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Updated: June 27, 2025
And he won't let me laugh at them because he has a vague feeling that even Palestine spelling and grammar are holy. Barstein laughed again. 'We'll send all the Rabbis to Jericho. She smiled, but retorted: 'That's where they'll send you, you maker of graven images. Why, your very profession is forbidden. 'I'll corner 'em with this very Bezalel text.
'I'm afraid I haven't quite got it! he murmured. 'As if I couldn't trust you! cried Nehemiah reproachfully, and as he lifted his long coat-tails to trouser-pocket the money, Barstein saw that he had no waistcoat. About six months later, when Barstein had utterly forgotten the episode, he received another letter whose phraseology instantly recalled everything.
It was clearly the man's duty to face the music. Not that Barstein expected anything but the music of the Wedding March. He was glad that his original contempt for Sir Asher had been exchanged for sincere respect, and that the bluff Briton was a mere veneer. It was to the Palestinian patriarch that he would pour out his hopes and his dreams.
'You don't suppose she won't suffer dreadfully? Barstein went on, perceiving his advantage. 'Break her heart! repeated Sir Asher, startled out of his discreet reticence. 'I'd sooner break her heart than see her married to a Zionist! This time it was the sculptor's turn to gasp. 'To a what? he cried. 'To a Zionist. You don't mean to deny you're a Zionist? said Sir Asher sternly.
'Have mercy, O Lord, upon Israel Thy people. Despite all his outward pomp and prosperity, he felt himself one of that dispersed and maltreated band of brothers who had for eighteen centuries resisted alike the storm of persecution and the sunshine of tolerance, and whose one consolation in the long exile was the dream of Zion. The artist in Barstein began to thrill.
Nehemiah addressed his wife. 'Did I not say he was a genteel archangel? he cried ecstatically. Barstein was sitting outside a café in Rome sipping vermouth with Rozenoffski, the Russo-Jewish pianist, and Schneemann the Galician-Jewish painter, when he next heard from Nehemiah. He was anxiously expecting an important letter, which he had instructed his studio-assistant to bring to him instantly.
Sir Asher glared at the bold questioner. 'That seems a worse waste of breath, added Barstein drily. 'I said you were a mocker, said Sir Asher severely. 'It is a Divine event I pray for not the creation of a Ghetto. 'A Ghetto! Barstein groaned in sheer hopelessness. 'Yes, you're an anti-Semite too like your daughter, like your son, like all of us. We're all anti-Semites. 'I an anti-Semite!
'Yes, old blood's way is sometimes worse than young blood's, said Frau Schneemann, unsmiling. 'You must not forget that Yossel is still a bachelor. 'Yes, and therefore a sinner in Israel I remember, quoth the artist with a twinkle. How all this would amuse his bachelor friends, Leopold Barstein and Rozenoffski the pianist! 'Make not mock.
'Zionism's all very well for Christians they're in no danger of having to go to Palestine, she had reflected shrewdly. 'And why couldn't you live entirely among Jews? Barstein asked slowly. Mabel drew a great breath, as if throwing off a suffocating weight. 'One couldn't breathe, she explained. 'Aren't you living among Jews now? 'Don't look so glum, silly.
'But have you enough plates and dishes and tablecloths? Can you afford to buy the food, and to risk it's not being eaten? Nehemiah raised his hands to heaven. 'Not being eaten! With a family like mine! Barstein laughed in spite of himself. And he was softened by noting how sensitive and artistic were Nehemiah's outspread hands they might well have wielded the forceps.
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