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The Transformation of Israeli Society
The Transformation of
Israeli Society
An Essay in Interpretation
S.N. Eisenstadt
S.N. Eisenstadt
ISBN 978-0-367-29666-7
S. N. Eisenstadt
I~ ~?io~I!~n~~~up
LONDON AND NEW YORK
First published 1985 by Westview Press
Published 2019 by Routledge
52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by
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photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the publishers.
Notice:
Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for
identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
LC 85-51253
ISBN 13: 978-0-367-29666-7 (hbk)
To the Memory of my Parents
Michael and Rosa
and for
Shulamit,
Michael and Mimi; Irit and Ronny; Alik and Dalia;
Ido; Karin and Lee
TABLES ix
preface xi
This book, although close in title and to some degree in contents, is not
an updating of my Israeli Society,• but basically, with the exception of
some descriptive parts, an almost entirely new book.
It does not intend, as the former one, to present a detailed picture of
the development and organization of the major spheres of life of Israeli
society. Rather, its major aim is to analyse - in the vein of a long
interpretative essay, yet an essay based on data - some of the major
aspects and trends of development of Israeli society which have been
taking place continuously since its beginning, from the early period of
Zionist settlement in Eretz Israel up to today. t. It analyses these
processes and changes in a comparative-analytical framework. It
stresses that Israel has to be seen as a modern post-revolutionary society
similar in some ways to other such modern societies - be they the United
States, Russia or Mexico - and yet also quite different from them, and it
is the juxtaposition of these similarities and differences that provides the
crucial clue to the dynamism of Israeli society.
The first such specific characteristii;: of the Yishuv and of Israeli society is that
it developed as a colonizatory, pioneering and ideological society, rather akin
to the puritan settlement in North America.
The second distinctive characteristic of Israeli society is that its development
took place in the reality of an alien, later quite hostile, environment, which has
made the security dilemma a central one in the construction of life in Israel.
The third - and in a way perhaps most distinctive - characteristic of Israeli
society, which distinguishes it from those of other such societies, is that its
origins are rooted in attempts to reconstruct Jewish national life, Jewish
civilization - as articulated in the Zionist vision.
Accordingly, in order to understand the dynamics of Israeli society, we have
to take into account the whole background of Jewish history in the fr~ework
of which the Zionist movement developed. Within this framework the Zionist
movement constituted also a rebellion - thus creating the revolutionary
component of this society. This rebellion has, at the same time, taken up,
continued and reconstructed many of the elements of the premisses of the
Jewish civilizational vision - one of the first such visions to develop in the
history of mankind, and the first on the eastern shores of the Mediterranean
and among the monotheistic religions.
The fourth such distinguishing characteristic of Israeli society is the fact of its
• S. N. Eisenstadt, Israeli Society (London and New York 1965).
t September 1983.
Xii PREFACE
being a small society - sharing many characteristics with other small modern
societies, but at the same time, because of the attempt at the implementation of
the Zionist vision, aspiring to become a centre of special cultural creativity,
closely related to this vision. Hence the crucial importance of the analysis of the
relations between Israeli society and the Jewish communities in the Diaspora,
which constitute one of the major objects of this special creative vision, one of
its major external markets with which all small societies are very closely
interrelated, and towards which Israeli society has developed a great variety of
relations, ranging from rebellion through ambivalence up to acceptance as
sources of various types of support.
Throughout our analysis we have attempted to provide an interpretation of
the dynamics of Israeli society in light of these comparative, analytical
considerations.
Accordingly the book contains two topics which were not included in Israeli
Society. First, the book starts not only with the analysis of the specific historical
background of the Zionist movement, but with an overview, an interpretation,
of Jewish history.
Second, the book also contains a special chapter on developments in Jewish
communities in the Diaspora - as they share with Israel, even if in a very
fraught and ambivalent relation, some of the problems of implementation of
such a vision in the context of modern life.
)
The book does not pretend to present a history of the Jewish people or even
of the Zionist movements, of the settlement in Eretz Israel or of the State of
Israel itself. There are by now many books - presented in the bibliography -
which deal with these topics; but rather, as indicated, it attempts to provide an
interpretation from the point of view of the analytical considerations outlined
above.
Given the nature of the work, I have given only minimal footnotes - mostly
references to direct quotations or sources - in the text, and at the same time
have provided general bibliographical indications at the end of the book.
The interpretation attempted in this book could not, however, be attempted
without relying on very diversified and abundant historical, sociological and
anthropological research - even if some rather severe lacunae can sometimes
be found in many areas of such research.
Jewish historical research has indeed burgeoned in the last four decades and
has become very extensive. I was fortunate to be introduced to it by my
teachers at the Hebrew University - the late Professors Itzhak Baer and B.
Dinur, pioneers in the modern Bretz-Israeli Jewish historiography- as well as
to follow closely the work of the late Professor Gershon Scholem, who has
pioneered the work of Jewish mysticism. I am also especially indebted to the
work of my colleague Professor J. Katz and his innovative works on Jewish
history in general and to his modern one in particular, as well as, of course, to
the many works of younger scholars in Israel and abroad.
I owe also a great debt to Arnaldo Momigliano - to many of his works which
(as for instance in Alien Wisdom) add some crucial dimensions in the
PREFACE Xiii
this book. I am also very indebted to Edward Shils for many comments on the
whole book and for very great help in editing several of the chapters.
The first, very preliminary draft of this book was started at Harvard in 1978
and I owe much to discussions at that stage with Henry Rosovsky and Nur
Yalman.
My two daughters-in-law have greatly helped me - Mimi, who was a very
patient research assistant, and Dalia, who provided and checked many points
of information.
The typing of the various drafts and of the final version of the manuscript was
done by Krista Page at Harvard, and by Dany Gargman, Suzy Shabtai, Cary
Ehrenberg, Anna Katoff, Barbara Piperno, David Kruss, especially by my
then secretary Norma Schapira and above all by Moshe Levy who, as
throughout the years, has shown great devotion and patience in the prepar-
ation of the drafts and final manuscripts.
Sabena Honigwachs, the administrative assistant of the Department of
Sociology, has greatly helped in organizational matters; Ilana Stav has helped
in various technical matters; Zeev Shavit and Sara Helman have helped with
the preparation of the bibliography. Above all Hilary Walford has done
wonders copy editing the manuscript. I would also like to thank Mrs E. Sass
and Mrs Hannah Levy for reading the proofs.
Throughout the preparation of the book I was greatly helped by the facilities
provided me by the Department of Sociology and the Truman Research
Institute of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, by the Jerusalem Van Leer
Foundation, and by the Department of Sociology and Center of Middle
Eastern Studies of Harvard University.
Above all, I would like to thank Lord Weidenfeld, who for many years has
urged me to write this book - and without whose urging the book might not
have been written.
The writing of the manuscript was finished more or less in September 1983,
by accident together with the resignation of Menachem Begin from the
Premiership. I have not attempted to go in detail beyond this period, except for
writing a brief postscript in which some comments on more recent develop-
ments, especially the 1984 elections, are presented.
S. N. Eisenstadt
Jerusalem
August 1984
PART ONE
Introduction
The Zionist movement and Israeli society
against the background of Jewish history
It is impossible to understand the transformations of Israeli society without
reference to its relationship with the Jewish nation, people and communities,
to its place- as seen from within itself and by others-in Jewish history. It is not
only that its origins - the origins of the Zionist movement and of the settlement
in Palestine - were rooted in a rebellion against the realities of Jewish life as
they existed in different Jewish communities, above all in Europe, in the
second half of the nineteenth century. Equally important is the fact that this
very rebellion was to a very large extent constructed in terms of some basic,
perennial themes or orientations of Jewish civilization-themes relating to the
Jews themselves, to their ways of life and civilization, and to their relations to
other nations. The concrete implementation of this rebellion, the crystal-
lization of Jewish society in Eretz Israel and the development of Israeli society,
have been continuously related both to these themes and to the reality of
Jewish life throughout the world, in the Jewish communities in the Diaspora. It
would therefore be appropriate to start our exploration with a very brief survey
- not of the history of the Jewish people, something which would be beyond the
scope of this book - but of some of these basic themes, realities and problems
of Jewish civilization as they have developed and changed through the history
of the Jewish people.
