Defining Neighbors

by Gribetz, Jonathan Marc

  In the passage cited above, Makaryus apparently distinguishes between shaʿb and umma, terms that are often used interchangeably and ambiguously. If we may infer definitions from this passage, a shaʿb, for Makaryus, is a people that lacks a sovereign state, whereas an umma (pl. umam) is a people that has achieved sovereignty. This particular distinction between these terms is peculiar and reflective of the fin de siècle emphasis on the relationship between nations and sovereignty.136 One notices this restrictive definition of umma again in Makaryus’s chapter on “The Dispersion of the Jews after the Destruction of Jerusalem.” The chapter opens with the explanation that “the history of the Israelites as an umma ends here. After the destruction of Jerusalem, as was noted earlier, they were dispersed throughout all of God’s lands.”137

  Before continuing with this discussion of Makaryus’s perspective on the Jews’ homelessness, it is worth briefly noting that an alternative (if not contradictory) view of Jews’ stateless condition was expressed in Zaydan’s al-Hilāl. In one of this journal’s numerous articles on the Rothschilds, the author addresses the Jewishness of the famed banking family. He explains:

  Among the things that assisted the success of this house was the fact that its members were Jewish, because Jews were known for their remoteness from political parties that were common in those days. Because they were neutral, people did not fear that they would engage in conspiracies or betrayal. They were concerned, rather, with acquiring money for themselves and the rulers would compete to obtain their assistance and to earn their confidence in order to benefit from their service. [The Jews’] neutrality and wisdom helped them and they benefited from both.138

  For this al-Hilāl author, the Jews’ lack of political connection to any state, their fundamental political neutrality, was a boon for them in the Diaspora, permitting them to profit simultaneously from warring states with no suspicions as to their political allegiances. The indignity that Makaryus associates with this condition of “homelessness” is entirely absent in this rendering.

  “FROM BARRENNESS TO FERTILITY”: MAKARYUS AND ZIONISM

  Returning once more to Makaryus’s monograph, let us consider the way in which he directly addresses the phenomenon of Zionism. In his chapter on Jewish organizations, he devotes less than two pages to the Zionist Organization, but in his concise description he seems to exhibit respect, and even sympathy, for the movement. “Among the large organizations of the Israelites these days,” writes Makaryus, “is the Zionist Organization, the goal of which is to colonize the land of Palestine and to rule it.” Makaryus writes that Theodor Herzl, the organization’s founder, sought to convince the Jews to “transport their brethren from Russia, Romania, and the places in which they are oppressed to the land of their fathers and grandfathers in Palestine.” Makaryus continues with details about Herzl and other Zionist leaders, followed by descriptions of various branches and institutions within the Zionist movement. At the conclusion of the section, Makaryus indicates that he chose “not to go on at length about the history of this significant organization [al-jamʿiyya al-ʿaẓīma].”139 Instead, he hopes that in a second edition of the book he will “expand the explanation of this [matter], God willing.”140 But before ending the passage on the Zionist Organization, Makaryus adds:

  It behooves us not to disregard the fact that among the effects of these organizations and their charities is the purchase of the village of al-Mutallah141 in the district of Marjayoun in the vilayet of Beirut and the Israelites’ settlement there; and the purchase of lands in the areas of Hula, Tiberias, Jaffa, Haifa and so on, which the Jews settled. They transformed their conditions from poverty to prosperity [min ‘usr ilā yusr] and from barrenness to fertility [min jadb ilā khiṣb].142

  Remarkably, Makaryus, cofounder and coeditor of one of the most important Arabic journals of the time, expresses a strikingly positive attitude toward the Jewish colonization of Palestine. Indeed, the description of the Zionists’ success in making the desert bloom,143 as it were, could easily have been written by a Zionist.

  Why would Makaryus write so admiringly of the Zionist movement? His expectations about the book’s readership may have played a role. One indication of the identity of this readership comes from the book’s dedication to Felix Suares (1844–1906),144 scion of one of the most affluent Jewish families in Egypt. In his dedication,145 Makaryus writes that Suares is among the greatest of a people that includes “distinguished men of religion, science, and politics.” Of this people,146 Makaryus writes:

  They have sat on the thrones of kings, and ruled their subjects justly for long periods of time. God blessed their wisdom and increased their people in their days. They have achieved wide fame and reached the pinnacle of glory and honor in their virtuous work. There is no need to mention those great philosophers, celebrated poets, exacting historians, authors and philanthropists.

