From an Etching by Hermann Struck, Autographed by Theodor Herzl.
Reproduced from the Original by Courtesy of
the Berlin Photographic Co.
Frontispiece
The Menorah Journal
December, 1915

the
Menorah Journal

VOLUME I DECEMBER, 1915 NUMBER 5

The Menorah

By Theodor Herzl

Translated from the German by Bessie London Pouzzner

DEEP in his soul he began to feel the need of being a Jew.His circumstances were not unsatisfactory; he enjoyedan ample income and a profession that permitted him todo whatever his heart desired. For he was an artist. His Jewishorigin and the faith of his fathers had long since ceased totrouble him, when suddenly the old hatred came to the surfaceagain in a new mob-cry. With many others he believed that thisflood would shortly subside. But there was no change for thebetter; in fact, things went from bad to worse; and every blow,even though not aimed directly at him, struck him with freshpain, till little by little his soul became one bleeding wound.These sorrows, buried deep in his heart and silenced there, evokedthoughts of their origin and of his Judaism, and now he did somethinghe could not perhaps have done in the old days because hewas then so alien to it—he began to love this Judaism with anintense fervor. Although in his own eyes he could not, at first,clearly justify this new yearning, it became so powerful at lengththat it crystallized from vague emotions into a definite idea whichhe must needs express. It was the conviction that there was onlyone solution for this Judennot—the return to Judaism.

When this came to the knowledge of his closest friends,similarly situated though they were, they shook their headsgravely and even feared for his reason. For how could that bea remedy which merely sharpened and intensified the evil? Itseemed to him, on the other hand, that their moral distresswas so acute because the Jew of to-day had lost the poise whichwas his father's very being. They ridiculed him for this whenhis back was turned—many even laughed openly in his face; yethe did not allow himself to be misled by the banalities of thesepeople whose acuteness of judgment had never before inspiredhis respect, and he bore their witticisms and their sneers withequal indifference. And since, in all other respects, he actedlike a man in his senses, they suffered him gradually to indulgein his infatuation, which a number of them soon began to callby a harsher term than idée fixe.

He continued, however, with characteristic persistence todevelop one idea after another from his fundamental conviction.At this time he was profoundly moved by several instances ofapostasy, though his pride would not permit him to betray it. Asa man and as an artist of the modern school, he had, of course,acquired many non-Jewish habits and his study of the cultures ofsuccessive civilizations had left an indelible impress upon him.How was this to be reconciled with his return to Judaism?Often doubts assailed him as to the soundness of his guidingthought, his "idée maîtresse," as a French thinker calls it. Perhapsthis generation, having grown up under the influence ofalien cultures, was no longer capable of that return which hehad perceived to be their redemption. But the new generationwould be capable of it, if it were only given the right directionearly enough. He resolved, therefore, that his own children, atleast, should be shown the proper path. They should be trainedas Jews in their own home.

Hitherto he had permitted to pass by unobserved the holidaywhich the wonderful apparition of the Maccabees had illuminedfor thousands of years with the glow of miniature lights.Now, however, he made this holiday an opportunity to preparesomething beautiful which should be forever commemorated inthe minds of his children. In their young souls should be implantedearly a steadfast devotion to their ancient people. Hebought a Menorah, and when he held this nine-branched candlestickin his hands for the first time, a strange mood cameover him. In his father's house also, the lights had once burnedin his youth, now far away, and the recollection gave him a sadand tender feeling for home. The tradition was neither cold nordead,—thus it had passed through the ages, one light kindlinganother. Moreover, the ancient form of the Menorah had excitedhis interest. When was the primitive structure of this candlestickfashioned? Clearly the design was suggested by the tree—inthe centre the sturdy trunk, on right and left four branches, onebelow the other, in one plane, and all of equal height. A latersymbolism brought with it the short ninth branch, which projectsin front and functions as a servant. What mystery hadthe generations which followed one another read into this formof art, at once so simple and natural? And our artist wonderedto himself if it were not possible to animate again the witheredform of the Menorah, to water its roots, as one would a tree.The mere sound of the name, which he now pronounced everyevening to his children, gave him great pleasure. There was alovable ring to the word when it came from the lips of littlechildren.

On the first night the candle was lit and the origin of theholiday explained. The wonderful incident of the lights thatstrangely remained burning so long, the story of the returnfrom the Babylonian exile, the second Temple, the Maccabees—ourfriend told his children all he knew. It was not very much,to be sure, but it served. When the second candle was lit, theyrepeated what he had told them, and though it had all beenlearned from him, it seemed to him quite new and beautiful. Inthe days that followed he waited keenly for the evenings, whichbecame ever brighter. Candle after candle stood in the Menorah,and the father mused on the little candles with his children,till at length his reflections became too deep to be utteredbefore them.

When he had resolved to return to his people and to makeopen acknowledgment of his return, he had only thought hewould be doing the honorable and rational thing. But he had neverdreamed that he would find in it a gratification of his yearningfor the beautiful. Yet nothing less was his good fortune. TheMenorah with its many lights became a thing of beauty to inspirelofty thought. So, with his practised hand, he drew aplan for a Menorah to present to his children the followingyear. He made free use of the motif of the eight branchingarms projecting right and left in one plane from the centralstem. He did not hold himself bound by the rigid traditionalform, but created directly from nature, unconcerned by othersymbolisms also seeking expression. He was on the search forliving beauty. Yet, though he gave the withered branch newlife, he conformed to the law, to the gentle dignity, of its being.It was a tree with slender branches; its ends were moulded intoflower calyxes which would hold the lights.

The week passed with this absorbing labor. Then came theeighth day, when the whole row burns, even the faithful ninth,the servant, which on other nights is used only for the lightingof the others. A great splendor streamed from the Menorah.The children's eyes glistened. But for our friend all this wasthe symbol of the enkindling of a nation. When there is butone light all is still dark, and the solitary light looks melancholy.Soon it finds one companion, then another, and another.The darkness must retreat. The light comes first to the youngand the poor,—then others join them who love Justice, Truth,Liberty, Progress, Humanity, and Beauty. When all the candlesburn, then we must all stand and rejoice over the achievement.And no office can be more blessed than that of a Servant of theLight.