“Ah,” rejoined the rabbi, “eating trepha food.”
“I ate neither pork nor shellfish,” Elias submitted. “I ate a bit of sweet-bread. Of course it hadn't been killed kosher. But is that such a great sin? Some of our most pious Jews go to Delmonico's. To-night, indeed, I saw Judge Nathan there, with his wife and daughters; and he's president of his congregation.”
“Small sins beget larger ones. It's better not to commit even peccadillos,” said the rabbi. “And eating trepha food isn't merely a peccadillo. However, you're of full age. It's not my place to call you to account.”
“Speaking of sins, Uncle Felix,” Elias presently went on, “tell me, what is the worst sin that a Jew could commit?”
The rabbi's eyes had strayed back to his manuscript. Lifting them, “How?” he queried.
Elias repeated his question.
“Why,” said the rabbi, “there are the ten commandments, which you know as well as I do. They're of equal force. Theft, adultery, murder—one is as bad as another.”
“That isn't exactly what I meant. I meant the worst sin which a Jew, as a Jew, could commit—the worst infraction of the Thorah as it applies peculiarly to Israel. The ten commandments embody the common law of morality, which is as binding upon Christians as it is upon Jews.”
“Oh,” said the rabbi, “that's another question.”
“Would it be, for example, the desecration of Yom Kippur?”