The chief business of Palestine is religion. There is a religious instinct which must be reckoned with all the time. Its importance in Eastern life can scarcely be over-estimated. In Syria, there is, first of all, a Semitic core enshrouded by the specific religious faith and ritual of the time. In the peasantry, of whatever faith, this racial element is strikingly constant. Eastern life simply cannot be understood apart from religion. And yet the natives of the country are not, strictly speaking, theological in their way of thinking. They have little conscience as to doctrine. Church-membership is to them what citizenship is to us. Their great desire at present is, not to seek true doctrine, but to escape the persecutions of government and as many as possible of the uncertainties of life, by getting into official relation with a convent or other ecclesiastical establishment, a foreign consulate or a business under the protection of foreigners. Connection with such institutions affords a measure of immunity not enjoyed by the unattached native. Just so any member of a Christian church has the patronage of those at the head of his church, who are jealously alert to withstand state encroachment. In the treacherous waters of Eastern life ecclesiastical trappings are as life-belts, not to be discarded. There is little opportunity for the higher ethical considerations and religious growth so long as the solid footing of fair conditions of life and industrial freedom is denied. So long as the most lucrative and the securest positions are those of clients of some ecclesiastical establishment, so long will a religion of loaves and fishes, whatever the sect, prevail. When entering on a study of religious conditions in Palestine or in any other Asiatic country the Westerner should seek the equipment of a sensibly poised sympathy and unfailing courtesy.

Just as in the cities the mosks and minarets (properly called mÂdhaneh) are the most notable religious objects presented to view, so in the country the eye is first caught by the white domes^[107] and clustered trees of the shrines called ma?Âms and generally designated by the peasantry as wilys or shaykhs. The holy place of the wily or shaykh of ?a?rawÂny will illustrate the significance of these places, which are usually situated on hills.^[108] The shrine of ?a?rawÂny is a two-domed building, surrounded with trees, north of the village of BÎr-Zayt. A shaykh from the village of 'A?Âra'A?Âra, north of JifnÂ, went down toward Gaza. He lived, died and was buried in a place called ?a?rawÂny (or ?a?rah). But the belief came about that his spirit came back to this place near 'A?Âra. So a sepulcher was built for him there on the hill where his spirit was supposed to be, and the place is now a shrine. On a ride to the north of this spot we passed two Moslem pilgrims who were, apparently, from middle Asia. They seemed to be making a tour of the shrines.

Other holy places are the reputed tombs of ancient worthies, as en-Neby SamwÎl, the prophet Samuel, a mosk on the top of the hill of that name, which is about two easy hours from Jerusalem to the northwest. The tomb of Samuel is shown within, and the country of his activity is in view from the lofty tower above the mosk. Abandoned churches and mosks are resorted to as shrines.

Little oil lamps are often seen about specially revered places. These are made of clay in the shapes sometimes designated as virgins’ lamps, though it is the general style of thousands of years back. It was originally a little saucer to hold oil, in which a wick was laid with one end on the edge. In making the saucer the sides were first pinched up a little; then more and more, until they covered the top, leaving two openings, one in a sort of spout for the wick, and one behind, through which the oil could be fed. A handle at the other end was sometimes added. Taste and ingenuity then varied the details of shape and decoration through the historical periods. These little lamps may be used as night-lamps in the houses, but are sure to be the kind employed at country shrines. Some of the poorest people make very crude little clay lamps somewhat after the ancient pattern. Sometimes they take the cover from a little tin box and pinch it into the customary shape.

In the walls of the vestibules of some of the larger and more famous ancient tombs are niches cut for the placing of lamps by devotees. At Tibneh the reputed tomb of Joshua has a vestibule which is twenty-nine and a half feet wide and over ten feet high. Its roof was supported originally, on the front, by four squared columns twenty-five inches through, cut from the rock of the place. Two of the columns, the one at either end, are engaged, and two are free. The three walls of the vestibule resemble those of a columbarium, having two hundred seventy lamp-niches, all fairly uniform, in even rows and with sloping tops. A little entrance two feet high and nineteen inches wide leads into the tomb chamber, which is thirteen feet eight inches by thirteen feet two inches in dimensions and has fifteen kokim.

