_A Story of the City of Refuge Planned by Mordecai Noah._
The two children stood hand in hand in a corner of Mr. Mordecai Noah's
handsome library in New York, both badly frightened, although the boy
tried hard to appear at ease in his strange surroundings. They still
wore the dress of their native Tunis; Hushiel in silken blouse and
short black trousers, with mantle and fez such as Mohammedans wear,
his little sister, Peninah, a quaint picture in her short jacket,
baggy trousers and pointed cap. No wonder the old family servant, who
had gasped when admitting them, had gone off to summon his master,
declaring to himself that these visitors looked even more heathenish
than the painted Indians who occasionally called upon Mr. Noah at his
Buffalo home.
"Do sit down, Peninah," suggested the boy in a half-whisper, too
overawed by the elegant furnishings and long rows of books to speak
out loud. He pointed to a tall, carved arm chair but Peninah shook her
head and clung more tightly to his arm.
"It's all so strange," she whispered back, "just like an old tale
Nissim, the story teller, used to tell sometimes at home--all of it,
the big ship, and the many people when we came on shore in New York
and this room--" with a gesture towards the table on which stood a
tea service of heavy silver. "He must be a prince to have such
treasures. Aren't you afraid to speak to him when he comes in?"
"A man is never afraid," answered twelve-year-old Hushiel, stoutly.
"He may not remember me, but I am my father's son and he will do us
kindness for his sake." He stopped suddenly as Mr. Mordecai Noah
entered the room.
The master of the house was about forty, with deep, kindly eyes and a
heavy mane of black hair brushed back from his benevolent forehead. He
carried himself with the dignity befitting an author and statesman who
was, perhaps, the most distinguished Jew in America in 1825. Yet in
spite of his touch of hauteur there was a real kindliness in the
manner in which he held out his hands to the strangers and bade them
welcome.
"You have come a long way," he said, with a quick glance at their
foreign garb. "Let me make you welcome to America." He drew them to
one of the carved settles he had brought from England and seated
himself in the great armchair before it, smiling at the quaint picture
little Peninah made, her slippered feet dangling high above the floor.
"And how can I serve you?" he asked graciously.
Hushiel felt his shyness disappearing before the great man's courtesy.
"We are from Tunis," he answered, "and you may remember me, though I
was but a tiny lad when you were the American consul there and visited
my father about ten years ago. My father was Rabbi Reuben Faitusi," he
added, not a little disappointed as the loved name failed to awaken
any memories in the eyes of the man before him.
"I met so many rabbis while I was in the East," apologized Mr. Noah,
"that the name means nothing to me for a moment. But if I were to meet
your father again I am sure I should know him at once," he ended
politely.
"My father died six months ago," answered the boy, "my mother when she
was born," and he nodded toward Peninah, who sat clutching his sleeve
in her pretty bashfulness. "Before he died he told me how you visited
our house and spoke long and bitterly of the persecution of our
brethren which you had encountered through Europe and Africa on your
travels. My father knew of what you spoke only too well, for the lot
of our people has often been a harsh one in Tunis. And we have
suffered for a long time." He drew himself up proudly. "My father's
house are of the Tunsi, who some believe have been in the land for
centuries--even before the First Temple was destroyed. And he told me
what it meant for him to listen to the words of a stranger from a new
land which was a land of hope for our ancient people."
A satisfied smile played about Noah's lips. "Yes, he was like so many
others," he nodded, "thirsty for the message of comfort I brought my
brethren across the seas. For, as I told him, I dreamed even then that
this America of mine would be a Land of Promise for the Jews over the
entire earth and that I might be permitted to be the Messiah to lead
them here."
Hushiel tried not to look shocked. He had heard too many tales of the
Messiah, the princely leader of the House of David, who would some day
appear in all his glorious might to restore the Chosen People to their
own country, not to wonder how even this powerful prince in Israel
should dare to use his name so lightly. But his eyes sparkled at the
memories his host's words had awakened.
"My father spoke to me of his talk with you many times," he told Mr.
