The ProsenPeople

The Other

Wednesday, November 21, 2012 | Permalink

Earlier this week, Tehila Lieberman wrote about crossing the borders of radically divergent worlds and two of the short stories from her collection Venus in the Afternoon. She will be blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

Growing up in Orthodox Brooklyn, all that was forbidden to us was, by its nature, exotic. We did not have much exposure to those other than us, and by others I mean anyone not Modern Orthodox, not even to many Conservative and Reform Jews, except for a sprinkling of relatives who fell into those camps. Someone who was not Jewish at all, one of the "goyim," took on immense fascination. Tina Bonetti (not her real name) was the mother of the only Italian family on the block and therefore the designated Shabbos goy for an entire street. I would need to wander over to her house on an occasional Friday night, for example, if my mother had forgotten to turn down the oven.

"The oven is extremely hot," I would say, or "the lights in the basement won't go off," never asking explicitly on the off chance that, unbeknownst to us, she was Jewish and I was therefore asking her to perform a transgression. She would open the door in jeans, her blond frosted hair in curlers, and greet me warmly, ready to serve. I had not up to that point seen a middle aged woman in jeans and she fascinated me. My experience, by virtue of the Orthodox exclusivity where I was growing up, rendered those I had little contact with "the other" much as it was supposed to. Even products advertised on TV that were forbidden to us seemed exotic and bit strange. Twinkies, for example and anything Sara Lee.

My young adult life found me in Israel for five years where "the other" became Israeli Arabs and Palestinians. As a 19-year-old student at Hebrew University, I patrolled the perimeter of the French Hill dorms with an Israeli. He wielded the gun, I the flashlight. There was little interaction in those days between the Palestinian and Israeli students at Hebrew U. The only Palestinians we knew were those who hung out at the famous left wing cafe in the center of town, Ta'amon and at Beit Haomanim, the Jerusalem Artists' House. An Israeli friend was dating a Palestinian but they could not find a place to live comfortably and were equally harassed in Israeli apartment buildings and Arab villages. In Israel, I distinctly experienced what it was to be part of the majority.

When I moved to New England, I was certainly not a member of the majority culture, but was "other" in a very quiet, understated way. It was not until I traveled to Chile for the first time with my husband in 1987, that I had my first true experience of being "the other." Chile, like many other South American countries, is profoundly Catholic and its middle class participates in a social Catholicism irrespective of personal beliefs. Crosses were everywhere. Jesus stared down at me from walls and paintings, statues and restaurant art. The many roads that twisted in and out of the foothills of the Andes were pierced with crosses and the names of those who had died in the aggressive sport of Chilean driving. (I received snickers when, years later, I would strap my child into his seat whenever we were on the road.) On public buses, many Chileans would cross themselves rapidly when the bus drove by a Church. There I was, amid the throngs of people in Downtown Santiago, on the vertiginous hills of Valparaiso, and in a dry and evocative desert that, as the Sinai, bordered the sea (but this time with the sea on the other side), for the first time, very much "the other."

While there is a significant Jewish population in Santiago, and its denizens are spoken about with respect—mainly, I perceived, for their successes in the circles in which I found myself on that first trip—there was little integration except for professional acquaintances. I encountered curiosity, stereotyping, hurtful humor (it should be said that Chileans are wittily cruel in their humor and do not spare any culture or disability) and a good deal of ignorance. I began to surmise that in this country, Jews had never been let off the hook for the killing of Christ. I suggested this and my husband disagreed. A month later, to decide the contest, a good friend of ours began to stop people on the streets of Santiago and asked if they would agree to a short interview. Several did and he posed the question, "Who killed Christ?" In his small random sample of Chileans, we were indicted again and again.

It was this experience, many years later, that was still thrumming beneath the surface as the characters and themes of "Into the Atacama" began to emerge.

Visit Tehila's official website here.

Paid Internship Opportunity

Tuesday, November 20, 2012 | Permalink

The Jewish Book Council seeks to hire an individual for a paid part-time internship, commencing January 7th. The intern will be required to be in the office on Wednesdays, Fridays, as well as one additional day during the week. Details can be found below. 