At the tomb of Joseph, shown near NÂblus, there is a well-kept modern room enclosing the tomb. A dumb man was in charge when we visited the place. On receiving a bishlik, as we were leaving, he emitted the most weird sounds of anger and flung the coin on the pavement in pretended disgust.

Places once consecrated to holy purposes are apt to retain their sanctity. This is seen in the regard that the peasants have for the shrines and places of religious significance to any former people. The old church at Sebas?Îyeh (Samaria) is now a mosk. The ruin of the Crusaders’ Church at el-BÎreh is venerated by Moslem and Christian. A man essayed, the story goes, to build a house out of blocks taken from this ruin, but his house fell, not once, but twice, a sign according to the native interpretation of the impiety of the man’s act in taking those stones. In one of the apses of the church at e?-?ayyibeh there was a chromo picture on a board before which some Christians of that village burned oil in the little lamps. In the old Greek church at RÂm AllÂh, no longer in ecclesiastical use, are seen the lamps used by worshipers who reverence the old site superstitiously. In another part of the village there is a room, evidently once a mosk, which is now a shrine known as el-KhalÎl. It is at the left of the west end of the long market street. It is fronted by a little courtyard in which are a mulberry-tree and the capitals of a couple of columns. The door of the room is at the northwest corner; at the northeast corner is an outside stairway by which one may go up to the roof. Over the door, serving as a lintel, is a piece of worked stone, evidently a small column. It is ten inches wide and forty-three inches long, including a round stone ball cut on the right-hand end, which measures six and a half inches. A raised panel design, twenty-nine inches long and three inches wide, is carved on the side. Into the right side of the doorway is built a voussoir of an arch. There are two pieces of fluted stone built into the wall of the building. In the northeast corner of the wall the corner-stones are of good size, the largest being twenty-seven by fourteen by eleven inches. The next stone under this largest is bossed. The upper part of the door works in a stone socket. Inside, the room is well plastered, the ceiling rather low, perhaps fifteen feet from the floor. A column is built into the east wall near the southeast corner. It is nine feet and four inches tall. There is a ?ibleh or prayer-niche in the south wall of the room. It is about thirty-nine inches deep and fifty-eight and a half inches wide. The outer facing of the ?ibleh is two feet wide on each side. In the west wall is a squarish recess like a closet. In the east wall are three little boards thrust in endwise and projecting to hold lamps. A large jar with a broken top contained some water. There were eighty-nine lamps in the room, of the little virgin-lamp style, for holding oil. The women of RÂm AllÂh are responsible for these, as it is their custom to go to this room and light lamps and offer a prayer to IbrahÎm KhalÎl AllÂh (i. e., Abraham, the friend of God^[109]) for the recovery of a sick child. Some say that Thursday, late in the afternoon, is the favorite time for women to go there and pray to el-KhalÎl (i. e., the friend or confidant, abbreviated from the above title). The building and yard are supposed to belong to Abraham. If a child too young or too ill-bred to observe the proprieties should molest the mulberries on the tree in the yard any passer-by would be apt to cry out to it to desist lest el-KhalÎl should destroy it. Anything placed within the mosk or yard is considered as under the protection of el-KhalÎl and perfectly safe from theft. Sometimes a quantity of lime is left in temporary store in this safe place. Perhaps the large jar that we saw with water in it had been left there by some one who had been working in lime.

