relation to “the redemption of the people and the land.” The hope of a
future redemption is an age-long national hope, still cherished by every
Jew who is faithful to his people, whether as a religious belief or in
some other form. Every man can picture the realisation to himself as it
suits him, without regard to actual present conditions: for who knows
what is hidden in the bosom of the distant future? But if men set out to
achieve the redemption by their own efforts, they are no longer at
liberty to shut their eyes to the facts. There must be some natural
chain of cause and effect between what they do and what they wish to
attain. Between “practical work in Palestine” and “the redemption of the
people and the land” this chain of causation may be imagined to exist by
those who are at a distance; but in Palestine itself even imagination
cannot find it. In Palestine the possibilities of practical work are too
clear. It is possible to buy bits of land here and there; but it is not
possible to redeem the land as a whole, or even most of it. It is
possible to found beautiful Colonies on the “redeemed” land; but it is
not possible to settle in them more than a very few _poor_ Colonists. It
is possible to produce in the Colonies an “upper-class” type of
agriculturists, whose work is mostly done by others, and perhaps it is
possible also to create a small labourer class for the finer kinds of
work, which are comparatively easy and well paid; but it is not possible
to create a real rural proletariat, capable of monopolising the rougher,
more exacting, and worse-paid kinds of work, which alone can support a
rural proletariat with its thousands and tens of thousands.[81]
This being the case, we should expect every visitor to Palestine whose
standard is that of the “home of refuge” to return home in grief and
despair. Yet every day we find just the opposite. Orthodox Zionists, who
wax grandiloquent at home about “the redemption of the people and the
land,” come to Palestine, see what there is to see there, and return
home in joy and gladness, full of inspiration and enthusiasm, as though
they had heard Messiah’s trumpet from the Mount of Olives.
That is exactly my point. On the surface the Programme is supreme, and
all its adherents seem really to believe that their work is bringing the
redemption. But beneath the surface the unacknowledged instinct of
national self-preservation is supreme, and it is that instinct that
urges them on to work—not for the accomplishment of the Programme, but
for the satisfaction of its own demands. When our orthodox Zionist comes
to Palestine, and sees the work and its results, his whole being thrills
with the feeling that it is a great and a noble thing that is being
created there; that whether it leads to complete redemption or not, it
will be an enormous force for our national preservation in all the
countries over which we are scattered. Then the “redemption” idea finds
its proper level: it becomes one of those cherished hopes which are not
yet ready to be mainsprings of action; and the real object, the object
which is actually being attained by practical work in Palestine, appears
large and splendid enough in itself to provide inspiration and
enthusiasm.
My respect for my readers and for myself does not permit me to explain
once more in detail—after more than twenty years of explanation after
explanation—what exactly is the object to which I allude here. But I
think it no shame to avow that on this occasion I seemed to myself to
see my dream of twenty years ago in process of realisation in Palestine,
though naturally with differences of detail. What has already been
accomplished in Palestine entitles one to say with confidence that that
country will be “_a national spiritual centre of Judaism, to which all
Jews will turn with affection, and which will bind all Jews together_; a
centre of study and learning, of language and literature, of bodily work
and spiritual purification; _a true miniature of the people of Israel as
it ought to be_ ... so that every Hebrew in the Diaspora will think it a
privilege to behold just once the ‘centre of Judaism,’ and when he
returns home will say to his friends: ‘If you wish to see _the genuine
type of a Jew_, whether it be a Rabbi or a scholar or a writer, a farmer
or an artist or a business man—then go to Palestine, and you will see
it.’”[82]
No doubt the time has not yet come, nor will it soon come, when the
traveller returned from Palestine, speaking of the “genuine type of a
Jew,” can say to his friends, “Go to Palestine, and you will see it.”
