sartaba's motto: ""הכול יתרקם
"it will fall into place"
בס"ד
סרטבע
SARTABA PUBLICATIONS
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE HEBREW PRESS
Editor And Publisher: Jonathan Adam Silverman
Balfour St. 26 Tel Aviv 65211
tel. 97235257215
zalman8@zahav.net.il
http://sartaba.org
CHAIM NACHMAN BIALIK’S 1909 VISIT TO THE LAND OF ISRAEL
AND ITS CHRONICLER YAKOV YAARI POLESKIN
Translation by yonatan silverman
DREAMERS AND FIGHTERS, the collection of 59 vignettes of early
Zionist pioneers, in which the following narrative appears, was first published in
1922 in Petach Tikva, and distributed throughout the diaspora. It apparently
became an important and popular volume for the education of Zionist youth and
went through a number of editions between 1922 and 1941, the year the author
died.
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Poleskin was born in the Ukraine in 1886 and in 1905, at the age of 19,
immigrated to Palestine along with other pioneers of the Second Aliyah. Upon
arriving, he sought work in agriculture in the new settlements and first kibbutzim
of those days.
But the author wrote the book in the deserts of the Dakotas in midwest
America, which is where he found himself exiled during World War I, after the
Turks expelled all the Jews from Tel Aviv and Yafo. Although he worked as a
farmer on a ranch in diaspora America, as he had in Zionist Palestine, Poleskin
explains in the foreword to the book’s first edition that he was moved to jot down
reminiscences of the Hebrew lives he remembered, his own and those of his
comrades with whom he worked in the settlements of Judea and the Galillee.
DREAMERS AND FIGHTERS is the book he composed from the notes he jotted
down in the faraway Dakotas. And he goes on to explain that the book is not a
book of history of those who created the new yeshuv in Palestine, but his own
personal collection of monographs, portraits and impressions. Last but not least
he notes that due to his inability to write Hebrew, he wrote the entries for the
book in Yiddish and they were translated into Hebrew by Joseph Lavidor, about
whom there is a portrait in the book too.
As early as 1901, when Bialik’s first volume of Hebrew poetry was
published in Odessa, he was hailed as “the poet of national renaissance.” This
was the spirit in which he continued to write throughout his life and for which he
was revered in the Jewish world. But despite his extensive activities as a Hebrew
writer and editor, Bialik published nothing about his 1909 visit to the land of
Israel, neither narrative, nor poem. So the vignette of his visit by Yaari Poleskin is
practically unique. There was more to the visit than Poleskin describes here.
Bialik did visit Jerusalem and Zichron Ya’akov for example. S.Y. Agnon
accompanied him on his visit too. But Agnon apparently never wrote anything
about their travels either. So, Poleskin’s brief poignant memoir is the clearest and
truest one we have. A report from an actual eye witness.
Bialik finally immigrated to Palestine in 1924 settling in Tel Aviv where he
spent the rest of his life.
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"The root of my soul is exile, and who knows? Perhaps inspiration comes to
me only in sadness and in a polluted land?"
H.N. Bialik. (1904)
From DREAMERS AND FIGHTERS
by Yakov Yari Poleskin
page 194 – 199
THE POET H. N. BIALIK VISTS THE LAND OF ISRAEL (1909)
In 1909. between Purim and Passover, the courier rushed from Yafo to
Petach Tivkva, he went through the vineyards and told the laboring workmen that
on that day the ship from Odessa would bring our national poet Haim Nachman
Bialik to visit the land of Israel for the first time. So we learned from his mouth
that all of Hebrew Yafo, all its establishments and businesses was preparing a
wonderful welcome reception for the poet. To give up a day’s work in order to go
instantly to Yafo to meet the poet when he disembarked – was considered
among us, from the perspective of the conquest of labor – a transgression. But
we expected his arrival impatiently until evening. And when the settlement’s bell
rang and the sun was close to setting, we left – the whole group – we left our
work planting an orange grove, and without washing, and hungry, we walked to
Yafo.
The sandy path, a distance of about ten kilometers from Petach Tikva to
Yafo, was a hiking path for us this time. Not for one moment did we spare the
thought that in just a little while we would be face to face with Bialik. When we
reached the city of Yafo (Tel Aviv had just been founded), night fell on us. The
“Bella Vista Hotel”, the well known Feingold Hotel, on the sea shore was well lit,
and inside were those invited from Yafo society, the intelligentsia, craftsmen
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and laborers. More than 3000 people came from Yafo and the settlements to
welcome the poet. Since the hotel’s main hall was too narrow to hold the crowd,
they decided to extend the reception into the courtyard and along the seashore.
