December 16, 1921
CANADIAN JEWISH REVIEW
5
SPORTS
NAHUM SOKOLOW
By Ethel Taurog
It was raining, a^slow, drizzly rain that promised to last through the day. The livelier of the guests at the Peachy Farm Resort bustled about to arrange an indoor entertainment .-for the afternoon. Soon a program was produced.
� In picturesque fashion the ypunger people squatted on the rug in the parlor, leaving the spacious sofa, the rockers and easy chairs for the older persons. The talent was ranged around the piano, while young Mr. Zander^ a suave, gracious youth, who took pride in the possession of a keen sense of humor, announced the various numbers in extravagant terms. Mr. Lockwood, a tall, frail-looking man with graying hair, sang a popular, sentimental ditty, He was followed by Mrs, Forlin, a portly-looking matron, who played a sonata. The piano number was followed by interpretative dances by the Foxman children. Then came a recitation, imitating various Jewish characters, much on the order of the vaudeville sketches of erstwhile fame, by a Miss Saddel, a tall, husky young woman, with a mass of hair of doubtful auburn shade, and kittenish manners.
After a few moments of listening to the recitation, Zella Marnov rose from her more picturesque than comfortable position on the floor, and walked out. In one of the-moist rockers on the scre'ened-in porch she sat down, and gazed thoughtfully at the dripping trees and bushes.
"If it weren't raining, and the sun were shining, I would ask you to keep that pose for a little while longer, just long enough for me to photograph you as a perfect illustration of loneliness incarnate, with-the inscription, "Nobody loves me, Irm going out into the garden and eat worms."
Without turning her head, Zella said, "Isn't it simply atrocious to be obliged to listen to an anti-Semitic outbreak like that? I tell you, Mossie, I was tempted to get up and tell that Miss Saddel that she showed poor taste, to say the least, in parodying the Jews in front of their faces. Well, why do you laugh? Do you suppose that she doesn't know that you and'I are Jewish, that Mr. Zander is a Jew, that more than half of. the people staying here are Jews? Oh, well, laugh if you think it so funny. I feel more like crying when I think that in our own dear, free America there should be so many instances of anti-Semitism."
"Oh, Zella, it really is funny," Mossie Hilsner, a petite, gay blonde, rocked-herself gleefully. "You seem to think that Miss Saddel is not a Jewess. I remember her, well, let's say five years ago. You know, I don't claim to remember farther back. Well, I'remember her when she was Mollie Sadlokowitz, and her hair was jet black, blacker than yours, and she�oh, say, what's the use of bein^ a cat? But it did strike me as comical when you-"
"Do you mean to say that she, a Jewess, would so demean herself as to cast opprobrium at her own people?"
"Well, to can the jawbreakers you're employing, young lady, would you mind telling me where you were brought up that you do not know that when it comes to slinging mud at our 0WTI people some of us are the best slingers you ever saw. Why, let me tell you-"
The combined efforts of all the people in the parlor in an attempt to render the chorus of a popular jazz melody reached their ears, and they they heard some one say:
"Pardon me, ladies, if I seem to interrupt," Mr. Zander quietly shut the screen door leading to the porch. "Now that I have started them on the road to enjoyment, and I think they're good for the rest of the afternoon and evening, with a h'tde-^termission for supper, I can enjoy my well-merited rest.'
"Weil, if you are responsible for this bedlam, said Mossie saucily, "I'd not boast of it, if I were you. Furthermore, you have seriously offended Miss Marnov
by including in your program a recitation such as has been barred in all respectable vaudeville houses."
"I humbly acknowledge that I am to blame for not having inquired into the nature of the recitation, But, presuming that a Jewish young woman of supposedly average intelligence-"
Zella turned her head slowly towardi Mr. Zander, and said earnestly, "Of course, no one can blame you. A Jewish girl whould be the last one, naturally, one would think of as deliver-
(From the Series "Heroes of Jewish Renaissance")
By Dr. A. Levinson
ing sue tation.
v, on h an
awful, anti-Semitic reci-
"After my strenuous efforts to enlighten you, why do you go out of your way to show your ignorance, Zella, dear?" queried Mossie. "I was just telling her before you came out here, Mr. Zander, that when it comes to saying mean things about the Jews, some of us are more ready than the worst Jew-haters."