Please submit a cover letter and resume to jbc@jewishbooks.org with subject: RESUME, Internship by December 17th.

Requirements

The intern will work with a small in-house staff. All members of the Jewish Book Council must:

  • Be able to work independently, multi-task, and communicate well in a fast-paced, collaborative work environment
  • Maintain flexibility working with a variety of programs in the ever-expanding JBC
  • Be organized and manage time efficiently on his/her own to meet deadlines
  • Have strong people, phone and writing skills, basic computer proficiency (Microsoft Word, Excel, Publisher)
  • Be able to take initiative
  • Demonstrate professionalism, flexibility, good judgment, resourcefulness, and be a team player
  • Be able to exercise professional judgment to resolve moderately complex problems
  • Have a bright, positive attitude, and be interested in Jewish literature and the mission of the Jewish Book Council.

Specific duties

  • Administrative duties
  • Answer main JBC phone line
  • Research newly published books
  • Send for review copies of newly published books
  • Modify and manage lists in Excel
  • Send acknowledgments for magazine subscriptions and donations
  • Manage website content and online data entry (no prior experience necessary)
  • Contribute to JBC Twitter feed and blog
  • Write Jewish Book World BookNotes
  • Assist JBC staff with JBC programs

Some familiarity with wordpress and design programs preferred.

Please submit a cover letter and resume to jbc@jewishbooks.org with subject: RESUME, Internship by December 17th.

Double Vision

Tuesday, November 20, 2012 | Permalink

Earlier this week, Tehila Lieberman wrote about two of the short stories from her collection Venus in the Afternoon. She will be blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

Perhaps after I was born, someone sneaked into the hospital nursery and instead of snatching me, stood above me and whispered, "May You Have an Interesting Life." The motives of this person would not have been clear, nor their intention - blessing or curse. But "interesting" is pretty much a guarantee for anyone who understands early in their life that they have been born into a world that is not their world; that they will need to exit and go forth from what they have known into the babel of many other tongues, satchel on their back, at any given moment looking both forward and back. We who have done so will forever have the understanding, the language of the insider while willingly - no desperately - at all costs - wanting to be outside.

I have not yet read Jeanette Winterson's recent memoir but when I first read her novel, Oranges are Not the Only Fruit, certainly inspired by her strange and interesting life of having been adopted into a family of evangelical Christians, I felt that I had found my sister. The extraordinary writer, Kate Wheeler, whose past includes a stint as a Buddhist nun in Burma, has a magnificent short story collection entitled Not Where I Started From. That would be an apt title for a memoir, should I ever decide to write one.

Like Shalom Auslander and Nathan Englander, I emerged from an Orthodox upbringing and am, in fact, the daughter of an Orthodox rabbi. Emerging and carving my own path was certainly fraught and difficult and cost a villa in the south of France worth of therapy, but it has also provided me a certain literacy in multiple points of view and in worlds that don't typically meet and if they do, they are not always friendly.

For starters, we were Ashkenazic and my father was rabbi of a Sephardic shul. And so I grew up with a foot in each world and the very different values and priorities of those two worlds played out in my life in various ways. As a child, I knew Meir Kahana personally (he was married to my mother's first cousin) but only a few years into adulthood, in Israel, ended up working for a left wing member of Knesset. I found myself coming to feel strongly about territorial compromise and a two-state solution while being intimate with the world of settlers. Three years ago, when my son was sixteen, I took him to Israel for his first time. I didn't relish a trip to the West Bank, where my relatives lived, and so my sister-in-law, whom I love and respect very much despite our divergent views, concocted a five-day trip through the north of Israel. I should stop here and let you know that my brother was killed in the first week of the second Intifada and that my sister-in-law has spent the years since single-handedly raising seven kids. She told me that all of the kids, including my two married nieces' husbands, would be coming. I assured her that I had brought my most modest bathing suit.

"Bathing suit?" she said and laughed.