All RÂm AllÂh pertains ecclesiastically to Hebron, which goes by the name el-KhalÎl in Arabic geography, and to the famous mosk of that ancient city. In keeping with this the inhabitants of RÂm AllÂh, all Christians, look upon el-KhalÎl (Abraham) as their patron saint.^[110] Invocations are frequently directed to him in fear or distress. When it thunders the old-fashioned peasantry say that Abraham and St. George are racing their horses over the heavens and that the thunder is the noise of the hoofs. The peasants’ invocation muttered on such occasions is, “YÂ KhalÎl AllÂh SalÂm AllÂh,” which some interpret as a prayer that Abraham’s horse may not slip. The other saint mentioned is MÂr Jurjus el-Khu?r (St. George the Ever-living), to whom many Palestine peasants look for protection, and to whom considerable ecclesiastical property is dedicated. MÂr ElyÂs and many other saints are spoken of, but perhaps the two above mentioned are as popular as any. Comparatively few Greek Christian foundations bear the name of the Virgin Mary (es-Sitti Maryam el-'AdhrÂ). But to return to our little mosk, el-KhalÎl. Report has it that the people of the village are much afraid that Moslems will lay claim to it sometime, and they are debating whether it would not be well to destroy the ?ibleh and with it all evidence of its once having been a mosk. The RÂm AllÂh people are much averse to possible encouragement of the introduction of Moslems or their customs into the village. The curious question remains, How can this mosk in a Christian village be accounted for? We might as well add that the Jews also, at Abraham’s mosk in Hebron, pray to Abraham.

At the right of the entrance to the yard of el-KhalÎl in RÂm AllÂh is a living-house that runs along the west side of the court and joins the mosk at the corner. This used to be the common mu?afya or guest-house for the entire village. The poor and strangers were entertained here. Families took turns supplying the food requisite for its maintenance. It was given up some years ago and there is no common guest-house now. Each of the different tribes has its own guest-room.

The reverence for sacred trees is another of the indigenous superstitions not essentially connected with any of the more modern faiths. Three hours out from Tiberias, toward Mount Tabor, a tree was observed with rags tied on its branches at the trunk. Large chunks of wood lay about under the tree. Some graves of Moslems were near at hand. A fine large sacred tree stands near ?urdah, the little village (ancient Zereda) between RÂm AllÂh and JifnÂ. Between Jifn and 'Ayn YebrÛd, shortly after passing DÛrah, the path goes by two fine oaks. The spot is known by the name Umm BarakÂt, the mother of blessings. Rags were tied to the branches of the older of the two trees. This tree was decaying, while the other was young and flourishing.

Some curious pulpit-shaped rocks near the trees doubtless helped to give the place its sacred character. We saw remains of fires near by. In a crevice of a rock there was a broken black jar with fragments of charcoal in it.

The locality of a murder has a sort of fascination for the peasantry. Less than an hour out from Bayt 'Ur e?-?a?ta (the lower Beth Horon), on the road to Ramleh, there is shown a fig-tree near which, fifty years ago, a RÂm AllÂh man was killed by a Moslem. A pile of stones covers the actual spot.^[111] Near the path from 'Ayn YebrÛd to e?-?ayyibeh, east of the NÂblus road, is a stony, barren tract called the WastÎyeh. Into one of the cisterns found here the body of a murdered man was once thrown; consequently those who have to pass the place do so with trepidation.

There is a notion current that the sins of a slain man come upon the slayer. Sometimes, therefore, they say of one who persists in wrong-doing that at last he will get some one to kill him and so escape the consequences of his own sins.

Superstitions by the score, common to those of different faiths, might be discovered among the people, such as the cutting of the hair and the hanging of an egg and garlic, and perhaps also blue glass bracelets, over the doorway of a new house. Some peasants will not eat food which another man has desired lest harm might come of it. “For,” they say, “the soul of the man who wished the food has entered into it.” If a man takes food in his hands to eat, and the food falls, he will say that it was not meant that he should eat it. Fear of evil spirits or, more specifically, of the evil eye, is an ever-present dread. It seems to arise from the notion that too much prosperity, health, pleasure or any good thing, or the signs of such, may arouse malignant activity on the part of some jealous spirit. An appearance of poverty, of forlorn misery, even of uncleanness, especially in a child, is thought to lessen the likelihood of unwelcome attention from the evilly-disposed spirit. Blue beads and blue tattoo marks on the face are utilized to avert the evil eye. The evil eye may be in the steady gaze or stare of a stranger, or in his photographic camera, which the more ignorant dodge fearsomely.