Noah, "and how he dreamed that he might come to dwell in the city of
refuge you planned for our people. And he promised to take me and
her," with a gesture toward Peninah, who nodded vigorously. "But his
eyes closed before he could behold our return. Year by year he had
saved a little to make the journey; this he gave me and to it I added
my mite that I had laid aside from my earnings as a mechanic; then I
sold our household goods and came with Peninah to you that we might be
among the first to enter your city, even as our father wished us to
be."
A strange look crept into Mr. Noah's eyes; a look of exultation and
joy; he seemed for a moment like a man who sees a great hope fulfilled
and is glad. "Your father had the faith of God in his heart," he said
at last, "and you two are worthy of being called his children.
Sometimes I myself have doubted whether I could forge my dream into
reality. But when you come to me with your young and fearless hearts,
trusting so in my mission, I must believe that I cannot fail. And you
seem to have been sent here by a miracle. All through the ten years
since I was consul to Tunis I have planned for a city of refuge for
our people. Perhaps some day we will return to Palestine, but
meanwhile--" he made a sweeping gesture--"meanwhile the virgin
wilderness of this land awaits our people. Here we will build and
plough; here we will launch our trading vessels--the Phoenicians of
the New World." He had forgotten his listeners and spoke as though
addressing a great multitude. "And others have shared my dreams. My
good friend, Samuel Leggett, although a Christian, has seen my vision,
and has aided me with his sympathy--and his gold." His dream-filled
eyes actually twinkled and now he spoke simply with no thought of a
vast audience to listen. "I am grateful for his sympathy, but his
gold--with my own private fortune--helped me even more. With it I have
purchased a great tract of land on the Niagara River for the site of
our Jewish colony. Yes," he repeated, proudly, "I have purchased over
two thousand acres of land on Grand Island. Persecuted Jews from all
over the world will plant their farms there. And some day it will be
one of the greatest commercial centers of the world, as well as a
farming colony, for it lies close to the Great Lakes and opposite the
new Erie Canal, through which our vessels loaded with the produce of
our farms will sail to feed the nations."
He paused for breath and Hushiel nodded, understanding but little the
reason of his hosts' enthusiasm, but at least grasping the fact that
the city of refuge of which his father had dreamed so long was about
to be built.
"And what will you call your city?" he ventured.
"Ararat," answered the founder. "Some of my friends have tried to
persuade me to name it after myself; this I would not do, but since I
would have future generations know of my share in the building of the
city, I shall call it Ararat, which they may interpret as the city of
Noah. But above all would I remind all that hear its name that it is a
city of refuge, even as the mountain Ararat was a place of safety
after the flood which destroyed the earth in the days of Noah of old.
Our people, tossed for so long upon the seas of bitterness and hatred,
will rest here as the ark rested upon the mountain Ararat when the
waters of the flood subsided."
"But will only Jews be welcome there?"
"It will be as open as Abraham's tent to every wanderer who seeks
shelter there," replied Mordecai Noah with a magnificent gesture.
"Especially to our brethren, the Indians. For I firmly believe," he
went on, not pausing to think that the boy from across the seas could
not possibly understand him, "I firmly believe that the red men are
descended from the lost tribes of Israel and are ready to extend to us
the hand of brotherhood and forsake their own gods for the God of our
fathers. You have never seen our Indian brothers?" Hushiel shook his
head, but Peninah, thoroughly worn out by her journey and the long
talk which she could not comprehend, had fallen asleep and could not
answer. "Then you will see them for the first time at the dedication
ceremony of our city of Ararat," he promised graciously.
"And when will the city be dedicated?" The boy's tone was eager.
"Next week. And I will take both of you to Buffalo with me that you
may see the ceremonies. You see you have come in good time," answered
Mr. Mordecai Noah.
* * * * *
"But I won't go in these clothes," objected Peninah hotly.
For almost a week she and her brother had been guests in Mr. Noah's
household, and every day one or another of his Christian or Jewish
friends had come to visit them. They were very wonderful people, these
Americans, thought Peninah, and most wonderful of all were the little
girls of her own age, with their full skirts and dainty bonnets. True,
they had never seen the Sahara Desert or crossed the mysterious ocean,
yet she envied them their pretty clothes, feeling outlandishly queer
in her pointed cap and baggy trousers. Mr. Noah had been very kind to
her; he had brought her several pretty trinkets and a box of
sweetmeats, almost as good as those one could buy in the bazaar at
home, she told Hushiel--but on one point he was firm and nothing could
move him.
