Book Recommendation

I think my favorite experience in the world (OK, one of my favorites) is reading an academic text that is so captivating that I can't put it down. With fiction this isn't so rare, I get caught up in the story and lose sense of time and place, but with an academic text, even a good one, I usually need a cup of coffee and a lot of breaks in order to get through the reading. I just read Call it English by Hannah Wirth-Nesher. I have wanted to read it for a long time and when I saw it on the New Acquisitions shelf of the Rothberg library, I couldn't resist. I knew it would be interesting, but I was surprised that I found myself staying up late and waking up early just to read one more page... I finished it this morning before school, with the kind of adrenaline rush of coming to a fitting and satisfying conclusion mixed with the disappointment that the book had ended - and that I would have to return it to the library. For anyone interested in Jewish American Literature, this is a must-read. It's a sweeping but detail-driven study in the multiple ways that Yiddish and Hebrew enter Jewish American fiction written in English, and how immigrant-spoken (accented) English is represented in this fiction - not only in terms of the mechanics of it but also the meanings behind it; the wordplay, the alienation, the opportunity, the limitations. It focuses on the complicated relationship that Jewish American literature has to English, Hebrew, and Yiddish, and the multilingual nature of the literature, even as fluency in Yiddish and Hebrew fade among American Jews, and it explores the translation of Jewish concepts and languages to a non-Jewish audience, as well as to a Jewish audience alienated from knowledge of older Jewish traditions and languages. It is beautifully written, deeply insightful, risk-taking, ground-breaking, broad-ranging... OK, it's just really, really good.

A Movie, A Book, A Play

This morning I attended a terrific literature class in which we watched a film by Amir Goren called "66 Was a Good Year for Tourism" and discussed snippets from a novel by Yitzchak Goren that tells a counternarrative to Israeli European-ness by portraying the lives of a family of Sephardic Jews one summer in Alexandria as remembered by a man who now lives in Israel. Our conversation centered around building identity in multiple places, the meaning of nostalgia, and as per the theme of the course itself, on masculinity as defined by these texts. Anyway, I very much enjoyed the Goren texts and encourage you to check them out if you have a chance.
I skipped the rest of my classes because my friend Nicole and her amiable husband Joe were in town and wanted to meet me for lunch. Together with Nicole and Joe I enjoyed the pleasant if a bit overwhelming summer sun as we strolled to the shuk to buy bread, hummus, vegetables, and halva, and then went back to my apartment to eat our plentiful lunch. It was such a pleasure to see both of them, and I am very much looking forward to spending time with them in New York. It's very exciting to feel that good friendships can be picked up again after so long - the conversation came easily and comfortably, and I think we all had a lovely time.
After an afternoon of Hebrew homework (most of it should have been completed long ago, but I keep putting it off), and reading a book I'm very much enjoying, I went to see a performance of the drama club at Har El synagogue. As I suspected, the performance reminded me a bit of the plays that my grandfather used to participate in with his retirement community, only this was in a less comfortable performance space, was ostensibly a more serious play, and was of course in a language that I don't know very well...
The play was called Dreyfus, by Jean-Claude Grumber. I think it was originally written in French and then translted into Hebrew, but as the characters are in 1930's Vilna I suppose they are meant to be speaking in Hebrew (and the non-Jews in Polish?) so language was a bit confusing.
The premise of the show is that a group of amateur actors in Vilna stage a play about Dreyfus, and the actors don't find the theme relevant to their own situation. It is a comedy, in part, as they perform poorly and a frustrated director corrects their follies, but it is also a tragedy as the actors do not heed the warning inherrent in the Dreyfus story, claiming that nothing of the sort could happen in Poland. They stress the differences between Eastern and Western Jews, don't relate to the notion of Zionism, etc. In the end, two anti-Semitic non-Jews enter the playhouse and start harassing an actor, threatening to cut of his beard, etc. The actors gather their courage and, brandishing fake swords from their costumes, they get rid of the agressors. Ultimately, though, they don dark coats, carry suitcases, the lights grow dim, and serious faced they stand together while the sound of a train echoes in the performance space.
I don't know what I think of this play. It was replete with silly and hysterical women, and with notions of Polish Jews being naive and comic. At one point an actor suggests that the Dreyfus play would be better with some catchy music, and she starts humming "If I Were a Rich Man" a gross anachronism and a symbol for the way that Jews today resort to pop culture to invoke a sense of history... But on the other hand, it was a play that mixed the seriousness of the history (if mitigated by the anti-Semites speaking Hebrew and not acting very violently) with the humanity and humor of everyday life in what is perhaps a more genuine representation of the past than one that looks at the whole long history of East European Jewry as inevitably and bleakly leading to destruction, a sad and downtrodden people without resilience of spirit or the will to creat and enjoy beauty and life.
I slipped out of the synagogue as fast as could be possible when most people in the sanctuary were walking very slowly with canes and we were all heading to the same exit. When I got to my apartment I knocked on the neighbors' door to invite them to have dinner with me Tuesday night - I keep meaning to do something with them before I leave but forgetting, so I'm very proud of myself for setting a date. They made me promise I wouldn't go to too much trouble to cook for them, so I'll have to think about what to make. Suggestions?

Reading

Yesterday I walked to the nearby used book store, having recently finished the last of the books in my 'to read' pile. I pored over the shelves for an hour, picking books up and putting them down, reading back covers and wiping the dust onto my khaki pants. I left with four books: The History of Love by Nicole Krauss, The Color Purple by Alice Walker, The Ambassadors by Henry James, and The Wise Men of Chelm , in Yiddish, which I think is anonymous. I came home and opened a book straight away. This morning, I finished The History of Love. I had only meant to read for a few minutes but as soon as I opened the book everything else vanished and it was me and these words so exquisitely revealing their secrets in pauses and spaces and letters snuggling up against one another and pushing from syllable to syllable in a forward-moving-dance to the very last page. It was beautiful, the characters so real in their struggles to be ordinary and extraordinary, to understand their own lives and reach out from their loneliness to one another, to be alone but be connected, to be seen and not to be seen, to live, love, and die. They are quirky, longwinded and terse, imaginative and hopeless, stuck and moving, receding and progressing. They speak in their own nuanced voices and yet the novel holds together. It isn't perfect, and there were moments of which I was less fond, but I think it might be one of the most close to perfect novels I've read in a long time. I think I may have found a new favorite book.

more on preschool

I was in the middle of writing an essay for another purpose when I composed this piece, very much a work in progress. Thought you might be interested.

