The Maccabaean

Brandes on the War

In this volume, "The World at War," by Georg Brandes, New York, The Macmillan Company, $1.50, the great Danish critic of life and letters has collected a number of his articles on the war. Several essays are included, which, written in earlier years, emphasize the interest Brandes has long felt in the issues which are being decided today on the battlefields of the world. As far back as 1881, discussing the situation in Germany, he gave utterance to forebodings, which, in the light of present events, are truly prophetic,

“And when that time comes (when the love of liberty will have disappeared), Germany will lie alone, isolated, hated by the neighboring countries; a stronghold of conservatism in the center of Europe. Around it, in Italy, in France, in Russia, in the North, there will rise a generation imbued with international ideas and eager to carry them out in life. But Germany will lie there, old and half stifled in her coat of mail, armed to the teeth, and protected by all the weapons of murder and defense which science can invent.

“And there will come great struggles and greater wars. If Germany wins, Europe, in comparison with America, will politically be as Asia in comparison to Europe.”

The fundamental causes of the war are reviewed, as Brandes sees them, and the attitude of the principal nations engaged—England, Germany, and France—is briefly but trenchantly presented.

His position is easily stated—he is neutral. But it is not a lukewarm neutrality, it is not a cold calculation as to the easiest role to play. Like Rolland, Brandes puts himself above the battle. He feels like a father whose beloved children are killing one another, purposelessly, uselessly. To him the Great War is nothing more than wholesale murder. "What," asks he, "is to be gained by continuing this slaughter?" Helplessly, he continues his plea: "Has humanity forgotten that there are other means of settling human disputes than by bombs and grenades?" forgetting, in his turn, that society is now paying the penalty for its hesitation in adopting even half-way measures of averting the strife of nations.

There is, especially in his later writings, all the horror of a witness of a battle who sees no gain for either side, no just cause to fight for; he counts only the victims and the terrible cost.

But the writings are not surcharged wholly with the deep emotion which is natural to one who writes from a perspective of half a century of interpretation of the cultural life of the principal civilized nations of Europe. As the incomparable expositor of nationally differentiated European civilization, a lover of the best in English, French and German, a pleader for Poland in the hour of her greatest weakness. Brandes feels for all, thinks with all. He understands them as well. A clear intellect has been probably his most priceless possession. He subjects to merciless analysis, the reasons put forth by the various nations for entering the war, and makes clearer than many volumes the contradiction and weaknesses of each point of view.

Thoroughness of treatment is, naturally, not to be looked for in these essays written during the heat of the conflict. The work adds little that is new to our present understanding of the situation. Its chief value lies in the authority and prestige with which its vows are clothed. Yet it strikes one as failing in optimism—that invincible quality of youth—and in forward-looking. Brandes has no positive constructive outlook. Therein he parts company with other like-minded thinkers, Rolland and Russell. It is in this lack of vision and faith in the future that one realizes the age of the great writer.

For Jews this volume contains one article of special interest, that describes the “Conditions in Russian Poland.” The treatment of the Polish Jews at the hands of the Russians and especially of the Poles, are entered into in detail. Brandes’ condemnation of the Poles, which created a sensation in Europe some time ago, marks a sharp break with the past, so fre-

quent in the minor episodes of the present war. The champion of Polish liberty has become their severest critic. Unusual, in view of Brandes' past neglect of his people, is the strength of his zeal in defense of the Jews, and his frequent mention of them throughout these essays is significant of an awakening on his part to a recognition of their existence and their insupportable state during the war. S. J.

From New York to Rehobot

The full title of the three volumes of sketches by Yehoash is "Fun New York bis Rehobot un Zurick" (From New York to Rehobot and Back), but the third, describing his return to America after the beginning of the war has not yet appeared. Early in 1914 Yehoash determined to settle in Palestine with his family. Of the gratuitous advice tendered him by friends and acquaintances, of the innumerable messages confided to him by strangers, of his farewell banquet and departure, we are told in the delightfully whimsical style which is his distinguishing feature. Then we cross the ocean with him on the Laconia, stop at a number of ports, and disembark at Alexandria. Here we find Mendel Beilis of tragic renown, waiting to be conveyed to Jaffa on the same boat. Yehoash engages him in conversation and even persuades him to pose for a snapshot. We are thrilled with exultant awe as we near the harbor of Jaffa. No mockery here, no fun or jocularity. Solemnly we set foot upon the sacred soil of the fathers. A carriage bears us through the narrow streets in the direction of Tel-Aviv, the Jewish suburb.

"When we came to Tel-Aviv the rain stopped, the sky brightened, the golden sunshine lit up the white walls and shone on the trim sidewalks and pavements. I had been told that Tel-Aviv was the 'banner' of the New Settlement. The epithet proved to be no mere figure of speech. On all sides the eye was met by the bright colors of the Zionist banner; white and blue. Below—white, dazzlingly white houses; above—blue, dazzlingly blue skies; and in the background the deep blue sea. . . . The sunshine and the festive orderliness seemed to welcome me. I knew it as surely as I knew that I had arrived in Palestine. The sunshine was Jewish sunshine, just as the houses were Jewish houses, built by Jewish perseverance where there had once been a waste of sand, just as the people in the street were Jews, as the sounds which met my ear were Jewish sounds. Everything spoke to me, sang to me."

But soon Yehoash becomes his humorous self again. Filled as he is with enthusiasm for the new Palestine, he cannot help making fun of the intense seriousness with which the good people regard themselves, and especially of the terror he inspires as an apostle of the abhorred "Jargon." It is indeed a charming picture he draws of the busy, happy Tel-Aviv, humming like a beehive, of the gymnasium and its sturdy lads and lasses, of the boarding-house where he lives, and the people who he meets, all unconscious of the cataclysmic disaster which was to befall the world and them only a few months later.

After a time Yehoash decided to settle in Rehobot, and took rooms at the hotel there while looking for a residence. His description of the colony is redolent with the fragrance of the Bayarahs (orange plantations) which fill the valley with their green luster. He tells of an excursion to Jerusalem, of a meeting of representatives of the Judaean colonies in Rishon le-Zion, and above all of daily happenings in Rehobot, including a wedding, the visit of a Turkish lady and her retinue, and the ubiquitous servant problem. On one of his first walks through the colony Yehoash met a number of little girls chattering together—in Hebrew, of course. One of the children affirmed that there were more Jews in Erets Israel than in all the rest of the world put together. Another contradicted her, insisting that there were more Jews in Russia—perhaps even twice as many.

“And what about America?” asked Yehoash. “Are there as many Jews there as in Palestine?”