"Tomorrow will be a great day for every Jew upon the face of the
earth," he had told the children the evening before the day set for
the dedication ceremonies for which he had brought them to Buffalo. "I
should like to purchase a little present for each of you, some token
that you may show your children some day when you tell them of the
founding of Ararat, my city. What shall it be?" he asked, smiling into
their eager faces.
"You have given us too much already, more than we can ever repay,"
protested Hushiel, but his modest answer was quite drowned by
Peninah's shrill:
"I want a new dress and a bonnet with strings and slippers like the
little American girls wear!"
"Peninah! Aren't you ashamed to ask for so much," chided her brother.
"And I want a little black silk bag to carry tomorrow," went on
Peninah, unabashed. "And I think I'd like blue ribbons on the bonnet."
Mr. Noah smiled indulgently, but he shook his head. "I will get you an
outfit such as little American girls wear," he promised, kindly, "but
you must not wear it tomorrow."
Peninah stared at him. "But I want them for tomorrow," she protested.
"All the little girls I have met here in your house are coming
tomorrow and if I am dressed as they are, they will not stare at me as
though I were a dancing girl at a fair. I'm going to take off these,"
she tugged angrily at the bright beads about her neck, "and these,"
and she gave a defiant twitch to her hated Oriental trousers.
"Your clothes are very pretty," soothed Mr. Noah, "but if you prefer
to dress like the people of our country, I will buy you everything you
need. Only tomorrow you must wear the clothes you wore at home--even
if the people stare."
"But why?--I look so different----"
"It is just because your clothes are so different," explained
Mordecai Noah patiently, "that I want you to wear them. My dream is to
have our city a refuge for the Jews of all the nations of the earth.
Many people of Buffalo have heard your story, but they have not seen
you. When they see you and Hushiel in your native dress, it will
impress them greatly as they realize that even the children of the
lands far across the sea have sought my city and long to make their
home there. You understand, don't you?"
Hushiel nodded, but Peninah stamped her small, slippered foot angrily.
"I won't go if I have to wear these horrid clothes which make people
stare at me," she declared angrily, and ran from the room, crying as
she went. Mr. Noah seemed really disturbed and was about to call her
back, but Hushiel only laughed a little and shrugged at her anger.
"'The camel wanted to have horns, so he lost his ears for his
greediness'," he quoted in Hebrew. "It is hard to satisfy a woman.
Just let her have her cry and she will be as gentle as a lamb in the
morning."
But Peninah was decidedly sulky at breakfast the next morning and as
the hour to attend the dedication ceremony drew near she grew actually
violent in declaring that she wouldn't leave the house to be "a show
thing for all those strange people to look at!" "They can look at you,
Hushiel, all they want to," she exclaimed, "but I won't go out into
the streets until I have new clothes!" She folded her small arms
defiantly and glared angrily at her brother.
Hushiel, usually patient and long-suffering, was now really angry. He
grasped her shoulders and shook her so energetically that her bright
beads rattled merrily together. "Now listen to me," he began sternly,
as he released her, and she stood gasping for breath, staring at him
with eyes wide with hurt astonishment. "I've been listening to your
foolish words till I'm tired. So you must listen to me now and obey me
for I take our father's place in our household, don't I?" She nodded
sullenly, for she knew that in their native country a lad as young as
Hushiel would be considered grown to manhood. "If he were here today
he would command you to dry your foolish tears and come to the place
where they are celebrating the founding of our new city. If he who has
given us so many gifts and welcomes us to his home desires you to go
there in your native dress, you will obey him. Else you will have to
deal with me," and he scowled so fiercely, that even the dauntless
Peninah was a little frightened. "Besides," he ended, craftily, "you
are so anxious to see the Indians and Mr. Noah himself has promised
that there will be red men at the great festival today."
With a shrug of elaborate carelessness which didn't deceive her
brother in the least, Peninah dried her eyes and began to smooth her
rumpled attire. "I'll go," she said, indifferently, "but not because I
have to obey you. It's just because I do want to see those Indians."