  From this dedication—before the body of the text even begins—we find that Makaryus intends this book to be a glorification of the Jews, in honor of his friend Suares. “The reader of this book,” Makaryus declares, addressing Suares, “will see the badge of truth, faithfulness and diligence represented in the nation of which you are a part.” He chose to dedicate the book to Suares in recognition of “our years of friendship, and because I observed your glorious work that benefited all the residents of this happy region [i.e., Egypt]. You should accept it as a reminder of kindness and as an acknowledgment of your favor. May God grant you a long life.” The final 50 pages of the 260-page book focus on the contemporary Jewish community of Egypt and offer biographical sketches of prominent individuals and families (6 pages on religious leaders, the rest on the financial elites).147 The book was unmistakably designed to interest (and delight) the Jewish community of Egypt. It is certainly possible that Makaryus thought this audience would appreciate kind words about Zionism.148

  The positive, noncritical nature of this work was noticed, and highlighted, by one prominent early reviewer, Rashid Rida. In al-Manār, Rida describes Makaryus as “widely knowledgeable in history.” He outlines Makaryus’s book149 as a work on “the lineage and origin of the Jews; their spread and history before and after the exodus from Egypt; their scattering throughout the world, East and west; their religion, law, sects, and holidays; their famous members from the distant and recent past; their associations; and their distinguished and notable men at present.” While Rida’s summary accurately represents the book’s contents, the brief review is not without its critique. “In his writing about the sects and religious communities [aṭ-ṭawāʾif wa-l-milal],” Makaryus’s style, contends Rida, is “to focus on that which is good and praiseworthy” in the respective religion, “and to pay no attention to the negative.” As a result, Makaryus “never mentions anything blameworthy” about the Jews. Rida concludes by noting that “some Jewish leaders have praised the book and approved its use for teaching in their elementary schools due to its brevity and its simplicity.”150 One wonders—as it seems Rida did—to what extent Makaryus offered a sympathetic reading of Zionism simply to appeal to his intended audience, regardless of any negative attitude he may have held toward the movement. At the same time, it is overly simplistic and anachronistic to attribute any positive words about Zionism by a non-Jew in the Arab world to the author’s financial interests. After all, Makaryus knew that the book would also be read by non-Jews (and could have expected it to be reviewed by none other than Rashid Rida), and other interests could have dictated a different approach. Makaryus’s perspective on Jews and Jewish history, as articulated in his writings in al-Muqtaṭaf and his Tārīkh al-isrāʾīliyyīn, along with his relations with Jewish contemporaries, might well have given him a more sympathetic estimation of the Jewish national movement. His admiring language about Zionism may have been at least partly related to his perception of the Jews as the Arabs’ racial relatives, as Semitic, Eastern cousins returning home.

  The subject of Palestine and Zionism continued to interest these journals. At t
he start of 1914, before the Great War began, al-Muqtaṭaf published a three-page article called “The Colonization of Palestine.” The article, though not written in support of the Jewish settlement enterprise, is not particularly critical of it either. The article focuses on the agricultural advances made by the Jewish colonies in Palestine. The penultimate paragraph makes clear that the primary grievance the author has is not against the Jews but rather against the local Ottoman regime: “What we demand of the Israelites in this regard is much less than what we demand of the local government.” The writer calls on the Ottomans to “strengthen security, protect rights, ease traffic routes, found agriculture schools throughout the country on its [the Ottoman government’s] vast lands so that the fellahin will actually learn the principles of agriculture.” In this way, it would seem, the Arabs of Palestine might also be able to flourish along with the Jews. The author acknowledges, however, that merely establishing security and preserving rights are not simple tasks for a government that has so many other states covetous of its possessions.151

  Certainly by 1917, well into the Great War and on the eve of the Balfour Declaration and Britain’s conquest of Palestine, al-Muqtaṭaf presented a firmer, though still hardly vehement, stance against Jewish colonization of the Holy Land. An article entitled “The Country of Palestine” relayed the conclusion of the secretary of the British Palestine Society, E.W.G. Masterman, that Palestine in its current condition “is not suitable for European colonization.” The article ends with a quotation attributed to Masterman: “the country, in its current condition, cannot sustain an increase in its population and therefore I consider the gate of colonization there to be [closed] tight after the war if there is a desire for extensive colonization.”152 One cannot be certain whether this was a view shared by all al-Muqtaṭaf’s editors or just certain contributors; regardless, it was an assertion printed in al-Muqtaṭaf without criticism and suggests that the writers and readers were concerned about the prospect of mass Jewish immigration to Palestine at the close of the war. Makaryus’s praise of the fruits of Zionist colonization was not a unanimously held attitude on the pages of his journal.