The first day of our trip, my relatives made a point of finding banks of the Kinneret that were deserted, and hidden pools and parts of the Jordan river where we could pretty much be on our own. In blazing heat by the Kinneret I watched as she and all the girls meandered into the water in their clothes. (There was apparently no such restriction on the men!!!) There was no choice. I could remain outside and bake or cool off in my skirt and top. After three days of swimming in my clothes (I will state what some of you are thinking - yes there is an absurdity as clinging wet clothes are not exactly modest), I got used to it. One day a secular couple wandered into the area where we were swimming. The woman was pale and in a bikini and it stopped me. All that skin suddenly seemed superfluous. Distracting.

While I glibly tossed around story titles in my head like "My Vacation with Extremists," on another level, what I was coming to understand was the embarrassment of riches I've been given in terms of a passport to cross the borders of such radically divergent worlds.

Visit Tehila's official website here.

When a Story is Born Form First

Monday, November 19, 2012 | Permalink

Tehila Lieberman is the author of the short story collection Venus in the Afternoon. She is currently completing a novel entitled "The Last Holy Man". She will be blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

Most of my stories begin with an image or a line that arrives whole and I follow it into the dark, as if with a headlamp and supplies for a long trek, seeking to illuminate what lies in front of it, to the sides, or in the way of back story, behind.

But two stories announced their form first. One of these was "Cul de Sac," which came to me as a theme with several variations. I imagined it as a collection of stories that loosely shared a theme, only in miniature, and envisioned these miniature narratives all woven into one short story. The relationships between the characters and the various story lines, which involved betrayal and loss, would emerge with the writing. Instead of bridges or a chorus, the pieces would be tied together in a Coda. I knew this early on.

The other, "Waltz on East 6th Street," arrived as a Triptych and hence its three panels. While I knew the general questions I wanted to tackle, I had no idea at the outset what each "panel" would comprise.

Once I accepted and grew comfortable with the fact that for this story, the form was an important element, there was a much deeper challenge. I found myself, as I'm sure other writers and artists have, asking myself if I had a right to write this story, to even touch Holocaust material.

I am not a child of survivors. I did however grow up with many - perhaps a third to a half of my friends were children of survivors, as were many of our Jewish Day School teachers. Sixth grade Talmud class would cease mid-discussion as, without any warning, something would suddenly trigger our teacher to begin a story of what he'd endured. Though we barely talked about it amongst ourselves, we all knew there was a profound difference between the parents of our American born friends and the survivors, and consequently there was a difference between us. 

Those of us born to American parents seemed innocent, naive, tabula rasa. Where the stakes were high in terms of how we did in school, which spouse or profession we chose, it was clear that they were not quite as high as for our friends who were children of survivors. The Holocaust was extremely present in our Day School education, from the guest speakers to the many films we were shown from the early grades on. And so it would seem that there was nothing left to wonder about. But there was everything to wonder about.

Except in the case of our sixth grade teacher, it was in whispers and innuendo that we learned of people's histories. And one never knew where the kernels of truth lay. The true stories of the people around us were not always discussed. We might know some salient detail: "So and so can never eat blended food because of the rations in the camps" or "so and so was the sole survivor in his family."

It was later, when I read books by survivors themselves, Ilona Karmel's An Estate of Memory and books by Primo Levi, that the details began to take shape, and as any writer or reader knows, it is the details that bring a story to life.

It was when those details became vivid that a question began to take shape for me in a new way: How did one survive? And I don't mean the logistics or details of what they might have had to do to survive - which was, to my mind, quite beyond my ability or right to judge, but rather how did the spirit survive in the face of such multiple trauma? And then an associated question - Did we have a right to ask our questions? Did survivors who chose to remain silent not have a right to their silence? Did we want to risk an unraveling of the very weave that enabled them to continue?

These are the questions that animate "Waltz on East Sixth Street."

As writers we often don't know what we know until it's on the page. Similarly it was only when looking back at this story and at "Cul de Sac," that I understood that, of all my stories, perhaps it was these two that had declared their form first because the material they contained was so painful, I had to be sure of its containment before I could begin.

Visit Tehila's official website here.