The first time I entered the gan, I was greeted by a troop of three year olds chirping, "What's your name? in a language I barely knew. “Jessica,” I answered, and they repeated the unfamiliar “Dshess-ee-ca” hesitantly before encircling their tiny hands around my fingers and leading me to the toy trucks.

Just as my name is new to them, so too do I have trouble with their names, and just as sometimes I have trouble understanding the words they garble between lips new to speech, so too do they give me puzzled looks when I correct myself nervously while I speak. Still, somehow, we have a good time.

I had taught in a preschool before, and there I had used words freely and playfully to engage my students. “What is that?” I would ask them, and if they asked me the same question, I’d give a preposterous answer that would make the children shriek with gleeful laughter. At Gan Pshushim, where I volunteer for six hours every week, I am often silent.

Different types of students are drawn to me now than before, in America. When I was at an English-speaking preschool, the most outgoing students were eager to tell me a story or make-believe with me. Now, it is the quietest and smallest students who look at me through wide and trusting eyes. Like me, they don’t want to speak, they are afraid of making mistakes. I stumble over simple words as I ask them if they would like to play with me, to dance with me, to bake imaginary cakes with me in the sandbox. They nod, silently, and follow me wherever I go.

Ours is a wordless language, and as a writer, a literature enthusiast, and an avid Scrabble player, it was a language I had never used so fully until now. We put puzzles together without knowing the names of the objects we’re creating. We dance to songs with unfamiliar words. We ask for food by pointing, we read books by looking at the pictures.

The other teachers don’t speak our language. Whether they are asking in soft, soothing voices or chastising with harsh consonants and sharp tones, whenever they ask these children to speak, I can feel and understand their fear. They shake their heads, cross their arms, and shrink into themselves.

But when I don’t ask them to speak – how we have fun! Once I sat for a full half hour in the sand box, piling sand and sifting it between my fingers, two children on my lap and three by my side, in complete silence.

Sometimes we talk. I say something in Hebrew, probably incorrectly, and they process it slowly, and sometimes they answer me softly. If I had been busy with the more extroverted children, I may not even have heard their response.

And what have I learned? Is it a lesson about patience? About the ability to connect to people regardless of the divide? About perhaps the needlessness of language?

It’s even more simple than that, I think. It’s about seeing the students who are to shy to want to be seen, and about knowing that they have something to say, if only you ask the right questions, in the right way. Reaching out a hand might be just the question that they need, and even if I had all the words in the world, maybe it would still be the best question to ask.

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Incidentally, I do actually spend most of my time here not in preschool, though that might not come out in these blog posts. Today, for instance, I woke up early, went to class where I learned about the Holocaust - about more specifically the decision making process that led to the Final Solution and whether it is more a result of Hitler himself or the entire administrative and institutional apparatus. After that, I went to Hebrew class, where we read a bit of reportage by Amoz Oz. I stayed after to talk to my Hebrew teacher about the paper I had just turned in - the first paper I've ever written in Hebrew - which she offered to correct, grade, and then hand back before the deadline so that I can revise it and turn it in a second time if I would like. Over lunch I studied Yiddish, and in the afternoon I read a story by Abraham Reizen with my Yiddish class. The story, called "Feminine Fears" is about a woman who is losing her eyesight and is afraid her husband will divorce her as a result. I then went to my class on Mendele Mocher Seforim, where we compared "Fishke the Lame" and "The Travels of Benjamin the Third" - though as it turns out I'd read the wrong version of Fishke the Lame, so it was hard for me to follow the conversation. I came home very tired, cooked myself dinner and watched a little Israeli TV (OK, so it was American TV with Hebrew subtitles...) and then started writing this essay. All of this is by way of a clarification that I do, in fact, have a substantial life outside of the gan. (gan = preschool)

Mendele the Bookseller

Sholem Yankev Abramovich (1836-1917) was a Hebrew and Yiddish writer, seen as one of the founders of modern Yiddish literature. He was born in Kopyl, Lithuania, and spent his childhood studying traditional Jewish texts. He became involved in the Jewish Enlightenment (Haskalah) and wrote in Hebrew about politics and natural science. He became most famous, however, for his fictional Yiddish writing, which he published through the mediation of a complex literary devide he called "Mendele the Bookseller." Mendele's role shifted over the course of Abramovich's literary career, and he was sometimes a protaganist, sometimes a co-author or a publisher, sometimes a narrator, and sometimes an editor. His character, who was inside the culture of the small Jewish town and at an equal standing with its residents, but was worldly because he was well read and traveled widely, allowed Abramovich to successfully bridge the gap between his own Enlightened world and the small town world about which he wrote. Mendele was able to criticize both the Englightened world and the small town world, and to make each of these world accessible to the other. The writing had a sharp humor and was critical, and affectionate toward traditional Jewish life, the Jewish upper and lower classes, and history. Sholem Abramovich is often conflated with his literary creation Mendele, though they are by no means the same person.

