The scene shifts to a synagogue, a fashionable synagogue, a synagogue in one of the nicer parts of London. In the pulpit on that Sabbath morn is one of the most polished and most learned men in the rabbinate, one who had won his spurs in New York before being called to this desirable congregation. This rabbi’s theological points and literary allusions found not a jot of response from a flock which was particularly sheep-like that morning. Perhaps he was a little too literary for a rabbi; I have no way of telling, but I am assured, by one who knew him, that he could be brilliant without half trying. Well, in the middle of this sermon, one of the lady members of the synagogue arose to leave the hall and as she began walking up the aisle, her rope of pearls burst scattering in the way that pearls have. (Have you ever seen a pearl scatter? Well, I haven’t.) The worthy rabbi’s thoughts took a new, but not sudden, turn at this point and ceasing to think of his flock in terms of sheep, he said: “I see that I am not alone in casting pearls.”
JTA has documented Jewish history in real-time for over a century. Keep our journalism strong by joining us in supporting independent, award-winning reporting.
The Archive of the Jewish Telegraphic Agency includes articles published from 1923 to 2008. Archive stories reflect the journalistic standards and practices of the time they were published.
