The ProsenPeople

Transforming the Magical

Thursday, February 28, 2013 | Permalink

Earlier this week, Baruch and Judy Sterman wrote about their obsession with blue. They have been blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

We were sitting in an upscale café in Northern Tel Aviv waiting to meet with Knesset member Yitzchak “Bougie” Herzog. As number two in the Israeli Labor party, he was in the middle of campaigning for the upcoming elections, and we were grateful to have a few minutes of his time. The purpose of our meeting was to present him with a copy of our book, The Rarest Blue, and to thank him for the information he had provided while we were preparing it. The dedication that we had inscribed in the book included our desire “to express our inestimable appreciation for the work of your namesake, your grandfather the great Rabbi Isaac Halevi Herzog, whose contributions to the study of tekhelet were unparalleled.”

Tekhelet, the precious blue that, in accordance with the biblical commandment, colored one string of the tzitzit worn by Jews in ancient times, was the subject of our book and also the theme of Rabbi Herzog’s doctoral dissertation for the University of London almost a century ago. His thesis investigated all aspects of the topic in an attempt to determine why the technology of manufacturing the dye had disappeared from the world, when exactly it had been lost, and what was the mysterious source of the valuable dye. His doctorate was the beginning of a life-long passion whose ultimate goal – the restoration of the forgotten biblical commandment – would not be realized until after Rabbi Herzog’s death.

As our exploration into the Rabbi’s life and work progressed, our admiration for him grew. He was a unique sort of genius: a brilliant Talmudist, he also was thoroughly versed in diverse fields from history to law to chemistry, and was fluent in 12 languages. But Herzog was no scholar in a cloistered library. He was a man of action who felt a burning responsibility for his people. Chief Rabbi, first of Ireland (1919-1936), then of Palestine, and eventually of the State of Israel (a position he held until his death in 1959), his tenure was one that coincided with the most devastating horrors for the Jewish people as well as their greatest moments of triumph.

Rabbi Herzog’s scholarly work radically transformed the traditional Jewish perception of tekhelet. Before him, many if not most religious Jews believed that the hillazon, the sea animal that, according to the Talmud, produced the precious dye, was some kind of magical, mythical creature akin to the shamir – the legendary worm capable of boring through any material and used to hew the stone for the altar in the Temple, or the Leviathan on which it is said the righteous will feast in the World to Come. Tekhelet, most Jews thought, would be restored only when the third temple descended from Heaven, since both belonged to that miraculous realm. But Rabbi Herzog argued that tekhelet was a natural phenomenon and that the hillazon was a physical albeit elusive sea snail that could be rediscovered through intense scientific, historical, and archeological research. And that is exactly what happened. Because of Rabbi Herzog’s paradigm shift, today hundreds of thousands of Jews around the world wear the tekhelet that had been lost for 1,300 years.

The ability to innovate that Rabbi Herzog displayed in his doctorate became a hallmark characteristic of his work throughout his life. His most significant achievements had to do with the application of Jewish law in ingenious and often daring ways in order to achieve a harmony within the complex interplay of values confronting the modern, democratic, religious state of Israel – an entity that had never been conceived of before.

Rabbi Herzog stands as a role model for all, challenging us not only to study as much as we can, not only to take action to realize our dreams, but to stretch the very boundaries of our imagination and create completely novel ways of thinking, and to transform the magical into the practical.

Baruch and Judy Sterman's The Rarest Blue: The Remarkable Story of an Ancient Color Lost to History and Rediscovered is now available. Read more about the book here.

One of These Authors Will Win $100,000

Wednesday, February 27, 2013 | Permalink
Read more about the 2012 Sami Rohr Prize for Jewish Literature finalists here. Read more about the Sami Rohr Prize for Jewish Literature here.


Can Israel Help American Jews Recall Their Own Forgotten Heroes?