But he _can_ say, and generally does, “Go to Palestine, and you will see
it _in the making_.” The existing Colonies, although they depend mainly
on non-Jewish labour, strike the Jew of the Diaspora as so many little
generating stations, in which there is gradually being produced a new
type of national life, unparalleled in the Exile. So soon as he enters a
Jewish Colony, he feels that he is in a Hebrew national atmosphere. The
whole social order, all the communal institutions, from the Council of
the Colony to the school, bear the Hebrew stamp. They do not betray, as
they do in the Diaspora, traces of that foreign influence which flows
from an alien environment and distorts the pure Hebrew form. Of course,
he does not find everything satisfactory and commendable. He
discovers—if he has eyes to see—many defects in the communal life and in
that of the individual. Even the schools in the Colonies are still for
the most part very far from perfection; and even the much-vaunted
predominance of the Hebrew language in the Colonies is as yet but half
complete—it extends only to the children. But everything—he tells
himself—is still in its infancy; the process of free development has
only just begun, and it is going on. Many of these defects will be
remedied in time; and whatever is not remedied must be a defect in
ourselves, with its roots in our national character. If we want to
create a _genuine_ Hebrew type, we must accept the bad with the good,
provided that both alike belong _essentially_ to the type, and that the
type itself is not corrupted as in the Diaspora. The Jewish visitor
travels from Colony to Colony, and finds them sometimes many hours’
journey from one another, with alien fields and villages in between. But
the intervening space seems to him nothing more than an empty desert,
beyond which he reaches civilisation again, and breathes once more the
refreshing atmosphere of Hebrew national life. Days pass, or weeks, and
he seems to have spent all the time in another world—a world of the
distant past or the distant future. When he leaves this world he says to
himself, “If it is thus to-day, what will it be one day, when the
Colonies are more numerous and fully developed?” At such a time he
realises that here, in this country, is to be found the solution of the
problem of our national existence; that from here the spirit shall go
forth and breathe on the dry bones that are scattered east and west
through all lands and all nations, and restore them to life.
But from this point of view the term “practical work” does not apply
only to the agricultural colonies. This national Hebrew type may have,
and indeed has, its generating stations outside the agricultural
settlement. Many Zionists criticise the Directors of the National Fund
for sinking a good deal of their capital in the building of Jewish
quarters in towns (such as Tel-Aviv in Jaffa). From the point of view of
the Programme these critics are certainly right. The Fund was created
for “the redemption of the land” in the widest sense of the term, and
not for the purchase of small pieces of urban land, and the erection on
them of houses for Jews. But, as I have said, the work is directed not
by the demands of the Programme but by the promptings of an instinct. If
our visitor from the Diaspora remains some days in Tel-Aviv, observes
its life, and sees the Hebrew children who are growing up there, he will
not criticise the National Fund for having made it possible to found
such a generating station. He will wish with all his heart that the
Directors would commit the same fault again, and create similar stations
in the other towns of Palestine.
And need it be demonstrated that the Hebrew schools in Jaffa and
Jerusalem are centres of unremitting activity in the creation of “the
genuine type of a Jew”? This educational work, again, does not fit in
very well with the Programme. “What use,” it is often asked, “is there
in educating the children in the national spirit, so long as the land is
not redeemed, and the nation does not come to the land, and many of
these very children may not remain there? To redeem the land, extend the
settlement, capture labour—that is the way to realise the Programme. But
education? When the number of Jews in Palestine is large, national
education will follow as a matter of course. At present we have no right
to use for spiritual purposes the resources which are needed for more
important things.” I doubt whether this criticism can be reasonably and
logically answered on the basis of the Programme. But what can logic do
when instinct pulls the other way? The very men who promise to bring
about the redemption by means of “practical work in Palestine” are using
a great deal of their energy in educational work in the country; and
Zionists generally value such work and turn to it more and more. To
learn why, one has only to listen to the speeches at a Zionist meeting
during a debate on “cultural work” in Palestine. The “redeemers” forget
for a time the Programme, the “home of refuge,” and all their other
catchwords, and begin to extol “the revival of the spirit,” and the
creation of a new Hebrew type. They prophesy that this type will in
future be a connecting link between all the scattered parts of the
nation. They point to the beneficial influence already exerted by the
schools in Palestine on education in the Diaspora. And so forth, and so
forth.
