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Updated: May 28, 2025
By our common memory of a great, stirring past and heroic deeds on the battle-fields of the spirit, by the exalted historical mission allotted to us, by our thorn-strewn pilgrim's path, our martyrdom assumed for the sake of our principles, by such moral ties, we Jews, whether consciously or unconsciously, are bound fast to one another.
And while back in Jerusalem the blood-thirsty soldiers wuz rushin' to and fro seekin' for the young Child that they might destroy him, and in his palace King Herod lay in troubled sleep under the close-drawn curtains of the royal couch, slaves watchin' outside the room, slaves watchin' his fearful thorn-strewn pillow, the little Child that he feared and sought to destroy, slept with the clear midnight sky bendin' over his sweet slumber, its matchless blue curtain looped up with stars, hung with the great silver night lamp of the crescent moon.
Ahasuerus, who on his thorn-strewn pilgrim's path had drained the cup of woe to the dregs, suddenly caught sight of the home of his childhood razed level with the ground. The precious, never-to-be-forgotten ruins exhaled the home feeling, which took possession of him with irresistible charm. Into his soul there flowed sweet memories of a golden youth, past beyond recall.
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