"But it doesn't seem plausible," insisted Zella.
"It's so, nevertheless," retorted Mr. Zander. "Do you know what I call such people? Sports. A sport, in scientific terms, is one of a species that differs from the normal type. One of the distinguishing features of the sports in our midst is the fact that they tell the nastiest jokes about Jews, they are the most carping critics, and they insist most upon their Christian virtues. Let me tell you of an interesting case.
"In my class at the university was a young woman named Mignonette Veller, pronounced a la Franchise, Velye. When I first met her I took it for granted that she was a Jewess. She, however, quickly dispelled my doubts by speaking of her French ancestry. She looked more Jewish than either of us, but I was willing to let the French have her. She was a snob of snobs. I was in my senior year, and it so happened that a very dear friend of mine. Wilfred Hopkins, was chosen class president. Hopkins and I were almost inseparable. We were called the Siamese twins. His dad was wealthy, and one of the powers in political circles and upon him Miss Mignonette Veller cast her deep black eyes. As a result, Hopkins and I, and a few of his retainers were frequently invited to the home of Madame Desiree Veller. That was the name that greeted us above the door bell we rang when we reached Mignonette's home. We soon learned, that the name belonged to her mother, whom we met. Madame Veller, it seemed was an artistic milliner, who supplied the ideas, as she herself told us, wherewith the headgear for the very wealthy who could afford it, was made.
"She certainly knew how to put on the dog, did Madame Veller. She talked like a character out of the cheaper French novels, and she always posed like the second-rate actress 01 a small town stock company. Every word "she uttered, every movement she made, was carefully studied. She told us about Mignonette's Papa, who, she hinted, was a member of the nobility; about her dear Papa; who was a Welshman, and her dear Mamma, who had been a popular French beauty. She had been brought up Methodist, although her dear Mamma had been Catholic. On one occasion she ostentatiously showed us a rosary that had been in the family for several generations. She was rare.
"To use a slang expression, I got her number very soon, and, I must confess with humility, I enjoyed leading her on. On several occasions she had made slighting remarks about the Jews. This nettled me^/Then one evening she told me a few supposedly humorous stories, the venomous kind, about Jews. This was my opportunity, and I got up to leave, telling her that 1 could not remain in a home where the sentiment against my people was* so bitter. Oh, she was sorry, but she hoped I would not take offense. She had not known
Generations ago, when the_ar�.<oT specialization was still unborn, the great ra&n of the age were proficient in more than one line of activity. There were men who were great scientists and at the same time great philosophers, great poets and at the same time great statesmen, great astronomers and likewise great theologists. Such names-as those of Hippocrates, Galen, Aurelius, bring to mind the great variety of contributions each of these men has made to the progress of the world. Just as noteworthy for their versatility of talents were the Jewish great men of the past. Halevi, Maimonides, Tobias Kafcz, the Gaon of Vilna, are a few of the notable examples -men who held first rank not only in their chosen professions but in various other branches of learning.
In this day of specialization, we have become so accustomed to the division and subdivision of every line of activity that we are fast losing the type once known as "an all-around man." Even in the field of literature, we find the same multifarious specialization making its inroads. Our poets write no prose and our novelists write no dramas. We have specialized fiction writers and news writers and editorial writers, essayists and publicists and book reviewers. Rare indeed is it in these days to find a man who combines all of these and is a master of all. This combination, however, we have in the person of Nahum Sokolow.
Sokolow is a writer, a publisher, an orator, a traveler, or rather a wanderer. He is one day in Warsaw, the next day in Berlin, the next in^Lohdon, and ajfew days later in Spain, Italy orJTurkey.