Eighteen years ago I saw the beginnings of this educational work in
Palestine, and I could not then bring myself to believe that the
individual teachers who stood for the great ideal of a Hebrew education
in the Hebrew language, and had begun to put it into practice with their
limited resources, could really succeed in producing such a spiritual
revolution. But at the same time I saw how bent they were on the
attainment of their object, and how confident of success: and I said,
“Who knows? Perhaps this confidence will be able to work miracles.”[83]
Now I have seen that confidence has indeed worked miracles. “A Hebrew
education in the Hebrew language” is no longer an ideal in Palestine: it
is a real thing, a natural, inevitable phenomenon; its disappearance is
inconceivable. No doubt there are some scattered fortresses which have
not yet been captured; but these, too, will surrender, as others have,
to the demands of the age. Take, for instance, the educational
institutions of the German _Hilfsverein_ in Jerusalem, from the
Kindergartens up to the Teachers’ Seminary. All in all, they have
sixteen hundred pupils of both sexes, and these are being
trained—despite the still visible remnant of German education—in the
Hebrew spirit and the Hebrew language. All who know how things used to
be must confess that there has really been a revolution in Palestine,
and that the Hebrew teacher has won.[84] Of course, there is still much
to be done before the victory can be complete even internally—that is to
say, before Hebrew education can find the right road in every
department, and before its defects, which are still numerous, can be
removed. But the conqueror has already shown his patience and his
devotion to his ideal; and we can surely trust him not to rest until he
has so perfected Hebrew education in Palestine as to make it a worthy
model for Jews throughout the world, a standard type of national
education, to which they will endeavour to approximate so far as the
conditions of the Diaspora allow.
Yet another urban generating station of a different kind has been
created of late years, also by the unbounded confidence of an
individual; and the Zionists and the National Fund have not refrained
from helping it and enabling it to live and to develop, although it is
very difficult indeed to bring it within the scope of the Programme. I
mean, of course, the Bezalel.[85] True, its great object—the development
of Hebrew art—has so far been attained only to a slight extent, and it
has not yet touched the higher branches of art. But its achievements in
the domain of handicraft justify the belief that here also confidence
will work miracles. Whatever may happen, the Bezalel has already become
the source of a spiritual influence which makes itself felt in lands far
distant from Palestine. Who can tell how many estranged hearts have been
brought back to their people, in greater or less degree, by the
beautiful carpets and ornaments of the Bezalel?
All these generating stations, whether in the country or in the cities,
are welded together in our thought, and appear to us as a single
national centre, which even now, in its infancy, exerts a visible and
appreciable influence on the Diaspora. Hence a man need not believe in
miracles in order to see with his mind’s eye this centre growing in
size, improving in character, and exerting an ever-increasing spiritual
influence on our people, until at last it shall reach the goal set
before it by the instinct of national self-preservation: to restore our
national unity throughout the world through the restoration of our
national culture in its historic home. This centre will not be even then
a “secure home of refuge” for our people; but it will surely be _a home
of healing for its spirit_.
And afterwards?
Ask no questions! In our present state of spiritual disorganisation we
have no idea of the volume of our national strength, nor of what it will
be able to achieve when all its elements are united round a single
centre, and quickened by a single strong and healthy spirit. The
generations that are to come afterwards will know the measure of their
power, and will adjust their actions to it. For us, we are not concerned
with the hidden things of the distant future. Enough for us to know the
things revealed, the things that are to be done by us and our children
in a future that is near.
Footnote 73:
[The first article of the Basle Programme, formulated in 1897, reads:
“Der Zionismus erstrebt für das jüdische Volk die Schaffung einer
öffentlich-rechtlich gesicherten Heimstätte in Palästina.” Until the
Ninth Congress (1909) this was generally understood as involving the
creation of an autonomous “Jewish State” in Palestine.]