Peninah's wish was gratified, for there was a goodly sprinkling of red
men at the dedication ceremonies of the city of Ararat held in Buffalo
on that bright September day so long ago. So many citizens had
expressed their desire to be present that it was discovered that it
would be impossible to secure enough boats to convey them to Grand
Island. So, although a monument was erected on the spot where the city
of Ararat was to be built, the dedication ceremonies were held in the
large Episcopalian church of Buffalo, which was soon crowded with
those who either wished Mr. Noah success in his strange undertaking or
were drawn by idle curiosity to witness the festival.
Neither of the children from Tunis ever forgot that day. First there
was the long and impressive procession down the main streets of
Buffalo, led by a band of musicians playing stirring melodies all the
while. After the musicians came companies of soldiers, many of whom
had distinguished themselves in the war of 1812, in which conflict
Noah had received the rank of major; behind them, garbed in their
picturesque regalia, walked several companies of Masons, for Mr. Noah
was a prominent member of that organization; and then came Mordecai
Noah himself, wearing a magnificent robe of crimson silk trimmed with
bands of ermine. Behind the Governor and Judge of Israel, as he styled
himself, followed men prominent in the affairs of the city and state,
a distinguished company, all eager to show their interest in the
proposed Jewish city of refuge. At last the procession filed slowly
into the church. The dim, rich light struggling through the stained
windows fell like an enchanted robe upon those who had marched and
those who were gathered there; it was a picture the like of which has
never been seen in America since that day.
The two children from across the seas sat wide-eyed as they looked
about them. The citizens of Buffalo, the richly garbed officials and
soldiers who had marched in the procession, above all, the Indians in
their feathers and blankets and beads, stern-faced and tall and
slender, seemed people from another world. For a moment Hushiel was
troubled: would his father think it right for him to attend a
Christian church even on such a day? Then he forgot his scruples as
Mordecai Noah, still in his crimson mantle, advanced on the platform
to speak to the people. The boy looked from his regal figure on the
Christian clergymen in their dark, plain robes, and his heart thrilled
with pride. Mordecai Noah, he thought, stood head and shoulders above
all other men, as Israel, under his wise guidance, would some day
stand above the nations. He heard not a word of the long oration that
followed. Instead he dreamed of the city which would arise on Grand
Island, a city as mighty as Jerusalem of old, and in his dream he saw
the nations of the earth entering its gates to pay tribute to its
crimson-clad king. So he happily built his city of the clouds until
the ceremonies were almost over and a salute of twenty-four guns made
little Peninah start with terror and cling to him, crying aloud in her
fright.
And now came busy, happy days for Hushiel and Peninah. Peninah,
dressed "just like a little American girl," as she proudly told
herself a dozen times a day, was sent to a school. But Mr. Noah,
really interested in Hushiel, undertook to teach him himself,
delighting in the boy's fine mind, so well trained by his long
Talmudic studies with his father. As soon as he learned to read and
write English, the lad proved to be of great assistance to his
benefactor, copying Mr. Noah's manuscripts for the press, for that
gentleman was an eminent journalist and one of the most popular
dramatists of his day, and, in time, even assisting him with his
foreign correspondence.
The letters from abroad grew extremely heavy, for directly after the
dedication ceremonies, Mr. Noah, as self-appointed Judge of Israel,
sent a proclamation to all of the leading Jewish communities of the
world, declaring that Ararat was established and inviting citizens of
every country to come and make their home there. Those who were
content in their adopted lands, he wrote, might remain in their homes,
and he begged all Jewish soldiers in foreign armies to remember that
the Jew must be true to the obligation of the state in which he lives.
But he urged every loyal Jew who longed for the restoration of
Israel's glory to pay a yearly tax of three shekels (ancient Jewish
coin worth about a quarter in our currency) and to appoint deputies in
their respective countries who would elect a new ruler or Judge of the
Jewish state every fourth year. And that the new state should be
thoroughly democratic, Mordecai Noah appointed influential Jews in
every important Jewish community to act as his commissioners in
governing the city of Ararat.
