Some were silent, those who were to remain behind, and as Tories, know the friendship of the invaders. But the greater part of the worshippers, those whose ancestors like the Pilgrim Fathers had come to these shores to seek freedom before God, responded to their rabbi's call like true soldiers about their standard bearer.
"All that the Lord hath laid upon us, that will we do," cried out a very old man, rising to his feet and trembling with age as he spoke. "My eyes are dim, but He will not close them in death until they behold the rising of the sun of freedom upon these blessed shores."
He spoke like an ancient prophet and a hush like death fell upon the people. Slowly, like a man in a dream, Rabbi Seixas walked to the Ark and took from it the Scrolls of the Law; with the eyes of a man who sees visions he clasped the Torah to his breast and spoke: "When Jerusalem was destroyed, Rabbi Johanan ben Zakkai rebuilt a spiritual Jerusalem in the little town of Jabneh where the faithful ones sat at his feet and learned the Law. I will not leave our precious Torah behind me to be used by those who remain here to serve King George instead of the King of Israel. Some time, some place God will establish a refuge for His faithful ones and there will we worship Him as free men." He spoke with a great hope in his heart, although at that moment he never dreamed how during the darkest days of the Revolution he would be allowed to labor and serve in Philadelphia until he should return to New York in triumph to witness the inauguration of George Washington as president of the United States.
At a word from the minister, the Shammas (sexton) and several members of the congregation quietly removed the velvet curtains from the Ark, taking the silver pointer, the Ner Tamid (perpetual light), all the sacred symbols which had made their worship beautiful for Sabbath after Sabbath during the years of security and peace. The congregation sat motionless, like people in a dream. Laying the Torah aside, Mr. Seixas came forward, his hands raised in blessing. His voice was tremulous with tears as he spoke: "Yevorekhekha Adonai we-yishm'rekha. Yaer Adonai panov eilekha wi'chunekha. Yisa Adonai panov eilekha weyasem lekha shalom." (The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace.)
Then, the Scroll again close to his heart, he passed among the silent worshippers out into the warm September sunshine.
One by one the people followed him as he stood before the synagogue where he had hoped to serve so many useful years. His face was grave, but his voice was firm, his bearing unafraid. His young wife, Elkallah, stood proudly beside him. Though threatened with exile, she held her head like a queen. From the synagogue came old Mistress Phillips, leaning upon David's arm. "We will miss you sorely, Mr. Seixas," she said, sadly, "both as rabbi and as neighbor. I—ah, I am too old to leave the city where I was born. But perhaps I will send David to his cousins in Philadelphia."
"But I won't stay there," cried the boy, his cheeks flaming with excitement. "I'm going to be a soldier—just like the Maccabees." He raised flashing eyes to his teacher's face and something that he saw there made the happiness die out of his own. Boy that he was, he realized the ache in the rabbi's heart at leaving his work and his friends behind him.
"I'm sorry you have to go, Mr. Seixas," he said simply.
The young minister turned his somber eyes back toward the synagogue which he had entered a year before, his heart burning with great hopes for the future. Now, with the Torah in his arms, his congregation scattered, he felt himself a fugitive on the face of the earth. He looked about him at the older folk like Mistress Phillips whose dying bedside he might never comfort, at the little children he could no longer teach. Lastly he looked down into the tearful eyes of his young bride—a bride of a year, with exile and hardship before her. Then he straightened his shoulders and spoke bravely.
"Some day," said Rabbi Seixas, "I will return to serve our God in a city that He has made free."