Israel, and Going Home
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terms the whole of Israel impressed me as a testament to a living God—a living witness to His prophecy, a thing far more of
the spirit than of the flesh. The spirit was infectious, especially to one who like myself had seen the material side: the
Arab side.
I viewed my tour of Israel in the light of a religious experience.
I left Israel believing in miracles—that God still speaks,
that prayers are answered, that the laws of Good and Evil
still rule. By the same token I believe that Israel, after many
tribulations, will survive. In the simplest of terms, Israel, as
I saw it, represented Good: the Arab world—with the cruelty
perpetrated upon its vast masses, and with the immorality
and transgression of its ruling classes—represented Evil. Between the two I had no doubt how the struggle would resolve
itself. I believe, with the faith of a child, in the ultimate triumph of democracy not in Israel alone, but throughout the
world.
Israel proved, too, a sentimental homeland for me. For
two thousand years the Jews had dreamed of independence;
for a thousand years the Armenians have dreamed of a sovereign, democratic homeland, to which one might come and
go freely. I had gained entry into almost every country, but
where I yearned to go most, I was not permitted. No visitor
has entered Soviet Armenia since 1947. Few have ever left it
I thrilled vicariously at the good fortune of Israel.
Had not the Armenians suffered under the Turks, though
to a lesser degree, as the Jews under Hitler? How similar the
tortured background of these two ancient peoples, how common their yearning for liberty. Had not Franz Werfel, an
Austrian Jew, finding kinship with the suffering Armenians,
also found inspiration in the struggle of the Armenians of
Musa Dagh for survival? How natural, then, for one of Armenian birth to find inspiration in Israel!
As I moved and dreamed from one end of Israel to the
other, in my mind's eye I found myself substituting Arme-