To Hushiel the proclamation seemed all that could be desired and he
waited eagerly for the warm response he felt must come from every Jew
to whom Noah appealed. But to his great surprise, the post brought
letter after letter either of ridicule or denunciation; even the Jews
who lived in the countries of darkest persecution refused to listen to
his offer of a home in the new Jewish colony. True, many of them
longed to emigrate to America, the land which had been a place of
refuge to their brothers for so many years. Others dreamed of a return
to Palestine, willing to live there as exiles in their homeland until
the coming of the Messiah brought Israel's freedom. Letter after
letter from across the seas refused to aid Noah in his dream for
Jewish emancipation. "We are happy in our adopted land," wrote one.
"When God in His mercy sends the Messiah, then will He lead Israel
back to the Promised Land, Palestine, and not before," wrote another.
While the Jews of America, in their pride as American citizens, were
as swift as their brethren abroad to ridicule Noah's plans for Ararat,
denouncing them as impious or impractical.
But the boy's faith in the project never wavered. He did not venture
to offer his master sympathy for his disappointment, but in his shy,
boyish way, he did manage to assure Noah again and again that he still
believed in the city of refuge and longed to dwell there. And Noah
never failed to smile at his half-uttered assurances, although he
never answered them directly. Once he kindly placed his hand upon the
boy's shoulder and Hushiel felt as proud as a young squire whom his
master had dubbed knight.
Gradually the correspondence concerning Ararat diminished and finally
it ceased altogether. Mordecai Noah made no comment; there was still
plenty of work for Hushiel with the newspaper articles; he also copied
portions of the Book of Jasher which Mr. Noah was translating from the
Hebrew. So the two labored together day after day, but neither even
mentioned the dream that had called Hushiel across the seas.
"I am going to Washington on business," his master informed Hushiel
one morning as they sat in his study, ready to begin work on the day's
tasks. "I may be gone for some time. You have been working hard and
faithfully," he added kindly, "and you deserve a holiday. Would you
care to go to Washington with me?"
Hushiel answered with difficulty, his eyes seeking the floor, for
suddenly a daring idea had captured his brain. "You are very kind," he
stammered, "but--if I might--may I spend my holiday as I please, if I
am back at my tasks in time?"
"Surely." Noah's hand sought his wallet. "Here is money. Give Peninah
a little treat, too, and do not hurry back to your desk too soon. When
you are ready for work again, you will find plenty of manuscript which
I will leave for you to copy during my absence. I think I will be gone
a fortnight."
"My holiday will not last that long," answered the boy, turning back
to his papers. "And, please sir, do not mention this to Peninah. I
will buy her some pleasure with the money you have just given me. But
I must have my holiday alone."
So Hushiel was alone when he stood before the monument of brick and
wood which had been erected on Grand Island, the proposed site of the
city of Ararat. To the lad, unused to the wilderness of America, the
journey down the river had been a fascinating one. Now he stood alone
in the vast silence, broken only by the roar of the Falls in the
distance. How long he stood here before the pile of bricks and wood
Hushiel never knew. When he tried to recall the scene years
afterwards, he pictured clearly a slender, dark-skinned boy lying upon
the ground, weeping bitterly as he listened to the rumblings of
Niagara which seemed to mock him as he grieved for the city which had
perished at its birth. For now he realized without a word from
Mordecai Noah that the dream had failed--that his people must wait a
little longer for a real Messiah to lead them into the Land of
Promise. Bitterest of all, even more bitter than the breaking of his
dream, was the realization that Mordecai Noah, for all his lofty
ideals, his generous motives, was not of the stuff of which leaders
are made. His voice, no matter how eloquent, would never be heeded
should he again seek to call the wandering children of Israel
together. And thinking of these things, the boy wept like a little
child.
Years later, when the monument on Grand Island had fallen into decay,
Hushiel saw the cornerstone of the dream city, Ararat, displayed in
one of the rooms of the Buffalo Historical Society. He was no longer
a sensitive boy, yet the tears sprang to his eyes as he re-read the
old inscription which you may still read if you visit the Society's
rooms today: "_Shema Yisroel, Adonoi Elohenu, Adonoi Echod_ (Hear, O
Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One). Ararat, a City of Refuge
for the Jews, Founded by Mr. M. Noah in the month Tishri, 5586, Sept.,
1825, and in the 50th year of American Independence."