Wednesday, February 27, 2013 | Permalink
Earlier this week, M. M. Silver wrote about the riches in Louis Marshall's archive. He will be blogging here this week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

Now that my previous blog established to everyone's complete satisfaction that Louis Marshall ought to be considered a paramount figure in the history of America's Jewish community, and, in fact, that his personal archive contains papers of import comparable to Newton's apple-stained original draft of the law of universal gravitation, it behooves me to wrestle with a question that arose a few times during the drafting of my biography of Marshall. Here it is: given that Louis Marshall was the man who successfully dictated the terms of Henry Ford's apology for the Dearborn Independent's scurrilous anti-Semitic campaign, who drafted the terms for Jewish minority rights in Eastern Europe after World War I, who argued before the Supreme Court more times than any attorney in his era, who was a founder of many of American Jewry's premier organizations and institutions, and who became (in his final crusade) a progenitor of American Jewry's special relationship with Israel, why did it take over eighty years for some schlemozzle to publish a full-length biography of him?

Formulated in that way, this question is a bit misleading and self-serving. Two or three books about Marshall were published in years after his death. Morton Rosenstock's Louis Marshall: Defender of Jewish Rights is the best known. Biographical in structure though not comprehensive in intent, they are very informative and useful volumes.

Also, Marshall's preeminent position in early 20th century American Jewish organized affairs is at least implicitly recognized by the quality of scholars who wrote noticeably extensive articles about important facets of his life, such as his campaign with the American Jewish Committee to "abrogate" America's commercial treaty with Russia, due to Tsarist discrimination, or his part in the dispute about the formation of the American Jewish Congress, or his relations with the Forward newspaper and its socialist editor, Abraham Cahan. All readers of seminal works in Modern Jewish History will recognize the names of these scholars (Naomi Cohen, Jonathan Frankel, Lucy Dawidowicz) whose intensive probing of key episodes in Marshall's life is suggestive of its magnetic significance.

Just as surely, the lack of a systematic biography about Louis Marshall has long been regarded a curious anomaly; and from time to time, most recently in a special spring 2008 edition of the American Jewish History journal, scholars and students have publicly scratched their heads in puzzlement about this lacuna.

One possible explanation of this anomaly hinges on political correctness. No doubt, some historians chose not to grapple seriously with Marshall because of specific political and ideological choices he made. Scholars and students who confronted Marshall's legacy tended to be influenced by Zionist perspectives whenever they thought about early 20th century Jewish issues, and by liberal Democratic party perspectives whenever they addressed American social and political issues in years leading up to the Great Depression, and thereafter. At points in the 1920s, Marshall quarreled bitterly with the Zionists, and he was a lifelong Republican whose papers are studded with archly conservative pronouncements on various socio-political issues.

However, this "political incorrectness" account of the neglect of Marshall's legacy only goes so far. During Marshall's lifetime, perspicacious observers understood that infused within the unseemly contentiousness of his own "non-Zionist" group's disputes with the Zionists from the Yishuv in Mandatory Palestine, there was a powerful cooperative spirit of Jewish solidarity; and Marshall's major contribution to the formation of the Jewish Agency, the key political instrument of the Jewish state in the making, was deeply appreciated after his death, as illustrated by the telling remark in Chaim Weizmann's autobiography attesting that Louis Marshall was "much nearer to Jews and Judaism…than Louis Brandeis, an ardent Zionist, ever was."

Similarly, even a cursory examination of the record of Marshall's activities during the last, crucial phase of his life establishes that while he remained nominally affiliated with Republican conservatism in the 1920s, his monumental labors for African Americans, open immigration, environmental protection, Haitian independence and many other causes left an undeniably liberal, sometimes even radical, stamp on his life record. Just as the Zionist champion Chaim Weizmann lavishly eulogized the non-Zionist Marshall, paragon figures of American liberalism (such as NAACP directors) paid tribute to his contributions. In short, Louis Marshall was not really neglected by scholars because he was politically incorrect.

