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.
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