A good starting-point for such an analysis is the apparent contradiction
between two aspects of Jewish existence as it could have been, and often was,
portrayed in that very period in which the Zionist movement started to
crystallize - the second half of the nineteenth century.
On the one hand there were the great - what today would be called
'traditional' -Jewish masses concentrated in Eastern Europe and beyond in the
various countries of the Ottoman Empire. The internal life of these com-
munities centred around the institutions of the synagogue, the places of
learning, and the various communal organizations led by a combination of
community leaders and rabbis; it was seemingly ruled by centuries-old
traditions of learning, of ritual observance and legal prescriptions, and of
prayer; and it was characterized by strong cohesive family life, and by inter-
family and inter-community networks and organizations. Externally the life of
these communities was shaped by the attitudes of their 'host' people: they
4 THE TRANSFORMATION OF ISRAELI SOCIETY
Semitism was no longer only religious, but more and more racial. The Jews
were no longer seen as a small seemingly stagnant minority holding on to its
faith and ways of life in a hostile environment. They were penetrating some of
the central arenas of social and political life and becoming very visible within
them, some becoming baptized, some assimilated. Yet very often they were
unable to shed, at least in the eyes of their hosts, the imprint of their Jewis4
origins. Moreover, among the Jews in Western Europe, but above all in
Eastern Europe, there were the beginnings of the creation of new types of
Jewish institutions and organizations, as well as activities within the institu-
tional frameworks of the general societies.
The Zionist movement developed (as we shall see in greater detail later on)
as one of the reactions - the most radical and revolutionary one - to these two
poles of Jewish existence as they developed above all in Europe, in the second
half and especially the last third of the nineteenth century. But in order to
understand fully the nature of this rebellion or revolution we have first to
understand how it was possible for these two poles to exist and develop side by
side. This brings us back to the search for some of the basic realities~
constellations, problems and themes of Jewish history and civilization. In the
following chapters we shall pursue such a search - without, of course,
pretending to write the history of the Jewish people. Given the long- in some
ways unique - continuity of this history which we shall explicate to some degree
later, we shall start by going back to its origins, when some of its basic
characteristics began to take shape.
Jewish settlement expanded beyond the Temple City State of Jerusalem, with
the consequent possibility of confrontation between the Jews and the
Hellenistic - and later also Roman - rulers.
This culminated in the first dramatic encounter in the second century BCE
with the Seleucid King Antioch us IV, giving rise to the Hasmonean
(Maccabean) revolt and to the rise of the Hasmonean theocratic monarchy in
which the office of High Priest and ruler (ethnarch-Nasi) were combined. This
dynasty lasted till about the middle of the first century BCE. It was character-
ized, especially during the reign of Alexander Iannai (Ianneas) (103-76 BCE)
and his successors, by a policy of far-reaching expansion, bringing the Jews into
continuous encounter with both various local populations and the 'super
powers'. During Alexander Iannai's reign there broke out an intensive civil war
led against him by groups of the Pharisees. After his death Judea became
strongly entangled in the Roman expansion in the Near East and in Roman-
Parthian wars. The end of the Hasmonean dynasty came about 37 BCE, when
Herod, the son of the Edomite adviser to Hyrcanos, Alexander's son, was
declared King of Judea by the Romans and reigned till 4 BCE as a Roman client
- and as a secular king.
Under Herod's successor the Kingdom was divided between his three sons,
and in year 6 of the Christian era (CE) the Roman government assumed direct
rule in Judea - a fact even welcomed by those more religious sectors of the
Jewish population who strongly opposed the reign of a non-Jewish king. This
direct subjugation to the Romans was interrupted under the brief reign of
Herod's grandson Agrippa (41-4 cE), a friend of the Roman Emperor
Caligula, who attempted to re-establish some sort of a unified Jewish monarchy
and was on the whole accepted by most sectors of the Jewish population. But
with his death there developed a continuously growing tension between the
Roman procurators and the Jewish people, as well as increasing division within
the latter, giving rise to the great war or rebellion against the Romans (66-7
CE), the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE and loss of political autonomy, and
the move of the Sanhedrin under the leadership of Rabbi Yohanan Ben-Zakai
- the leader of the Pharisees - to Yavneh.
Cultural activity
But the period of the Second Temple did not only see the emergence and
crystallization of a new independent political entity. It was also a period of
great cultural transformations.
The Prophets, so predominant in the period of the First Temple, gradually
disappeared; the priests, at least in the beginning of this period, became much
more predominant; kings from priestly families emerged and also, perhaps
most important, some entirely new types of leadership, based to a large degree
on new traditions of learning as well as a multiplicity of sects.
There were the first encounters with mighty pagan Empires and a multi-
plicity of pagan nations, and also with a new type of civilization - the Hellenistic
8 THE TRANSFORMATION OF ISRAELI SOCIETY
- and with the Hellenistic and Roman Empires whose claims to some universal
validity were rooted not just in conquest or in the mightiness of their gods but
in their philosophical and legal tradition.
At the same time there was great internal cultural creativity, giving rise
within the Jewish nation to many new religious, cultural and social visions - one
of them, connected with Jesus, destined to reshape in the form of Christianity
the whole course of history in the West and later on in the world.
The combination of internal and external turbulence culminated, as we have
seen, in the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, the loss of political
independence and, ultimately, dispersion. But at the same time there emerged
here a new institutional mould which evinced rather special frameworks of
civilization, religion and collective identity despite loss of independence and
continuous dispersion. Later on these continuous frameworks were to be
confronted with Christianity, and then with Islam, as the dominant religions in
most of the lands in which the Jews lived.
These developments created a situation in which the Jews were not just a
national or religious minority in some 'alien' environment. They became such a
minority in civilizations whose historical roots and basic premisses were closely
interwoven with Jewish history and faith; which not only developed historically
out of the Jewish fold, but for whom continuous Jewish existence always
constit~ted an ideological challenge and an ambivalent and negative reference
point; for whom the Jews' adherence to their faith and modes of life was not
just a curious and strange fact, but an ideological threat to the very legitimacy
of their own civilizations.
There were two poles to the continuity of Jewish civilization: first, the
development of institutional and cultural frameworks which made possible the
continuity of the Jewish people and civilization in a situation of dispersion of
Jews in many lands; and secondly the strong, ambivalent attitude of the 'host'
civilizations, reciprocated by a parallel ambivalent attitude among the Jews
towards these civilizations. These poles shaped the course of the Jewish history
of exile.
the Near East, each with different language and customs, worshipping
different gods and organized in different political structures. The Bible is full of
reference to them - be they the Aramites, the Moabites, the Philistines, the
Assyrians or Babylonians, or many others.
Many of them, especially the Assyrians or Babylonians - and of course the
Egyptians - were mighty Empires, but they did not create the type of
civilizational, cultural distinctiveness - and continuity- that the iewish people
did. Thus it is not the mere distinctiveness of the Jewish people, but the nature
of such distinctiveness and of its continuity that is of crucial importance - and
which constitutes the unique quality of Jewish civilization.
This differentiation was based on a combination of some special character-
istics of social structure, religious beliefs, cultural orientation, civilizational
framework and symbols and modes of collective identity.
Thus, first of all, this distinctiveness can be seen in the basic characteristics of
the social structure and organization of the Israeli tribes - some aspects of
which seemed to persist throughout Jewish history, and which were first
evident in the special pattern of the decomposition of relatively closed and
semi-egalitarian tribal units. The settlement of the people of Israel in Israel was
connected- as were many parallel processes among other peoples and in other
parts of the world -with the breaking up of the relatively closed tribal, and to
some degree territorial, communities. But this process was characterized in
ancient Israel by several specifi~ features.
One such feature was the great structural heterogeneity of the different
tribal, local and socio-economic groups that coexisted here within some
common frameworks. They were composed of peasants, nomads and urban
dwellers. Among these different groups there developed continuous en-
counters in the same or in ecologically mutually impinging settings and there
took place also, within such settings, a continuous process of social differenti-
ation and concomitant tensions between all these various groups. A second
feature of the breaking up of the tribal communities was the fact that there
developed between these various groups some common bonds- especially that
of a common national or religious identity- the symbols and loci of which were
not entirely embedded within any one of the local or tribal groups. Third, these
common bonds were not organized within any clear-cut, fully organized
political or religious framework, and were not located in any fixed centre.