It is common for women to pray for offspring, and there is great faith in visits to certain shrines and localities for this object.^[112] The warm springs at Tiberias on Lake Galilee are looked upon as peculiarly efficacious bathing places for barren women.

It may be said of every site of Old Testament times, that is known or supposed to be known, and of many later sites, including crusading remains, that the superstitious reverence of the peasantry clings to them. Add to these the shrines of modern origin, departed Moslem shaykhs and holy men, dervishes and the insane, which are often revered as devoutly by Christians as by Moslems, and one begins to recognize the existence of powerful religious influences quite independent of the teachings of Christianity or IslÂm.

Even that temper of mind known as fatalism, and ascribed particularly to the Moslems, is a common characteristic of all the peasantry. The belief in a set and immutable time to die, for example, is as firmly held by many Christian peasants as by Moslems. One also meets the conviction that early death is the special mark of heaven’s disfavor, and that the pious need not expect it. After the death of a young man who had emigrated to America, and while gloom hung over the village because of it, I was talking with an old man, a Greek Christian, whose sons contemplated going to America. He said that as he, with all his family, was devout, he had no fear that his sons would die in America. He believed that no harm could befall those who did right and observed prayers.^[113]

Among the Moslems of a country population in villages where no pretentious buildings can be erected, and on the desert where no such building would be of any avail, the one thing that holds the daily attention of the faithful is the institution of prayer. Five times in the twenty-four hours this ought to be performed, with preliminary bathing, the formulated utterances and the prescribed prostrations. This is the tie that binds. At the appointed time the horseman dismounts, spreads his cloak for a rug and upon it performs his devotions.^[114] Soldiers go a little way from the barracks and in some open space offer their prayers. Dignified effendis proceed to pray, whoever may be about.^[115] At large springs, as at el-BÎreh and Lubban, small stone platforms are provided for those who are near at hand when the hour of prayer comes upon them. The apparent oblivion which overtakes a devotee at any of his exercises seems impenetrable. Riding out northward from Jerusalem in a carriage with Moslem passengers, I had an opportunity to note the sort of spell that came over one of them, a dervish, during his devotions. He wore a pointed cap of quilted felt and a green kefÎyeh. He interrupted his conversation at sunset to begin a singsong of certain offices, his memory being assisted by a note-book. He half closed his eyes and, turning his head now this way and now that, in utter unconcern about his appearance or surroundings, he wailed out his cry as the carriage rolled along. Afterward he resumed the conversation. Once on the same road a dervish, apparently a simple fellow, ran a considerable distance behind our carriage. He was armed with a sort of javelin. The peasants chaffed him as they would a child. The stated hours of prayer for Moslems are just a little after the sun has set, two hours after sunset, a little before dawn, just at the turn of noon and in the afternoon about midway between noon and dark. These five regular times for prayer are denominated respectively, maghrib, 'asheyeh, ?ub?, ?uhr and 'a?r. There may be extra or supererogatory prayer seasons, but these are the stated ones. Wherever there are mÛadhdhins (muezzins), as in all the larger places, they ascend their towers and call out the hour of prayer. At JenÎn our room was near the mosk and mÂdhaneh (minaret). The call of the mÛadhdhin there between three and four o’clock in the morning was the most varied and melodious intonation that I heard in the land. It was peculiarly rich and sweet, and I felt instinctively that the man’s soul was in an ecstasy of religious fervor.

The complicated prayer of the Moslems, in a characteristic form, has received classic description in the superb work of the great Orientalist, Lane, in his “Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians.” People interested in Arabic civilization do themselves an injustice if they omit the careful reading of that book.