When the poet appeared, accompanied by Y. C. Rabinitzki (who also was
making his first visit to the land of Israel with Bialik) and S. Ben Tzion, to his left
and right, the call broke out like thunder :”Long Live Our National Poet!” A group
of men carried the poet on their shoulders, and collectively singing “Strengthen
the hands of all our gracious brothers...” they brought him into the hall. Bialik
begged them to leave him be: “the ship already tossed us too much from Odessa
to Yafo”, he said. But his pleas did him no good. The welcome speeches began
from the representatives of the various establishments and companies, of which
there was a long list. They spoke about “Revival”, that the whole atmosphere of
the land of Israel overflowed with; “The Revival”, as it were, lining the mountains
and valleys. The poet will feel it surely with his special sense. And a great “poem
of revival” will be written by him about Mt. Carmel (which was then settled by
Germans) or the Jezreel Valley (which then had no Jewish settlement) or the
shadow of Mt. Hermon... in brief, a tremendous poem of revival will be written for
those in the diaspora.
Bialik’s face became angrier from one speech to the next. The sparks of
anger were burning in his eyes, and he suddenly got up and stopped a speaker
in the middle of his speech, walked over to the master of ceremonies and looked
at the list of the speakers from the various companies and establishments, who,
had all been given time to speak, they would not have finished until the dawn. In
a troubled voice and excusing himself Bialik turned toward the crowd and I noted
his words in my diary that evening. Here is a section:
“May the speakers who I prevented from delivering their speeches forgive
me. The lack of courtesy is mine but I am forced to do this, because during the
speeches I sit as on burning coals. Forgive me. And forgive me also for the
words that come from my heart, which I will tell you even if they are unpleasant.
The speakers have decided, as it were, and unanimously at that, to be my guides
in the country. Here in Yafo, the gate of the Land of Israel, they are talking about
giving me a complete program of “Revival”. It is incumbent on me in advance to
see the country and the “Revival” in it through your eyes, before I pass through
the length and breadth of the country myself. Don’t you believe that I will discover
the evidence for myself? Things don’t work this way. I will find everything as it
appears. And the first impression, if the truth be told, is not an impression of
revival. I walked around the narrow courtyards and dark alleys of Yafo, The same
Jewish minority, the same impressions of the diaspora. I wanted to hear spoken
Hebrew, which the speakers employed at the podium, and to my regret, in the
Jewish quarters of Neveh Shalom and Neveh Tzedek I heard Russian, Spanish
and Yiddish mixed with many Arab words. I did not hear the ring of the Hebrew
language, except from a few children. I am filled with high hope that in the
settlements I will hear Hebrew speaking also on the street. And may I see the
sparks of new Hebrew life through my own eyes”.
After Bialik’s spontaneous speech no one else spoke and the whole
audience accompanied the poet from the hotel to the sea shore. A bright moon
shone from the sky, and the waves silvered and paled in alternation. Reciting
lines of Bialik’s poems, the crowd walked along the sea shore until midnight..
From the sands of the Yafo sea the crowd accompanied Bialik and Rabinitzki to
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the home of the writer S. Ben Tzion on the border of “Ahuzat Bayit”, now Tel Aviv
– where they were lodging.
*
A few days before the Passover holiday the rumor reached the streets that
Bialik would come to visit the settlement. The farmers prepared to welcome the
poet as befit a settlement.
On the day of the poet’s visit many farmers remained in the settlement
and did not go out to their fields. The riding horses were decorated by the
settlement’s youth, who intended to ride before the poet to Nes Tziona. All the
rifles and pistols were taken down from the walls and well cleaned. They bought
bullets for a hundred Franks in honor of the holiday, in order to welcome the poet
with gunfire...the settlement was decorated, and when the cloud of dust was
seen on the Nes Tziona – Rehovot Road which was stirred up by the wagons
and horses of the travelers - the riders from the settlement came out in front of
them. When the poet arrived at the Rehovot border the bell of the settlement
rang a loud ring and called people to come out of their homes and the fields for
the special visitor. In a thunder of gunfire the youth of the settlement met Bialik
and with gunfire they accompanied him in his passage through the settlement.
The settlement residents came in great quantity to welcome the poet, near
the mountain near the settlement, the hiking mountain of the youngsters in the
streets in the hot days. They sat on the ground and Bialik also sat with them on
the ground. The settlement’s aged teacher and writer Teller rose from his chair
and warmly welcomed the poet who had merited, as his brother the Hebrew poet
of the Spanish expulsion Yehuda Halevi, to come to the land of the fathers. In a
short simple statement he welcomed the poet in the name of the settlement and
tears of joy showed in his eyes.