For several decades, I believe, Louis Marshall was effectively written out of history not because of anything he ever said or did, but because a "consensus" methodology, important in many sub-disciplines of historical study though the 1950s, took an especially firm grip on Jewish History in the period after the Holocaust, and Israel's formation. The abiding topic of concern in Marshall's life was anathema to this consensus methodology.

Louis Marshall's career can be thought of as a search for creative accommodation between the opposing status concerns and sociopolitical outlooks of his own "Uptown" group of affluent Jews of central European origin, and the "Downtown" masses of immigrants from Eastern Europe.

A generation after Marshall's death, in the period when historians first had the retrospective margin of distance needed to assess his accomplishments, this topic of Uptown-Downtown creative tensions was taboo. In 1950s America, second and third generation Jews were happy to leave all that Russians versus Germans stuff behind them. And scholars after the Holocaust were understandably drawn to images of Jewish revival and unity – the boisterously contentious Uptown-Downtown vortex into which Marshall was drawn as a creative mediator was not, for them, a compelling choice of subjects.

Israel's situation in its first years surely contributed to this methodological recoil from discussion of relations between "east" and "west" Jewish sub-groups. Through the 1950s, at least up to the Wadi Salib riots in a low income, immigrant Haifa neighborhood, discussion of the bewilderingly complex "east-west" ethnicities gathered in the new state of Israel's ma'abarot tent towns was aggressively stigmatized. In Israel, "consensus" methodology promoting unity and downplaying sub-group ethnicity was considered a strategic necessity in an ongoing primordial conflict with Arab forces.

This consensus methodology was predicated on melting pot, homogenized visions of reality that will have increasingly little appeal as Jewish Studies proceed in a multi-cultural era. I wrote a big book about Louis Marshall under the influence and inspiration of a multi-cultural era that looks out to patterns of ever-renewing conflict and reconciliation between demographic sub-groups not as a topic to be dismissed or obscured, but rather as the essence of national experience.

The transition from homogeneous to heterogeneous modes of perceiving Jewish experience has been absolutely remarkable in Israel, during the three decades of my life in the country. When I arrived in Israel, as a wide-eyed American college graduate, Ashkenazi-Mizrahi relations were regarded as close to the worst thing that could be discussed in public (a "conspiracy of silence" stifled the topic, claims the Israeli scholar Yehuda Shenhav), whereas today a critical mass of people in the country relate to the issue candidly, in full recognition of its salience, and with a sense that this story of sub-groups relationship might not be unfolding toward a Hollywood-style happy ending, but is nonetheless mainly positive in character, or at least not a topic to be swept under the rug.

Compared to the Israeli situation, contemporary American Jews might have a much less tangibly immediate connection to east-west sub-group dynamics. That is to say, the love-hate creative tension in relations between yahudim and Yiddin, between the Uptown Germans and the Downtown Russians, was part of their grandparents' reality, not theirs. Nonetheless, present and future generations of Jews in America are, and will be, conditioned by multi-cultural modes of perception. When they look back to their community's past, they will not peer through the monochromatic prism of consensus methodology. Instead, they are, or will be, keenly interested in the diversity of past Jewish life. For them, as for their Israeli counterparts, the sort of east-west mediation to which Marshall's life became dedicated will not appear as a problem to be ignored, but rather as the essence of ethnic or national experience.

In the months when I was preparing a biography Louis Marshall, my colleagues in friends in Israel sometimes asked me incredulously why someone who was trained to do Jewish History research in Israel, and who teaches in Israel, would devote so much time to an American Jewish figure. The problem with that question is not really that it draws upon stereotypical perceptions of American Jewish life (though it certainly does that): it is also based on a stereotypical and self-defeating premise that lessons about Jewish life in Israel are to be learned and shared exclusively among Israelis.

