.
Marduk was surprised at the awe with which the young interpreter was
received. But this surprise did not remain as Malachi spoke. Such
simplicity combined with elevation of thought, such reasonableness with
rapt fervor, such practicality with deep spirituality, the Phoenician
had never heard before. He felt the spell of the speaker's eloquence,
and was about to join the crowd as they murmured their Amen to a special
appeal to conscience and faith, when his thoughts were interrupted by
Manasseh's hand upon his arm:
"Come, good Marduk, this can hardly interest you. You are to break bread
with me."
To Marduk's hesitation to inflict his heathen presence upon the
household of the high priest at such a time, Manasseh explained that he
lived by himself during the festival. He had pitched his booth upon a
house-top. According to custom, every Jew was to keep open table.
"And lest your humility should again object to becoming my guest," said
he, laughing, "I will tell you that we are enjoined at such times not to
invite our own family or particular circle, but to share our provender
with the stranger, the poor, and the fatherless. And you are a
stranger--I hope neither poor nor fatherless."
"Yes, especially poor," said Marduk, jingling coins in his wallet. "So
with that understanding I will go with you, provided you will also feed
figs to a spavined ass if we find one on the way."
"There is one of our customs I do not like," replied Manasseh, drawing
his arm through that of his friend, "especially when I am hungry. An old
saw has it that devout people will hasten to worship, but return to
their homes with lingering feet; so you see all these people crawling
along when their bellies would fly. Mine is as empty as the whale's was
when he had ejected Jonah."
As they walked leisurely the Phoenician remarked: "If there are bigots
among the Jews, you are not one of them."
"I trust not; but it is because I believe more than most Jews."
"Believe more? One would imagine less."
"On the other hand, I believe more. I believe the Lord is too great a
God to be confined to Jews' notions. They belittle him. I love Ezra for
personal reasons; but I wish the Lord would take him to heaven in a
chariot of fire, if he would only take along our Tirshatha, Nehemiah, to
drive it. Nehemiah, you know, is in Susa now. I hope the Persian king
will keep him there. Nehemiah is a bigot. He insists on driving out of
Jerusalem every woman whose blood is not of the purest Jewish stock,
forcibly divorcing her from her husband, and disinheriting her
children."
"What argument can they advance for such harsh measures?"
"Oh, the need of pure blood; the fact that Solomon got into trouble
through marrying foreign wives; the fact that the children of mothers
who were Gentiles would not be stiff enough in keeping up strictly
Jewish customs. I admit that the mixing of bloods has not strengthened
pure Judaism of late, and that some whom Nehemiah calls the half-breeds
are pulling up as fast as he plants. I am not a rebel, not a traitor to
my people, because I want to see the Jewish religion broadened and
liberalized, until you Baalites even can worship at our altars. Our old
prophecies speak of our light enlightening the Gentiles. But how can
that be if we shut our light in the stone lantern of our own notions and
customs?"
"Does Malachi hold closely with Ezra and Nehemiah?" asked Marduk.
"That I cannot say. I hope not, for Malachi is the coming power in
Jerusalem. He seems inspired at times; and, for that matter, he once
told me he thought he was; that he felt the impulse of thoughts that
came from beyond himself. He said something like this: 'At times my
holiest feelings seem unholy; my highest thoughts grovelling. A sense of
the law of the Lord binds my sense of right, as a vast crystal holds
within it some speck of dirt that glistens.' He says, also, he has
impressions he cannot utter; as if he stood in the presence of some
glorious being who was coming to be the King of Israel. He cannot shake
off the feeling. But here we are at my booth."