In my class on Mendele, we are reading a selection in which Mendele Mocher Seforim (Mendele the Bookseller) introduces himself to the reading public. I couldn't find an English translation, and left with th option of reading the selection in Hebrew or Yiddish, I chose Yiddish. What follows is my rough translation, which I am posting because I am inordinately proud of it. The parts in parentheses were bits that I'm not sure I understood:

"What's your name?" This is the first wuestion that a Jew asks another complete stranger, as soon as he meets him and greets him with a handshake. (No one goes out at a bisy time entirely with his thoughts directed upwards, as they must call out in this manner), "What are you, sir, in order that you want to know what m name is? We want to become connected via marragie? I am called what people call me, and leave me alone!" No, of course not, the question "What's your name" is a completely naturl thing, it's found in nature, exactly like pulling on someone's new kaftan with a question, "What's the price? How much does 28 inches cost?" or like asking for a cigarette a the time when someone opens up their tobacco pouch, or like sticking your finger in someone's tobacco pouch and taking a pinch of snuff, like dipping your feet into someone's bath, immersing your grimy kerchief in it and rubbing it on your body, (like looking around for something in the prayerbook and revising it in a respectfut way, and turning the page when someone had not properly spoken the words of the prayer), like interrupting a conversation between two people to stick your ear in to overhear their conversation, or like asking if the cracks in someone's light skin are concerning, outlining some advice for him, although no one had ever thought of this with any urgency, and they could go on not knowing, and also he could not know, very well. The same and similar more of these things are, for us Jews, all common. Such is the order of the world from eternal times and to say otherwise would seem completely, really, clearly crazy, something strange and absurd, entirely unnatural...and not just in this world, but here in our world an angel first asked "What's your name, sir", the angel, who had wresteled with Jacobm wasn't different from the order of the world, and he soon really, as it goes, gave a question, what was his name. So is an angel, even today is a simple even a sinning man, of flesh and blood. I know very well, as in my first departure into Jewish literature, as they call it, with my stories, what the first question will be, "What's your name, uncle?"

Mendele is my name! This, gentlemen, is the name they gave me from my old grandfather from my mother's side Reb Mendele from Moscow, may his memory be for a blessing. Moscover was the name of his side because people said that he once was really in Moscow to sell there Russian wares and (safely found luck/happiness) and before he had looked around he moved out from there. A pity as I've never been there - silliness! But in Moscow, by the Russians, he was, and so he was called. Thus he procured in that shred a name of honor. Everyone thought him to be a gentleman, worldly man, who has been all over the world, and without ever a care, (a very honerable man) they used to ask his advice...But that's beside the point.

(Therefore we are done with that now) After this first question Jews continue to pose all kinds of other questions, like a father-in-law: where is this Jew from? Is he married? Does he have kids? What is he selling Where is he heading? So on and so forth, all kinds of questions, which are asked like this by every Jew of the Jewish people, so if you are going to meet with people, you should heretofore know, that I am, Thank G-d, a person, a worn down one, no (bank squeezer) and what one must even so answer, just like saying "A Gut Yor" after someone's "Gut Shabbes" or "Gut yuntif" I will not pick a quarrel with the world and I will answer these same questions quickly and succinctly, if I still may.

I am only a (?) from Tvuetsitz, a small town, a little city, Keyn ain hore, in the province of Teterivk, filled with goodness and religiosity, like Glupsk's father-in-law, with it's wisdom, Kabtzansk with its wealth, and Tuneiodevke with its factories - beautiful places - with such merits, Thank G-d, which impacted and continue to impact the Jewish condition in our corner here in the Diasopora...but that's beside the point.

In my passport my birth year is written clearly but thruth be told, I, like many a Jew, don't know my age and can't determine it. My parents, peace be with them, differed greatly in their reckoning of my age. According to both of them, I was born to the first light during the great fire of the store, which isn't remembered today. So according to my father's calculations this was during the great chill that came to our corner, exactly in the time when his parents, may their memory be for a blessing, passed away. And my mother used to say that it was really two years after the first turmoil (refers to the time when Jewish children were being taken away to the Russian army) which Jewish children don't remember anymore. An omen even, the red cow clung to us, and that Hanukah she produced for cheese-filled dumplings fpor half the town, for which one licked one's fingers, and the taste stays with a few of the old Jews to this day. One must have time and be quite skillful to prime themselves for such kidns of calculations of Jews from Tunieodevke, wise men...But tht is beside the point.

What's written in my passport is thus: average size, hair- brown and gray, eyes - brown, the nose, the mouth - middling, the beard - gray, the face - clean, (primitive??) personage, particularities - none. This means that I am entirely ordinary, nothing special, a man like many and most people, no beast, G-d forbid. You may ask, if there is a question uneventful as a passport which without these factoids would also be the same information, that a person is a person! Then where do animals get their passports? The justification is, though, that asking questions has no rationale. You know, the whole reason is just this, here are my factoids and you still don't know what kind of face I have...and really though, let's not fool ourselves, that when I come around you will still know, a father-in-law, that my forehead is high with a lot of wrinkles, that my nostirls are very big, and a bit unusual, that my face at first sight looks a bit sinister, that I look, I think, a bit nearsighted because of my small eyes, and as I tighten my lips, it seems there hovers on them a small, mild, sharp, pointy-lipped smile, sillyness, my goodness! My wife even for our wedding was not interested in such little details. She was attracted to me like a blind etrog, not looking at my face and - so-so! They told her: Mazel Tov, bride, you have a groom. And enough. What concern is it then that he has such a nose, such a face? What's the big deal and why does it matter? Pity, I know better now, my friends, that I am married and from my children I have nothing to boast. So you understand that I have, no evil eye, many children. What else does a Jew have?...I'm just like the rest.

I sell my wares, as you can tell, I sell books. I've had, in my life, all kinds of jobs. It (throws me, like a father-in-law is, for Jews, on all sides, to the end I make a living with my hands, in the whole earth allof these Jews!) And I was drawn to the books, and from that do I continue to make my living today.