Writing this biography, I wondered sometimes how Louis Marshall, who was not a Zionist but who was deeply curious about what the culture of a Jewish state might be like, might have responded to the final, "Israeli," conclusion I drew about the project. More than anywhere else in modern times, the imperative of mediating creatively between the competing, though not antithetical, outlooks of Jewish sub-groups – that is, the abiding mission of Marshall's life – is elucidated by life in the Jewish state in the 21st century. So I'll end this blog by wondering aloud whether the idea of a full length biography of Louis Marshall coming out of Israel ought to be seen as a contradiction to the logic of his life as a premier American Jew. However vainglorious it might sound, I took pride in thinking of this project as consummation of that logic.

Join M. M. Silver for the Louis Marshall and the Rise of Jewish Ethnicity in America: A Biography book launch on March 12th at Congregation Emanu-El in NYC. More information about this event can be found here

Sifriyat Pijama Grows Up

Wednesday, February 27, 2013 | Permalink

by Galina Vromen

When you see a newborn and then watch her four years later, climbing to the top of the jungle gym, you can’t believe it’s the same child. That’s the feeling that overcomes me when I look at Sifriyat Pijama, the Israeli sister program of the PJ Library.

Sifriyat Pijama, which monthly gives away illustrated Hebrew picture-books in pre-schools, started as a pilot four years ago in Israel with 3,000 children. This school year, it has grown to 194,000 children, about 80% of Hebrew-speaking children in the state system. The books, which deal with Jewish values and Jewish/Israeli heritage, arrive by courier each month to the preschool. The teacher reads the month’s selection to the children and often does an activity as well. Then each child receives his or her own copy to take home to enjoy with family and add to the home library—a total of twenty-four books over a child’s three-year preschool career. Boosted by funding from the Ministry of Education, Sifriyat Pijama, a program of the Harold Grinspoon Foundation, is giving away more than 1.5 million books a year, making it the largest purchaser of children’s books in Israel after the country’s biggest book store chain, Steimatzky.

But like that four-year old child, it is not just a matter of physical growth. Sifriyat Pijama has matured into a program that is daring to climb to new heights, helping to create a genre of picture books new to the Israeli market. Working with publishers, Sifriyat Pijama is producing books which deal with Jewish heritage in a way that will engage both secular and religious Israeli Jews. This year, out of the sixteen titles Sifriyat Pijama is distributing (eight for 3-4 year olds, eight for 5-6 year olds), seven are newly created for the program. All together since Sifri­yat Pijama came to Israel, it has created a total of fifteen new books.

It was not what we set out to do. But there was no choice, given the difficulty in Israel’s religiously divisive society of finding books that suited Sifriyat Pijama’s agenda of promoting common Jewish values and heritage. In Israel, children from the religious sector tend to read Bible and Talmudic legends, and do-good stories, with illustrations depicting kipa-headed boys and modestly dressed girls. Meanwhile, secular children are growing up largely on books devoid of any mention of Jewish topics—books which observant families worry depict behavior inconsistent with their way of life. We were desperate for books that would appeal to both populations and address aspects of Jewish values and heritage on which there is broad agreement.

Furthermore, some topics are under-represented in both the religious and the secular market: aliyah and olim, biographies for young children on Zionist figures, Jewish folktales, particularly from the Sephardic tradition. For example, we found there was no Israeli version in print of that classical folktale about the poor man whose rabbi tells him to add his goat, chickens and cow to his crowded house—so when he takes them out the house is roomy. There are at least five versions of this story on the American market. We could have translated one of those books, but it seemed a pity that this very Jewish story should not have an indigenous Israeli version. Responding to our urging, leading Israeli publisher Am Oved recruited one of Israel’s premier satirists, Ephraim Sidon, and teamed him up with prominent illustrator Danny Kerman to produce a rhymed version of the story, which Sifriyat Pijama will distribute this year.

