MEETING A TURK
TEN years ago, or thereabouts, I sat in an alcove in a big London hotel, face to face with a suave but heavy visaged oriental. On the face of things, he had a curious mission. He had sought me out to ascertain the prospects for raising funds for a canal which was to join the Lake of Tiberias at the Sea of Genezerath. He understood the psychology of men, for when I repeated that part of his story to the late Col. Albert Goldsmid, he jumped. "Great! great! that is the fulfilment of prophesy," and he stopped in the bustle of St. James' mall to quote prophetic texts that these waters would one day be joined. Goldsmid, though a whole-hearted Jew, had the British nonconformist Biblical temperament and I saw at a glance that this Turk could raise tens of thousands of pounds for Palestine where Jews and Zionists could not raise a cent. Herr Jacobus Kann, now a member of the Actions Comite, then a mere promoter of the Jewish Colonial Trust, drew up a prospectus—no doubt buried in the archives—in which occurred too, a few of these sentences which would have drawn millions out of the coffers of the world, if not out of the pockets of the Jews. But there was none in all the group besides himself who dared mix Bible and prospectus, and so—well, you know the slow growth of the Trust.
Seeing that my Turkish friend had a gold mine ahead, it appeared, to say the least, curious that he made no great effort to bring his mission to a success, and as I could be but little useful in a mission for which I had no ardor and he no working enthusiasm, I was silently curious as to his reason for seeking me out of all London to bestow his friendship upon. I was silent, perhaps over-cautious, because about the same
time I learned in practical fashion how a government gets at the heart of things, when its ministers have a mind to know. Just when Zionism was being ridiculed by the "great" Jews, the British government was diligently but casually endeavoring to get at the inwardness of what it regarded as a serious political movement.
To me then, the Turk in the hotel alcove was a government official—he held that rank—waiting an opportunity to get at some details of Zionism which could only be known to an inner circle of workers. There was, in truth, nothing to conceal, but the way of the world is such. No one believed Bismarck when he spoke the truth. My Turkish friend went his little round, sought my advice and then casually, when we were about to say good-bye, promised me a safe conduct and his own dragoman when I should visit Jerusalem, which he was sure I would some day prior to that great day when Israel would be restored. This was his opening. He forced me to the question of his belief. This gained, the necessity for his departure faded, the other side of his mission stood out in relief. Though a government official, he was a member of the Young Turk party, and with characteristic oriental methods, had journeyed to London in order to ascertain what kind of reception he would be accorded by Herzl in Vienna, if he definitely approached him on some alliance between the Young Turks and the Zionists. Cautious, careful, guarded, but proving the bona-fides of his position—betrayal then of his politics would have cost him his head—he went over the ground of what the Young Turks wanted and what they did not want, what they offered and wished for in return. Using whatever caution and prudence I possess, I met the questions of