The statue of liberty was a “gift” from the French government to the American people, as if from a knowing father to an unexperienced child. The sculptor prided himself in creating gargantuan statuary that rivaled that of the ancients. The Statue of Liberty was no exception, it was commonly known that this statue would rival the Colossus of Rhodes, one of the Seven Wonder of the Ancient World (which was also situated in the midst of a busy harbor). The design of the Statue of Liberty was intended to be a depiction of the Roman Goddess, Libertas wearing a representation of the Phrygian cap, which was the mark of a freed slave. In her hand she bore a torch, representing (in the mind of the sculptor) the enlightenment of France being bestowed upon America as a gift (as if the Americans could not find it themselves. This all adds up to a statue of dubious character, and we could all wonder why it has become such a loved emblem of this country. The answer to this lies in the short poem written to raise funds for the base of the proposed statue by a woman named Emma Lazarus. Emma was a Sephardic Jewish woman born in New York City in 1849.
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
As most Americans know, this poem was later engraved onto a plaque which was placed on the base of the statue. What most Americans don’t know, however, is the message she was trying to give to the world with her poem. By comparing this poem to a selection of her other poetry and by remembering her Jewish upbringing, we can suddenly see a clear message of revolt from the Babylon of Europe, into the welcoming arms of a new mother, a new Zion where true liberty prevails. Let us take this monumental poem phrase by phrase and learn how this Jewish woman dedicated an unavoidable symbol of the corruption of the Old World into a Declaration of the Light of her LORD to all the people of the earth.
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
The poem starts out by proclaiming that this new statue is not like the old Colossus of Rhodes, Apollo, with conquering limbs astride from land to land. Liberty could not be obtained through warfare and domination! What does she replace this standard of European thought with?
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles.
The Mother of Exiles is a mighty woman carrying a torch, but who is she? To answer that question, we can turn to another of Emma’s poems, 1492 (written in 1883) which describes the “two-faced year” in which the Jews were exiled from Spain and a New World was discovered for them to flee to.
1492
Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate,
Didst weep when Spain cast forth with flaming sword,
The children of the prophets of the Lord,
Prince, priest, and people, spurned by zealot hate.
Hounded from sea to sea, from state to state,
The West refused them, and the East abhorred.
No anchorage the known world could afford,
Close-locked was every port, barred every gate.
Then smiling, thou unveil'dst, O two-faced year,
A virgin world where doors of sunset part,
Saying, "Ho, all who weary, enter here!
There falls each ancient barrier that the art
Of race or creed or rank devised, to rear
Grim bulwarked hatred between heart and heart!"
One cannot help but see the similarity between these two lines: Then smiling, thou unveil'dst, O two-faced year, // A virgin world where doors of sunset part and Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand // A mighty woman with a torch. The lands of America (North and South) were a refuge for the Jews who were being actively cast forth from their homes. Where else could they turn? In another poem, written by Emma during the same time period as The New Colossus, we catch another glimpse of this Mother of Exiles.
By the Waters of Babylon
Part V. - Currents
Vast oceanic movements, the flux and reflux of immeasurable tides oversweep our continent.
From the far Caucasian steppes, from the squalid Ghettoes of Europe,
From Odessa and Bucharest, from Kief and Ekaterinoslav,
Hark to the cry of the exiles of Babylon, the voice of Rachel mourning for her children, of Israel lamenting for Zion.
And lo, like a turbid stream, the long-pent flood bursts the dykes of oppression and rushes hitherward.
Unto her ample breast, the generous mother of nations welcomes them.
The herdsman of Canaan and the seed of Jerusalem's royal shepherd renew their youth amid the pastoral plains of Texas and the golden valleys of the Sierras.
Hark to the cry of the exiles of Babylon, the voice of Rachel mourning for her children, of Israel lamenting for Zion. The Jewish people have been exiled from their homes, cast forth by religion and government, they are crying for peace and freedom. They burst forth from the Old World like a broken dam and flow into the New World, welcomed by The Mother of Nations. Zion and Israel are often depicted in the Scriptures as a woman, the bride of the LORD. It is fitting then, that their lamentations were answered with a new land, a new Zion, where they could proser without turning away from their LORD.
From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
The imprisoned lightning that glows in her torch is a welcoming light for all the world, and this is exemplified by the imagery which casts her as a guardian of the harbor (which, incidentally, was the original purpose of the Colossus of Rhodes) in the next few lines:
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
The message hinted at in the first lines are now brought home; Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp! America has no need of the corruption and religious persecution that had cast so many from their homes. You might also compare the wording of these lines to the end of her poem, 1492. And so, we come to the last line of this poem:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
The lamp of the Mother of Exiles could represent one of many things, but the most compelling is referenced in yet another of Emma’s poems, titled Gifts:
Gifts
"O World-God, give me Wealth!" the Egyptian cried.
His prayer was granted. High as heaven, behold
Palace and Pyramid; the brimming tide
Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold.
Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet,
World-circling traffic roared through mart and street,
His priests were gods, his spice-balmed kings enshrined,
Set death at naught in rock-ribbed channels deep.
Seek Pharaoh's race to-day and ye shall find
Rust and the moth, silence and dusty sleep.
"O World-God, give me beauty!" cried the Greek.
His prayer was granted. All the earth became
Plastic and vocal to his sense; each peak,
Each grove, each stream, quick with Promethean flame,
Peopled the world with imaged grace and light.
The lyre was his, and his the breathing might
Of the immortal marble, his the play
Of diamond-pointed thought and golden tongue.
Go seek the sun-shine race, ye find to-day
A broken column and a lute unstrung.
"O World-God, give me Power!" the Roman cried.
His prayer was granted. The vast world was chained
A captive to the chariot of his pride.
The blood of myriad provinces was drained
To feed that fierce, insatiable red heart.
Invulnerably bulwarked every part
With serried legions and with close-meshed Code,
Within, the burrowing worm had gnawed its home,
A roofless ruin stands where once abode
The imperial race of everlasting Rome.
"O Godhead, give me Truth!" the Hebrew cried.
His prayer was granted; he became the slave
Of the Idea, a pilgrim far and wide,
Cursed, hated, spurned, and scourged with none to save.
The Pharaohs knew him, and when Greece beheld,
His wisdom wore the hoary crown of Eld.
Beauty he hath forsworn, and wealth and power.
Seek him to-day, and find in every land.
No fire consumes him, neither floods devour;
Immortal through the lamp within his hand.
The Lamp of the Hebrews is Truth from the LORD. This theme can be found in a number of Emma’s other works, including "The Choice," "The Feast of Lights," and "In Exile." It isn’t too far of a leap to suggest that the lamp that the Mother of Exiles holds next to the golden door, might be this same lamp mentioned in her other poetry.
In the end, the original message of the Statue of Liberty became turned around from one of condescending light shining forth from the Ancient and Civilized Lands into the Young Lands guiding their reckless venture of freedom into more traditional and tested forms of power and control into a welcoming light of moral truths on which this country was founded shining forth into the rest of the weary world. Emma Lazarus did our world a favor when she dedicated the Statue of Liberty to her LORD and changed her name to the Mother of Exiles.
I would like to give credit to Daniel Marom and his book Prooftexts: A Journal of Jewish Literary History for giving me the idea of writing this essay, and also to Emma Lazarus for being brave enough to combat tendrils of Babylon that had begun to creep into her Zion. May we all have as much courage as her in our own struggles.
1 comment:
Tendrils indeed. From Day One.
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