Sifriyat Pijama requires that any book it creates with a publisher be available in a commercial version as well. This is to assure the books will have a shelf-life beyond their distribution through Sifriyat Pijama, which changes its book selection from year to year to avoid having children receive copies of the same book more than once in the course of their three years in the program. Publishers have been pleasantly surprised to discover that Jewish stories, when illustrated to appeal to modern audiences, do well in stores. And it is making them open up to publish­ing more such books.

We were delighted when a publisher approached us with a manu­script of an enchanting Ethiopian folktale, about an old man who tries to get rid of his tattered shoes from the old country, only to have everyone try to return them to him. What child (and parent) will not be able to relate to how difficult it can be to shed old things—or outdated versions of ourselves? The manuscript had been sitting around for years before our hue and cry for folk tales, and for stories that address aliyah were heard. The result, Mr. Menaseh’s Old Shoes (English title: An Old Pair of Shoes), is itself an aliyah tale—the folktale was told to veteran Israeli author Ronit Chacham by an Ethiopian immigrant years ago, and the book is illustrated by Russian immigrant Masha Manapov.

Sifriyat Pijama is also giving new life to traditional Talmudic tales—either by the re-issue and/or re-illustration of out of print books, or by the publication of new ones. This year, Kinneret-Zmora Bitan- Dvir has teamed up with prize-winning Israeli children’s author Shoham Smith to issue a new picture book based on the Talmudic tale about Rabbi Akiva learning late in life to read Other renditions of Talmudic tales by Israel Prize winning author Dvora Omer —about the renowned patience of Rabbi Hillel and the visit by a Roman emperor to Rabbi Yehuda Hanasi, as well as a traditional story about the choice of where to build the Holy Templehave been resurrected from her earlier anthologies and illustrated to reach a new generation.

No less important has been the effort to stress common Israeli culture around popular Israeli songs that have become classics. Sifriyat Pijama urged the production of a book, Good People, based on the song by the late Naomi Shemer (best known in America for Jerusalem of Gold), and Who Loves Shabbat, with lyrics by late songwriter Ehud Manor. Both were Israel Prize winners whose songs are popular among a wide swathe of the Israeli public.

We have also caused the “cross-over” of some religious authors rarely read by the secular public. We did this by re-illustrating stories whose religious look limited their appeal to secular audiences. The stories—Yael’s Independence Day by Rivka Elitzur and The Land of Preschool Children by Emuna Alon—boosted with charming new illustrations, received high ratings in secular preschools from teachers in the program.

Finally, we have had translated some PJ Library favorites into Hebrew: Bagels from Benny by Aubrey Davis (known as Grandpa’s Bakery in Hebrew) and One Little Chicken by Elka Weber. The latter, a retelling of a tale about Rabbi Hanina Ben-Dosa, underwent re-illustration for the Hebrew version so that it is set (historically accurately) in the ancient Land of Israel rather than in the rural nineteenth century setting of the English-language original. Its Israeli publisher, Yedioth Ahronot, was taken aback when the first commercial printing of 2,000 copies sold out in weeks.

Sifriyat Pijama has taken advantage of its growth to create a revital­ized treasure trove of high-quality Jewish children’s books. As we watch this precocious “child” grow up, we hope that the books we are creating today will help Israelis feel more connected to their heritage and to each other.

Galina Vromen is executive director of Sifriyat Pijama:

A Story of Hope

Tuesday, February 26, 2013 | Permalink

by Anna Olswanger

An agent and author reflects on why she wrote her newest book

The year I became a literary agent, an independent press published my first children’s book. Now, seven years later, the same press has published my second children’s book. But this is not a column about an agent who is learning how tough it is to be an author. 

This is about something else.

As an agent, I attract a fair number of queries about Holocaust-related books because of my interest in Judaica. I rarely ask to see these manuscripts, and I’ve never taken on the authors as clients. I know I can’t sell their work. Not many editors, especially of children’s books, want to buy books about Jewish suffering. 

So why is my new book Holocaust-related?

