myself." And in uttering these words he could not resist a malicious grin, though it could be seen that he made an effort to look serious.
Ephraim grew red in the face, and did not reply at once. Kurza seemed to enjoy his discomforture.
"Look here, Kurza; you need not jeer at us Jews, and you know well why we don't like to serve. Judaism is a crime in your eyes and all Jews are born criminals, and must therefore suffer for their terrible crime which they have inherited through generations and generations. When we enter the army we are treated like dogs; we cannot become officers, no matter how bravely we fight. We are beaten, spat upon, not only in the army, but among the people. Why should we love to serve in the army?"
Kurza's eyes glistened during this recital. "You are treated so, because you are not patriots; you are strangers in this country."
"Not patriots! strangers!" exclaimed Ephraim, bitterly. "Do you know, Kurza, that we settled here almost after the destruction of Jerusalem, even before you people. But we were always weak, and molested; we ,too, can love our country if you only treat us like men. But how can a mouse love a cat, or how can the oppressed love his oppressor? If we are not patriots it is because we are not permitted to be patriots."
Saying these words, Ephraim walked quickly away, but the scornful laugh of Kurza, which he had heard behind his back pursued him until he reached home and even after he had entered his room.
“So we are strangers in this modern Egypt,” muttered Ephraim, and his thoughts at once reverted to the disagreeable prospect in the army. Soldiers had often passed through the little place in which he resided; he had often witnessed the cruel punishment his co-religionists had to undergo, and his blood boiled in him as in Moses, who slew the Egyptian that had molested the Jew. He had witnessed the heatrending partings of the poor boys from their homes—they all knew their fate, the fate of Israel to be the lamb and suffer. He began to think, to devise something by which he could escape service. He cared not so much for himself, but he had often seen his mother weeping. “Why do you weep, mother?” he would ask, caressing her careworn face. “Oh, nothing, my son.” He knew; one of her sons—a weakling—had already died in the army. “God’s ways are best,” thought this poor old woman.
But one day the sun shone bright on Ephraim's future. A letter had arrived from America. It contained a passage to America, that new land of milk and honey. It was his father who had sent it, and Ephraim's joy knew no bounds. He was free. He had often thought of America. He had heard from someone that it was the land of opportunity. No forced soldiering for him! no beatings! no more oppression!
Ephraim's dreams had assumed great proportions, but these were sweet dreams, for man in his imagination oft lives and enjoys life, even amidst the most sordid surroundings. To get out of modern Egypt, however, was no easy matter. Not only would not the Pharaos give the Jews straw to make bricks with, but they would also not permit them to depart.
Ephraim undertook to cross the frontier by night.