“Do you preserve all your people’s old texts?”

“The Torah scrolls and original manuscripts used in religious services.” Ben-Tabia pointed toward the blue curtain above the dais. “When they can no longer be used, these documents are packed away there inside the holy ark.”

“Why don’t you throw them away?” Sami asked.

“For the same reason you Muslims don’t use pages from the Koran to wrap falafel.” The priest smiled, but Omar Yussef saw a glint of hostility behind the old man’s outmoded spec-tacles. “Each page from a prayer book must be preserved, even if it’s beyond repair.”

He lifted a corner of the velvet curtain to reveal a low box built into the wall. At first it looked like a bench, but Omar Yussef saw that it was hinged at the back. “In here we safe-guard many fragments of documents, all unusable, but still filled with the holy word. We call them ‘Allah’s secrets.’ ”

The priest dropped the curtain. “If you would like to see the Abisha Scroll itself, not just its box, please come to our Passover celebration on Jerizim later this week. I am happy to invite you.”

“Do we have to convert to Samaritanism to attend?” Omar Yussef laughed with a short, coughing exhalation. “Neither Sami nor I are particularly committed to Islam.”

“Conversion to our religion is only possible for women who wish to marry our men, pasha,” the priest said. “But we should be honored to have men like you share our celebration.” He laid his hand over his heart. “People come from all around the world-foreign journalists and international academics-to watch our ancient rites.”

“It’ll be a great pleasure, Your Honor,” Omar Yussef said.

The priest went out onto the wide top step at the entrance to the synagogue. As Omar Yussef and Sami followed him to the door, they heard footsteps hurrying outside. Ben-Tabia froze, his eyes wide.