Indeed their most important symbol was the Ark which was, during the period
of the Judges, constantly on the move. Until the establishment of the
monarchy, and to some degree even afterwards, there was lacking any
continuoµs, single organizational or even symbolic focus for such common
orientations.
Finally, there was the absence of compact political boundaries and the
volatile micro- and macro-political ecological settings. The micro-setting was,
of course, that of Palestine itself, of repeated encounters with other settled and
migratory peoples; the macro-setting was that of Palestine at the crossroads of
great empires of antiquity. The net results of this volatility were the continuous
IO THE TRANSFORMATION OF ISRAELI SOCIETY
fluidity and openness of political boundaries; the constant flow and mobility of
people; and difficulties in the maintenance of a stable, compact political entity
and even of a distinct cultural identity.
The second focus of such attempts at restructuring the world was the
development or construction of new types of 'cultural' or 'religious' collect-
ivities - as distinct from ethnic or political ones. While some embryonic
elements of such construction existed in many of the neighbouring societies and
probably in those tribes from which the Israeli ones developed, it was only with
the development and institutionalization of the new religious conceptions that
those elements became transformed into a new, potentially fully-fledged
civilizational collectivity or framework - that of the people of Israel, later on of
the Jewish nation - with autonomous criteria of membership, channels of
recruitment and loci of authority.
The membership in this collectivity tends to become imbued with a strong.
ideological dimension and becomes a focus of ideological contention and
struggle. Such struggle, carried by the different elites and sub-elites, focused
around the definition of the boundaries of these collectivities, of who is inside
and who is outside, as well as around the relation between these collectivities
and the 'older' political, ethnic-primordial ones.
Third, and closely related to the construction of such collectivity, there
developed a tendency towards the structuring of autonomous societal centres,
conceived as the major loci or embodiments of the charismatic transcendental
vision and of the attempts to reconstruct the world. The development of such
distinctiveness and symbolic differentiation of the centre gave rise to the
tendency of such a centre to permeate the periphery, to restructure it according
to the visions prevalent in the centre, and it was thus natural that the struggle
among various elites for predominance in the centre, and for the consequent
mode of shaping of the social order, became one of the most fundamental
aspects of this civilization.
Visions of civilization
Many of these institutional features and dynamics were not, in their most
general characteristics, unique to Ancient Israel - although it was probably
there, as well as in a different way in Ancient Greece, that they first developed
institutional orientations and implications. The attempts to reconstruct the
mundane world according to a transcendental vision, the development of a
conception of the accountability of rulers, the construction of specific
civilizational frameworks and new types of societal centres were, in their broad
outlines, common to all those civilizations which the German philosopher Karl
Jaspers called the Axial Age civilizations. These were those civilizations within
which there emerged and became institutionalized in the first millennium, and
in the beginning of the Christian era, conceptions of a basic tension between
the transcendental and the mundane orders. The most important of these
civilizations - often also called the Great Civilizations - were Ancient Israel,
and later on in Christianity, Ancient Greece, to a certain extent Zoroastrian-
ism in Persia, China in the early Imperial period, Hinduism and Buddhism and,
much later, beyond the Axial Age proper, Islam.
12 THE TRANSFORMATION OF ISRAELI SOCIETY
people- giving rise to a great emphasis on the legal sphere or dimension, on the
elaboration of the legal codices as one of the major expressions of the will of
God, of His commandments to the people of Israel.
These legal codices of the Pentateuch were fully developed and codified only
in the period of the Second Commonwealth. Many nuclei of these full
codifications - such as probably the 'Torah of Moses', the presumable core of
Deuteronomy, found during the reign of Josiah (64o-6o9 BCE) and constit-
uting the pivot of religious reforms and of centralization of the cult in Jerusalem
- were, however, of much earlier provenance. They were all characterized by
an unusual combination of civil, communal and cultic law and calendaric
prescriptions; of religious and ethical commandments together with civil laws,
with a very strong emphasis on social legislation - like the laws of the Sabbath,
of Shmita (the seventh year) in which all debts are to be cancelled and of special
attitudes to the non-Jews. These laws were given a principled religious and
ethical connotation; and they were more and more open to the public and not
confined to small esoteric groups of priests.
The combination of all these elements was most fully epitomized in the figure
of Moses - the great prophet-legislator and the great formulator of the
Covenant between God and the people of Israel.
It is of course a moot question when these basic conceptions and orientations
developed and became fully institutionalized, and to what degree they were
widespread and accepted by the different sectors of the Israeli tribes. Whatever
the answers to these questions - and historians will probably discuss them
forever - it is such crystallization that created the distinctive cultural identity of
the Israeli nation, of the Jewish people.
even if, as in the case of the priests, in ascriptive hereditary terms- legitimized
iil autonomous terms as representing visions and values which were not part of
the primordial symbols of the local or tribal groups but which were yet accepted
among these groups. Third there is the fact that these elites which were the
major carriers of the common political, national and religious bonds seemed to
cut across the tribes and be, at least potentially, common to all or at least to
several of them.
Political characteristics
The combination of the special characteristics of these elites and of the special
religious- monotheistic- conceptions carried by them, in conjunction with the
basic characteristics of the social structure of Ancient Israel and its geopolitical
situation, shaped a number of unique characteristics of the Israelite insti-
tutional structure. They shaped some of its basic political and institutional
orientations and characteristics, above all some of the basic characteristics of
the centres, that developed within these civilizations and out of which some of
its fundamental continuous problems developed.
Thus first of all, in close relation to the basic monotheistic and covenantal
orientation, and to the structure of elites, there developed in Ancient Israel
several themes of political culture, many of which were to become constant
features of Jewish political and communal life.
The first such major political conception, derived from the combination of
the monotheistic faith and the 'covenantal' dimension, was the accountability
of the ruler to a Higher Law, and also (often against the wish and obvious
interests of the rulers) to the various groups - the priests, prophets and leaders
of the community - which saw themselves representing and interpreting such
Law.
Second, in close relation to the covenantal emphasis, there developed a
strong emphasis on the potential free access of all members of the community
to the central sacred sphere,· and of their participation in this sphere against
some of the tendencies and claims of the priests, and later on the kings, to
monopolize it In their own hands and to be the sole mediators of such access.
Although the latter were, of course, predominant in the period of the First
Temple and were reinforced by the ascriptive emphasis of the Davidic
monarchy, the stress on such direct, unmediated access to the sacred sphere
was upheld by other elites- especially the leaders of the community of tribes or
of different territorial groupings - and by the prophets.
The combination of the emphasis on the accountability of rulers to the
Higher Law and of the open access of all members of the community gave rise
to a strong tendency to a certain lack of automatic acceptance of any 'earthly'
authority (best seen in Samuel's famous speech against the establishment of a
monarchy). It also gave rise to a very intensive political struggle between
various sectors and elites who saw themselves as the true representatives of th~
Higher, Godly, authority; and to a very strong ideological dimension of this
16 THE TRANSFORMATION OF ISRAELI SOCIETY
struggle -focused around the structuring of the community boundaries and the
interpretations of tradition, of the Higher Law.
Symbols of collectivity -
religious, national and primordial
It was also in the context of the basic monotheistic and covenantal conceptions,
and the structure of these elites, that there developed in Ancient Israel the
specific Jewish solution to the problem of the construction of the boundaries of
the new civilizational collectivity, and of the relations between its symbols and
the more primordial ones of the ethnic and the political collectivities.
THE HISTORICAL BACKGROUND I7
The specific Jewish solution of this problem apparently emerged at the very
beginning of what became Jewish history, at the start of those processes which
transformed the history of different Israeli tribes into the beginnings of Jewish
history. This solution was characterized, in marked contrast to what later
evolved in other Axial Age civilizations (but interestingly enough, not
dissimilar from the Chinese case), by a very positive evaluation in terms of
universal religious orientations of the primordial, i.e. 'ethnic', 'national' as well
as political symbols. The former were continuously incorporated into the
latter, giving rise to continual interweaving of these different symbols - the
God, Creator of the Universe, being also the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob
and the God who had taken the children of Israel out of Egypt. Each of these
types of symbols, while not losing their own autonomy, was defined in terms of
each other, thus - unlike, however, in the Chinese case - giving rise to
continuous tension between them with respect to the concrete manifestations
of each and their relative importance.