Old man Teller sat down and the representatives and heads of settlement
establishments started to make speeches one after the next. Then Bialik stood
up and asked one of the members of the settlement board to stop the youngsters
from shooting. The gunfire stopped, and the poet started to speak in his harsh
manner:
“For thousands of years we have been firing guns for nothing. We are only
making a joke with our gunfire. In the land of Israel they know how to shoot with a
Zionistic guest reception: and on these occasions we become “Heroes of Israel”.
But the time has come that we refrain from firing in the air and we pay attention
well to what is happening here on the ground. For thousands of years we have
eaten bread of fields which we did not seed and whose yield we did not cut; we
did not seed with tears and did not cut in joy. It is a great national historic sin and
it is incumbent on you the residents of the settlements, with your work in your
fields to atone for our sin of generations. The best of your youth, Israel’s choice,
are leaving our people and going off to repair the soul of the world; but they don’t
think about first repairing Israel’s soul, which is in need of repair from bottom to
top.”
The poet completed his short speech filled with much reproof with these
words:
“and since on you, our nation’s pioneers, falls the destiny to encourage the nation
in the diaspora through your deeds in building the country – let these be your
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bywords: “BE MODEST AND RESTRAINED!” - - Do your work quietly without
noise, without a cheap wristwatch, without long speeches and without foolish
gunfire with no purpose or objective.”
When we heard what he said, his words of anger and pain, about the
situation of our people in the diaspora, in this party on the mountain – it seemed
to many that one of the prophets was standing before the people here and was
warning it to change its evil ways.
In the famous annual festivity in Rehovot during Passover, in which young
people from all the settlements get together and compete in horse riding and
various physical exercises for the enjoyment of a large crowd – the poet stood on
the large square, went away from the celebrating guests and the Zionist tourists,
glanced toward the vineyards and listened to the song coming from there... and
in the evening after the festivity they sat by the table in the Kalbitzki Hotel in
Rehovot, Bialik and the Zionist tourists, among whom were some wealthy men
from Moscow. Young people from the settlement and the workers stood around
the table and sang national Hebrew songs, most of which were from Bialik’s
songs to Tzion.
Then Menahem Sheinkin got up suddenly, silenced the singers and faced
the guests and the tourists and singled out the rich Zionists from Moscow with
criticism and reproof for their not doing a thing and not buying anything in the
land of Israel. Neither land nor homes, and they are returning to the diaspora to
their businesses and livelihoods, without doing anything for the sake of building
the land of Israel. The ruins of our land you have seen: buy why don’t you build
on its rubble with your money? You are leaving the land just as you came, and
you will leave us alone to do a great amount of work. It is incumbent on you, the
wealthy Jews, to buy large areas of land in the country, from which hundreds of
Jews will be able to make their livings and not be forced to leave for America”.
Bialik slipped away secretly away from the table in the middle of
Sheinkin’s speech because he could not listen patiently to Sheinkin’s begging
from the wealthy men from Moscow. He went outside and sat alone in a corner of
the balcony. He placed his head in his hands and became immersed in thought.
When one of his close friends came out to look for him and found him sitting
immersed in thought – Bialik asked: “has Sheinkin finished yet with his “kneel
and prostrate yourselves” speech to the wealthy men of Moscow that they should
take pity and have mercy on mournful Tzion?... I cannot listen to his pleas to the
distinguished men. They should throw their coins also to sad Tzion to its ruins
and desolation. Why is he begging from them?” The jackals in the vineyards and
on Mt. Yehuda started howling and Bialik listened carefully to their howls, while
going off by himself on the balcony.
*
In Yafo they organized a farewell ball for Bialik before he left our land at
the end of his visit. In the announcements that the organizers of the ball sent to
the settlements it was written that besides taking part in speeches and song,
Bialik would read a new work he had written but which had never been printed.