New Reviews

Friday, November 16, 2012 | Permalink
This week's reviews:

Semitic Squads

Friday, November 16, 2012 | Permalink

Earlier this week, Marc Tracy challenged Jewish sports fans to a little quiz and wrote about Jews in sports and Hollywood. He has been blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

Each of our 50 essays focuses on an individual figure. (The closest there is to an exception is Deborah Lipstadt's moving piece, which is a memorial to the 11 Israeli athletes murdered by Palestinian terrorists at the 1972 Summer Games in Munich; it focuses on the wrestler Yossef Romano.) Which got me thinking: if we were going to write a book called Jewish Teams—or, to keep the alliteration, Semitic Squads—which would make the cut?

Baseball: This one seems more difficult than it is. The Chicago Cubs' perennial underdog status seems to reflect the Jewish ethos; the Boston Red Sox' almost messianic redemption seems to reflect the Jewish story (unless it too closely reflects the Christian one!). The Detroit Tigers had Hank Greenberg, the Milwaukee Brewers have Ryan Braun. The San Francisco Giants trace their route back to New York City, and the New York Mets have claimed the mantle of New York teams departed. Which is to say nothing of the Yankees. However, talk of New York of course leads us to the Los Angeles Dodgers. Had this merely been the franchise that hosted Sandy Koufax, dayenu. But, of course, this was the last professional franchise to call Brooklyn home until the Brooklyn Nets debuted a couple of weeks ago. (In fact, for the first couple years of his career, Koufax played home games at Ebbets Field, about five miles from the Bensonhurst neighborhood where he'd grown up.) So, Dodgers it is.

Basketball: After New York, Philadelphia was the hotbed of Jewish basketball: Eddie Gottlieb managed the South Philadelphia Hebrew Association squad (the SPHAs) before becoming coach and then owner of the NBA's Philadelphia Warriors. After they skipped town for San Francisco (they now play in Oakland and are known as the Golden State Warriors), the great Dolph Schayes' Syracuse Nationals moved down to become the 76ers. Of course, the key phrase here is "after New York." It was New York Jews who developed the game; Ossie Schechtman who scored the first basket in NBA history while playing for the New York Knickerbockers; and Red Holzman, profiled in our book by Todd Gitlin, who coached the Knicks to two championships 25 years later. Also, Woody Allen is a Knicks fan. This one isn't even close.

Football: It would be simple to give this to the New York (football) Giants. They won the second-ever NFL championship when five-foot equipment manager Abe Cohen secured them special shoes to play on the iced-over Polo Grounds. They were quarterback Benny Friedman's team. Even today, they are half-owned by film producer Steve Tisch. But enough with New York, right? Let's give this to Al Davis' team, the Oakland Raiders, now owned by his son. The real question is: are the Raiders a point of pride, or a shanda fur de goyim?

Hockey: In Jewish Jocks, Grantland writer Jonah Keri—whose professional focus is baseball—makes a case for his hometown Montreal Canadiens in the course of profiling defender Mathieu Schneider, and it's a convincing one. The Canadiens have won more championships than any team in any other major sport except for the Yankees—but have not done so for nearly two decades, and these days (especially as a cancelled NHL season looms), they are as much an exercise in nostalgia as anything else. Sound familiar? Besides, hockey is like smoked meat to basketball's pastrami, right?

Soccer: If we were restricting ourselves to the English Premier League, this would be the Tottenham Hotspurs, whose fans call them "Yids"—in a good way—in part due to their North London environs. But as Simon Kuper makes clear in his Jewish Jocks essay on Bennie Muller, it's the Dutch squad Ajax that is undeniably the world's most Jewish soccer club. It's so Jewish that even non-Jewish players like superstar Johan Cruijff were assumed to be of the Tribe.

Olympics: On the one hand, there is a more or less official Jewish country. (More or less: I don't mean to start any arguments here.) On the other hand, a different country has, by far, sent the most Jewish medal-winners to various Games. Our pick? The United States of America.

Marc Tracy is the co-editor of the new book Jewish Jocks: An Unorthodox Hall of Fame. He is a staff writer atThe New Republic. Previously, he was a staff writer at Tablet, where his blog, The Scroll, won the 2011 National Magazine Award.

Book Cover of the Week: The Mothers

Thursday, November 15, 2012 | Permalink

Posted by Naomi Firestone-Teeter

Jennifer Gilmore's forthcoming novel, The Mothers (April 2013, Scribner), has a new cover! 

