our days—it shall float, if not over Palestine proper, at least over a provisional Palestine; over a land where our oppressed masses shall draw free breath, where soul and body shall grow straight again; where the Marrano Judaism shall give place to the Maccabean Judaism; where we shall know again what it is to love mountains and rivers that are our own; where we shall
no longer need to hang up our harps because we cannot sing the songs of Zion in a strange land; where we shall sing them, because we remember Jerusalem. For our Passover aspiration is not only, “next year may be in the land of Israel”—it is also, and perhaps this is not the less important half—“next year may we be Sons of Freedom.”
Maushel
Maushel is an Anti-Zionist. We know him well and long and we always felt disgusted when we saw him, or when circumstances brought us near, or in close contact with him. But to the disgust which we had for him there was always coupled pity; we sought to explain his miserable and wretched appearance historically. And besides, was he not of our people, although there was not the slightest use of being proud of the fact? We told ourselves that we must tolerate him; aye, that it was our sacred duty to civilize him, that we would all become greater because of him and in a spirit of sentimentality or weakness we espoused his cause because he was a vagabond. When Maushel did something that was wrong, we endeavored to hush it up. When Maushel committed an ontragous act, we reminded the world of the great ones of our people. When Maushel compromised us, we were ashamed of ourselves, but we did not utter a word.
At last Maushel did something worthy of praise, something to our credit, which compensated us for the
many things we were compelled to bear for his sake. He left us! A splendid idea, that, Maushel!
But we speak of Maushel, and have not introduced him properly. Who is this Maushel? A type, my dear friends, a being that is met throughout the ages, the terrible companion of the Jews and so inseparable from them that the one is always mistaken for the other.
The Jew is a human being, like every other creature, no better, at best, cowed down and embittered by persecution and hardened enough to bear sorrows; Maushel, on the other hand, is the antithesis of a human being, something unspeakably degraded and obstinate. When the Jews feel pain or pride, Maushel evinces only a miserable fear or his face depicts a mocking grin. In times of hardship the Jew stands erect; Maushel, however, is bowed down all the more abjectly. When days of prosperity come the Jews think of mercy, of toleration of others, of the common weal; Maushel, however, becomes impertinent and purseproud. The Jew has a heartfelt longing, an unquenchable desire to reach the higher rungs