The Yafo intelligentsia and a large part of the workers from the nearby
settlements came to the farewell ball with high expectations. Everyone came to
see Bialik and to hear him recite his own work. And to our great surprise, Bialik
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started to read the story “Marinka” after the name of a Russian girl – (which was
printed later under the title “Behind The Fence” in Ha Shiloach). When Bialik
made a brief pause in his reading, Menahem Sheinkin, the representative, got up
and turned to Bialik saying:
“To you Bialik, our national poet, I turn with a cry of pain from within my
heart. We have merited to have you visit our land. You have passed through its
length and breadth, from Dan to Beersheva. You have seen all the cities of the
Hebrew Yeshuv and i its settlements. With your eyes, the eyes of a poet, you
have seen the great desolation of the land and also our work, work of a handful
of people who are persisting in their deeds out of an exertion of all the strength in
their souls. And nonetheless, before you leave us, in the farewell ball that has
been organized in your honor – you have not deemed it fitting, you our national
poet, to recite for us something else, besides the deeds of a non Jewish woman
whose Christian name is Marinka and whose dog barks at Jews in some
godforsaken city in Russia”.
Sheinkin had not managed to finish when Bialik, clearly upset, turned to
the audience saying:
“Ladies and gentlemen! The thing of which Sheinkin has accused me of in
the names of all of you, is something for which you are guilty more than I. Didn’t I
beg the organizers of the ball: don’t organize a ball in my honor because I don’t
have one new word to present to you. A new poem of revival I did not write for
you about every mountain in Yehuda. But the organizers of the ball did not listen
to me. So much for their reasons and explanations. It is incumbent on you to
rescue the inadequate budget of the Teachers Union, which is dear to you and
to me. Even I considered helping with the needed funds for the budget but I was
unable to avoid participating in the ball And when the organizers asked me to
read one of my works at the ball, I informed them in advance that I have none
save a story from life of my small city titled “Marinka”, and I asked them to state
the name of the story clearly in the announcements, so that the audience would
not make a mistake. The organizers did not do what I asked, so how come they
depended on me? And regarding the land of Israel abandoned and in ruins which
Sheinkin laments, I can assure you that in my story “Marinka” I have added
nothing to its ruins.”
At the end of the ball Bialik again returned to the podium and read in an
emotional voice “Surely The People Is Grass” the whole poem till the end. The
impression was powerful and moving.
*
And a short time before Bialik’s first visit to the land of Israel the writer A.
L. Levinski wrote “ But Bialik who is settled within his people in the diaspora
cannot – with every burst of his glorious poetry – free himself from the shackles
of the diaspora, and with all of this “will be unable to will” and intimate words of
consolation and new life. And he can only will and give us the poem of anger. I
can contemplate how glorious and lofty and pleasant this poetry would be, the
poetry of words of consolation, if only Bialik had the ability to write it in the land
which is of our fathers and of all of us. Lovers of our language and those who
appreciate our poetry are prepared to judge this. The sin of the readers, the sin
of the Hebrew readers and its shame, is that Bialik has not yet seen the land and
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the poetry of words of consolation is frozen on his lips since “how can you sing
the Lord’s song in a strange land?” Yes! Those who have seen the land, those
who have been in the land their hearts are full of words of consolation; everything
they write, and how they write, is first and last words of consolation and the
words of consolation bubble forth from every piece of newspaper writing, from
every story, from every line.”
But Levinski was wrong about Bialik. While some Hebrew poets and
Yiddish writers like Sholem Asch and Yehoash, wrote newspaper articles of
consolation and poems of encouragement about the land of Israel: Bialik’s heart
did not contain a word of consolation. Bialik could not work small, and the time
was not ripe for a great and worthy poem of revival -. The poet spent a few
months in the land, and afterwards returned to his brothers in the diaspora. But in
Tel Aviv and Haifa they organized programs for him in order to encourage him to
settle in the land of Israel. But the poet returned to the people, to pick up and
carry with it the shackles of the diaspora. Years passed from the time Bialik
visited the land of Israel for the first time and he wrote nothing about it. Neither
good or bad – and the first visit of the poet in the land is a riddle to this day.
Translation by Yonatan Silverman (best story he ever translated)
CHAIM NAHMAN BIALIK 1873-1934
Born in the Ukraine in 1873, Chaim Nahman Bialik received a strict religious
Jewish education. He studied at yeshiva, but was attracted to the Enlightenment
movement. At 18, he left for Odessa, where he was active in Jewish literary
circles. For some time a bookkeeper in his father-in-law's business, he later
taught, published and translated, and for six years was literary editor of the
weekly 'Hashiloah' in Odessa. He moved to Berlin in 1921, where he founded the
Dvir publishing house. Later he transferred to Tel Aviv. He settled in Tel Aviv in
1924, devoting himself to cultural activities and public affairs. Bialik's poetry and
prose have been widely translated. During his lifetime, he was called the
"national poet," a title that has remained to this day.
THE MOUNTAIN SARTABA
"…AND THE SIGNAL FIRES WENT UP FROM THE MT. OF OLIVES TO
SARTABA…"
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