  “BROTHERS FIGHTING BROTHERS”: AL-HILĀL AND THE JEWS IN THE GREAT WAR

  I conclude this chapter by looking, once more, at the same article in al-Hilāl with which we began: Emile Zaydan’s “The Jews and the War.” This intriguing piece ties together many of the disparate themes discussed throughout the chapter, including the presumed link between ancient Jewish history and the contemporary Jewish experience, sympathy for the plight of the Jews of Europe, and, at the same time, intense anxieties about Jews’ seemingly boundless power.

  Zaydan points to a number of ways in which Jews are connected to the Great War, but the first he notes is (like the ironic fact that Palestine’s Jews have fled to Egypt during the war) also a historical curiosity:

  Among the strangest of coincidences is that the fourth of August, namely, the day of the outbreak of the war, corresponds to the memorial day of the destruction of the Jews’ Great Temple and their captivity—both the first time, by Nebuchadnezzar the Babylonian, and the second time, by Titus the Roman. Some of them [the Jews] call this war [i.e., World War I] the third Jewish captivity because it has increased their poverty and their dispersion and was even more woeful upon them and more thorough in thwarting their dreams and hopes.

  According to Zaydan, August 4, 1914, marked both the start of the Great War and the Jewish day of mourning for the destruction of the ancient Jerusalem Temples (Tishʿah be-Av, i.e., the ninth day of the lunar month of Av).153 By linking the consequences of the Great War for contemporary Jews to the Jews’ ancient past and their religious calendar, Zaydan displays a conception of his Jewish contemporaries that, as we have found in this chapter, was common among Arab intellectuals of the time. Contemporary Jews were understood by these intellectuals in light of their own perceptions of Judaism and Jewish history. Jews were imagined to be living within a historic Jewish drama that began, in many Arab authors’ minds, with the Bible. Moreover, this passage from Zaydan reflects the widespread acceptance on the part of these Arab intellectuals of the basic Jewish claim to a historic link to Palestine.

  Figure 3. Cartoon from al-Hilāl 24 (October 1915–July 1916), 401.

  Figure 4. Cartoon from cover of Der Groyser Kundes (January 20, 1911).

  Courtesy of YIVO.

  Highly sympathetic to the Jews’ historic plight, Zaydan’s article employs one particularly interesting, uncommon medium to highlight the challenges facing the Jews. In the middle of the first page, there is a drawing of a Jew with a globe in his hands (see figures 3 and 4). The image was a common motif of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century European antisemitic art and caricature that alluded to the theory that Jews controlled, or at least sought to control, the entire world. The cover of the French journal Le Rire in 1898, for instance, famously portrayed Alphonse de Rothschild, crowned with a golden calf, grasping the globe in his taloned hands.154 (Above we encountered this sort of image expressed verbally in Rida’s remark that Jews controlled France “like a ball in their hands.”) Zaydan, however, chose this image to express a rather different message. Beneath the picture there is a caption in Arabic that reads: “An old Israelite [shaykh isrāʾīlī] asks himself: Where is the Promised Land?” Zaydan interprets the drawing as follows:

  We have copied here a cartoon [ṣūra ramziyya]155 that portrays an old Jewish man [aḥad mashāyikh al-yahūd] holding the globe in his hand, searching for a stable place where his people will be safe. He says to himself: “In Russia, they do not want me. Likewise in France, England, America, and Palestine! The world is vast and beautiful, but it seems as though there is no place for me.”156