Footnote 74:
It may be worth while to mention here an article written at Basle
during the Congress and printed in the _Jewish Chronicle_ (25 Aug.,
1911), as it is a striking example of the confusion of thought which
reigned at this Congress. The writer regards the victory of the
“practicals” as an abandonment of the national ideal, and expresses
his surprise that Hebrew occupied so prominent a place at such a
Congress. The Herzlian Zionists, he thinks, standing as they do for a
national ideal, naturally desire the revival of the national language;
but these “practicals,” who have turned their backs on the national
ideal, and made Zionism merely a colonising scheme—what interest have
they in the revival of Hebrew? Could not Jews live comfortably in
their Colonies in Palestine even if they spoke other languages, like
the Jews of the rest of the world?—I should advise those against whom
this argument is directed not simply to dismiss the paradox with a
smile, but to ask themselves how it came about that their aims could
be so misunderstood.
Footnote 75:
[The Biblical _Shekel_ (plural _Shekalim_) has been adopted as the
unit of contribution to the Zionist Organisation.]
Footnote 76:
[The Agrarian Bank is still (1921) only a project.]
Footnote 77:
I speak (here and further on) only of the Colonies in Judea and Lower
Galilee. I did not visit Upper Galilee on this occasion. There are,
indeed, two or three Colonies in Judea which are exceptions; but
special reasons have made them unprosperous and kept their inhabitants
in the old rut. We are not here concerned with these individual
problems.
Footnote 78:
The Colonies of this type, founded during the last few years, have
already been left by many of the first settlers, whose places have
been taken by others.
Footnote 79:
[_i.e._, securing the exclusive employment of Jewish labour on
Jewish-owned land.]
Footnote 80:
There is a further class of “contractor-labourers,” called in
Palestine _k’vutzoth_ (groups), who work National Fund land in some
places on a co-operative basis. But the results of this experiment are
not yet clear, and in any case the system cannot be expected to
develop so far as to be able to bring about a radical change in the
labour problem. Recently, too, Yemenite Jews have been coming to
Palestine, settling in the Colonies, and working as labourers; and the
Zionists are already proclaiming that the Yemenites will build up the
land. But this is another experiment on which judgment cannot yet be
passed. Many people in Palestine think that the Yemenites are not
physically strong enough for hard work; and, moreover, their level of
culture and their mentality are so different from ours that the
question inevitably presents itself whether an increase in their
number will not change the whole character of the settlement, and
whether the change will be for the better.
I have here touched only on the question of the possibility of
“capturing labour.” But an answer is still awaited to another
question—whether it is proper for us, who are “bottom dog” everywhere,
to aim at a monopoly of labour, and whether they are not right who
maintain that this policy will prove to be our most serious obstacle.
Footnote 81:
In Petach-Tikvah, for instance, it is possible for three or four
hundred labourers at most to earn a living by the finer kinds of work;
whereas the unskilled labour employs at times thousands.
Footnote 82:
[The quotation is from an Essay called _Dr. Pinsker and his Pamphlet_,
written in 1892.]
Footnote 83:
[From the Supplement to an Essay called _Truth from Palestine_ (II),
written in 1894.]
Footnote 84:
I cannot refrain from mentioning here a small incident which
illustrates the present position excellently. I visited one of the
classes of the Hilfsverein school at Jaffa during the German reading
lesson. The pupils were puzzled by the word _aufheben_, and the
teacher tried to explain it by German synonyms, which they equally
failed to understand. At last the teacher’s patience was exhausted,
and he exclaimed angrily, in pure Sephardic pronunciation,
“_levatel_!” All the pupils understood at once!
Footnote 85:
[A Hebrew school of Arts and Crafts in Jerusalem.]
THE SUPREMACY OF REASON
(TO THE MEMORY OF MAIMONIDES)
(1904)
At last, after the lapse of seven hundred years,[86] the anniversary of
Maimonides’ death has been raised to the dignity of an important
national day of memorial, and has been honoured throughout the Diaspora.