From the beginning of Jewish history, the structuring of the symbolic
boundaries of the Jewish collective identity constituted, probably in close
relation to the fragility and volatility of the geopolitical boundaries, a constant
and central focus of concern of the major elites of Ancient Israel - and later on
of the various elites of the Jewish people throughout their history.
These various components of collective identity combined in different ways
with the different religious orientations - the cultic, legal or prophetical-
ethical. Different combinations of various religious 'contents' and of different
components of the collective identity were continuously articulated by the
different religious and political elites mentioned above, giving rise to tension
between them.
Thus the cultic elements and the ethnic and primordial identity were
probably more emphasized by the local priests and heads of the tribes; but the
legal-religious aspects and the historical-national components of the collective
identity were probably more heavily stressed by the higher and central priestly
groups and some of the monarchic elites, and the religious-ethical and social
components of the religious and more universalistic orientations by some of the
prophets. But there always existed quite a far-reaching overlap between these
various elites which formed different coalitions and which exhibited the
different orientations.
But, whatever the differences between them, these tensions were always
worked out in the context of attempts to define the symbolic institutional
boundaries of the Jewish nation in relation to other nations and to demarcate
the parameters of collective identity in terms of its various components and of
the basic religious orientations.
This tendency towards the demarcation of the boundaries of the collectivity
was accompanied by a strongly ambivalent attitude towards other nations and
cultures. Such an attitude was rooted in Judaism's claim to universalism, in the
fact that it was the first monotheistic religion, in its attempts to separate itself
from its neighbouring pagan nations by claiming to transcend in universal terms
18 THE TRANSFORMATION OF ISRAELI SOCIETY
political life, whether in the judicial halls of the Sanhedrin, in their own centres
of learning and judicial institutions, or in coalition with other more popular
groups and leaders more concerned with communal prayer.
It was these elites - or at least some elements among them - that most fully
developed the sphere of the Law, as the central focus of Jewish civilization.
It was these elites that started on the work of the codification of the biblical
canon - starting probably already in the first periods of the Second Temple with
the codification of the Pentateuch, continuing up till around the second century
of the Christian era, bringing together the 'Old Testament' and the Apoca-
lypse. This codification was in itself a long and controversial process- attesting
to the heterogeneity of groups of elites and sects.
It was also these elites that gradually developed nuclei of new institutions:
the centres of prayer beyond the Temple itself - the later synagogues, which
could in principle be established anywhere - the various centres of learning,
and later on communal courts. These were all destined to be central institutions
in the perpetuation of the Jewish civilization.
The Diaspora
Another crucial structural development in the post-exilic period was the
appearance of Diaspora as a constant feature of Jewish existence, giving rise to
the emergence of a multiplicity of centres, or, to use Shmariahu Talmon's
expression, to a multi-centric situation, adding a new dimension to the
heterogeneity of the structural elements in Jewish life and to the volatility of
the geographical or geopolitical situation of the Jewish people.
The Diaspora - above all in Egypt, Babylon and Syria, later also in other
provinces of the Roman Empire and in Rome itself - developed, of course,
continuous relations and contacts with the centre in Palestine and with
Jerusalem in particular. The contacts were above all ritual and religious ones,
in the form of payment of the shekel and pilgrimages to Palestine, and contacts
between the different groups of scholars, sects and priests in Palestine and the
Diaspora, and there were also manifold political contacts. Yet, however close
these relations were, the communities in the Diaspora were never fully
subjugated to the centre in Palestine, not only in the purely political but also in
the religious-national sense.
The establishment of the Diaspora attested, of course, to the continuous
expansion of the Jewish people and of the Jewish civilization and it was very
often connected with strong proselytizing movements and tendencies; at the
same time it necessarily sharpened the problems of confrontation with other
peoples, civilizations and religions.
The continuous existence of the communities of the Diaspora added a new
element to the volatility of the geopolitical situation of the Jewish people which
became, in this period, even more pronounced in Palestine itself. The ultimate
disappearance of political independence gave rise to a lack of demarcated
political boundaries for the Jews and hastened the crystallization of those
THE HISTORICAL BACKGROUND 23
aspects of the relations between the Jews and their neighbours which led Max
Weber to characterize them as pariah people, that is as characterized by ritually
fixed social exclusion and by special social and economic placement and low
esteem.
Naturally enough within these communities those aspects of the Jewish
tradition - whether of learning and prayer, of observance, of ritual perception
or of philosophical meditation and study - which were not directly and
continuously connected with the cultic observance in the Temple or with
independent political activities became most predominant. In the lands of the
Diaspora the synagogue, communal organizations, and family networks
became the major institutional framework of the Jewish people.
Meanwhile, in the great Jewish concentrations in the Hellenistic-Egyptian
Diaspora there developed a growing Jewish philosophical and historical
literature written in Greek. The most famous of these philosophers was
probably Philo of Alexandria, who lived in the second half of the first century
BCE. At the same time the Bible itself was translated into Greek - the famous
Septuagint - giving rise to the custom of it being read in the synagogue in
Greek.
what may be called civil law - with much less emphasis on communal and
political matters.
This mould was based on a strong emphasis on the collective codification of
the basic religious orientations, precepts and injunctions, stressing very
strongly the authority of the collectivity - especially the collectivity of learned
men, of the sages and of their courts-as against, as we have seen, the ascriptive
authority of priests and the charismatic one of the prophets.
community. In short the tendency was towards a very strong symbolic and
institutional segregation from other nations.
This segregation entailed the continuous combination of the various symbols
of primordial, ethnic, national, political and religious identity. But, because of
the strong competition of other religions and of other civilizations with
universalistic claims, even this solution was not purely particularistic and
contained a very strong universalistic orientation. It exhibited strong tenden-
cies to proselytization, which were often in tension with the more particularistic
primordial emphases, a tension which different leaders and sects tried to
resolve in different ideological and institutional ways. And yet it was probably
because of this continuous tendency to the stress on these primordial elements
that Judaism lost in that 'international competition'. But this loss was also
largely due to the precariousness of the Jewish political situation and to
political vicissitudes- and this loss certainly did not obliterate the universalistic
dimension in Jewish civilization.
Other elites - the Saducees, other sectors of the elite of learning and the
different political elites - developed different ideological and pragmatic
solutions to these problems in both the daily encounter with other nations
living in Eretz Israel, and the wider encounter with the Hellenistic and Roman
civilizations.
Although there was indeed a great multiplicity of sects, groups and
movements among the Jewish people in this period, it is difficult to talk about a
fully-fledged orthodoxy or heterodoxy. Indeed most of the movements
attempted to recombine the major components of the basic cultural-religious
orientations (the ritual, legal, and eschatological), with the components of
national identity (political, religious and primordial), and with some solution
to the tension between the universalistic and particularistic elements in the
construction of that identity.
There were only a few exceptions, and these were found in some of the small
secluded communities in the Diaspora, in relatively secluded colonies like
those in Elephantine, and in some groups in Palestine such as the Samaritans.
However great the differences between these exceptions, their common
denominator was that they abandoned some of those elements which
constituted the crux of Jewish tradition. Because of this, they opted out of the
common Jewish framework, and chose to close themselves within more
restricted walls.
This contrasted with the other sects and movements which flowered among
the Jewish population and which continuously developed and struggled within
this broader common national-political-religious framework with all its
diverse elements.
All these tensions gave rise to a fuller articulation of the major themes of
political culture which had already developed, even if in rather embryonic
form, in the late period of the Second Commonwealth, and to an intensification
of political struggles. They became very strongly combined with the relations to
external powers - to the Hellenistic monarchies in the earlier period and to the
THE HISTORICAL BACKGROUND 29
Roman Empire later on - and with the attitudes to the internal political order
and authority, to the kings of the Hasmonean dynasty, to Herod, and to the
kings and rulers after him until the destruction of the Second Temple.
Ultimately the very intensity, of this internal struggle became part of the
process which led to the 'Last War' or rebellion against the Romans and the
destruction of the Temple in 70 CE and the move of the Sanhedrin to Yavneh.