I had originally self-published Greenhorn as a miniature book for collectors in 2006. A few months after I sent it to the publisher of my first book as a holiday gift, she called to say she wanted to publish it.

“Why?” I asked her. 

She said it was a provocative little book (this is the publisher who took the “N” word out of Huckleberry Finn, so she’s no stranger to being provocative), and the book’s image of a tin box and its contents haunted her. 

That made me think about why I wanted to tell the story.

I first heard it on a tour bus in Israel in the mid-1980s. I had traveled there on a group trip with my synagogue, and as we approached Jerusalem, the rabbi told us about a little boy who had lost his parents in the Holocaust, who wouldn’t speak when he came to live at the Brooklyn yeshiva where the rabbi was in the sixth grade, and who wouldn’t let a tin box out of his sight. The story about the little boy stayed with me for years.

My rabbi, a witness to the story, was preoccupied with leading his large congregation. He wouldn’t write the story. And I had no idea where the little boy was 40 years later, so I couldn’t ask him to write the story. Was it my responsibility? How could a childless woman, born in America after the Holocaust, whose ancestors had left Eastern Europe in the 1890s, tell this story of a little boy who couldn’t let a tin box out of his sight? 

But I knew if I didn't write the story, it would be lost.

How to tell it? Interview the rabbi? Create a video? An audio?

Like many people in publishing, I wonder about the future of books. I see people walking along streets disengaged from their surroundings. They are listening to their iPods or looking at their iPhones, and they are not reading books. 

At home they have Facebook, Twitter, videos, computer games to entertain them, which means that books have to be flashy, electronic, fast to compete. 

But also like many people in publishing, I believe in silence and traditional books.

So I wrote the story about the little boy who survived the Holocaust as a book for young readers. And as I began to write the story of Greenhorn, I also began to discover what I was writing about. 

Because when I really listened to this story, I heard in it something deeper than suffering, something deeper than loss. The little boy, who wouldn’t speak when he came to America, who wouldn’t let the tin box out of his sight, made a friend. Later, he agreed to live with his friend’s family. And then he let go of his box. The little boy moved on. The story had hope.

And something happened to me in the years that I was writing and revising the story: I moved on. I went from being a woman saddened by not having her own family to being a woman immersed in the joy of children’s books as an author and literary agent—and in my middle 50s, a woman who married for the first time. I have a husband now, the start of my own family. 

So part of the story is mine now, too. The part that is hope. 

It may be tough to sell a children’s book about the Holocaust, but it’s even tougher not to have hope

And hope is what this column is about.

Anna Olswanger is the author of Greenhorn, published by NewSouth Books. She is a literary agent with Liza Dawson Associates. This essay originally appeared in Publishers Weekly and is reprinted with permission.

Obsession in Blue

Tuesday, February 26, 2013 | Permalink
Baruch and Judy Sterman's The Rarest Blue: The Remarkable Story of an Ancient Color Lost to History and Rediscovered is now available. They will be blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

We admit it, we are obsessed with blue. Also with seashells and snails. Our house is filled with skeins of blue threads, tufts of wool in every shade of blue imaginable, and dozens of shells of different sizes and peculiar shapes. But we weren’t always so infatuated.

We were introduced to the wonderful world of blue quite by chance. Late one Thursday night, around twenty years ago, an old high-school buddy called and asked if I would like to join him the next day to go scuba diving in the Mediterranean. He was going to help a dedicated rabbi collect some sea-snails. Not just any snails, but a particular species that had once been used to produce the fabulously expensive and stunning dye known as biblical blue, or tekhelet. In the ancient world, tekhelet had been a cornerstone commodity worth up to twenty times its weight in gold, but for centuries it had been lost and all but forgotten. Only recently had there been a revival of interest in the ancient dyeing process. I myself had only a faint knowledge of the topic of tekhelet, which is mentioned numerous times in the Bible as the main component of the priestly garments and the decorative curtains of the Temple.