In earlier centuries our ancestors do not appear to have remembered that
so-and-so many hundred years had passed since the death of Maimonides;
still less did they make the anniversary a public event, as we do now,
although they were in much closer sympathy with Maimonides than we
are—or, to be more correct, _because_ they were in much closer sympathy
with him than we are. They did not feel it necessary to commemorate the
death of one whom in spirit they saw still living among them—one whose
advice and instruction they sought every day in all their difficulties
of theory and practice, as though he were still in their midst. In those
days it was almost impossible for an educated Jew (and most Jews then
were educated) to pass a single day without remembering Maimonides: just
as it was impossible for him to pass a single day without remembering
Zion. In whatever field of study the Jew might be engaged—in
_halachah_,[87] in ethics, in religious or philosophical
speculation—inevitably he found Maimonides in the place of honour, an
authority whose utterances were eagerly conned even by his opponents.
And even if a man happened to be no student, at any rate he would say
his prayers every day, and finish his morning prayer with the “Thirteen
Articles”: how then could he forget the man who formulated the Articles
of the Jewish religion?
But how different it is to-day! If a Jew of that earlier time came to
life again, and we wanted to bring home to him as forcibly as possible
the distance between ourselves and our ancestors, it would be enough, I
think, to tell him that nowadays one may spend a great deal of time in
reading Hebrew articles and books without coming across a single
reference to Maimonides. And the reason is not that we have satisfactory
answers to all the spiritual questions which troubled our ancestors, and
have therefore no need for the out-of-date philosophy of Maimonides. The
reason is that the questions themselves are no longer on our agenda:
because we are told that nowadays men of enlightenment are concerned not
with spiritual questions, but only with politics and hard, concrete
facts. If Maimonides in his day accepted the dictum of Aristotle that
the sense of touch is a thing to be ashamed of, we in our day are prone
to accept the dictum that “spirituality” is a thing to be ashamed of,
and nothing is worth notice except what can be touched and felt. When,
therefore, we were reminded this year that seven hundred years had
elapsed since the death of the man with whom the spiritual life of our
people has been bound up during all the intervening period, the fact
made a profound impression throughout the length and breadth of Jewry.
It was as though our people were quickened by this reminder, and stirred
suddenly to some vague yearning after the past—that past in which it was
still capable (despite all the _Judennot_[88]) of looking upwards and
seeking answers to other questions than those of bread and a
_Nachtasyl_.
Be that as it may, Maimonides has become the hero of the moment and a
subject of general interest. Many an address has been delivered, many an
article has been written in his honour this year; but nobody, so far as
I have seen, has yet used the occasion to unearth, from beneath that
heap of musty metaphysics which is so foreign to us, the central idea of
Maimonides, and to show how there sprang from this central idea those
views of his on religion and morality, which produced a long period of
unstable equilibrium in Judaism, and have left a profound impression on
the spiritual development of our people. Since none else has performed
this task, I am minded to try my hand at it. If even those who are
expert in Maimonides’ system find here some new point of view, so much
the better; if not, no harm is done. For my purpose is not to discover
something new, but to rehearse old facts in an order and a style that
seem to me to be new, and to be better adapted to present the subject
intelligibly to modern men, who have not been brought up on medieval
literature.
I
Can Maimonides claim to be regarded as the originator of a new system?
This is a question which has exercised various authors; but we may leave
it to those who attach importance to names. We may give Maimonides that
title or not: but two facts are beyond dispute. On the one hand, the
fundamental assumptions on which he built up his system were not his
own, but were borrowed by him almost in their entirety from the
philosophy of Aristotle as presented at second hand by the Arabs, who
introduced into it a good deal of neo-Platonic doctrine. But, on the
other hand, it is indisputable that Maimonides carried to their logical
conclusion the ethical consequences of those assumptions, as the Greeks
and the Arabs, with whom the assumptions originated, did not; and in
this way he did say something that was new and hitherto unsaid, though
it was logically implied in the fundamental principles which he took
from other thinkers.