An occasion of keen interest to all the villages where Moslems dwell is the annual Neby MÛs (prophet Moses) pilgrimage in April to the hill reputed among Moslems to be the place of the burial of Moses.^[116] It lies due east from Jerusalem and southwest from Jericho. From Jebel NÂblus and Jebel el-KhalÎl (Hebron and environs) and all the country about contingents arrive in Jerusalem. Banners are carried to denote the delegations. Dervishes are in attendance to excite the religious emotions by dancing,^[117] howling and self-mutilation. Soldiers are there to represent the authority of the government. All assembled at Jerusalem, the procession starts from the ?arÂm esh-SherÎf on Friday and, proceeding out through the St. Stephen’s Gate (BÂb Sitti Maryam), goes down into the Kidron Valley and off by the Bethany road. Spectators throng the hillside east of the gate. Groups of women, huddled in out-of-door ?arÎms, sit on the edge of the high embankments by the roadside. Venders of toys and delicacies ply their trade. Some of the dervishes have spikes, with filigree iron heads, thrust through their cheeks.^[118] Drummers and singers and the marching pilgrims pass on, accompanied a part of the way by dignitaries in carriages. As the banners pass between the high embankments on the sides of the road the spectators sitting there are apt to take hold of the floating folds and kiss them, or rub their faces with them, afterward passing them on to friends.^[119] The pilgrims spend a week at Neby MÛsÂ, where they have a sort of camp-meeting and religious revival. It is an opportunity for the venders of supplies. On the following Friday the procession returns to the city with drumming, shouting and shooting of firearms.

During the month of Rama?Ân a strict fast is observed by Moslems in the daytime. They are allowed to fortify themselves for it by indulging during the nights. As the Moslem calendar, made on the basis of lunar months, shifts about the seasons, Rama?Ân comes, through a course of years, in all seasons, wet, dry and intermediate. It can readily be understood that such hardships as there are in the observance of the day-fast through Rama?Ân will fall to the lot of the poor, the largest percentage of whom would be peasantry. In the cities a signal is provided to warn the people of the approach of daylight and of the close of the day. This allows them time to provide for suitable observance of the day-fast and the night-time indulgence. In Jerusalem, for instance, a cannon is discharged for the signals. In Hebron both a gun and a drum are used, but at different times. The gun is fired at sunset. In the morning about two o’clock a man goes about with a drum and sings out his warning to the people to arise and prepare their meal before the coming of the light shall make eating unlawful. The devotees are not supposed to eat or drink anything after the time when the coming light allows them to distinguish between a white thread and a black one. This time is usually a little later than 4 A.M. Many of the peasants hear the signals from afar, but to those unable to do so their best judgment must be the warning.

One evening as we journeyed homeward from the city we saw a group of Moslems squatting around in a circle on the ground eating their first meal for that day. They had been overtaken by the proper time while on a journey. We made a visit to Te?Û'a and Herodium on the last day of Rama?Ân. We were gone from 7 A.M. until late evening. Our Moslem guide fasted all day. On the way back, after dark, as we passed through Bethlehem, he took a small quantity of food. Later, as we were going up the road from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, the guide broke out joyfully, “Rama?Ân finished; not a day left,” and soon after we heard the Jerusalem guns ushering in the feast of Bairam.

Doubtless the strongest visible cord of union among the native Christians is the priesthood. Most priests feel themselves to be soldiers of the faith as well as expounders of its doctrines. They are exceedingly jealous of prerogatives. The hand-to-hand fights between Greek and Latin priests at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the feuds and wars between Maronites and Druzes in the Lebanon, the tireless rivalry all through the country of those who represent the native churches, witness to a sense of rights and also of a commission in a militant order. Any newly discovered ancient site of especially religious significance, such as the ruins of a church or a monastery, is seized, if possible, with avidity. The Orthodox Greek Church is easily the master of the situation in Christian Palestine. The wealth and influence of this church are great and its presumptive rights are unquestionable, since it is the church that was in possession of the land before the Moslem conquest and the church with which the conquerors have dealt. On the other hand, the Roman Catholic Church represents the faith of the Crusaders, who held power for over a century in the country, and to-day the interests of this church are upheld by French, Italian and Austrian influence. Wealth has poured in and a secure place has been won for this Western church in the cities. In the village progress for it is difficult. The Roman Catholic organization is closer than the Greek, and their representatives in Palestine are well educated, as a rule.

