"FOXES have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the son of man hath not where to lay his head." Of whom did the great prophet speak more fittingly than of the children of his own race? Homeless for two thousand years, persecuted, ostracized, their backs have become bent and in the eyes of many they have become a nation of religious fanatics and usurers, wily, unkempt. The Jewish youth of to-day cannot look back upon his history of exile and say, as did Æneas of old after seven long years of wandering: "It will be pleasant to remember"--"forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit"; his trials have been but too real and he has not recovered sufficiently to have any desire to recall them. Blame him not then, if, when others from obscure and semi-civilized quarters of the globe hail with pride their ancestry, he alone, with the proudest traditions in history, will sometimes seek to hide his descent. He still feels, moreover, some of the old "wiliness" and "unkemptness" within himself; he thinks they are of the Jews and of none others--and he wants to get rid of them. He still feels some of the old usury in his bones, the clannishness, the distrust of the world, which the squalid ghetto walls the Middle Ages had built around his fathers have bequeathed to him, and he wants to get rid of those. Shall we look askance at him then, if when the American University welcomes him to her hearth--Ithaca, for example, with her kindly professors and laughing girl students, her ball games, her neat cottages and rolling hills that drink Cayuga's stream beside--in the excess of eagerness he should sometimes break with, yes, even forget his past, and dream new things? (Hills, cottages, home and country; superfluous concepts were these to other men, elementary satisfactions which they are born into and take for granted as their inevitable heritage.) Eagerly, therefore, greedily, perhaps, he sees new things; the goal of twenty centuries of wandering stands revealed before him. The Irish have found a home in America, the Germans, the Italians, the Poles, and why not the neediest of all, the Jews? The American University typifies the ideals of the great democracy where "race, creed and previous conditions" are forgotten. Here all men forget their prejudices. All men become brothers. _But Not Yet Are All Men Brothers_ BUT hold, have we not been expressing a wish rather than a fact? We look into our own hearts, and strife and jealousy and racial antagonism are still there. Can we expect that man who has but lately begun to think of brotherhood can already feel it in his blood; that the age-long superstition against the Jew can be obliterated with a new geographical boundary--though that boundary be indeed serene as the all-washing, all-embracing Atlantic? Oh, that "reality does not correspond to our conceptions," exclaims Wilhelm Meister.