We Missed These Jewish Jocks. Do You Know Them?

Thursday, November 15, 2012 | Permalink

On Tuesday, Marc Tracy wrote about Jews in sports and Hollywood. He will be blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

In the movie Airplane, a passenger asks for some "light" reading and is offered "this leaflet, 'Famous Jewish Sports Legends.'" But actually, we have 50 essays and could have easily assigned that many more. (Well, maybe not easily, but they're out there.) How well do you know Jewish Jocks? Below is a list of ten of them, none of whom made it into our volume, along with brief descriptions of who they were and are. Can you match the names and the descriptions? Let this quiz serve as proof that there is more than a leaflet to this subject.

1. Amy Alcott
2. Ryan Braun
3. Rod Carew
4. Sid Gilman
5. Fred Lebow
6. Red Klotz
7. Lip Pike
8. Steve Sabol
9. Abe Saperstein
10. Dara Torres

a. As head coach of the San Diego Chargers, developed a pass-heavy offense that serves as the template for contemporary football's downfield attack.
b. Winner of five golf majors.
c. The impresario behind the Harlem Globetrotters, from its beginnings as a team that genuinely played to compete to the lovable bunch of pranksters you know today.
d. The only non-Jew on this list.
e. A 12-time Olympic gold-medalist swimmer.
f. Longtime head of NFL Films, whose gridiron documentaries shaped the mythological lens through which many see professional football.
g. The first professional baseball player—that is, the first person who was ever compensated for services rendered on the diamond.
h. To this day, the coach of the Washington Generals, the basketball team that ritualistically gets defeated by the Harlem Globetrotters.
i. Founder of the New York City Marathon.
j. Last season's National League Most Valuable Player.

Answers can be found here. No Googling!

Marc Tracy is the co-editor of the new book Jewish Jocks: An Unorthodox Hall of Fame. He is a staff writer at The New Republic. Previously, he was a staff writer at Tablet, where his blog, The Scroll, won the 2011 National Magazine Award.

One-Year Anniversary!

Wednesday, November 14, 2012 | Permalink

Posted by Naomi Firestone-Teeter

This week, the Jewish Book Council Website turns ONE.  We've had some fantastic contributions and feedback throughout the year and look forward to bringing you more reviews, features, reading lists, and resources in the coming year.  Below, find some of our top read reviews, blog posts, and book club themes from the past twelve months.

Now, time for the best part: In celebration of our first anniversary and Jewish Book Month, we're giving away free book bundles! To enter to win, post a comment here with your favorite Jewish book (or you can comment on Facebook (don't forget to tag us!) or share via Twitter using #JLit). The winner will be chosen at random on November 26th, so be sure to share you favorite book by November 25th. 

Reviews


 

ProsenPeople Posts

Promowork: A Necessary Evil (Joshua Cohen and Justin Taylor)

Tisha B’Av and the Olympic Games (Dvora Meyers)

Sarah's Key, Mary's Secrets, and Truth That's Stranger Than Fiction (Lois Leveen)

Genetic Memory: Feeling Jewish (Doreen Carvajal)

Wandering Mother, Wondering Daughter: Part 1 (Anne Cherian)

The Magic of Summer Camp (Jonathan Krasner)

Book Club Themes

Historical Fiction

Contemporary Israeli Literature

Keeping it in the Family

Emerging Voices

Short Stories

The Charitable Side of Jekyll & Hyde

Wednesday, November 14, 2012 | Permalink

Today, JBC reviewer M. Elias Keller writes about how a core Jewish concept helped him write his novel, Strange Case of Mr. Bodkin & Father Whitechapel.

Although I’m a Jewish writer, my novel, Strange Case of Mr. Bodkin & Father Whitechapel, an adaptation of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, is not a Jewish novel—but it was a deeply-rooted concept of Judaism that illuminated and clarified my story’s themes and direction.