Conclusion
Thus in the period of the Second Temple there emerged new patterns of
religious orientations, structure of elites and institutional moulds, which were
to persist throughout the course of Jewish history. These developments built on
the earlier ones but restructured them in a new way - a way which shaped the
whole course of subsequent Jewish history.
It was within these frameworks also that the perennial themes and tensions
characteristic of Jewish history persisted and even became intensified: the
tensions between universalism and particularism; between primordial, ethnic,
political, ethical and religious orientations and components; between a
primordial and historical identity.
It was in this period that some of the most distinctive characteristics of Jewish
society- widespread adult education; the partial exclusion of women from the
ritual sphere, and the kernels of the confrontation between Church and
Synagogue - became crystallized.*
In this period Jewish civilization was faced with some of its great challenges-
namely with the question of its ability to combine such intensive religious
orientations to the socio-political sphere with the maintenance of an orderly
polity, a fully-fledged and institutional order, and to maintain its broader,
universalistic orientations in a situation of active competition with other
civilizations.
Externally it did not succeed in facing up to these challenges, but the
consciousness of these challenges did not abate. Indeed it was probably after
the destruction of the Temple that such consciousness became more fully
articulated. The various basic orientations and tensions inherent in the Jewish
civilization were transformed by the destruction of the Second Temple and the
end of the Second Commonwealth.
Historical Background
General characteristics
With the destruction of the Second Temple and the move of the Sanhedrin to
Yavneh, there began a new period in Jewish history which in a sense continued
until the opening of European society to the Jews at the end of the eighteenth
and in the nineteenth century.
This long period was not, needless to say, homogeneous or unitary, and one
can distinguish within it three major sub-periods. The first sub-period - from
the destruction of the Temple to about the seventh century of the Christian era
- saw the formation and efflorescence of Rabbinical Judaism. There was the
codification and publication of the Mishna around 200 CE in Galilee, and of the
two Talmuds, the Babylonian one c. 500 CE and the Jerusalem one in the early
fifth century. The majority of the Jewish communities lived under the Roman
and Persian Empires in Eretz Israel, Babylon, Egypt and to a smaller degree in
other provinces of these Empires. The second sub-period - from about the
seventh century and the rise of Islam, until about the expulsion from Spain
(1492)- was that of 'classical' medieval Judaism; communities were dispersed
through Christian and Muslim lands, and there was total predominance in the
life of these communities of the medieval Rabbinical mould. The third sub-
period is that from the expulsion from Spain until the Age of Emancipation,
signalled by the French Revolution; this period marked the beginning, but only
the beginning, of the crumbling of the walls of the Rabbinical mould and of the
great Messianic movements, above all that of Sabbatai Zevi (1665-6), and of
their manifold intellectual and institutional repercussions.
Notwithstanding the great differences between these three sub-periods - the
detailed analysis of which is beyond the scope of this work - they shared some
basic characteristics which are of great importance for our analysis. Through-
out this long period the Jewish people lost their political independence, leading
later, with the depletion of the Jewish community in Palestine, to growing
dispersion and to growing political passivity and subjugation. Jews everywhere
became a political minority, through special permits granted to them (which
could be easily abrogated), they were communities of strangers, living by the
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She drew Freda, who was shivering now, over on the couch, then turned
to Gregory.
“Good night, Gregory—again. You bring adventure with you.”
There was a smile in her eyes which he seemed to answer by a look in
his own. Then he looked past her to Freda.
“Good night, little wanderer. I’ll see you to-morrow.”
Freda saw him fully now. He was tall and thin and ugly. His dark eyes
seemed to flash from caverns above his high cheekbones. But he had a wide
Irish mouth and it smiled very tenderly at them both as he softly went out.
Freda would not take Margaret’s little couch bed for herself so Margaret
had to improvise a bed on the floor for her guest, a bed of blankets and
coats and Freda slept in Margaret’s warm bath robe. Oddly, she slept far
better than did Margaret, who, for a long while, held herself stiffly on one
side that her turning might not disturb Freda.
II
They both wakened early. Freda found the taste of stale adventure in her
mind a little flat and disagreeable. There were a number of things to be
done. Margaret telephoned briefly to the Brownley house, left word with a
servant that Miss Thorstad had spent the night with her.
“I’ll go up there after we have some breakfast,” she said to Freda, “and
get you some clothes. Then I think you’d better stay here with me. I’ll ask
the landlady to put an extra cot in here and we can be comfortable for a few
days. And please don’t talk of inconvenience”—she forestalled Freda’s
objections with her smile—“I’ll love to have company. If you stay in town
we’ll see if you can’t get a place of your own in the building here. Lots of
apartments have a vacant room to let.”
She was preparing breakfast with Freda’s help and the younger girl’s
spirits were rising steadily even though the thought of an interview with
Barbara remained dragging. It was great fun for Freda—the freedom of this
tiny apartment with its bed already made into a daytime couch, the eggs
cooking over a little electric grill on the table and the table set with a scanty
supply of dishes—two tall glasses of milk, rolls and marmalade.
“It’s so nice, living like this,” she exclaimed.
Margaret laughed.
“Then the Brownley luxury hasn’t quite seduced you?”
“I was excited by it. I’m afraid it did seduce me temporarily. But for the
last week something’s been wrong with me. And this was it. I wanted to get
out of the machinery. They leave you alone and all that—but it’s so ordered
—so planned. Everything’s planned from the menus to the social life. They
try to do novel things by standing on their heads sometimes in their own
grooves—at least the girls do—but really they get no freshness or freedom,
do they?”
“I should say that particular crowd didn’t. Of course you mustn’t
confound all wealthy people with them. They’re better than some but a
great deal less interesting than the best of the wealthy. And of course just
because their life doesn’t happen to appeal to your temperament—or mine
—”
“Are you always so perfectly balanced?” asked Freda, so admiringly as
to escape impertinence.
“I wish I were ever balanced,” answered Margaret. “And now suppose
you tell me a little more about what happened so I’ll be sure how I had
better take things up with the Brownley girls.”
Freda had been thinking.
“It really began with me,” she said. “Ted Smillie was Barbara’s man and
I was flattered when he noticed me. And of course I liked him—then—so I
let it go on and she hated me for that.”
“Stop me if I pry—but do you care for the young man now?”
“Oh—no!” cried Freda. “I’m just mortally ashamed of myself for letting
myself in as much as I did.”
“Everybody does.”
Margaret’s remark brought other ideas into Freda’s mind. She
remembered Gregory Macmillan and his apparent intimacy with Margaret.
But she asked nothing, going on, under Margaret’s questioning, with her
tale of the night before, and as they came to the part of Gregory’s
intervention, Margaret vouchsafed no information.
An hour later, she came back from the Brownley house, with Freda’s
suitcase beside her in a taxi.
“You did give them a bad night,” she said to Freda, “Bob Brownley
looks a wreck. It appears that later they went out to search the park—scared
stiff for you. And you had gone. They saw some men and were terrified.”
“Are they very angry?”
“Barbara tried to stay on her high horse. Said that although it was
possible she had misunderstood the situation it looked very compromising
and she thought it her duty in her mother’s absence—. Of course, she said,
she was sorry that matters had developed as they had. Poor Allie’d
evidently been thinking you’d been sewed up in a bag and dropped in the
river. They both want to let the thing drop quickly and I said they could say
that you were staying with me for the remainder of your visit. I also told
Barbara a few home truths about herself, and advised her to be very careful
what she said to her mother or I might take it up with her parents.”
“All this trouble for me!” cried Freda. “I am ashamed!”
“Nonsense. But I must go along quickly now. I’ve a meeting. Your trunk
will be along sometime this morning. Put it wherever you like and the
landlady will send the janitor up with a cot. And—by the way—if Gregory
Macmillan drops in, tell him I’m engaged for lunch, will you? You might
have lunch with him, if you don’t mind.”
“I feel aghast at meeting him.”
“Don’t let any lack of conventions bother you with Gregory. The lack of
them is the best recommendation in his eyes. He’s a wild Irish poet. I’ll tell
you about him to-night. I think you’ll like him, Freda. He’s the kindest
person I know—and as truthful as his imagination will let him be.”
“What is he in St. Pierre for?”
“Oh, ask him—” said Margaret, departing.
