house all the Jewish laws about eating and drinking were observed, and
they had different plates and dishes for meat and butter and a special
service for Easter, orthodox Judaism, to me, seemed to be a collection
of old, whimsical, superstitious prejudices, which specially applied to
food. The poetry of it was a sealed book to me. At school, where I was
present at the religious instruction classes as an auditor only, I
always heard Judaism alluded to as merely a preliminary stage of
Christianity, and the Jews as the remnant of a people who, as a
punishment for slaying the Saviour of the world, had been scattered all
over the earth. The present-day Israelites were represented as people
who, urged by a stiff-necked wilfulness and obstinacy and almost
incomprehensible callousness, clung to the obsolete religious ideal of
the stern God in opposition to the God of Love.

When I attempted to think the matter out for myself, it annoyed me that
the Jews had not sided with Jesus, who yet so clearly betokened progress
within the religion that He widened and unintentionally overthrew. The
supernatural personality of Jesus did not seem credible to me. The
demand made by faith, namely, that reason should be fettered, awakened a
latent rebellious opposition, and this opposition was fostered by my
mother's steady rationalism, her unconditional rejection of every
miracle. When the time came for me to be confirmed, in accordance with
the law, I had advanced so far that I looked down on what lay before me
as a mere burdensome ceremony. The person of the Rabbi only inspired me
with distaste; his German pronunciation of Danish was repulsive and
ridiculous to me. The abominable Danish in which the lesson-book was
couched offended me, as I had naturally a fine ear for Danish.
Information about ancient Jewish customs and festivals was of no
interest to me, with my modern upbringing. The confirmation, according
to my mocking summary of the impression produced by it, consisted mainly