The Third Type: "More, Not Less, of a Jew"
WHAT room have we now for a third type? But there does appear one among his brethren, an extremist, who is not to be satisfied with the promised strength of his fellows of this last type. There may be strength among them, he thinks, but strength not enough. Greater strength is there in becoming not a non-Jew, nor less of a Jew, but simply more of a Jew. Judaism to him is not a mere peculiar thing, but a peculiar great thing, and only by keeping it peculiar can he enhance its greatness. The Jewish genius cannot blend with that of America without loss to its individuality; however much it may borrow from America in outer accoutrement, in "wholesome ruddiness," "fair play," "polite address," and so forth—(and it should borrow what it can to improve its appearance), yet the accoutrement must remain but raiment,—and the body is more than raiment. Apparently he is a very narrow-minded person—and he is; yet he believes with Ahad Ha-'Am that "greatness is not a matter of breadth only, but of depth."
We have found this extremist in the dark-eyed dreamer who came to us but recently from a Russian university, but also in the glad-eyed youth who wears his Americanism most gracefully, it being handed down to him for several generations. Judaism in this case, at any rate, to use a homely expression, does not vary with the length of the nose. This type is small in numbers, but the Jews have never made much of numbers, and even as we observe him we are minded of the words of Joel, "—and in the remnant shall be deliverance." Does he shun the American garment then? No, on the contrary, he evermore seeks it and strives to make it attire him more gracefully. He loves the American tradition; he has much to gather from its sunniness—his fathers had been kept in the dark so long. But, at the breaking of day, when the angel who wrestled with him through the night would let him go, he will say, as did Jacob of old, "I will not let thee go, except thou bless me"; America must bless him so that in the light of modern day his people may once again be called "no more Jacob but Israel."
"Many and great are the gifts of the gentile world," he tells us, "but that peculiar greatness within the character of the Jews as a people, it has not. Some have called it religion, some morality; perhaps it is the devotion they have evolved to the unity of things, the אחד חוחי; perhaps it is only a certain sadness of suffering, a certain depth of sympathy they have evolved for all suffering and sorrow, but at any rate it is a racial momentum which our ancestors for four thousand years have been forging and refining in the hottest fires;" and whether it be conceit or inspiration, he adds, "and think not that we, to-day, in the comfortable lassitude of American life, can destroy it." The spirit is greater than the man; the Jew may be lost or be assimilated, but the Jewish race, not yet.
A Spiritual Vision and Aspiration
"BUT consider," we say very plainly to him, "the great bulk of the Jews who seem to have lost that old spirit of religion; they pray in a language they scarce understand as though 'they shall be heard for their much speaking'; when you want the Hebrew Bible, moreover, it seems you must go to the gentiles, and have not these added thereto the sublime teachings of Christ?"
"Yes," replies our Jewish friend, with more of grief than of censure in his voice, "and to-day the Christian world is awarding the Iron Cross for excellence in killing. And our people it has made to loathe the name of Christ, because it was his image that was in the hand of the priest who led the mob to massacre at the Inquisition and at Kishineff; though all the time it was that very persecuted people that was itself living the principles and the martyrdom of its greatest prophet." And he continues, and tells us brusquely how he went once to church with a Methodist young lady and how when he was rapt in the music of a Psalm that was being sung, she whispered giddily to him: "Don't that remind you somewhat of the one-step music?" "No," he tells us he replied, "it reminds me that I am the only Christian in this audience."
And we understand in his reply he was not thinking of himself alone (for extremist though he was, he must have known there was many another devout listener in that audience) but rather of his race, of those very Jews of the bended backs, "wily, unkempt," who were elsewhere chanting that same Psalm in a language, 'tis true, they scarce understood, yet with a spiritual zeal and forgetfulness of the "treasures upon earth" which was the very soul of the teachings of Christ. Could his Methodist friend, could even he, with all his university training and American ruddiness, but have the noble spirit of his unlettered grandmother he remembered weeping so bitterly in the old synagogue on Yom Kippur, as though weeping for the sins of all humanity,—Rachel weeping for her children. No, it was not the religion put on and off with the phylacteries that distinguished his fathers; it was never the raiment, but the body. Even in the darkness of the Middle Ages it was the Malkuth Shaddai, the kingdom of righteousness, that the old Jew prayed for on his sacred days.
Narrow-minded, indeed, is this last type of Jew; but yet when rays are concentrated to a narrow radius, the outlook through the lens may be wide and far-reaching. We understand that he, too, thinks of posterity as does his cousin, but only as mistress within its own household does he believe the Jewish race can bequeath great strength to its posterity and the posterity of the world,—not as intruder into the home of others, nor even as their welcome guest. The Bible was the work of a narrow, provincial Israel; the Talmud their work when scattered among the nations.
"To Make Strong the Spirit of the Prophets"