You know, from my face you could think that books ar a really wild occupation. I will become rich! And from that basis will Jews - who yearn foolishlky for a job to support themselves and do one thing or another - scramble to the books like a swarm of locusts. Believe me Jewish children, that I am a Jew, a (? and to boot?) these are what I sell: chumashim, siddurim, machzorim, apologees, lamentations, supplications, bentschers, and the like, are as necessary, as they say, as water on buckwheat groats. And I must bring with me talit - ktanim from Herset, Talitot from Dobnav, tzitzit, leather phylactory straps, shofars, mezuzahs, wolf teeth, seashells, childish shoes, yarmulkes, and sometiems brass and copperware. How such brass and copperware goes with books I have no idea. But that is still our custom, just like Jewish writers must somettimes also be matchmakers, a Polish beadle in a small synagogue must have a small tavern there, a (community-man?) must sometimes during the celebration of fine skilled people cook fish an serve it, like a rabbi in a small town must be drawn to make a living as a midwife. An afer all thse things it's hard for me, I have no money to call my own. A miracle, to trade in books like mine when you need not rend a stockroom with the (?) Enough, moreover, whithout such a road I wouldn't have such a horse to ride on. My horse is old and weary, limps a little when he plants his feet, unassumingly, he is tolerable. One doesn't need to race arolund when carrying potash. So one carries all this stuff on his way, covered, as it were a booth, and one carries oneself healthily. (A bell rings excessively, one gets away with a squeak from the talkers??? Standing at inns in a separate number travel together with pomp and one doesn't need anything else, turn quickly into the shady horse.) These always stay in the synagogue. The unhitched horse stands, eats (shitskse) bu it didn't have any more, from (?) spread between the high, erect shafts of the cart. (You may ask what young boys sneak and quietly tear him from the strings?) That is also no accident, that it seems entirely without a tail, (with the fashion) you may ask what, an unfortulate animal? By all means! My shlimazel of a horse stands completely still and calm, it doesn't begin to bother him. He would sometiems therefore drop his lower lip, drooling, and furthermore he laughs with his teeth, completely like by comparison a person. He did this once, he had nothing to eat, he stood comtemplatively with perked ears, lookign around the booth at the boos, I could have sworn that he understood very well with his horsey brain and reacted with might and main, something just like a secular scholar, really...but that's bside the poing.

Never mind, the horse is supplied with the school yeard, and alone one finds a place in the study house. By day, in front of the community, one sprawls all of the books on a long dirty table which is by the entrance next to the oven and at night one lays on a bench there like a faher in a wine-house, and one sleps on that which the rest of the world stands. And this very whole piece of the world, poor and poor, gives this for fre and with great honor.

(If so, but yes like this, but sleeping wandering around and ? therefore is the question), why did I decide to go into book selling? And what do I think, no evil eye, is this kidn of work? It is hard to answer that question, it still isn't clear to me...

Friends, I confess! I have a kind of (exquisite weakness from a small distance), Heaven preserve us, which in their language they call: love for nature, this means for everything which grows, which sprouts, which lives, which is found in the world. (It makes me tremble, if only this were to become true.) Oce something crawled into my head, a pretty face, an image, a shape - a blade of grass, a tree, a ?, a bird. How come, how come, men will say, how is a Jew with a beard not ashamed of this, a Jew ?, a married one, a father of children, why does he need to talk of the way of nature...think, contemplate prayer things, and even aside from them, how is one not ashamed purely and simply as a Jew to be up to stupidity, nature, watching ? things? I know this very, very well, that this isn't fitting for a Jew, but what will I do, as this si for me, and not you, an inborn weakness, an evil impulse, which draws me forth like a magnet. And what then? I should do something in spite of this with an employer, something serious, important, as with Jewishness, a father - in- law, and with a way to support myself. (In there with the holy moon I put myself up whereas in properly speaking shaking beween the world/community - I stretch toward the beautiful starry sky wiuth my thoughts to the melancholy moon, charming, I think, G-d knows what, some light troubles, beautiful, burning, thoughtful eyes, a sigh, a poetic, two-embroidered, gentle tree. And ask me, I don't have the slightest idea - what my mouth mumbles about htis. Someone says to me "Sholom Aleychem" and I say to him "Lecha dodi likrat kalah" this is equal with the etrog, with the lulav, with the willow twig (for Hashanah Rabbah) and forget the mitzvahs, the oneness of G-d, which indoors,) the holy one belssed be G-d with the Shkhine at his side, gives us pleasure from beauty, freshness, with the smells an enjoyment. The point of going to Tashlich, a serious Jewish thing, releasing us from our sins, is for me a beautiful walk, as I say. I look with my eyes at the river, the green muck which shivers on one side far away. And it seems to me a wind murmers on the water, proudly swimming as though an animal, it blows in a corner, it whispers among high-growing berries, it rinses itself, it plays in a willow tree, beding with the twigs in the water. Pure is the sky, the wind is fresh, a divine silence in the valley, hills, and fields, around and around. It shivers a little in the soul, it loings, desires, oh Master of the Universe, (alone not to know what)... I go for walks in my life. In fields, in forests, (I am still not this, which in a town, I am free.) I shed years, what care have I for wife, children, Judaism, worries. I derive pride from the overflowing creation, I give myself over to my senses, as anyone who drinks in G-d's beautiful world!...

This evil impuls,m Heven prserve us, Jewish children, grumbled inside of me, Mendl! Your trade of books is fitting for you. Make a pledge, sell your wife's little jewlery and buy a (fourth-and-trail), pack it with books and go out into the world. Whether you earn money or not, it's all the same, the point is to travel around, (you must not envy what you get from conspicuousness), hear a lot of nice things along the way. (Blame the way that you are located) lay out like a king on the wagon to look around at each little shred of G-d's stunning beautiful work and his creations, in hills and valleys, in fields and forests. This horse will carry you slwoly, slowly, and you will look and look. This way - on the way, and coming to towns and cities, will you see many different kinds of Jews, beautiful despairs, fine skil;ls, strange mean things, all kinds of souls, twisted backs, haughty noses, long hands, shrew fingers, different faces of old and new varieties. You will get them to tell stories, to sing and to talk.

Now do you understand me better, Jews?

