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The Synagogue at Worms is one of the oldest in the world; it is
supposed to have been built at the time when the second temple was
erected; it is in the rear of a court-yard, around which are stone
benches. A door opens from this court, which leads to a small round
space, also surrounded with stone benches, in the centre of which is a
raised platform, where still remains the seat once occupied by the
celebrated Rabbi Salomon Yarchi. From that platform he preached his
admirable lessons of piety and goodness; his name is engraved on it, and
no one is ever permitted to occupy the seat once filled by that
venerated rabbi.
An א is carved on one of the
stones. Those among his pupils that he did not deem prepared to listen
to his learned discourses, were thus reminded that they must recommence
their studies, even from the first letter of the alphabet.
In this Synagogue two lamps are always kept burning; under them is
the following inscription: "The perpetual light of the two
strangers." These lamps are in memory of two martyrs who sacrificed
their own lives to ensure the safety of the Jewish community of Worms.
The following is the legendary account of this circumstance: Religious
procession through the streets of Worms were of common occurrence in the
dark times of the middle ages; times when fanaticism had changed all the
noble sentiments of humanity into fury and cruelty; when pity and mercy
towards religious dissenters were unfelt, when the fundamental
principles of all true religion were unknown.
One day the procession passed through the streets occupied by the
Jews; crowds of persons swelled the throng; scarcely had it entered this
quarter, when voices were heard proclaiming that the crucifix had been
insulted; loud rang the cries for revenge; the guilty trespasser must be
given up, that his blood might wipe out the indignity offered to the
cross. Seven days were granted to the Jews for the discovery of the
guilty person. If he were not delivered up at that time, the lives of
all the Israelites at Worms were doomed to expiate his offence.
The seventh day (it was also the seventh day of the feast of
Passover) came, and fear and agony filled the heart of every Israelite
in Worms. On the morning of that day, when the beadle of the Synagogue
went as usual to call the people to the house of prayer, he heard loud
knocks at the gate, enclosing the Jews' quarters. It was always kept
locked during any Jewish or Christian festival. The beadle asked who was
there.
"Two Jews, who wish to be admitted," was the reply.
"Who are you, and from whence do you come? Know you not, that
whoever enters within our gates this day exposes himself to the fury of
an enraged populace? If aid come not from Heaven this day, we all are
lost."
"We know it; we know the fearful fate that awaits you; it is to
save you from it that we now plead for admittance."
The gates were opened, and the two strangers entered; their names,
their residence, were a mystery that each alike refused to solve. A few
hours passed by, and the infuriated populace, fired with thoughts of
vengeance, rushed in among the Jews. Then the two strangers were seen
advancing, and with voices that faltered not, thus addressed the excited
multitude:
"Spare, oh, spare these people! Sully not your hands with the
blood of innocent victims. Let our lives satisfy you. We alone are
guilty of the alleged crime. On our heads let the weight of your
displeasure fall!"
And thus nobly did they perish, though racked by the most cruel
tortures. From that day forward, the two lamps that were lighted in
their memory have never been extinguished; for ever will they burn,
bright symbols of the divine flame that animated the hearts of the two
pure men who sacrificed their lives for the safety of those who were
strangers to them. Every year, on the seventh day of Passover, prayers
for the righteous dead are offered in the Synagogue in memory of these
devoted martyrs.
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