“You lie! It’s a black, dastardly lie!” the voice replied. “Go to the Black Eagle inn, and you will find your Anushka in the arms of the judge. Now drop that crowbar, you young brute, and go to the Black Eagle, and if it isn’t as I have told you, you may brand your pastor a liar. You youngsters, drop those stones and go home to your beds and thank God if you do not end your days in jail, you young ruffians!”
Slowly the crowd dispersed and our fears were quieted.
Then mother said to me: “My son, open the door for the Prophet Elijah.” Without fear I sprang to obey and a man passed over the threshold, a gentle-faced man who walked softly towards the Passover table as though afraid of disturbing us. We looked at him in gratitude and astonishment.
“It is the pastor!” mother said, smiling her grateful welcome. “Sit down;” and he sat down in the chair of the Prophet Elijah. Then mother said: “Drink;” and he lifted the cup of the prophet reverently, glancing at the Hebrew letters engraved upon it. His lips barely touched it and he put it down again.
The pastor we knew only as a grave and gentle man who passed our house daily. He always greeted my mother and she acknowledged the greeting by her prettiest courtesy; yet they had never spoken a word to each other. I had heard him preach in his church in my race unconscious days when, hidden among the bellows, I pumped the organ; and I knew the quality of his voice. I never knew what he preached about, or that his religion and ours had anything in common.
My uncle knew not what to do. Grateful he was for this timely interruption. Yet I think he would rather have been torn by the mob than have a Christian pastor interrupt our Passover service, sit in the hallowed seat of the prophet and drink from his cup, too sacred even for our lips. Mingled gratitude and displeasure were written on his face. The pastor rose and apologizing for his intrusion, said:
“I came in to tell you that the mob has gone and that I have found the girl whose disappearance caused all this trouble. I also wanted to tell you that I tried hard to keep the people from gathering; but I could do nothing to prevent it until I found Anushka. Of course you know that our religion does not teach hatred of the Jews.”
My uncle, who had visibly shrunk from the pastor while he was speaking, said: “But, your Reverence, you have been sitting in the chair of our Prophet Elijah and drinking from his cup!”
“I drink of a cup like this at every Passover celebration in my church,” the pastor replied. “It is a cup hallowed by the lips of One greater than Elijah, One who believed that there should be no hate or war among God’s children, and who gave His life to seal that truth.”
“But there still is war, your Reverence, and there still is hate, and they are ready to kill us.”