At present, for a considerable time I've traveled in the world, and my evil impulse continues to grumble within me - so it goes - it grumbles - go print the stories that you have heard Jews tell for the whole time you (have wandered between them)!

Go! - I thought to myself - alright, let it be so.

It seems that everything says that I should do it. Incidentally, I am more like a person. Maybe I have forgotten something. I will, remembering it, say it, though I'm not promising anything, in one of my books that are being published. And furthermore, if someone really wants to know something that I haven't said, may he take the trouble to write me and he will soon get an answer from me.

My address is: Mendlo Yudelvitzcho the book seller. And the following: Garodi, Tvietschizsi. The title Gosponido Verrio you don't need to write. No matter - who neds to know.

A little Israeli Humor

As part of a pilot program called Tarbu-dat (Culture-Religion) at the Reform Synagogue around the corner from where we live, Har El, Daniel and I heard a presentation on the humorous side of being a tour guide in Israel. The presentation was a collection of short stories and jokes as recollected and told by a tour guide who mostly leads Indonesian, Belgian, and Dutch tourists around the country. He spoke in Hebrew, so we didn't understand everything, but I'll share with you a little of what we did understand, as it's pretty funny.
It seems that the humorous situations come out of tourists being naive and out of their element. They want to know exactly the spot where Biblical events happen, and when the tour guide tells them that there is more than one spot believed to be the place where a Biblical event happened, they ask questions like, "It happened more than one time?" At the Kinneret, one tourist saw that the shore was a bit dirty and said, "I understand why he walked on the water, I wouldn't want to walk in this mud either."
In one story, an Indonesian tour group came to a church in front of which was posted a sign that read "No Shorts Allowed" in English. Some members of the group approached the tour guide and told him that two women in the group would not enter the church. The tour guide said, "OK, that's fine, but why don't they want to enter." The tourist responded "It's not that they don't want to enter, it's just that they aren't allowed." The tour guide then realized that the tourists were reading the word "shorts" to mean short people, and that the two very small ladies were staying behind because of what they believed to be a height restriction. Another tourist who saw that sign took off his shorts and entered the church in his bathing suit.
In another story, he took a tour group to Masada, where they seemed to be very excited about the cable car leading up to the site. They got on the car, admired the view, and then at the top got right back on line to go down - as they were more interested in the car than in Masada itself.
At a church in the old city, each ot the panels of stained glass was catalogued and numbered, and one tourist thought that they were for sale, and that the numbers referred to the prices. She was very pleased that they were so inexpensive and tried to ask how she could buy one.
It was an interesting talk, and really fun to be in a group of people all laughing together - but it was also interesting to feel very much on the outside, as I probably have been a "stupid tourist" and could easily be the butt of some of these jokes. (A group of American tourists were told go go to the HaMashbir bus stop and thought they were supposed to go to a place marked "How much beer"). It was interesting that they made fun of the Dutch, Belgian, and Indonesian groups equally, that all tourists are people who don't really understand the context in which they find themselves, and for the people who know all about the place, they seem very naive and silly, and make a lot of mistakes. I think I would have been much less comfortable if he had been specifically making fun of American tourists, because I would have felt targeted as an outsider and I would have realized just how stupid American tourists seem to their tour guides. But he said that he prefers not taking American groups because they are high maintenance. Although I did feel a bit like an outsider listening to these jokes, I think the experience also made me feel like I was on the inside because I knew enough Hebrew that I could laugh along to jokes in Hebrew alongside this group of Israelis. I'm excited that Daniel and I are starting to feel like members of Har El - people recognize us there, are happy to see us, chat with us, remember things about us from the previous time, the cantor even friended me on facebook - that's a pretty big step!

Speaking of Israeli humor, a few days ago I snuck into Daniel's Israel Seminar to hear the Israeli writer Etgar Keret speak to his class (I later learned that Etgar Keret will also be visiting my Hebrew class in a few weeks!) I've read about six of Etgar Keret's stories in Hebrew now and I like them very much. He is a witty and intensely creative writer, who uses colloquial language and short vivid descriptoins. His stories often end with a kind of Joycian epiphany that turn everything on its head, or make the pieces of the story fit together in an unpredictable way. He told us that he is interested in stories and also real-life events that jar people away from their routine ways of thinking and doing and encourage them to view their lives and the world in new and different ways. Etgar Keret is also writes screenplays and graphic novels. He told us that he started writing stories when he was in the army, working long solitary shifts in front of a computer. He brought is first story to his brother, who read it and then used it to pick up his dog's excrement, and it was at that moment that Etgar Keret realized he wanted to be a writer, because the story was something that was still present and active, working in the universe - in his brother's mind and in his own, even if the physical element of the words on the page was discarded. Etgar Keret writes with an unusual sense of humor and pulls at the borders of the realistic to stretch the imagination without completely escaping to the world of fantasy, and he writes about relevant and pertinent issues in Israeli life. His writing is very popular among young people in Israel, though abroad it appeals to an older audience. His writing, incidentally, is popular among Hebrew learners (like ourselves) because it is simple and succinct. It's been translated into many languages including English, so if you have the time it's definately worth checking out. You can read about him here.

