CHAPTER FIFTEEN
By night, the ruined synagogue had been tragic enough. By day it was heartbreaking. You could see how exquisite the sanctuary had been, a baroque jewel box. The vaulted ceiling was once brightly painted, repeating patterns picked out in crimson, turquoise, ochre, and rose. Stars and flowers, clusters of leaves, fleur-de-lis designs painstakingly carved into the cornices. Above the ark, a sculpted tablet bearing the Ten Commandments was flanked on either side by golden lions, and above these flew fantastic winged creatures, also golden.
“Those are the seraphim that grace the throne of God,” said György. “You can’t see it now, the soot has blackened everything, but they’re holding a crown and written upon it is the word Adonai, which is God’s name. ‘Holy, holy, holy,’ they
