On a week that encompasses two special days of commemoration and celebration of modern day Israel, a week that is meant to embody unity of purpose and peoplehood, it’s hard to see how splintered so much of Israel is right now, from within. The tensions seem to only be deepening.
Then — to witness the growing anti-Israel sentiment from around the world. The Harvard Crimson, an elite institution’s daily student newspaper, made the editorial decision to support of BDS. In an academic institution of supposedly the most stellar caliber, you’d expect more intellectual integrity in arriving at fair and accurate decisions.
A blog dedicated to free speech values and First Amendment issues called “In A Crowded Theater,” authored by Prof. Erica Goldberg, had the sharpest response I’ve seen so far. I encourage you to Google and read her piece titled “To those on the Crimson Editorial Board who Voted To Publish ‘In Support of Boycott, Divest, Sanction and a Free Palestine.’” In contrast to the Crimson’s simplicities, hers is a sophisticated, comprehensive rebuttal worthy of a Harvard newspaper engaged in a decision-making process of consequence.
Then there was that exasperating distortion of Jewish history by Russia’s foreign minister, as justification for Russia’s invasion of sovereign Ukraine.
All in a week’s time.
A week marking modern day Israel’s 74th anniversary.
If only Israel had some kind of theme song of hope in dark times. Oh, actually, that’s Israel’s national anthem. Literally, “Hope.” It’s the modern day song of hope representing Israel and her people. To give this special song added emphasis, for the much needed hope we try to live with, it is preceded by the definite article, “The Hope,” “Hatikva”.
Originally, it was called “Tikvateinu,” Our Hope.
This poem we all know and love was authored by Naftali Herz Imber. Together with Sir Laurence Oliphant of the British Parliament and his wife, he journeyed to Ottoman Palestine from England.
Hatikva’s landing as Israel’s national anthem was not straightforward. Apparently, Herzl and Imber had their tensions. Herzl was not keen on Imber’s song representing his Zionist enterprise. Further, were it not for a nurse in a New York hospital to get Imber to jot down the first two stanzas before he died — which is the only extant copy of Hatikva written by Imber — we would have no official record. In her foresight and good faith, this New York nurse named Jeanette Robinson-Murphy sent this sole copy to the National Library of Israel. If not for her, Imber’s poem might have faded with time.
Initially, Imber, while still in Iasi, Romania — long before he reached Ottoman Palestine and was inspired there by the land of Israel — he was already tinkering with this poem, possibly borrowing from a German song called, “The German Rhine,” whose stanzas begin with “As long as,” which translate into Imber’s Hebrew “Kol ode.”
Hatikva the poem was officially completed in Jerusalem in 1884. The two-stanza anthem we know, whose verbal inception begins with “Kol ode balevav . . . ,” was originally a nine-stanza poem. It was edited by someone named Dr. Marmon-Cohen.
Not long after Imber’s poem was completed, someone named Samuel Cohen composed the breathtaking melody of longing that touches something deep within the listener as soon as the first note is played. Cohen’s melody expresses the heartfelt yearning of 2,000 years so profoundly captured by the song. The melody, which some speculate was inspired by a Romanian ballad, is, in addition to the poetry of the words that ring through the experience of Jewish history, is a crucial element in making this brief, powerful song burn with Jewish emotion.
Hatikva was not one day formally named Israel’s anthem. Its development as a song representing the Zionist enterprise was more organic, prior to becoming enshrined as Israel’s anthem. During Imber’s many wanderings and travels throughout Ottoman Palestine, one of the communities he spent time in was Rishon Le-Zion. The people there were familiar with Imber’s nine-stanza “Tikvateinu,” turned to song. One day, Zionists in Rishon Le-Zion found themselves frustrated with the bureaucrats of Baron Rothschild.
Their protest took on a life of its own as they used the then “Tikvateinu” as their protest’s banner song. The poem-song then began to be uttered from Rishon to other places in the land of Israel. The rest is history.
Imber’s lyrics brought to life with Cohen’s haunting and majestic melody, the duality of today’s famous Hatikva.
As Israel celebrates 74 years, it’s a good opportunity to remember with dignity and gratitude these two men who brought an expression of tangible hope through Hatikva’s poetic and musical wonder that captures so much of what modern day Israel means.
The seeds of this poem and song are in the Diaspora. Hatikva’s power in evoking Jewish history is this anthem’s duality of sorts, weaving as it does both the experience of Jewish diaspora-exile together with the land of Israel.
Hatikva means hope. It’s this hope I harbor for Israel’s next 74 years — amen!
Source: The National Library of Israel.
Copyright © 2022 by the Intermountain Jewish News