Death is a Cop-Out

I just finished reading George Elliot's The Mill on The Floss, and I enjoyed it very much. I appreciated the morally ambiguous situations in which the main character, Maggie, found herself, and her struggles to do what she believed to be good and right while she was unsure that she was acting in the most virtuous way. I didn't like, however, that at moments when she was acting in a way contrary to her own morals, she also seemed to give up any will power or lay claim to her own actions - she becomes entirely passive and allows others to do the work of being interesting, disobedient, or transgressive for her. Thus, she is not only subject to the sexist opinions of her brother, his schoolmaster, and the entire society in which she lives, but she goes along with them in particular when she is tempted to do something that is in the wrong. Maggie is generally an independent-minded woman, though she does thrive on the love and respect of others, but she becomes entirely dependent upon the actions of others when she is in a situation where she is tempted to carry out something that is morally ambigious, such as continue a connection with someone she is forbidden to see. She relinquishes her sense of independance in order that she can be convinced by others to do what she wishes, and then when she changes her mind, she is able to say that she had no part in the actions that came before, and that she regrets and denounces them, placing the blame entirely on someone else. She is present in the situation, but the author is convinced that whatever happens in these situations, it is not Maggie's fault. This frustrates me to no end.
Most frustratingly, I want to express my opinion that death, at the end of a long and rich narrative, is a cop-out. Maggie gets out of making a decision, and the sense that there is a correct decision to make is entirely lost, because at the point when she must make a decision and face up to the consequences of it, catastrophe strikes, and she dies. I understand that the author is trying to make a point about the ultimate triumph of Maggie's notions of love over Tom's obsession over control, property, and social capital, and yet I think the point could be more subtly made without the total destruction of a flood, and death. Death can be meaningful at the end of some stories, but when death comes in the place of a character making real and difficult choices, the novel is left unfinished, in my opinion.
That shouldn't stop you from reading it. I liked it pretty much up until the very last few pages. It is rich in description, offers many different ways of understanding what it means to love, to sacrifice, and to be a part of a family. It also explores both a child's and an adult's perspective with competence and empathy. I'm glad I read it, but I don't think I'll be reading it again.

A Book Recommendation

Moments ago I finished reading For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemmingway. I didn't anticipate liking it at all and found it shockingly good - so good that for the past few days it has been hard for me to convince myself to do anything other than read. The novel portrays the horror of war in tangible and straightforward language, not withholding a single stark detail. The novel takes place over three days and yet it doesn't feel drawn out. It is replete with personal insights of characters, with a depth of emotion and of detail. The most famous and most powerful scene in the novel, which takes place during the Spanish Civil War, is when one character recounts witnessing the brutal mob murder of fascists in a town taken over by revolutionaries. One by one the narrator tells of each fascist's reactions to the mob that is waiting with agricultural implements to beat him to death and then throw him into a gorge. With these simple and concrete images you can see their faces and truly hear their screams. I am not exaggerating to say that I cried while reading this chapter, and that it will haunt me for a long, long, time. Despite the horrors of the novel, it also portrays perhaps some of the most equisite love scenes I've ever read, also simple and straightforward, but passionate and pure, and full of longing and desire. I feel so surprisingly moved by this novel - I read it quickly and approached it with an expectation that I would dislike it and here I am unsure of how I will move out of the realm of the novel and back into my life - how I can possibly do something as mundane as study Hebrew when I have left the main character lying in pain, awaiting death. If you have the time and the energy, read this novel - and I look forward to talking about it with you.

Lecture in Ulpan

It's been a while since you've heard from me, for which I apologize. Largely, I've been busy with ulpan, especially since I had to get a lot of work done in advance of the weekend to accomodate our travel plans. I am very much looking forward to exploring Tel Aviv with Daniel, and we have sworn to take pictures to share with you - we can't believe we haven't taken any yet!

Today in ulpan we had an amazing opportunity to hear Israeli author Eli Amir speak (In Hebrew!!). Eli Amir has published four novels, three of which have been translated to English, and the fourth of which should appear in English translation in the upcoming year. The titles, in case you want to add them to your own reading lists (as I certainly do!) are: Scapegoat, Farewell Baghdad, Saul's Love, and Jasmine.

We read several sections, some in Hebrew-made-easy formats for children and new immigrants, and some from the book itself which were, needless to say, somewhat challenging, from Scapegoat (in Hebrew Tarnegol Kaparot, which refers to the tradition of slaughtering a chicken and swinging it over one's head to symbolically transfer one's sins to the chicken). Tarnegol Kaparot is the story of a boy from an Iraqi family who is sent to a kibbutz, and tells of his adjustment and absorbtion into Israeli society. The sections that we read involved the conflicts between his traditionally observant upbringing and the adamently secular nature of the kibbutz. In one section his parents come to visit and the main character, Nuri, brings them a chicken, a delicacy on the kibbutz, so that they can perform the tradition of tarnegol kaparot. The mother inspects the chicken and realizes that it was not slaughtered in a kosher way. The father throws the chicken away - not only does he not want to eat it or use it for his traditional practice, he does not want to give it to the members of the kibbutz as he does not want to aid in other Jews' non-kosher eating practices. In another scene that we read, all of the boys from Iraq are given new, Israeli names. Nuri, who is assigned the name Nimrod, refuses to rebell against his roots (Mered, the root of Nimrod, means rebellion) and insists upon keeping his own name. The boys have to adjust to the communal situations of living together, sleeping in the same room, showering together, etc., and also have to adjust to the secular nature of the kibbutz, where women wear clothing that is not traditionally modest, where men and women sleep in the same dorms, and where there is no synagogue to be found.

Eli Amir was born in Baghdad in 1937. He told us that when he was a child, he did not want to be a writer - in fact, he aspired to be a king. At the time, the king of Baghdad was in fact a child, and Amir described that every now and again the king would have a procession, where crowds would clap and cheer as he rode by with his beautiful crown and waved his hand slowly from side to side. One day, Amir decided that he was very good looking and would make a good king. To try it out he put on his father's hat, sat in a regal pose and waved his hand back and forth slowly. When his father came home he said, "Dad, I've decided what I want to be when I grow up!" and told his father of his decision to become the king of Iraq (which was at the time under the British mandate). His father agreed that this would be a very good idea, but not a likely one because in order to be king one had to be a Muslim. Amir replied that he would become a Muslim. His father said that this would not be good enough, as one had to be a member of the Hashemite Dynasty of Iraq (1921-1959). As this was not a possibility for Amir, he abdicated his potential throne.

