Rome when Louis Napoleon sent an army corps against it in behalf of the Pope, and such patriotism that made them take such a prominent part, under Cavour and Mazzini and Garibaldi, in the days of the Risorgimento, in the struggle that led finally to the emancipation and unification of Italy.

No wonder, then, that Italy had no sooner won her liberty and unity than she paid due tribute to the patriotism of her Jewish citizens and gave them that complete emancipation to which their whole history had entitled them and for which even some of the most eminent non-Jews had pleaded for many a day—non-Jews whose spirit of justice and freedom was sublimely symbolized by that noble priest, Father Ambrosoli, who, in the Passover night of 1848, when the walls of the ghetto were demolished, was seen amid the crowd, holding under his cloak a crucifix, which he was ready to uplift as an emblem of love and brotherhood in case of any hostile demonstration against the Jews.

What good use the Jew of Italy has made of his new-found liberty, the record of the years since 1870 tells eloquently! In the sciences, in the arts, in philosophy, in public service—as diplomats and ministers of State—in every sphere, the Jews of Italy have become an honor to themselves as well as to their country.

In Rome you may see today a beautiful new Temple erected on the ruins of the old ghetto. In the vestibule there is a tablet commemorating its dedication, in the presence of the King of Italy, and reciting the fact of its erection on the spot where formerly stood the walls of the ghetto. When I saw it several years ago, I was deeply impressed with the beauty of the structure and the loyalty that reared it among those squalid but historic surroundings.

This Temple is a symbol. It is a symbol of the ancient character of the Italian Jewry. It is a symbol of its loyalty. But above all, it is a symbol of the liberty and happiness that the advance of democracy has brought to the Jew of Italy, as well as of other lands. It inspires us with the hope that so long as Italy remains true to the cause of democracy, which is the cause of justice and enlightenment, so long will the Jew be free and safe and happy within her borders!

V

PALESTINE AND THE JEWSToC

One could not read without a thrill the news of the recent advance of the British army in Palestine. The Holy Land thus is gradually passing under the control of the Allies, and its destiny is growing of particular moment to everybody interested in the outcome of the War. To the Jew, however, this becomes a particular occasion for a consideration of the relation of Palestine to the Jews.

In the study of the past of the Jewish people, we come across different countries that have played an important part in Jewish history. In France, in England, in Russia, in Italy, in Spain—in all these countries are imbedded important parts and periods of Jewish history. But no country can compare to Palestine in this respect.

In a way, Israel and Palestine are inseparable. They are synonymous. In the Hebrew tongue, Palestine is called the Land of Israel, the name Palestine having been first used by Philo and Josephus, and by the Romans, and really being derived from the Philistines, who, in ancient times, fought against the Jews for the possession of this fertile and beautiful country.

It is true that after the destruction of the Jewish State by the Romans, in the year 70, and especially after the failure of the last struggle for independence under Rabbi Akiba and Bar Kochba, the number of Jews in Palestine decreased, and their part in it grew less and less significant.

It is true that for centuries Palestine was almost emptied of Jewish inhabitants, and such as were left were reduced to a life of penury and desolation. It is also true that in the course of history Palestine has changed masters frequently, having been in the possession of the various Canaanite tribes before the coming of Israel, and since the fall of the Jewish State passing through the hands of Romans, Christians, and Turks. Yet, on the other hand, it is no less true that the classic period of Jewish history is associated with the name of Palestine, just as the classic period of Palestine is indissolubly bound up with the name of Israel.

Archeologists may unearth in Palestine remnants of a civilization that antedated by centuries, perhaps by thousands of years, the coming of the Hebrews, and historians may trace the fate of Palestine since the banishment of the Jews, from Titus to the Turks; but the most glorious and most important section of the story of Palestine is the period of its occupation by Israel. Similarly, we may relate and rejoice in Israel's achievements the world over, and in the wonderful capacity the Jew has shown in all countries for growth and grandeur; yet none can deny that the paramount period of Jewish history coincides with the Jew's life in Palestine—where his character developed, where his prophets taught, and where the consciousness of his unity and eternal purpose took possession of his soul.

"Is there not something," asks Mr. Watts-Dunton, "in the very soil upon which we are born, in the very atmosphere above it, that aids in molding our characters, if not our destinies?" In the case of Israel this question must be answered in the affirmative. Historians agree that the character of Palestine had much to do with the molding of the character of the Jewish people and directing its destiny. Such diverse scholars as Solomon Judah Rapoport, the celebrated rabbi of Prague, and Miss Ellen Churchill Semple, the eminent American representative of Anthropologic geography, agree in this view. It is for this reason that we have a right to say, with the ancient rabbis, that Palestine and Israel are inseparable.

Moreover, it is an error to assume that when the Jews were forced to leave Palestine, first by the Romans, and then by the various foes of Israel who seized it, it ceased to play a part in their lives. There are those who believe that in the life of human beings two sentiments, or forces, mean a great deal more than the actualities of the moment, namely, memory and hope. How often do not these two—memory and hope—mean more to us than the experience of the present?

This is what happened to the Jew in regard to Palestine after he was driven from its purlieus. He kept on clinging to it, as both his most cherished memory and most precious hope. It was the favorite theme of his meditations. It was the central subject of his prayers. It was the inspiration of his Muse. Never poet wrote more fervid poems of love than those the medieval poets of Israel addressed to Zion.

Throughout the ages Palestine continued to form the heart of Jewish theology and optimism. Time and again Rabbis of piety and prominence sought to make it anew the centre of religious scholarship and spiritual authority, as did Rabbi Joseph Caro in the sixteenth century, and though they failed, they personified the Jews undying love for the Holy Land.

It is this profound and indestructible love that Judah Halevi voiced in that elegy of wondrous beauty and pathos, which burst from his soul when, as an aged man, having left behind him all that was dear to him in his native Spain, he journeyed, in the year 1140, to Zion, to behold her desolated beauty and to kiss the