For the Orthodox Greek Church the patriarchate at Jerusalem is the ecclesiastical center in Palestine. The chief ecclesiastical positions are filled by foreigners speaking Greek. In any village the church, if large, is under the care of a foreign head priest, called raÎs, assisted by native priests called khÛrys. These khÛrys must know a little, presumably, about reading and writing, in order to read the services in Arabic; but, as a matter of fact, some of them would be put to it if handed a bit of sight reading in their own tongue. In RÂm AllÂh, when a vacancy occurs in the number of these native assistants, each tribe nominates one candidate and the village elders choose one from the number. The chosen one goes to the patriarch in Jerusalem for his authority, regalia and induction into office. Each khÛry assists in the prayers for a week in turn. They receive a monthly stipend from the patriarchate paid through the raÎs. This may amount to between six and ten dollars. The RÂm AllÂh people pay into the church a fee of one and a half or two dollars for a marriage, forty cents for a funeral and about twenty-two cents for a baptism. A khÛry may have been a tradesman before being chosen to office and have no special preparation for his work. He may be a married man when chosen and in such a case would retain his wife. The patriarchate in Jerusalem is possessed of great revenues from rentals and business interests and is disposed to be generous to its members and to make sure of their loyal adherence. Free quarters, provisions and other assistance are granted when such concessions will do good in cementing the allegiance of the communicants.

The native Greek Christian has no zeal for the conversion of a Moslem to Christianity. Some abhor the thought of giving the Christian gospel to the unbeliever, and some believe that the nature of the Moslem is irredeemable. Most of the natives, however, believe in a division or allotment^[120] of religions to the peoples, that the gospel is for Christians and the ?urÂn for Moslems and that this is a very proper arrangement. The lack of interest on this subject is probably the result of centuries of habit and sentiment. Certain it is that few, if any, Moslem renegades would be allowed to live in Palestine. Two converted Moslems have been baptized in recent years and shipped to Egypt for safety. Moslems now and then convert Christians. In the mixed village of 'ÂbÛd some Christians have turned Moslem.

The Christian year in Palestine, among the Greek Church peasantry, is according to the Julian style. Whenever a fast is the order of the Greek Church calendar those who heed it refuse resolutely any animal food, or food that is cooked in fat or that contains any amount whatever of butter, milk or other animal substance. Once while out traveling, during Greek Lent, we wished to share our lunch with a Christian native who attended to the riding animals. Among other supplies were some cookies. These were, of course, a new style of food, but sufficiently near to what the natives call “ka'k,” cake. Being a little uncertain as to how such a thing might be made, the conscientious man had to inquire, and on our confessing that there was some animal substance in the article, he felt it necessary to decline it.

Easter goes by the name of the “Great Feast” among Oriental Christians, and its approach and occurrence arouse the keenest ecclesiastical activity during the year. Weddings, not being allowed during the Lenten fast, come in rapid succession after Easter Day. On a Palm Sunday we saw girls dancing on the threshing-floor of the village.^[121] In the week preceding Easter come the ceremonial of feet-washing^[122] before the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, and the descent of the Greek fire at the Sepulcher, inside the same church. Good Friday evening is such a time of general attendance at church for prayer that it offers opportunities to those not of the faith to break into the village houses and steal.

The feasts constitute a convenient calendar, marking the seasons for the peasantry. For instance, in the autumn three of the feasts are connected in the minds of the peasantry with the coming of the rain. At the Feast of the Cross, towards the end of September, the peasants say there is rain on one hand and summer weather on the other. At the later Feast of St. George (el-Khu?r), observed especially at Ludd, it is expected that the rain will come in an amount sufficient to enable the farmer to sow and plow. At the Feast of BurbÂra (Barbara), in December, they say the rain will come in through every mouse-hole in the house, that is, in an exceptionally heavy downpour. On the first and last of these feasts, The Cross and St. Barbara, parents like to make for their children dishes of boiled wheat with little candies stuck around the top.