The night my friend called was cold and wintery, and the next day was going to be the same or worse. Joining him would mean that I’d have to wake up before dawn in order to make it from my home in Jerusalem to the Northern coast and back before Shabbat. I had every reason to bow out, but words seemed to come out of my mouth before I could properly think them through: “Sure – see you at four.” Those words were the beginning of an adventure that would start as a curiosity, develop into a passion, and ultimately become the obsession that virtually defines my identity.

We realize, of course, that not everyone sees the world through blue colored glasses, though we are continually surprised by how many people – from rabbis to chemists, from painters and numismatists to scholars specializing in magic and superstition – have in fact devoted their lives to researching all areas relating to this ancient dye. Indeed, hunting for snails and performing micro-surgery to extract a tiny gland in order to obtain a fraction of a gram of dye might appear to be an arcane activity of little relevance to modern sensibilities.

But these lowly snails have a world to teach us. And in many ways, that is itself the most important lesson that we have learned from our involvement in the tekhelet story. We have seen, over and over again, how when you start to dig deeply into a topic, regardless of how small and insignificant it seems at first glance, you soon begin to realize the interconnectivity of all knowledge. One thing leads to another; one aspect of research sheds light on a vastly different area of investigation, and in some cases can lead to new ideas, and even fundamental reevaluation of accepted notions. Dig deep enough into any small region of human endeavor, and you will eventually reach the spring of wisdom below – everything is related, and each well taps into a different part of the underlying whole.

ptsia2The principles of molecular spectroscopy that I had encountered during my studies towards a doctorate in laser physics help explain why the molecule produced by our snails is unique as virtually the only natural occurrence of a lasting blue dye. The power of blue was the motivation behind one German artist’s choice to explore the effects of pressing snail glands onto a canvas to produce mesmerizing swirls of blue, and the psychological effects of blue studied by scientists prompted the Japanese transit authority’s decision to replace all their subway lighting with blue LEDs. (They say the calming effects of the color blue have reduced the spate of suicides in the train stations).

Isaac Newton compared himself to a young child “playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.” We are all playing on the shores of the very same endless sea, and sometimes even seemingly insignificant shells may turn out to be, in the Bible’s words, “treasures hidden in the sand.” Uncovering these treasures, one by one, adds to man’s understanding of the world around him. And each person’s passion contributes to our collective knowledge, ever growing and increasing… if only at a snail’s pace.

Check back on Thursday for more from Baruch and Judy Sterman for the Visiting Scribe. Read more about The Rarest Blue here.

Interview with Diane Heiman

Tuesday, February 26, 2013 | Permalink
JBC's Christine Maasdam interviews Diane Heiman, co-writer with Liz Suneby of It’s a…It’s a…It’s a Mitzvah and The Mitzvah Project Book (Jewish Lights Publishing).

Christine Maasdam: Diane, you certainly have an impressive background—Brown, Georgetown, a decade of practicing law, and raising a family. When did you find the time to write? What was your motivation to move into a writing career, especially with a focus on children? Do you recall that special moment when you said to yourself that this was some­thing that you must do?

Diane Heiman: I have always loved words—reading, writing and talking! As a child, I especially loved to read. Books transported me to far away places, distant time periods and enticing experiences. Some of my favorite childhood friends lived inside books—such as the five sisters in Sydney Taylor’s All-of-a-Kind Family series. Even as a young girl, I hoped to become a children’s book writer. Once, in seventh grade, I went to a bar mitzvah party and a fortuneteller looked at my palm and predicted I would write and illustrate children’s books. How did she know my secret dream? I guess at least one of her prophecies came true.

CM: The Mitzvah Project Book has brought tremendously meaningful experiences to thousands of Bar and Bat Mitzvah young adults since its publication. Can you tell us about the spark that ignited you and Liz to create that particular book?