Eli Amir told us a bit about the Iraqi Jewish community. I'll relate what I can to you, but you should know that this is not an area of history that I am very familliar with, so please don't take my word for it, and please correct me if I make any mistakes here. The Jewish community of Iraq was one of the oldest documented Jewish communities outside of Israel, dating back to the time of the Babylonian captivity. In the 1940's, the Jewish community of Iraq was one of the most prosporous Jewish communities of the Middle East, and was heavily intertwined with the non-Jewish population both through economic ties and through cultural and social interactions. Baghdad was the home of highly regarded yeshivot and was a center of Jewish learning, and Jews were also members of a secular intellectual class in growing numbers. Jewish writers composed in Arabic for the general public, and were involved in music, theater, and the arts.

After the establishment of the state of Israel, life became harder for the Jews of Iraq. As restrictions against Jewish and Zionist activity in Iraq increased, Israel organized Operations Ezra and Nehemiah, which were responsible for clandestinely bringing over about 120,000 people from Iraq.

Amir related that once they were in Israel, Iraqi Jews had a hard time fitting in. The once prosperous community arrived in Israel with only the clothes on their backs. They were settled into small temporary homes made of aluminum and asbestos and given jobs involving manual labor. Amir was separated from his family to live on a kibbutz with other Iraqi young people, where he would be educated to become a paradigmatic Israeli according to the ideology of the day. His novels are semi-autobiographical and reflect this history.

Amir told us that when he decided to write the story, he didn't really know what it meant to write a whole novel, and it took him fifteen years and seventeen drafts (hand written with a fountain pen) to complete his first work. He told us that one of the central themes of Tarnegol Kaparot as he sees it is that while in various points in time various groups of Jews have been seen or have seen themselves as the group that made the most sacrifices in order to be a part of Israel, but in the end everyone gave something up and made sacrifices to live in the land - Jews from the Middle East, Russians, even Americans, and so in a sense everyone is a Tarnegol Kaparot. He told us that he does not write in Arabic as he came to Israel when he was 13 and is more at home with the Hebrew language. However he maintains close connections to Arab culture, listens to Arab musicians, and reads in Arabic.

Amir was a very pleasant-seeming man and a fabulous speaker. He spoke in stories and anecdotes, slowly, evenly, and patiently, so that if we didn't understand all of the words we would still be able to follow what he was saying. It was a very interesting lecture and I'm so excited to have been able to understand it!

A Blog, A Book, and a little procrastination, which never hurt anyone but never helped either...

Paola, as it turns out, is keeping a blog too. In it, she tells me she's written the following about me:

1) I'm from Virginia. The only thing she knows about Virginia is the song "Take Me Home Country Roads," which she loves. When she told me this, I politely corrected her that West Virginia, which is the subject of the song, is not the same as Virginia, though it used to be before the Civil War. She was disappointed, and the first time she wrote about me in her blog, apparently (I haven't read the blog as it is in Italian), she included all of the lyrics to "Take Me Home Country Roads" just for kicks

2) She's been keeping a list of the idioms that I say, as she wants to incorporate them into her English. So far they include: creature of habit, homebody, to find common ground, to walk all over someone, grade inflation, and it's raining cats and dogs. The latter was her favorite, of course.


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I'm writing on the blog largely to procrastinate from studying for my Hebrew test tomorrow, for which I actually feel pretty prepared, which makes it harder to study as I'm not convinced that I have to. What makes it even harder to study is that there is some kind of concert going on outside that I can hear quite well from the apartment. I thought initially that it was a Birthright Israel event because it included "Sisu et Yerushalayim" "Yachad" and "Od Yavo Shalom Aleinu", but now it sounds more like heavy metal, so who knows.
The accomplishment of the day is that I (A) read an entire relatively lengthy newspaper article in Hebrew about Musharaff's resignation, and while it took me several hours and there were more words in the article that I didn't know than there were words that I did know, in the end I think I understood all of it, and (B) I went to a used book store and bought myself a collection of Hebrew short stories. I was having trouble convincing myself to read the children's book I was trying to get through because frankly it wasn't that interesting and also it was too long. I think short stories will work better. And it makes me super proud that I own a real book in Hebrew - and have the potential to read it.

I met with my advisor today. He tells me that after this summer I am technically allowed to take classes from Hebrew University proper, in Hebrew, if I am so inclined, as I will be at a high enough Hebrew level to do so. I'm thinking I might do that in the spring, but don't feel ready for it yet. In the meantime I think I'm taking something like the following: Hebrew, Readings in Early Yiddish Literature, Multiple Voices in Israeli Society, Jews in the Habsburg Empire. All of this is subject to change, but I thought you might be curious.

Guess I'd better get back to studying...

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Incidentally, while procrastinating, I read an interesting and upsetting post on the Lilith blog (http://www.lilith.org/blog/?p=346) about a trend in Orthodox communities for mothers to encourage their daughters not to excel academically because they either won't be attractive to men or will feel frustrated and bored when they have to leave their careers by the wayside to take care of their families. I think this an old problem and certainly not exclusive to Jewish communities. And not exclusive to traditional communities that "mainstream" folks can write off as being exceptions. I think the idea that women should be less accomplished, or less forthright about their accomplishments, than men, is so ingrained in our society that even the most accomplished of women are often hesitant to give themselves full credit for their accomplishments. Anyway, the author of the post writes, "It IS difficult to combine a career and motherhood, but striving for mediocrity is not a viable strategy. Subduing young women in the hope that potential husbands will find them more attractive is a damning indictment on religious men and cannot be the basis for a healthy partnership between the sexes in the modern Orthodox world." Thank goodness there are many people who feel this way, too. The real challenge may be, though, in acting in a way that we know, logically, to make sense. I believe that men and women are equal, for instance, but it doesn't stop me from preferring to sit in the passenger seat in the car, to walk behind Daniel on the sidewalk despite his insisting that I walk next to him, to wait for Daniel to tell the host that there will be two for dinner and we prefer to sit outside. These little things, about which I don't really think at the time, are small behaviors that in themselves don't matter at all, but demonstrate perhaps, the internalized notions of gender that have such a huge impact on how we see ourselves and how we live our lives. OK, now for serious I really have to go back to studying for that test...Or I could just strive not to do so well academically, as it might make me more attractive?

