The Maccabaean

THERE are two cities which have had a vast influence upon the destiny of mankind: Rome, the conqueror of the sword, and Jerusalem, the conqueror of the spirit. Time was when it seemed that Rome had triumphed over Jerusalem, when Rome’s dominion extended over half the world and foxes wailed in the ruins of the Temple. But the spirit was mightier than the sword; the word of God that went forth from Jerusalem echoed over Rome’s possessions, and the teachings of a Jew who was crucified under Pontius Pilate spread far beyond the remotest confines of the Caesars. Rome has been called the Eternal City. But the Rome of ancient times is dead. None will come to rebuild the Forum, to declaim in stately Latin cadences from Cicero’s rostrum. A motley crowd of peasants, with alien elements in their blood and in their speech, pass under the Arch of Titus, whereon his great victory is depicted. But the Jerusalem of ancient times is not dead. She is merely asleep. When once Israel returns to her the Temple will be rebuilt and the streets will resound with the ancient tongue, for race and speech have been kept intact against the coming of the restoration. Truly Jerusalem is the Eternal City.

Even a bare enumeration of the mom which have taken place in Jerusalem would fill numbers and numbers of pages, for since time immemorial men have coveted and striven for its possession. What a marvelous series of pictures passes before our eyes if we try to visualize Jerusalem through the ages None but archeologists can conjure up the ancient Salem of the Canaanites But of the City of David and Solomon we know many things ; we have read of the gaily attired populace the Levites, the stately merchants from Eastern lands, the Palace, and the Temple with its songs and sacrificial rites. We dwell, too, with equal interest upon a far different scene, the pillage and destruction of the Temple by the Babylonian hordes, and the ruthless bearing off into captivity of the population. Hastily we turn from this picture of terror and misery to the rebuilding of the city by Nehemiah. Then a long series of famous names: Alexander the Great, Antiochus Epiphanes, Judas Maccabaeaus, Pompey, Herod, Vespasian, Titus. There we see Jerusalem parched with heat, frantic with hunger, offering an almost superhuman resistance to the Roman legions without the walls. The people perish in the

ON TO JERUSALEM

streets, gnawing bits of straw and leather in the hope of vanquishing starvation. Alas, we can see them only too clearly, for such things are in our own time. The firebrand is hurled into the Temple, and the great key is thrown heavenward, whence, as the legend tells us, a hand stretched forth to receive it. Then come the last furious struggles in the streets, the shrieks of the captives—and darkness and silence. Jerusalem of the Jews is no more. In the city known as Elia Capitolina —for the Emperor Hadrian fatuously believed that the change of name would serve to Romanize Jerusalem— the Jews rebel vainly under Bar Cochba, only to be excluded for generations from their beloved sanctuary.

And then a new era with the spread of Christianity. A romantic figure this, the Patriarch of Jerusalem, receiving thousands of pilgrims, building churches and hospices. Again another setting: the Caliph Omar occupies Jerusalem. Here are swarthy faces, rich robes, and prancing chargers—until we come to the period of the crusades. Robert of Normandy, Godfrey of Bouillon, Tancred—the names teem with romance. Cruel, barbarous, half-civilized they were, no doubt. But in the kind twilight of antiquity their armor gleams bright, their deeds seem noble and valorous. And then the proud and chivalrous Saladin, and innumerable sieges and conflicts, until, in 1517, Jerusalem falls into the hands of the Osmans.

But even if Jerusalem did not change hands from 1517 up to 1917, its chronicles are replete with interest for Jew and Gentile. Throughout the middle ages a small stream of the ancient race flowed ceaselessly into the Holy Land, from Spain, Italy, Germany, Poland, in fact from all the countries of the Dispersion. The expulsion of the Jews from Spain and Portugal drove large numbers of exiles to seek the hospitality of the Turk. Of peculiar interest is the arrival in Jerusalem of Sabbatai Z’vi, the pseudo-Messiah of Symrna, about the year 1660. Can we conjure up the frenzied excitement of the poverty-stricken little community when the supposed Anointed One entered the city with thousands of followers in his train? One must not forget, however, that during all this time Jerusalem was not a Jewish city in any sense of the word. The old chronicles to which we have recourse abound in descriptions of the narrow passage-ways teeming with Arabs, of the gorgeous officials, of the prelates and monks wrangling in unholy discord for the possession of the Holy Places, of the barefoot pilgrims and wanderers from many lands.