CHAPTER IX
I T was on that morning that Gage Flandon made his last appeal to his wife
not to let herself be named as a candidate for Chicago at the State
Convention. He had been somewhat grim since the district convention.
As Margaret had realized would happen, certain men had approached him,
thinking to please him by sounding the rumor about sending his wife to the
National Convention. Many of them felt and Gage knew they felt that he
had started, or arranged to have started, a rumor that his wife would be a
candidate and that he meant to capitalize the entrance of women into
politics by placing his own wife at the head of the woman’s group in the
State. It was a natural enough conclusion and its very naturalness made
Gage burn with a slow, violent anger that was becoming an obsession. It
began of course with the revolt against that suspicion of baseness that he
could capitalize the position of his wife—that he could use a relation, which
was to him so sacred, to strengthen his own position. Yet, when these men
came with their flattery he could not cry down Helen without seeming to
insult her. There was only one way, he saw, and that was for Helen herself
to withdraw. If she did not, it was clear that she would be sent.
So he had besought and seemed to always beseech her with the wrong
arguments. He knew he had said trite things, things about women staying
out of politics, the unsuitability of her nature for such things, but he had felt
their triteness infused with such painful conviction in his own mind that it
continually amazed him to see how little response he awoke in her.
She had said to him, “You exaggerate it so, Gage. Why make such a
mountain out of a molehole? I’m not going to neglect you or the children.
I’ll probably not be elected anyhow. But why not regard it as a privilege and
an honor and let me try?”
“But why do you want to try?”
She looked as if she too were trying vainly to make him understand.
“I’d like to do something myself, Gage—something as myself.”
“You were content without politics two months ago.”
“I’ve changed—why begrudge me my enthusiasm?”
“Because I can’t bear to see you a waster like the rest of the women.
Because you’re so different. Everything about you is true and sound, dear,
and when you start deliberately using yourself for political effect, don’t you
see how you become untrue? There’s nothing in it, I tell you. The whole
thing’s cut and dried. There’s no big issue. If the women want to send some
one, let them choose some other figurehead!”
He had not meant it so but of course he seemed disparaging her.
“Perhaps,” she said rather frigidly, “perhaps I’ll not be such a figurehead
as you think.”
“But I didn’t mean to say that to hurt you.”
“I’m not sure what you do mean. It seems to me we’re actually childish.
You’ve chosen, quite deliberately, to be a reactionary in all this woman’s
progress movement. I’m sorry. But there is a loyalty one has to women,
Gage, beside the loyalty one has to a husband and I really cannot share your
prejudice against progress, as it applies to women.”
The unexpressed things in Gage’s mind fairly tore at him.
“If you really had one sensible objection, Gage—”
“There’s just one objection,” he said, doggedly, “you desecrate yourself.
Not by entering politics particularly. But by using yourself that way. You
mutilate your sex.”
She did not get angry. But she put one hand on his shoulder and they
looked at each other helplessly.
“Don’t you see,” said Helen, “that I want, like these other women, to
once in a while do something that’s clean of sex? That’s just me—without
sex?”
His eyes grew very hard. She struck almost mortally at the very thing he
loved most. And he moved away, as if to remove himself definitely.
“I’m sorry you feel so. It’s a pleasant remark for a man’s wife to fling at
him.”
Irony was so unusual in Gage that Helen stood looking after him after he
went out of the room. Her mind ached with the struggle, ached from the
assertion of this new determination of hers. Never had she wanted so to
give him comfort and be comforted herself. She saw the weeks ahead—
weeks of estrangement—possibly a permanent estrangement. Yet she knew
she would go on. It wasn’t just wanting to go on. She had to go on. There
was a principle involved even if he could not see it. Clearer and clearer she
had seen her necessity in these past two weeks. She had to waken her own
individuality. She had to live to herself alone for a little. She had to begin to
build defences against sex.
Gage was right. Margaret had sown the seed in his wife. Helen had not
watched her for nothing. She had seen the way that Margaret made no
concessions to herself as a woman, fiercely as she was working for the
establishment of woman’s position. It seemed paradoxical but there it was.
If you were truly to work for woman’s welfare you had to abandon all the
cushions of woman’s protected position, thought Helen—you couldn’t rest
back on either wifehood or motherhood. You couldn’t be lazy. You had to
make yourself fully yourself.
Here was her chance. She hadn’t wanted it but they had insisted. The
women wanted her to go to Chicago—not because she was Mrs. Flandon
but because she was Helen Flandon, herself. A little quiver of delight ran
through Helen as she thought of it. She would see it through. Gage would
surely not persist in his feeling. Surely he would change. He would be glad
when she proved more than just his wife.
She had a strange feeling of having doffed all the years which had
passed since she had left college, a feeling of youth and energy which had
often dominated her then but which had changed in the seven years of her
marriage. Since her marriage she had walked only with Gage and the
children—shared life with them very completely. Now it was not that she
cared less for them (she kept making that very clear to herself) but there
was none the less a new independence and new vigor about her. She felt
with them but she felt without them too.
It hurt her that Gage should feel so injured. But her exhilaration was
greater even than the hurt, because she could not sound the depths of her
husband’s suffering.
Gage went out of the house with no more words. He managed to focus
his mind on the work of the day which was before him but the basic feeling
of pain and anger persisted.
In the middle of the morning Helen called him, reminding him of his
promise to see if Freda Thorstad could be placed. She ignored, as she had a
way of doing, any difference between them.
“Are you going to drag that child in too?” he asked, ungraciously, and
then conscious of his unfairness for he knew quite well that the object was
to place Freda so she could earn her own living, he capitulated.
“Drummond gets back this afternoon. Send Miss Thorstad in about four
and I’ll take her to see him.”
“You’re a dear, Gage,” Helen rang off.
Gage tried to figure out whether something had been put over him or
not. There he let it go and sat in at the club with a chosen crowd before
lunch. It pleased him immensely to see Harry Harris stuck for the lunch. He
kidded him, his great laugh rising and falling.
II
At four Freda came and at her, “You’re sure I’m not too early, Mr.
Flandon?” Gage felt further ashamed of his ungraciousness. Freda was a
little pale, after her difficult night, and it made her rather more attractive
than ever to Gage. He thought she might be worrying over the chance of
getting the new work and was eager to make it easy for her.
“So you want to get into politics like all the rest?” he asked, but
smilingly.
“I want some work to do,” said Freda, “I’d just as soon do anything else.
But I really will have to work or go back to Mohawk and there isn’t
anything for me to do in Mohawk. I don’t much care what I do, to tell you
the truth, Mr. Flandon, so it is work. And I’ve a theory that I might be better
at washing windows than doing anything else.”
“This isn’t much of a job, you know.”
“Probably it’s all I could handle. I’m really a little nervous. Will they ask
for all kinds of qualifications?”
“There’s no ‘they’ There’s only one man and I think all he is looking for
is some one who is discreet and pleasant and can do ordinary secretarial
work.”
“I’m going to learn typewriting evenings,” said Freda.
It was so pleasant to be free from controversial conversation, or from
conversation which glossed over controversy that Gage found himself
feeling much warmer and more cheerful than he had for days. Together they
walked over to the office of the man who had the district chairmanship. Mr.
Drummond was embarrassed. Clearly he was embarrassed by the necessity
of refusing a favor Flandon asked. But he was put to it.
They left the office and at the street corner Freda stopped and held out
her hand.
“Pretty lucky for them that young Whitelaw got there first, I fancy.”
“Have you something else in mind?”
“I’ll try to find something. Maybe I can get a place as somebody’s
companion. Or maybe Miss Duffield will know—”
A tight little line came around Gage’s mouth. He didn’t want Margaret
Duffield running this girl. His dislike was becoming an obsession.
“I wonder,” he said slowly, “if you’d like to come into my office. I could
use another clerk, as a matter of fact. I’m away a great deal and I find that
since my assistant has been handling more law work he is too busy to do
things around the office—handling clients, sorting correspondence and such
things. The ordinary stenographer just messes up everything except a sheet
of carbon paper, and the last good one I had got married, of course. There
wouldn’t be much in it—maybe sixty a month, say—but if you’d like to try
—”
Freda looked at him straightly.
“If you’re just trying to find a job for me, I’d rather not, Mr. Flandon.”
He liked that, and gave her back honesty.
