THE SAMARITAN PASSOVER OP THE YEAR 1861. 215 



but Dean Stanley observed it. I notice that the rubrics in 

 these MS. books are in red letters, just like ours. I take up 

 my position by the side of the old priest Amram — he was not 

 officiating, or rather he was taking no prominent part in the 

 service — that part fell to his nephew Jacob, who was to succeed 

 him at his death. The singing is responsive or antiphonal, like 

 that of our choirs. It is all done, the entire function, so it 

 seems to me, in a very business-like and perfunctory way. I 

 could not detect much evidence of devotion, the old priest was 

 the only one who seemed to be praying. 



The service at this point was largely — so Stanley learnt ; 1 

 did not — a commemoration of the glories of Abraham and 

 Israel, and it lasts till the sun is near the horizon. Now, a 

 lamb is brought into the circle. The wood is laid in order. 

 The children of the community squat, Eastern fashion, near 

 two large iron cauldrons filled with boiling water. I observe 

 six men, young men, in white raiment. They are the men, I 

 subsequently find, appointed to slay the victims. The five 

 other lambs are now brouoht near, and all are rano-ed in a line 

 alonc^side the cauldrons, between us and the Samaritans, who 

 never stop for a moment in the recitation of their Liturgy. 

 The victims are placed in a circle, each lamb's head towards 

 another's tail, round the furnace, ac the bidding of the Amram. 

 The old priest and the young priest now consult for a moment ; 

 it must be about the precise hour of sunset, for they look at 

 their watches. Sunset must be near, for some of the men now 

 gird up their long garments ; Eastern dress compels this girding 

 of the loins, where hard work has to be done. The six youths 

 in white, the ministrants who have to kill the lambs, take up 

 their position by the side of their victims. 



At this point the voices of the people are hushed, and the 

 sonorous monotone of the young Levite Jacob alone is heard. 

 The rest fold their hands as in prayer. Occasionally, Jacob 

 prolongs a note — that is the signal for a response on the part of 

 the people — we have something very like it at home, showing 

 that there is nothing new under the sun. A moment later and 

 Jacob is reciting the twelfth chapter of the book of Exodus — 

 the account of the tirst Passover. By the time he has reached 

 the sixth verse — " the whole assembly of the children of Israel 

 shall kill it in the evening " — the last glint of the sun disappears 

 below the horizon. We are not left, however, to the dim light 

 of the gloaming, for the Paschal moon is shining brilliantly 

 overhead. We all gaze, in almost breathless expectation, for it 

 is clear that the supreme moment is at hand. Nor have we 



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