The Roman Catholic priests are zealously cultivating the native Christian population, and trying to increase in influence, though the feeling against them on the part of the Greeks is one of bitter hostility. They are forced to adopt a missionary policy and their growth in the country villages is very slow. They have established excellent monastery accommodations for the shelter of such of their pilgrims as pass through the country.

The United Greek Church, which is so important in the north, is making a small beginning in Palestine. It uses the Arabic language in the service. It is that section of the old Greek Orthodox Church which was won over to papal allegiance, and is being used as a sort of bridge between the Greek Church and the Roman. Protestants find the Greek Orthodox Christians much less hostile than the Roman Catholics. However, a priest of the United Greeks (Roman Catholic) has been known to bring boys to one of the Protestant boarding-schools for entrance for the sake of the training there afforded.

The Greek monasteries in the lonely country districts are often penal establishments, such as those in the WÂdy Kelt, on Mt. Quarantana (the traditional site of the temptation of Jesus), and at MÂr SÂbÂ.

Though they are so small a sect as scarcely to be counted in the enumeration of present-day religious bodies in Palestine, yet the Samaritans, because of their historical connection with the country and its religious genius, have a significance for us and a description of their great feast may be interesting.^[123]

About 5.30 o’clock in the afternoon of May 1, 1901, a small party of us who had been riding all day through the hill-country of Ephraim, came in sight of Jacob’s Well,^[124] or rather in sight of the walled enclosure about the premises, which the Greek Church has secured. For the first time in some weeks we saw also a line of telegraph poles and wires, that from NÂblus to the east of Jordan. We rounded the lower slopes of Mount Gerizim and in a short time were going down the valley, having Gerizim on our left and Ebal on our right. This valley, in which modern NÂblus, ancient Shechem, lies, runs east and west. The city of over twenty thousand inhabitants is about eighteen hundred feet above the sea-level, picturesquely lodged between the two mountains. The valley is narrow, so that a few minutes’ ride from the center of the city would lead one to the slopes of either mountain, and an hour’s climb to the top of either. The ascent of Gerizim is a simple matter; that of Ebal would be less pleasant on account of the prickly-pear (cactus) which grows very thickly on its sides. Approaching the city as we did from the east end of the valley, one sees an attractive group of cheerfully tinted buildings, some quite high for a Palestinian city, built rather towards the Gerizim side of the valley. Several tall palm-trees stand among the buildings. A little to the right, and quite prominent, is a Moslem cemetery, its graves covered with stones set up to look like small sarcophagi. The first building reached contains the barracks of the soldiers who do the police duty of the country round. Presently we join the road from Jacob’s Well, which forms a V with our own. Rooms were secured at the Latin monastery. We had timed our visit so as to be present at the Passover celebrations of the Samaritans. The once powerful sect, constantly diminishing, is now confined to this one city. Friends living in NÂblus report it as numbering but one hundred and twenty souls. The next day, as we rode up the mountain to the Passover, we passed the little graveyard that receives the different members as they fail from the congregation. It looks like a bit of plowed ground, with its simple broken surface. The Samaritans we found near the top of the mountain. There they were at their great camp-meeting of the year, living in tents near the place of sacrifice, which is just below and a little west of the very summit of Gerizim. Moslem and Christian spectators were sitting or walking about the encampment, and here and there among these were Moslem soldiers, the inevitable accompaniments of Eastern religious celebrations.