  Underlying Zaydan’s interpretation of the image are two elements. First is his sympathy for the predicament of the Jews, unwelcome throughout the otherwise “vast and beautiful” world. This sympathy, to be sure, is not to be taken lightly in an era in which racial antisemitism was spreading in many regions of Europe and, indeed, in the Middle East as well. Zaydan, like his father (who, as we have seen, defended the Talmud against antisemitic libel), could hardly be accused of antisemitism. However, the second important element of Zaydan’s interpretation of the cartoon is its highlighting of the Jews’ willingness to consider places other than Palestine as their “Promised Land.” In asking “where is the Promised Land,” the Jew might be understood to be conceding either that he does not know where Palestine is, that he is so far removed from the land that he has to scour a globe to locate it, or that the Jewish national movement is not truly concerned with “returning” to the ancient homeland but merely with finding “a stable place where his people will be safe.” For Arabs unsympathetic to the Zionist movement’s attempts to settle and control Palestine, the Jews’ openness to other places could surely have raised suspicions as to the sincerity of the Jewish claim of a “return” to their Promised Land.

  Zaydan’s selection and interpretation of this cartoon are especially interesting when one considers the cartoon’s origins: the cover of a January 1911 New York-based Yiddish-language satirical journal, Der Groyser Kundes (The Big Stick).157 The artist’s name, Lola, the pseudonym of Leon Israel (1887–1955), is visible in English in the corner of al-Hilāl’s version. Obscured, though, in al-Hilāl are the Yiddish words that appear on the (cartographically imprecise) globe in the Der Groyser Kundes version. In the original, Amerika (America), Frankraykh (France), Rusland (Russia), Daytshland (Germany), and Holand (Holland) are identified as the journal exclaims: “A big world and nowhere to go!” Lola’s cartoon was not concerned with the Promised Land but with any land, and Palestine is noticeably absent from the potential places of refuge. Zaydan, in other words, through the caption he created and the interpretation he offered, transformed this American Yiddish cartoon from one about the inability of Jews to find a haven in Europe to one about the Jews’ search for the Promised Land.

  Zaydan’s compassion for J
ewish suffering during the war is notable. He emphasizes that more than 550, 000 Jews are on the battlefields, with “brothers fighting brothers.” At least four million Jews, moreover, have been “forced to emigrate from their countries and to endure the hardships of long-distance travel to flee approaching armies.” These refugees include “old men, women, and children who have left their homes, their land, and their possessions in order to save their lives.”158 It is evident that Zaydan pities Europe’s Jews for their unfortunate situation in the war.

  But immediately after Zaydan expresses this concern, he proceeds to quote, with no apparent disapproval, an article from an unidentified journal that takes a decidedly anti-Jewish stance. After citing statistics indicating the disproportionate involvement of Jews as soldiers in the various warring armies, the quoted article adds: “If we consider the influence of the Jews in this war and the important positions that they hold, we are shocked at the obedience of the nations to their [the Jews’] power and their confidence in their abilities.” The article then discusses the prominence of Jews in Britain (e.g., the Rothschilds), Belgium (e.g., the first Belgian taken prisoner during the war was a Rothschild), Italy (e.g., Prime Minister Luigi Luzzatti), Germany (e.g., Karl Marx, Ferdinand Lassalle), Austria (e.g., high-ranking Jewish military officers), and Russia (e.g., the dense population of Jews).159 All this is to highlight the extent to which Western countries are dominated by Jews.

  How can we make sense of Zaydan’s lengthy quotation of a most unsympathetic article about Jews’ domination over and exploitation of Europe when we know that Zaydan generally viewed Jews favorably and repeatedly expressed pity for their misfortunes? Given the many texts we have reviewed in this chapter, one may conclude that this seeming contradiction was very much the norm among these Arab intellectuals of the period. They recognized and acknowledged the adversity that the Jews faced, both historically and at present, especially in Europe, and respected them for persevering and maintaining their distinct identity (whether they viewed it as racial, religious, or both). Indeed, they saw the Jews as a model to be emulated. At the same time, in their respect for the Jews’ success in the face of adversity, these Arab intellectuals also discerned reason to fear the Jews, not least because of the Jews’ renewed interest in achieving sovereignty in Palestine. For many of Palestine’s al-Muqtaṭaf, al-Hilāl, and al-Manār readers, the latter factor—the fear of Jews and their power and ambitions—came, as time progressed, to outweigh the former—the sense of kinship, sympathy, and respect. Yet the prominence of the perception of commonality at this early stage of encounter necessarily cautions us against projecting far back into this period the deep, seemingly impermeable divisions that developed later.