The more tales our guest told us, the more thrilling they became, and
just as we were finishing the dumplings and taking another sip or two of
wine, my father inquired to whom the country belonged. Was there a king
there? And he was soon translating, with great delight, the following
reply:
"The country belongs to the Jews who live there, and who are called
Sefardim. And they have a king, also a Jew, and a very pious one, who
wears a fur cap, and who is called Joseph ben Joseph. He is the high
priest of the Sefardim, and drives out in a gilded carriage, drawn by
six fiery horses. And when he enters the synagogue, the Levites meet him
with songs."
"There are Levites who sing in your synagogue?" asked my father,
wondering, and the answer caused his face to shine with joy.
"What do you think?" he said to my mother. "Our guest tells me that in
his country there is a temple, with priests and Levites and an organ."
"Well, and an altar?" questioned my mother, and my father told her:
"He says they have an altar, and sacrifices, he says, and golden
vessels--everything just as we used to have it in Jerusalem."
And with these words my father sighs deeply, and my mother, as she looks
at him, sighs also, and I cannot understand the reason. Surely we should
be proud and glad to think we have such a land, ruled over by a Jewish
king and high priest, a land with Levites and an organ, with an altar
and sacrifices--and bright, sweet thoughts enfold me, and carry me away
as on wings to that happy Jewish land where the houses are of pine-wood
and roofed with silver, where the furniture is gold, and diamonds and
pearls lie scattered in the street. And I feel sure, were I really
there, I should know what to do--I should know how to hide things--they
would shake nothing out of _me_. I should certainly bring home a lovely
present for my mother, diamond ear-rings and several pearl necklaces. I
look at the one mother is wearing, at her ear-rings, and I feel a great
desire to be in that country. And it occurs to me, that after Passover I
will travel there with our guest, secretly, no one shall know. I will
only speak of it to our guest, open my heart to him, tell him the whole
truth, and beg him to take me there, if only for a little while. He will
certainly do so, he is a very kind and approachable person, he looks at
every one, even at Rikel the maid, in such a friendly, such a very
friendly way!
"So I think, and it seems to me, as I watch our guest, that he has read
my thoughts, and that his beautiful black eyes say to me:
"Keep it dark, little friend, wait till after Passover, then we shall
manage it!"