It was past three in the afternoon. Early autumn permeated the spacious, high-ceilinged room with air for which any attire was suitable. One would not feel chilly in summer clothes, nor would winter clothes be too heavy. Similarly with the doors: when they were open, they didn’t let in a chill and when they were closed, it wasn’t too warm. The guests chatted with one another about the university, its buildings, the courses for which there were still no teachers, and Mount Scopus and its environs. They didn’t raise their voices as they talked; even those who were in the habit of making themselves heard, at any time and in any place, behaved respectfully. The windows drew light directly from the sky itself, with nothing intervening. There were many people present who felt, at that moment, that this structure was unique among structures and this setting unique among settings. Individuals who tended to respond only to what was created to be useful to man were astonished by what they saw from Mount Scopus: the city, the Temple Mount, the wilderness inhabited by infinite colors, the Dead Sea, whose quiet blue flows up from the bottom of the deep, capped by hills and valleys that soar and dip and wrinkle, with every wind etching shapes above like those below, from which a breeze ripples upward and flutters overhead.
On the platform and close by sat the leaders of the yishuv, who arrived early, before the proceedings began, unlike those functionaries who make a point of coming late, so they can feast their eyes on the crowd rising to honor them. Suddenly all conversation ceased, the hall was silent. All eyes were on the president of the university, who had begun his speech. He had been a Reform rabbi in his youth and had been forced to leave his post because he was a Zionist. Although he retained some of the mannerisms of the Reform rabbinate, which are considered ridiculous in this country, his height, style, and dignity led even the cynics in the hall to listen to what he had to say.
As he did every year, he expounded on the role of the Hebrew University, which is not merely the university of the Land of Israel, but belongs to Jews everywhere and is destined to break down the boundaries of Jewish learning, fusing Jewish studies with the humanities and natural sciences to form one single discipline — for everything human is Jewish, and everything Jewish is human.
After outlining the future of the university, he enumerated the innovations of the past academic year, as well as those on the agenda for the coming year: who was appointed lecturer and who was promoted to the rank of senior lecturer, associate professor, or tenured professor. Although most of this information was already public knowledge, everyone listened attentively, for it is one thing to hear a rumor in the marketplace and another to hear it from the president of the university at the official opening of the new academic year.
After listing the names of the faculty members and the promotions, he told how many buildings had been built and how many new students enrolled.
After finishing this account, he spoke about the obligations of teachers and students. Their purpose was twofold and manifold, for, apart from coming to this institution for the sake of learning — some to study and some to teach — a further duty was thrust upon them: to fortify the Torah and the Jewish ethic, without which there could be no future for the nation and no basis for society.
After mentioning all the lofty and exalted hopes invested in the university and in rebuilding the land, he lowered his voice and spoke of impending dangers, dangers we did not foresee, with the power to undermine the lofty and sublime hopes that had brought us here.
Everyone sat and listened, not so much to the speech as to a voice from their own hearts that spoke without words and began to take form. Earlier, as long as there was peace in the world, in all the lands of our exile it was possible to dream of the return to Zion, the revival of the people and its language. Some unique individuals added a dream to this dream: the dream of a Hebrew University in Jerusalem. How? The dreamers never explained this dream. When they were awake, they could provide no key to it. Our holy language remained unsuited to scholarship; Hebrew-speaking professors were scarce, and Hebrew was as far from the lips as dreams from reality. The war suddenly erupted, the world was in chaos, and not one of the dreamers dreamed a good dream. The towns Jews lived in were eradicated, and hundreds of thousands of Jews were killed in the war and its aftermath. At last those at war were worn out and no longer able to fight. All weapons were at rest, and there was no more war. Some of those who survived the war thought about returning to their homes. They found no way to travel. There were no vehicles, no horses to ride. Highwaymen prowled the roads, which were in disrepair and difficult to traverse by foot. The survivors were pressed to leave those places in which they had found refuge from the sword of war, because of hardships and a shortage of food. So they plucked up their courage and, without regard for themselves, set off. They returned to their towns and found desolation, their houses burned to the ground. Anyone who found his home intact found it occupied by a vicious Christian, who held on to the house, shouting at him, “Jew, what do you want here? Go to Palestine!” During the war, Britain had issued a declaration and even published a letter saying that she viewed with favor the opening of the gates of the Land of Israel to the people of Israel. This message had not yet reached people’s hearts, though the hostile voices of those who stole our houses resounded wherever Jews sought their homes and property.
They swallowed their pride and looked elsewhere. Walking from place to place, they found nothing. They began to despair and asked, “Could it be, God forbid, that Israel’s destruction has been decreed and that this is the beginning of the end?” A very few individuals overcame these misfortunes and said, “Salvation will come from these very misfortunes.” How? Salvation isn’t brought about by reason.
In any case, there were a few individuals who ignored logic and didn’t wait for salvation. They banded together and went up to this land. They wandered from nation to nation, from country to country, along with those hordes returning from the war, its disabled victims, wounded human fragments, thieves, and murderers. At last they came to a port and hired leaky vessels that took them up to heaven and down to the abyss. Some reached the gates of death, and some reached the gates of this land. When they arrived, they engaged in hard labor. All day they were consumed by the sun; at night, by insects and other ills with which God blighted the land. Without regard for themselves, they paved roads, made settlements, and cured the ills of the land, preparing it for the next generation and for all our brothers-in-exile. Today they are here in Jerusalem, our glorious city, capital of our land, the Land of Israel, at our sanctuary-university at the opening ceremonies of the academic year. They sit at the Hebrew University, on benches like the ones in a real university. And what is the language of instruction? Hebrew. Disregard the fact that some of the professors are not very learned. You could say that they are like clay shards placed between beams, that great men will come tomorrow and fill the house with scholarship. Do you ask, “Who needs a university in an age such as this, when books are widely available and anyone who wishes can open a book and learn?” As long as other countries support universities, it is fitting for us to have one too.
When the ceremony was over, Herbst left for home. There were many cars at the university gate, waiting to take the guests back to town. But what always happens, on any day, at any hour, happened then. Those who value time, love work, and behave decently are shoved aside by loudmouthed idlers in noisy pursuit of nothing, who push and shove, occupying every space without leaving an inch, preventing you from getting home and back to the work that was interrupted by these ceremonies. All the cars were occupied and would be filled again when they returned by those who jump lines and are stronger than you. This being the case, Herbst chose to go back on foot.