Sokolow's versatility is but an expression of his vastly varied experiences. His young days in Plozk, his early life in the little town of Makow imbued him with an ardent love of everything Jewish at an age when he was most impressionable. His abode in Warsaw made a Polish gentleman out of him. His travels on the continent perfected his European culture. His connection with newspapers developed his diplomatic bent of mind.. The Haskalah movement, in which he took a keen interest, inspired him with a longing to impart his knowledge to others and Zionism has brought out his Jewishness to its very depths.
Throughout his career Sokolow has been distinguished for his genius and his Jewishness�his genius to comprehend and assimilate all knowledge and his Jewishness which has resisted all anti-Jewish attractions. His genius has saved him from sinking into petty things even at the time that he was in the obscure village of Makow and ate "Kest" at the table of his father-in-law. Even there, while but a youth, he took an interest in matters of great importance; he corresponded with the greatest men of his time; he studied higher learning of all lands. His Jewish, background kept him from drifting away from his people at the critical period when all who could, seized the opportunity to break their bonds of Jewishness; at a time when the best of our sons forsook us, Sokolow remained with his people.
I.
Sokolow the Writer.
Nahum Sokolow is a literateur who is above all forms and all schools. That he is a publicist, no one dares doubt. His editorials that appeared in the Hebrew Daily Hazefirah day in and day out for a "period of twenty years is sufficient evidence of his right to the title. Many prophetic utterances to which he has given vent from time to time in his editorials have become a reality. His romance, "Neure Han-escher" (The Youth of the Eagle) is by itself worthy enough to crown him with the title of story writer. His History of Zionism stamps him as a historian of first rank. Sokolow can even lay claim to the title of scientist, perhaps not from the standpoint of discovery or originality of research, but from the viewpoint of knowledge and presentation. Every branch of science has been made the subject of some article or essay from his pen�geography, astrooomy, ma the-matks and historical research.
The character^of Sokolow's talent is a matter that has called forth divergent opinions. Is Sokolow original? Has he created anything peculiarly his own, or is he an imitator, a commentator about the lives and acts of others? Some of Sokolow's critics are of the opinion that he is not original, that as a writer of items of daily interest he does not create anything new nor destroy the old; that he is not a writer that spins his webs of thought from himself, that he is but an explainer who translates and interprets the thoughts of other people, and spreads them among the public. At first sight this criticism seems quite justified. To one who has not probed to the bottom of Sokolow's genius, it may appear that he is but a machine, that takes into itself a crude piece of wood and turns it out into form of a shapely scroll. Should one even grant that this is so, there is still a great deal that differentiates Sokolow's skill from that of the ordinary newspaper man who feels that his task is completed when he has given the public what it wants. Sokolow, however, does more.. He puts his stamp of*individual-ity on everything he writes. Only he alone knows how to combine a Talmudic expression with the latest slang, a Midrashic phrase with salon repartee. Read his L'Moronon V'Rabonon (To Our Masters and Rabbis), or his letters Old and New, and you will convince yourself that you are dealing with a man that has a world-wide conception of the universe, an original philosophy of life, a man who draws inspiration from his own soul, from a fountain of knowledge that is almost inexhaustible. In fact, it is the very vastness of his knowledge that often obscures the originality of Sokolow's ideas and thus it happens that many have been deluded into a false impression that he is an interpreter rather than an originator.
The extent of Sokolow's learning is one matter about which there is no dispute. All his critics agree that he has a profound and varied store of learning. Indeed there is hardly a single phase of learning in which Sokolow has not steeped himself. He is filled chuck full of Talmud and Mid rash and Jewish literature of all ages. He reads, writes and speaks twelve languages. He knows the life and customs of many lands and many peoples. He has studied science and philosophy, art and literature with the open mind of a student and a writer. And ail he has ever learned finds its echo in his writings. One detects the wisdom of a Talmudist in hb every-day articles; one scents the