As there was time before sunset, we went to the summit, a few minutes’ walk above the camp. It is a good situation for a citadel and fortification, and we found the ruins of one strewn all over the cap of the mountain. As one stands at the northeast end of the very summit, near a Moslem wily (small memorial building to some saint), the view is superb; mountains on every hand, among them Hermon, farthest yet grandest of them all. Just below us, like a velvet carpet of regular pattern, is the fertile plain of Makhna, running north and south. True to Syrian religious custom, according to which every sect or religion makes a convenient grouping of all its holy places, we have only to look around to see the celebrated places of sacred writ. Here, the Samaritans claim, is the true Shiloh, the true Bethel, and also Mount Moriah. Over there to the southeast, across the Makhna, is the little village of RÛjib, which they say is Ai, while the village of 'Awarta is the burial-place of the sons of Aaron. Not accuracy, but convenience and monopoly, seem to guide Eastern religionists in identifying holy places. Near this the northeast end of the mountain is a portion of the foundation of the ancient Samaritan temple. A little to the south, on the east side, is a large expanse of rock, sloping westward. Here, they claim, was the true site of the tabernacle, the altar being the rock, the slope of which allowed the blood of victims to flow into the pit at the lower end. At the west end of the ruined castle are shown twelve huge stones which, they say, are the ones that Joshua took from the bed of the Jordan.^[125] At the northwest side is an old pool.

Returning now to the encampment, which was in excitement over the coming ceremony, we found a sunken space about three feet deep and about twenty by forty feet in area. It ran north and south and was enclosed by a wall. A tent had been standing in the southerly end as we went by on the way up the hill. This was now taken down and allowed to lie flat on the ground, affording a good-sized space for the priests, who came into the enclosure with some twenty other men with their prayer-rugs. These Samaritans were fine-looking people. I think that they had the finest faces I ever saw in such numbers in the East. They had well-formed heads, and there was quite a variety of facial types, some round and chubby, others long, some dark and others light. They all, old men as well as little boys, had clear, delicate skins. The high priest was tall and slight. His beard was gray and his countenance very pleasing. The second priest was a larger man, heavy and well proportioned, with a brown beard. In the middle of the enclosure was a little pit with fire over which were three large kettles of boiling water. Near it were seven lambs ready for the sacrifice, nosing around and chewing contentedly. The enclosure soon filled up with the Samaritans. The high priest and the men with him took their places on the canvas facing the east, towards the rock of sacrifice just mentioned and began the ritual of the Passover. The high priest wore a long green robe. The others were dressed in white. The rest of the men and children stood about, inside the enclosure, taking part in the service. When about half through with the service the high priest turned and faced the two irregular rows of worshipers behind him and began the prayers, among them one for the Sultan. We noticed on the breast of the high priest a badge said to be the gift of the Sultan. After the prayers all except the high priest went to the other end of the enclosure while he began reading the twelfth chapter of Exodus. The sun was about to set. The Passover moon, like a silver globe, came over the top of Gerizim in front of us. Just as the priest came to the word kill, at a certain place in the chapter, the eager look on the faces of the Samaritans gathered about the animals became very intense, and as the fatal word was pronounced with unusual emphasis the knives of those in readiness were set to the throats of the sacrificial victims and the high priest turned his face again towards the east in supplicatory prayer. The blood was caught and a little of it was daubed on the faces of some of the children. Then hot water was used to help pull off the wool from the sheep, as they were to be roasted in their skins over the large fiery pit, which all this time had been in preparation just outside the enclosure to the southeast corner. Men had been continually replenishing it with fuel until the rocks were very hot. A rustic frame of crossed sticks was provided to cover it when all was ready. Long wooden spits were brought and the lambs, with heads on but the right fore limbs removed, were fixed for roasting. The refuse parts were destroyed by fire. Unleavened bread, a sort of thin, rolled pastry, was passed about in little bits with bitter herb rolled inside. As it was late and the ritual over, the actual consumption of the lambs, which comes along towards midnight, being said to be a very ordinary affair, we started down the mountain for NÂblus. The moon, now golden, flooded the beautiful valley with its light. Such a night! We soon reached our rooms in the town and said “good night” all around.

120. Cf. Deut. 4: 19.