“Of course I would like to see you fixed. I thought this other thing would
work out better. But in all seriousness I could use another clerk in my office
and I’ve been wondering whom I could get. What do you say to trying it for
a month—”
“Let me try it for two weeks and then if I fail, fire me then. Only you’ll
surely fire me if I don’t earn my money?”
“Surely.”
III
Gage went home that night more cheerful than he had been for some
time. He had a mischievous sensation of having rescued a brand from
Margaret Duffield. At dinner Helen asked him if he had attended to Freda’s
case.
“Drummond had other arrangements already.”
“What a shame,” she said, “I wonder where we can place that girl. She is
too good to go back and do nothing in Mohawk. And she really wants to
earn money badly.”
“I placed her,” said Gage, hugging his mischief to himself.
“You did? Where?”
“I took her into my office.”
Helen looked at him in surprise.
“You know that she can’t typewrite?”
“I know. But I can use her. She has a good head and—a nice influence. I
think I’ll like to have her around. Since she has to work she’d be better
there than grubbing in politics.”
“As if your office wasn’t full of politics!”
“Well they’re not Duffield-politics.”
“Whatever you mean by that is obscure,” said Helen, “but don’t eat the
child’s head off, will you?”
CHAPTER X
F REDA felt that night that all her dreams, all her vague anticipations of
doing were suddenly translated into activity and reality. In the strangest
way in the world, it seemed to her, so naïve was she about the obscure
ways of most things, she had a room of her own and a job in St. Pierre.
Margaret Duffield had smiled a little at the news of her job but at Freda’s
quick challenge as to whether she were really imposing on Mr. Flandon,
Margaret insisted that she merely found Gage himself humorous. She did
not say why that was so. Together she and Freda went to see the landlady
about a room for Freda. There was one, it appeared, in an apartment on the
third floor. Freda could have it, if she took it at once, and so it was
arranged.
It was a plain little room with one window, long and thin like the shape
of the room, furnished sparsely and without grace, but Freda stood in the
midst of it with her head high and a look of wondering delight in her eyes,
fingering her door key.
Later she went down to Margaret’s apartment to carry up her suitcase.
She found Gregory there. He had not come for lunch as Margaret had
warned her. Seeing him now more clearly than she had the night before,
Freda saw how cadaverous his face was, how little color there was in his
cheeks. She thought he looked almost ill.
They did not hear her come in. Gregory was sitting with his eyes on
Margaret, telling her something and she was listening in a protesting way. It
occurred to Freda that of course they were in love. She had suspected it
vaguely from their attitude. Now she was sure.
She coughed and they looked up.
“It’s my damsel in distress,” said Gregory, rising, “did everything clear
up? Is the ogress destroyed?”
“If she is, poor Miss Duffield had to do it.”
“She wouldn’t mind. She likes cruelties. She’s the most cruel person—”
“Hush, Gregory, don’t reveal all my soul on the spot.”
“Cruel—and over modest. As if a soul isn’t always better revealed—”
“You can go as far as you like later. Just now you might carry Freda’s
suitcase upstairs.”
He took the suitcase and followed them, entering Freda’s little room
which he seemed to fill and crowd.
“So this is where you take refuge from the ogress?”
“It’s more than a refuge—it’s a tower of independence.”
He looked at her appreciatively.
“We’ll agree on many things.”
Margaret asked Freda to come down with them and she went, a little
reluctantly wondering if she were not crowding their kindness. But Gregory
insisted as well as Margaret.
Margaret sat beside a vase of roses on her table and Gregory and Freda
faced her, sitting on the couch-bed. The roses were yellow, pink—delicate,
aloof, like Margaret herself and she made a lovely picture. Gregory’s eyes
rested on her a little wearily as if he had failed to find what he sought for in
the picture. He was silent at first—then, deftly, Margaret drew him out little
by little about the Irish Republic, and he became different, a man on fire
with an idea. Fascinated, stirred, Freda watched him, broke into eager
questioning here and there and was answered as eagerly. They were hot in
discussion when Walter Carpenter came.
There was a moment of embarrassment as if each of the men studied the
other to find out his purpose. Then Margaret spoke lightly.
“Do you want to hear about the Irish question from an expert, Walter?”
“Is Mr. Macmillan an expert?”
“He’s to lecture about it on Friday night.”
“It’s a dangerous subject for a lecture.”
“It’s a dangerous subject to live with,” answered Gregory a little
defiantly.
“Are you a Sinn Feiner, Macmillan?”
“I’m an Irish Republican.”
There was a dignity in his tone which made Walter feel his half-
bantering tone ill judged. He changed at once.
“We’re very ignorant of the whole question over here,” he said, “all we
have to judge from is partisan literature. We never get both sides.”
“There is only one side fit to be heard.”
Freda gave a little gasp of joy at that statement. It brushed away all the
conventions of polite discussion in its unequivocal clearness of conviction.
“I was sure of it,” she said.
Gregory turned and smiled at her. The four of them stood, as they had
stood to greet Walter, Margaret by the side of her last guest, looking
somehow fitting there, Gregory and Freda together as if in alliance against
the others. Then conversation, civilities enveloped them all again. But the
alliances remained. Freda made no secret of her admiration for Gregory.
The openness of his mind, the way his convictions flashed through the talk
seemed to her to demand an answer as fair. Her mind leapt to meet his.
Gregory Macmillan was Irish born, of a stock which was not pure Irish
for his mother was an Englishwoman. It had been her people who were
responsible for Gregory’s education, his public school and early Oxford
life. But in his later years at Oxford his restlessness and discontents had
become extreme. Ireland with its tangle of desires, its heating patriotism,
heating on the old altars already holy with martyrs, had captured his
imagination and ambition. He had gone to Ireland and interested himself
entirely in the study of Celtic literature and the Celtic language, living in
Connacht and helping edit a Gaelic Weekly. Then had come the war, and
conflict for Gregory. The fight for Irish freedom, try as he did to make it his
only end, had become smaller beside the great world confusion and,
conquering his revulsion at fighting with English forces he had enlisted.
Before the war Gregory’s verse had had much favorable comment. He
came out of the war to find himself notable among the younger poets,
acclaimed even in the United States. It seemed preposterous to him. The
machinations of the Irish Republican party absorbed him. Intrigue, plotting,
all the melodrama, all the tragedy of the Sinn Fein policy was known to
him, fostered by him. He had been in prison and after his release had fallen
ill. They had sent him to convalesce in Wales. It was while he was there that
there had come an offer from an American lecture bureau to go on tour in
the States telling of Irish literature and reading his own verse. He laughed at
the idea but others who heard the offer had not laughed. He was to come to
the States, lecture on poetry and incidentally see and talk to various
important Americans who might have Irish sympathies. The Republic
needed friends.
He came reluctantly and yet, once in New York, he had found so many
young literati to welcome him, to give him sympathy and hearing if not
counsel that his spirits had risen. And he had met Margaret Duffield and
drawn by her mental beauty, her curious cold virginity, he had fallen in love
with her and told her he loved her. For a few ardent weeks he wooed her,
she explaining away his love, denying it. Then she had come West and he
had sought his lecture bureau, making them include a lecture in this city
which held her. He had come and found her colder, more aloof than ever,
and now sitting in this room of hers he found a quiet, controlled, cultivated,
middle-aged man who seemed to be on terms of easy and intimate
friendship such as he had not attained.
After a little they divided their conversation. Margaret wanted to talk to
Walter about some complication in local politics—something affecting
Helen’s election. And Freda wanted to hear Gregory talk.
He told her about Ireland, of the men and women who plotted secretly
and constantly to throw off every yoke of sovereignty. He told of the beauty
of the Gaelic tongue, translating a phrase or two for her—talked of the Irish
poets and his friends and she responded, finding use now for all the
thoughts that had filled her mind, the poems she had read and loved. The
light in his deep set eyes grew brighter as he looked at the face turned to
his, meeting his own enthusiasm so unquestioningly. Once he looked at
Margaret curiously. She was deep in her discussion and with a glimmer of a
smile in his eyes he turned again to Freda.
At eleven he took her to her room. They went up the stairs to the door of
her apartment.
“Shall I see you between now and Friday night?”
“I’m going to work to-morrow.” Freda came back to that thought with a
jolt. “I don’t know.”
