"But there was one rabbi who didn't die," insisted David. "I forget his name, but I liked him better than all the others because he got the best of the Romans. Don't you know--he pretended he was dead and had his pupils take him to the Emperor in a coffin, that the guards wouldn't stop them when they passed the gates. And when the Emperor asked him what he wanted, he said 'Just let me build a school and I won't trouble anybody! What was his name, Mr. Seixas?" "You are thinking of Rabbi Johanan ben Zakkai," answered his teacher, slowly. "You are right--he did 'get the best of the Romans,' as you say. He would have died rather than breathe the air of a Roman court like Josephus; instead he continued to fight the enemy of his people; he handed down to his disciples the sword with which they were to fight through the centuries." "What sword?" asked David, puzzled. "Not a real sword; the study of our Law, our Torah. He opened a school at Jabneh, you remember, and there he taught his scholars to be good Jews, even though Jerusalem was destroyed." His eyes widened and again he seemed to be looking far away. "Jerusalem was destroyed, even as the city of my hope will be taken from me. But Rabbi ben Zakkai escaped to Jabneh and continued the battle there!" He spoke almost in a whisper and a strange light glowed in his face. "Have you been sent to teach me the truth, David? Truly, 'out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast Thou ordained truth.'" Mistress Seixas appeared at the doorway, a bright-faced young woman, pretty in her Sabbath finery of gay silk mantle and flowered bonnet. "I am all ready, Gershom," she told her husband as she came down the path. "And I am ready, too, Elkallah," he answered so gravely that David felt he meant much more than the simple words implied.