PS: You may have noticed that in our technical expertise, Daniel and I (mostly Daniel) have added a section to this blog recommending other blogs we read. If you have any blogs to add to the list, let us know, and seriously check out some of the ones there as they are quite good. We'll add to it if/when we start reading something new.

Risotto and Reading

Tonight Paola came over for dinner and we cooked risotto together - something I've never done. To be more clear about the situation, Paola cooked and I watched. According to Paolo, "Risotto is not like pasta, where you can just boil the water and then leave it alone. Risotto is like a baby and you have to watch over it and give it what it needs." We had a lovely meal together and spoke only in Hebrew for most of it. After dinner we stood out on the mirpeset (balcony) and chatted while looking out over the city. We talked about Catholicism - Paola has found a mass in Hebrew that she is going to on Sunday evenings- about Judaism - Paola asked me what relations were like between Orthodox and Reform Judaism, and I gave a complicated answer that didn't fully answer the question, but it's a hard question to answer - and about other things as well. I am so excited that I already feel like I have a close friend here!! I feel extremely fortunate.

In other news, I have been reading some short stories (In Hebrew) in class by Etgar Keret - and I really like them. We've been reading from a quirky collection of stories called "Missing Kissinger." It is great to be able to read and understand literature written in Hebrew, even if I have to look up a lot of the words and the teacher has made a point of informing us that Keret's writing style is purposefully easy to read as often his characters are children. Nevertheless, I think these are excellent stories - thoughtful and unusual - and I'm going to try to buy a collection of his short stories and try to read them on my own. He has definately been translated, so you may want to check him out: http://www.etgarkeret.com/

Jessica's First Post.

Hi Everyone!

I am writing from Toronto, where I am visiting my parents for the month. After the whirlwind of emotions and activity that came with graduation - packing up, saying goodbye, seeing family, going on vacation, etc. everything has finally settled into some semblance of routine, if only temporary routine. This is comforting, but while I am absolutely loving this opportunity to spend time with my parents, I am also longing to unpack my bags for one last time and finally be in Jerusalem.

It's easy for me to forget how much of an adventure a year in Jerusalem might be. I've spent so much time thinking about which clothing I will bring, getting excited about cooking for myself again, and wondering about banal things like whether I'll be able to purchase my vitamins in Jerusalem or if I should bring a year's supply, that I seem to have missed the big point. Which is that I'm not just moving far away, I'm moving to Jerusalem.

Last time I was in Israel, it was on a Taglit/Birthright Israel trip. It was the summer after my first year at UVA, and I traveled with students I didn't know well. I was shy, I was nervous, and I anticipated of being awed and inspired. I kept a painfully detailed diary (in lieu of talking to people and making new friends) in which I catalogued a series of emotions that I either felt or wanted to feel about each site we visited. Before I left for Israel, I gathered all of my expectations for myself and my trip into a bundle and packed them in my backpack so that I could take them out and force them upon myself each place I went. "I'm at Masada, so I should be experiencing the enormity of the place, wondering about what it means for me to be a Jew with religious freedom, considering the bravery of the Zealots..." I mapped these hopes onto the experience and in some ways I wonder if I ever allowed myself to recognize the emotions or thoughts I really was having, or if I covered everything over in these enormous hopes for my own emotional capacity and feelings of connectedness.

This time, I don't want to go into all of this already predicting and proscribing how I will feel about each experience or the level of awe with which I will approach my life in Jerusalem. Perhaps it will be an awe-inspiring trip to a place that makes me feel connected to the infinite, or to the majesty of history, or any number of things, or perhaps it will mostly be an every day life in a city where real people live, work, learn, and love. Instead of building up expectations that I later feel pressured to live up to, to the extent that it is possible, I want to experience the year as it unfolds and record, here, for you and for myself, an honest account of all of it, not clouded by how I want it to be or think it should be. I want it to be exactly what it will be, and nothing else.

Which is why writing this first post, here, from Toronto, is so hard. I wanted to say hello and welcome you to this blog where Daniel and I will try not only to keep you updated and allow you to experience some of our adventures with us, but also to record and reckon with our own experiences in order to deepen them through the practice of writing. But I also wanted to give you a hint of what to expect from me, that is to say, what I expect from myself. And yet, I am resistant to such expectations.

(an aside: please note, my casual writing style is one of enormous contradiction and ridiculous run on sentences. sorry.)

Underneath all of the expectations that I obviously do have, whether I want them or not, and beyond all of the details of where I'll be living, who I'll be meeting, and what I'll be doing, let me just say that I am excited. I know that I have so much to learn - about Israel, about Jerusalem, about Judaism... and I can't wait to get started. I've been reading a lot this summer to try to get a handle on what Jerusalem itself means and how I should think about it. I've read Philip Roth's The Counterlife and Operation Shylock, I've read Saul Bellow's To Jerusalem and Back and Michal Govrin's Snapshots. I imagine that some of the ideas these works introduced to me will find themselves back in this blog later in the year, as I experience some of the questions, contradictions, and hopes each of these works expresses. Despite this enriching reading list that's given me an opportunity to think about Jerusalem in new ways, I know that nothing will be quite as educational in so many different ways as actually being there. Living in Jerusalem.

I look forward to sharing my experiences with you. I hope that you will enjoy reading my wordy, confusing, roundabout prose (for which I, again, apologise). I also hope that you will post responses as you think of them. It will not only encourage me to write more, as I will know that someone is reading, but it would be great to hear from you in general and to read your responses when (if) I write anything that makes you think. I arrive on August 4. Until then, you shouldn't expect many posts on here from me because I won't be in Jerusalem, so "Journaling in Jerusalem" won't really be an option for me yet. But I will, of course, be reading Daniel's posts and I hope you'll comment on them - I look forward to your comments!