The next day was full of wonder and excitement. It was the first
day of the Feast, and the myriad of pilgrims crowded through the
gates and streets of the city, all straining toward the enclosure
of the Temple, within whose walls two hundred thousand people could
be gathered. On every side the Boy saw new and strange things:
soldiers in their armor, and shops full of costly wares; richly
dressed Sadducees with their servants following; Jews from far-away
countries, and curious visitors from all parts of the world; ragged
children of the city, and painted women of the street, and beggars
and outcasts of the lower quarters, and rich ladies with their
retinues, and priests in their snowy robes.
The family from Nazareth passed slowly through the confusion, and
the Boy, bewildered by the changing scene, longed to get to the
Temple. He thought everything must be quiet and holy there. But
when they came into the immense outer court, with its porticos
and alcoves, he found the confusion worse than ever. For there the
money-changers and the buyers and sellers of animals for sacrifice
were bargaining and haggling; and the thousands of people were
jostling and pushing one another; and the followers of the Pharisees
and the Sadducees were disputing; and on many faces he saw that
strange look which speaks of a fire in the heart, so that it seemed
like a meeting-place of robbers.
His father had bought a lamb for the Passover sacrifice, at one of
the stalls in the outer court, and was carrying it on his shoulder.
He pressed on through the crowd at the Beautiful Gate, the Boy and
his mother following until they came to the Court of the Women.
Here the mother stayed, for that was the law--a woman must not go
farther. But the Boy was now “a son of the Commandment,” and he
followed his father through the Court of Israel to the entrance
of the Court of the Priests. There the little lamb was given to a
priest, who carried it away to the great stone altar in the middle
of the court.
The Boy could not see what happened then, for the place was crowded
and busy. But he heard the blowing of trumpets, and the clashing
of cymbals, and the chanting of psalms. Black clouds of smoke went
up from the hidden altar; the floor around was splashed and streaked
with red. After a long while, as it seemed, the priest brought back
the dead body of the lamb, prepared for the Passover supper.
“Is this our little lamb?” asked the Boy as his father took it
again upon his shoulder.
The father nodded.
“It was a very pretty one,” said the Boy. “Did it have to die?”
The father looked down at him curiously. “Surely,” he said,
“it had to be offered on the altar, so that we can keep our feast
according to the law of Moses to-night.”
“But why,” persisted the Boy, “must all the lambs be killed in the
Temple? Does God like that? How many do you suppose were brought
to the altar to-day?”
“Tens of thousands,” answered the father.
“It is a great many,” said the Boy, sighing. “I wish one was enough.”
He was silent and thoughtful as they made their way through the
Court of the Women and found the mother and went back to the camp
on the hillside. That night the family ate their Paschal feast,
with their loins girded as if they were going on a journey, in
memory of the long-ago flight of the Israelites from Egypt. There
was the roasted lamb, with bitter herbs, and flat cakes of bread
made without yeast. A cup of wine was passed around the table four
times. The Boy asked his father the meaning of all these things,
and the father repeated the story of the saving of the first-born
sons of Israel in that far-off night of terror and death when they
came out of Egypt. While the supper was going on, hymns were sung,
and when it was ended they all chanted together:
“Oh, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good;
For His loving-kindness endureth for ever.”
So the Boy lay down under his striped woollen cloak of blue and
white and drifted toward sleep, glad that he was a son of Israel,
but sorry when he thought of the thousands of little lambs and the
altar floor splashed with red. He wondered if some day God would
not give them another way to keep that feast.
The next day of the festival was a Sabbath, on which no work could
be done. But the daily sacrifice of the Temple, and all the services
and songs and benedictions in its courts, continued as usual, and
there was a greater crowd than ever within its walls. As the Boy
went thither with his parents they came to a place where a little
house was beginning to burn, set on fire by an overturned lamp. The
poor people stood by, wringing their hands and watching the flames.
“Why do they not try to save their house?” cried the Boy.
The father shook his head. “They can do nothing,” he answered. “They
follow the teaching of the Pharisees, who say that it is unlawful
to put out a fire on the Sabbath, because it is a labor.”
A little later the Boy saw a cripple with a crutch, sitting in the
door of a cottage, looking very sad and lonely.
“Why does he not go with the others,” asked the Boy, “and hear the
music at the Temple? That would make him happier. Can't he walk?”
“Yes,” answered the father, “he can hop along pretty well with his
crutch on other days, but not on the Sabbath, for he would have to
carry his crutch, and that would be labor.”
All the time he was in the Temple, watching the procession of priests
and Levites and listening to the music, the Boy was thinking what
the Sabbath meant, and whether it really rested people and made
them happier.
The third day of the festival was the offering of the first-fruits
of the new year's harvest. That was a joyous day. A sheaf of ripe
barley was reaped and carried into the Temple and presented before
the high altar with incense and music. The priests blessed the
people, and the people shouted and sang for gladness.
The Boy's heart bounded in his breast as he joined in the song and
thought of the bright summer begun, and the birds building their
nests, and the flowers clothing the hills with beautiful colors,
and the wide fields of golden grain waving in the wind. He was happy
all day as he walked through the busy streets with his parents,
buying some things that were needed for the home in Nazareth; and
he was happy at night when he lay down under an olive-tree beside
the tent, for the air was warm and gentle, and he fell asleep under
the tree, dreaming of what he would see and do to-morrow.