Here, lost in a sweet melancholy, Esther dreamed away
the
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cheap long gray day, only vaguely conscious of the stages of the
service--morning dovetailing into afternoon service, and afternoon into evening;
of the heavy-jowled woman behind her reciting a jargon-version of the Atonement
liturgy to a devout coterie; of the prostrations full-length on the floor, and
the series of impassioned sermons; of the interminably rhyming poems, and the
acrostics with their recurring burdens shouted in devotional frenzy, voice
rising above voice as in emulation, with special staccato
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outlet phrases flung heavenwards; of the wailing confessions of
communal sin, with their accompaniment of sobs and tears and howls and grimaces
and clenchings of palms and beatings of the breast. She was lapped in a great
ocean of sound that broke upon her consciousness like the waves upon a beach,
now with a cooing murmur, now with a majestic crash, followed by a long receding
moan. She lost herself in the roar, in its barren sensuousness,
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canvas while the leaden sky grew duskier and the twilight crept on,
and the awful hour drew nigh when God would seal what He had written, and the
annual scrolls of destiny would be closed, immutable. She saw them looming
mystically through the skylight, the swaying forms below, in their white
grave-clothes, oscillating weirdly backwards and forwards, bowed as by a mighty
wind.
Suddenly there fell a vast silence; even from without no sound
came to break the
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bags awful stillness. It was as if all creation paused to hear a
pregnant word.
"Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One!" sang
the cantor frenziedly.
And all the ghostly congregation answered with a
great cry, closing their eyes and rocking frantically to and fro:
"Hear,
O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One!"
They seemed like a great
army of the sheeted dead risen to testify to the Unity. The magnetic tremor that
ran
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handbags through the synagogue thrilled the lonely girl to the
core; once again her dead self woke, her dead ancestors that would not be shaken
off lived and moved in her. She was sucked up into the great wave of passionate
faith, and from her lips came, in rapturous surrender to an overmastering
impulse, the half-hysterical protestation:
"Hear, O Israel, the Lord our
God, the Lord is One!"
