LILY WORK.
The room we now enter is a large one. It is close under the roof of a
house in Finsbury. The man there at work pauses for a moment.
The room is a workshop. The man is a Jew—but what a Jew! He might have
posed to an artist as a model, a type of the proudest Jewish monarch over
Israel. Face, form, stature—not even Saul or David or Solomon could have
excelled him.
The room held the finished workmanship of his hands for the three past
years. And now, as he paused in his labour—a labour of love—for a moment,
and drew his tall form erect, and lifted his face to the window above
him, a light that was almost holy filled his eyes.
“God of our fathers,” he murmured, “God of the Holy Tent and of the
Temple, instruct me; teach my fingers to do this great work.”
He let his hands fall with an almost sacred touch upon the chapiter he
had been chasing. He wist not that his face shone with an unearthly
light, as for a moment his lips moved in prayer. Then quietly reaching a
thick old book from a shelf, he opened it at one of its earlier pages,
and read aloud.
“And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, See, I have called by name
Bezaleel, the son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah: and I
have filled him with the Spirit of God, in wisdom, and in understanding,
and in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship, to devise cunning
works, to work in gold, and in silver, and in brass, and in cutting
of stones, to set them, and in carving of timber, to work in all kinds
of workmanship. And I, behold, I have given with him Aholiab, the son
of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan: and in the hearts of all that are
wise-hearted I have put wisdom, that they may make all that I have
commanded thee: the tabernacle of the congregation, and the ark of the
testimony, and the mercy-seat that is thereupon, and all the furniture of
the tabernacle.”
The light—it was now almost a fire—deepened in his eyes. A rare, a rich,
cadence filled his voice as he read the holy words. His fingers moved to
the middle of the book. It easily opened at a certain place, as though it
had been often used at that page. Again he read aloud:
“And the chapiters that were upon, the top of the pillars were of lily
work, ... and the chapiters upon the two pillars had pomegranates also
above, ... and the pomegranates were two hundred, in rows round about
upon the other chapiter, ... and he set up the pillars in the porch of
the temple: and he set up the right pillar, and called the name thereof
Jachin (”He shall establish“); and he set up the left pillar, and called
the name thereof Boaz (”In it is strength“). And on the top of the
pillars was lily work: so was the work of the pillars finished.”
With a reverent touch the man closed the book, replaced it on the shelf,
then, lifting his eyes again to where the cold, clear light streamed down
through the great skylight in the ceiling, he murmured:
“How long, O Lord, shall Thy people be cast off and trodden down, and
their land, Thy land, be held by the accursed races?”
For a moment a look of pain swept into his face. Then, as he became
conscious of the touch of his lowered hand upon the chapiter, his eyes
travelled downwards to the exquisite “lily work,” and the light of a new
hope swept the pain off his face.
“The very fact that the time has come,” he murmured, “for us to be
preparing for the next temple, is a token from Jehovah that the day of
Messiah draweth nigh.”
His eyes lingered a moment on the rare and beautiful workmanship, then
he took up a chasing tool and continued his toil; yet, while he worked
he kept up a running recitative of Ezekiel’s description of the great
temple—for he knew by heart all the chapters of that prophet.
As he presently repeated the words: “And the Prince in the midst of them,
when they go in, shall go in; and when they go forth, shall go forth,” he
lifted his eyes with a deep holy rapture shining in all his face.
He closed his recitative with a ringing note of triumph in his voice, as
he cried, “It shall be round about eighteen thousand cubits: and the name
of the city from that day shall be Jehovah-Chammah”—“The Lord is there.”
There was a moment of absolute silence. The graver was still, the hand
that held it might have been stone, so rigid did it become. The lips of
Abraham Cohen moved, but no other sound came from him save the words
“Jehovah was there,” and he prayed aloud.
In the midst of his rapt devotion the door of the workroom opened. The
slight sound aroused the dreamer. He turned his face in the direction of
the door, and his eyes flashed with pleasure.
“Ah, Zillah!” he cried in greeting. The girl he addressed closed the
door, thus shutting out the odour of frying fish. She crossed the floor
quickly, with a certain eagerness, and came towards him with a rare
grace. She was singularly beautiful, of an Eastern style of beauty. Her
complexion was of the Spanish olive tone, and her melting eyes were of
that same Spanish type. Her hair—a wondrous crown of it—was blue-black.