“To-morrow night? Just remember that I’m alone here—I don’t know
any one but you and Miss Duffield and I don’t want the people in charge of
my lecture to lay hands on me until it’s necessary. You’ve no idea what they
do to visiting lecturers in the provinces?”
“But hasn’t Miss Duffield plans for you?”
“I hoped she might have. But she’s busy, as you see.” His tone had many
implications. “So I really am lonely and you made me feel warm and
welcome to-night. You aren’t full of foolish ideas about friendships that
progress like flights of stairs—step by step, are you?”
“Friendships are—or they aren’t,” said Freda.
“And this one is, I hope?”
They heard a sigh within the apartment as if a weary soul on the other
side of the partition were at the end of its patience. Gregory held out his
hand and turned to go.
But Freda could not let him go. She was swept by a sense of the cruel
loneliness of this strange beautiful soul, in a country he did not know,
pursuing a woman he did not win. She felt unbearably pent up.
Catching his hand in both of hers, she held it against her breast, lifted her
face to his and suddenly surprisingly kissed him. And, turning, she marched
into her room with her cheeks aflame and her head held high. Groping for
the unfamiliar switch she turned on her light and began mechanically to
undress. It seemed to her that she was walking in one of her own storied
imaginings. So many things had happened in the last twenty-four hours
which she had often dreamed would happen to her. Adventures, romantic
moments, meetings of strange intimate congeniality like this with Gregory
Macmillan. She thought of him as Gregory.
Gregory went down the stairs quickly, pausing at Margaret’s door to say
good night. The other man was leaving too and they walked together as far
as Gregory’s hotel. They were a little constrained and kept their
conversation on the most general of subjects. Gregory was absent minded in
his comments but as he entered the hotel lobby he was smiling a little, the
immensely cheered smile of the person who has found what he thought was
lost.
Freda reported for work at the office of Sable and Flandon at half past
eight the next morning. She had not been sure at what time a lawyer’s office
began operations and thought it best to be early so she had to wait a full
hour before Mr. Flandon came in. The offices were a large, well-furnished
suite of rooms. There were three young lawyers in the office, associated
with Mr. Sable and Mr. Flandon, and three stenographers, in addition to a
young woman, with an air of attainment, who had a desk in Mr. Sable’s
office and was known as Mr. Sable’s personal secretary. Freda got some
idea of the organization, watching the girls come in and take up their work.
She became a little dubious as to where she could fit into this extremely
well-oiled machinery and wondering more and more as to the quixotic
whim which had made Mr. Flandon employ her, was almost ready to get up
and go out when Gage came in.
He saw her in a minute and showed no surprise. Instead he seemed to be
anxious to cover up any ambiguity in the position by making it very clear
what her duties were to be. He introduced her to the rest of the office force
as my “personal secretary” at which the Miss Brewster who held a like
position in Mr. Sable’s employ lifted her eyebrows a little. She was given a
desk in a little ante-room outside of Gage’s own office and Gage, with a
stenographer who had done most of his work, went over her duties. She was
to relieve the stenographer of all the sorting of his correspondence, take all
his telephone messages, familiarize herself with all of his affairs and
interests in so far as she could do so by consulting current files and be ready
to relieve him of any routine business she could, correcting and signing his
letters as soon as possible.
At five o’clock she hurried back to her little room to find a letter in her
mail box. It was from her father and at the sight of it she was saddened by
the sense of separation between them. Every word in it, counsel, affection,
humor breathed his love and thought for her. She was still poring over it
when Gregory came to take her to dinner, and forgot to be embarrassed
about the night before.
Gregory had never intended to be embarrassed evidently. He considered
that they were on a footing of delightful intimacy. His voice had more
exuberance in it to-night than she had previously heard. As they went past
Margaret’s door they looked up at her transom. It was dark.
“I hoped she was coming with us,” said Freda.
“She doesn’t want to come with me,” answered Gregory, “and that has
hurt me for a long time, it seems to me, although perhaps it is only weeks.
But it may be just as well. For I could never make her happy.”
“Would it be so hard?”
“I could never make any woman happy,” said Gregory with
extraordinary violence. “Happiness is a state of sloth. But I could live
through ecstasy and through pain with some one who was not afraid. For
this serene stagnancy which seems to be the end-all of most people, I’m no
good. I couldn’t do it, that’s all.”
His head was in the air and he looked, thought Freda, as if he would be
extremely likely to forget about any woman or anything else and go sailing
off in some fantasy of his own, at any time. She remembered him as he had
been, despondent, when she had first met him, last night full of blazing
enthusiasms, to-night blithely independent. It delighted her. She had never
before met a person who adjusted to no routine.
“Let’s walk in peace and watch the clouds and I’ll tell you what an old
Irish poet said of them.”
He could see her chin lift as she listened.
“To have in your mind such a wealth of beauty—what it must mean—to
feel that things do not starve within you for lack of utterance—” Her voice
was blurred into appreciations.
“Why let them starve?” asked Gregory.
“Perhaps because practical meat-and-drink body needs always claim the
nourishment the things of your mind need—and you let the mind go
hungry.”
“That’s it—that’s what people do—but you won’t. I hear it in your voice
—see it in your face. The things in you are too vital to be starved. You can
cripple them but you can’t kill them.”
“I do not know.”
“You must set yourself free.”
Freda smiled ruefully.
“That’s what women are always talking about and what they mean is a
washing machine.”
“That’s no freedom—that’s just being given the run of the prison. Don’t
you see that what I mean is to keep yourself free from all the petty desires
—the little peeping conventions—free for the great desires and pains that
will rush through you some day? You have to be strong to do that. You can
put up wind breaks for emotion so easily. And you don’t want them.”
“It means being very fearless.”
“I have never yet met anything worth fearing except cowardice.”
He stopped. They were in the middle of some sidewalk, neither of them
noticed where.
“Why did you kiss me last night?”
“I wanted to. I’ve not been sorry,” answered Freda. “By all the rules I’ve
learned I ought to be abashed, but you don’t live by rules, so why waste
them on you?”
Her smile was faintly tremulous. His strange, unfamiliar eyes looked
into hers and rested there.
“And we won’t have to spend time talking about love,” he said, half to
himself, “we shan’t wear it threadbare with trying to test its fabric. It comes
like the wind—like God.”
Again they breasted the wind and her hand was fast in his. It was a clean,
cool clasp. Freda felt oddly that she had saved her soul, that she had met an
ultimate.
CHAPTER XI
NEWSPAPER CUTS
II
Helen entered the house quietly and leaving her gloves and wrap on the
hall bench, went into the kitchen to see how things were going there. There
was a pleasant air of competence about it. The maids were busy and the
dinner in active preparation. Upstairs the nurse had the children. She played
with them a little, a warm sense of satisfaction at her heart. It was so absurd
to choose—to fake a choice. This other work, this other business could be
done without sacrificing anything. Gage was absurd. She was no less a
mother, not a bit less good a housewife because she was a delegate to the
Republican Convention. It took a bit of management, that was all. If she
was treating Gage badly she would feel different.
But there was a guilty feeling which she could not control. He was
unhappy and she the cause. They had been too close for that not to hurt.
At seven o’clock, a little late for dinner, came Gage, a guarded courtesy
in his manner. He asked her pardon for not dressing and handed her a sheaf
of evening papers. She was thankful that they had been issued too early to
contain the news of her triumph. It postponed certain altercations. She
thought suddenly of her barrage of photographers and of what she had
completely forgotten, Gage’s tremendous dislike of having her picture in
the papers.
“I can’t bear the thought of your picture tossed about the country—
looked at casually for an hour and then used as old newspapers are used—to
wrap a package—line a stair-rug—heaven knows what!”
Of course it had appeared occasionally for all of that but Helen had made
the occasions infrequent. She had always liked that prejudice of his. As she
looked at him to-night she thought he looked tired. There were strained
lines around his eyes, and he was very silent.
She said several little things and then, because avoidance of the big topic
seemed impossible, joined him in his silence. He looked at her at last,
smiling a little. It was not the smile of a rancorous man but rather a hurt
smile, a forced smile of one who is going to go through pain wearing it.
“I have been congratulated all the way home on your account, Helen. It
seems to have been a landslide for you.”