“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.