She had a certain plumpness of form that seemed to add rather than take
from her general beauty. She was sister to his wife.
“Supper will be ready in five minutes, Abraham,” she began. “Will you be
ready for it?”
He smiled down into her great black eyes. He was never very keen on his
meals. He ate to live only; he did not live to eat. She knew that, and
had long since learned that his labour of love was as meat and drink to
him. Her eyes glided past him and rested on his work.
“It is very beautiful, Abraham!” she cried. There was reverence as well
as rapture and admiration in her voice and glance.
“It cannot be too beautiful, Zillah,” he returned.
Her eyes were on his work. His were on her face. He read in it the
rapturous admiration of his workmanship.
“When will the Messiah come?” she sighed.
“Soon, I believe!” he returned. “Jehovah rested in His creative work
after six days’ labour. A thousand years with Him are as one day. May it
not well be, then, that as there have passed nearly six thousand years
(each thousand years, representing one day) that He will presently rest
in His finished work for His people, through the coming of the Messiah,
as He did at the creation?”
He laid his tool aside, and turned to the beautiful girl, as he continued:
“Besides, do not our sacred books say that when three springs have been
discovered on Mount Zion, Messiah will come? Two springs have lately
been discovered by the excavators in Jerusalem, and our people out there
excitedly watch the work of these men, expecting soon the discovery of
the third spring.”
Her eager, parted lips told how she hung upon his speech. He smiled down
gratefully into her great black lustrous eyes, though a sigh escaped him
as he said:
“Ah! I wish Leah would only show a little of the interest in all this,
that you do, Zillah!”
“You must not blame Leah too much, Abraham,” the girl answered quickly.
“She has her children, you know. Mother always said that if ever Leah had
babies, that there would be nothing else in the world for her except the
babies. Besides, Abraham, no two of us are constituted alike, and Leah is
what the Gentiles about here call happy-go-lucky. But, Abraham, tell me
more of what you think of Messiah’s coming. Leah’s five minutes will be
sure to run to a quarter of an hour.”
“I do think Messiah is coming soon,” cried the young fellow excitedly.
“Who knows? Perhaps when the Passover comes again, and we set His chair,
and open the door for Him to enter, that He will suddenly come. Did I
tell you, Zillah, about the date discovery at Safed, in Palestine?”
“No, what is it?” The girl’s face glowed with a strange earnestness, her
voice rang with it.
“Safed,” he went on, quickly, “is a little town to the north-west of
Galilee. Our Rabbi there has discovered from our sacred books, that
Messiah’s coming, and the overthrow of our enemies, will be in the
year five thousand six hundred and sixty-six—nineteen hundred and six
according to the Gentile reckoning. Our Father Moses, and all the
children of Israel sang, when Jehovah delivered them from the Red
Sea:—‘Yea, by the force of Thy swelling waves hast Thou demolished those
who arose against Thee. Thou didst discharge Thy wrath, it devoured
them up like stubble.’ Our Rabbis—and even the Christian Gentile
teachers—agree that the deliverance of our race from Pharaoh, and the
destruction of his hosts, picture our race’s future as well as its past.
And the numerical value of ‘Thou shalt overthrow’ (part of those two
song-stanzas I have just repeated) gives the date I have mentioned as the
time of our deliverance from all our troubles, when Messiah shall come.”
There was a sudden clatter of little feet outside at that moment, and a
boy and a girl burst into the room.
“What do you think, father?” cried the boy, with the excited
impulsiveness of a child bursting with news. “A boy—he’s a Gentile, of
course—whom I know says that Messiah has come, that the cursed Nazarene
was He, and that——”
“We will go to supper, Reuben, and you and I will talk about that another
time.” Cohen spoke quietly to his boy. He had his own reasons for
checking the subject at that time.
His aunt caught the boy’s hand, and danced with him out of the room.
Rachel, the little girl, a wondrous miniature of Zillah, clung to her
father, and the whole family trooped off to wash their hands before the
meal.