The Maccabaean

JAFFA, December 12, 1912. MUCH satire has been levelled at the typical modern traveller, who writes a book about a country after racing through it in a fortnight. I have but four weeks or so to spend in Palestine, and shall certainly not write a book about it. But the value of first impressions, as far as they have a value, is independent of the length of one's stay; and these sketches, written on the spot, profess to do no more than set down my first impressions of Palestine while these impressions are yet fresh in my mind. They claim none of the authority which might attach to a record based on prolonged investigation.

Jaffa looks picturesque from the sea. The central part—apparently the oldest park—of the town consists of a closely packed mass of buildings covering the side of a hill which rises straight from the sea. The buildings come right down to the water's edge, and form a crescent perhaps half a mile in length. Outside this crescent-shaped hill the town stretches to north and south, but the houses are less closely packed, especially on the north. The buildings are mostly white or drab-colored, with an occasional patch of blue; the roofs are generally red. Both the shape of the town and its color scheme are agreeable to the eye.

To enter Jaffa you have to brave the perils of the sea and the rocks in a rowing-boat, for there is no harbor, and ships must anchor some hundreds of yards from the land. At this time of the year, when the sea is past to be rough, the task of transferring passangers and luggage from ship to shore and vice-versa is no easy one, and one has occasion to admire the strength and skill of the Arab boatmen. Arrived in Jaffa one sees that the absence of State care and State control, the first symptom of which is the lack of proper facilities for landing, is in fact the keynote of the town. There is a customs house, but the examination is perfunctory—my own baggage was not examined or marked at all,

but was simply carried through by an Arab porter. Nor was I asked for a passport or for the certificate of health which I had obtained at Port Said, So far there was no reason to regret the strong arm of the Government. But in the town itself, with its narrow, crooked and chaotic streets and courts, its ill-made roads thick with mud, its squalid buildings, its absence of artificial light and proper sanitation, one feels that there is much work for a public authority to do. This town of 50,- 000 inhabitants seems to have little more of the material advantages of civilization than some tiny village remote from the sea and the railway. The Jewish quarter is perhaps worst of all. (I speak, of course, of the Jewish quarter in Jaffa proper, not of Tel-Aviv). But the term “Jewish quarter” is only relative. The Jews are everywhere in Jaffa, and, what is more, they show their names and businesses in Hebrew as well as in French or German or Russian or Greek or Arabic or all these languages. One of the most striking things in the main street of Jaffa is the prevalence of Hebrew signs—not Yiddish in Hebrew characters, (although this is seen occasionally) but Hebrew. I do not mean to suggest that the barber who advertises himself in the Hebrew language will talk to you in Hebrew while he cuts your hair. But this public use of Hebrew is the surest sign that in Jaffa the language has a direct relation with life. Even the Austrian Post Office has notices in Hebrew.

Tel-Aviv, the Hebrew “garden suburb.” gains a good deal by contrast with Jaffa proper, whence you reach it in an omnibus which uses Hebrew tickets. Not that Tel-Aviv needs a foil. It can stand on its own merits, Its streets are straight and wide and well laid out; its houses are clean and look well-built, it has plenty of space, One naturally feels a thrill of pride on seeing‘ this little settlement, where the very names of the streets are Hebrew and recall our national heroes, where everything seems to say to the Jew “This is the work of your