In 2009, I re-read one of my favorite novels, Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, and was especially intrigued by a passage that explains Jekyll’s potion as having “no discriminating action; it was neither diabolical nor divine; it but shook the doors of the prison-house of my disposition; and that which stood within ran forth.” Pondering this, I pursued the idea of writing about a morally-conflicted man taking the potion and creating a manifestation of his purely good side. And since financial scandals such as the mortgage crisis and Bernie Madoff were hot news topics, I settled on a banker for my protagonist: pitiless businessman by day, and, by aid of the drug, a saintly almsgiver at night.

Wanting to present thematic complexity that would give Mr. Bodkin and Father Whitechapel the best chance of standing as a genuine companion volume to Stevenson’s classic, the philosophical aspects of charity became a focal point. This also fit nicely with the historical fiction aspect of the novel, revolving around the Charity Organisation Society (C.O.S.), a 19th-century British institution that sought to systematize charity and aid those deemed most deserving, rather than most needy. Reviled in its time for ideas that are now rather commonplace (think: grant applications), the C.O.S. was strongly against street-charity, and thus, in my fictional world, the open-handed Father Whitechapel.

Underlying this examination of charity was an even more perplexing question: what is charity? What is the responsibility of the wealthy to the poorer classes? Although I was writing a story and not an essay, these questions were important to understanding my character’s decisions and personalities. For example, a scene in the book depicts an exchange between the Secretary of the C.O.S. (the real-life Charles Stewart Loch), and his friend Mr. Meade, a sweatshop-owning clothing manufacturer:

“Not come soliciting, have you?” Mr. Meade asked, with one of his characteristic guffaws.
“No, sir,” Mr. Loch replied, forcing a thin smile. “I have well given up that chase.”
“Well, it’s nothing against you, Charles,” said the other, as the two men settled into their seats. “But then I never went in for charity and the like. What is it, anyway, except more spent at the public-houses and rat-pits?” Mr. Meade harrumphed, rapping the arm of his chair. “The best form of charity, I say, is a sound economy. Everything else,” he added, flushing crimson, “is wasted money or self-serving balderdash!”
This little spirit of temper was somewhat of an affront to Mr. Loch, but being a man inured to criticism, he merely nodded stoically. “Perhaps so, Wallace, but a sound economy is built on liveable wages.”
Meade snorted, swirled his glass, and continued pontificating along a familiar line. “There will always be hunger, Charles. That is a fact of life. Natural selection and so forth. Some men thrive, and some go to the wall. I pay the wages that the market will bear.”
“Starvation wages, you mean,” Mr. Loch rejoined mildly.
“Starvation, sir, is a discipline,” Meade came back with; “and London’s poor would do well to have more of it.”

Somewhere along the way, I recalled an idea from Judaic studies: the definition of tzedakah as “justice”—not “charity.” (This definition does translate to the wider Christian world, as we see in St. Augustine’s counsel: “Charity is no substitute for justice withheld.”) And aligning charity with justice helped me to align the story with my own internal conflicts. It’s easy to drop some change into a cardboard box with the Star of David on it, or make a donation to the Jewish Federation, and accept that as tzedakah—“charity.” But it’s difficult, uncomfortable and time-consuming to truly confront the world’s inequalities and injustices.

In my novel, Mr. Bodkin discovers the fatal consequences of using a magic potion to “solve” his internal conflicts. In the real world, the stakes are smaller—yet the conflict is there, especially for those who must thoughtfully steward the money and time of donors. Consider the complexities of institutional charity, such as foundations contributing to cancer research/prevention organizations—while earning dividend income from stockholdings in companies like Altria (the parent company of Marlboro cigarettes).

Charity is something we can compartmentalize: we have our living expenses and luxuries, and our donations; we have our work and leisure times, and our volunteer sessions. But the question of justice permeates every moment of our lives and forces us to accept that true tzedakah cannot be donated or purchased. True tzedakah, true justice, must be demanded by every one of us, every day, with every dollar we spend and give.

M. Elias Keller grew up in Bucks County, PA and earned degrees in Anthropology and Urban Studies from the University of Pennsylvania. He has been a freelance and journalistic writer in Philadelphia and San Diego, as well as publishing short fiction in various literary magazines. Keller is the author of Strange Case of Mr. Bodkin & Father Whitechapel (GZI Productions, 2012), a companion novel to Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde. He lives in Philadelphia. www.meliaskeller.com.