DH: Washington Hebrew Congregation's Mitzvah Day (my family's syna­gogue in Washington, DC) inspired The Mitzvah Project Book (MPB). On Mitzvah Day, the entire congregation comes together to volunteer for the greater community through a myriad of activities. Liz and I wanted bar and bat mitzvah students to learn about the myriad of great mitzvah projects, large and small, that their peers are doing all across our coun­try. We saw our own kids struggle to find meaningful mitzvah projects. So we focused the book around kids’ interests--computers, animals, sports, art, music, Israel and more. MPB would have been a much-appreciated resource in our own homes.

CM: Was It's a…It's a...It's a Mitzvah in your mind while working on The Mitzvah Project Book?

DH: It’s a…It’s a…It’s a Mitzvah was a natural next book after MPB. We realized younger children participate in good deeds too. And we wanted to reinforce that doing goods deeds is an integral part of Jewish life, not just part of a bar or bat mitzvah year. By highlighting daily acts of loving kindness and other mitzvot in an upbeat manner, we hopefully connect young children to this concept.

CM: How did The Mitzvah Project Book bring It's a …It's a...It's a Mitz­vah to life? At what moment, did you realize that the acts of mitzvah needed to and could be addressed even earlier in the lives of children?

DH: We wrote It’s a…It’s a...It’s a Mitzvah to inspire young children in multiple ways. Each scenario illustrates a different good deed. The children who hear our words and smile at our pictures experience the power they have within themselves to make the world a better place. Mitzvah Meerkat reminds us that sharing food with someone who is hungry, visiting someone who is sick, and celebrating Shabbat are mitz­vot. Parents, grandparents, teachers and caregivers who read this book aloud can use it as a springboard for talking about tikkun olam (repair­ing the world). It can be read before collecting tzedakah. The book can also spark discussion about other mitzvot. And reading it just for fun is fun too. Kids love to repeat the refrain, “It’s a… It’s a… It’s a mitzvah!”

CM: Jews have had a history of teaching mitzvah—it is at the core of our beliefs. It's a …It's a...It's a Mitzvah makes it a universal concept for everyone. Do you see the book as a bridge across various religions and cultures?

DH: My coauthor, Liz Suneby, and I knew that the concept of doing good deeds transcends cultures and religions. But we didn’t expect that It’s a...It’s a...It’s a Mitzvah would become a bridge across religions. We were thrilled to learn that The Lutheran, the magazine of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America included It’s a…It’s a…It’s a Mitzvah in its September 2012 column called, “The Best.” Also, a non-sectarian website,, awarded It’s a…It’s a…It’s a Mitzvah one of the fifty best spiritual books of 2012.

CM: How much fun was it to create these endearing creatures? They are so filled with emotion and wonderment, that a child gravitates to them instantaneously. Did Laurel Molk surprise you with the charac­ters or did you both collaborate on their creation? Why the Mitzvah Meerkat? Does he hold a special spot in either of your hearts?

DH: Liz and I wanted the narrator of our picture book to be an appealing creature with an “m” for alliteration with mitzvah. How did we choose a meerkat? My kids adored the Travel Channel’s wildly (pun intended!) popular documentary series filmed in the Kalahari Desert, “Meerkat Manor.” Meerkats live in family groups, stand up on their hind legs, use their front paws and are very cute. We also hoped that a meerkat would bring a “fresh face” to our children’s picture book. Laurel Molk, the book’s illustrator, sprinkled a wonderful layer of inventiveness onto our cast of characters. She created the trio of mice that appear in each spread. The warmth and delight expressed in her watercolors is conta­gious!

CM: Each of you live mitzvah throughout your daily lives. I sense that It's a…It's a...It's a Mitzvah was a very personal journey for you. Your work with the Equal Justice Foundation, Take Our Daughters & Sons to Work Day, and the upcoming event for Prevention of Blindness Society speak volumes. Any thoughts that you would like to share on future mitzvahs or developing interests?

DH: In today’s world, anyone can connect with friends and even global strangers in an instant. Electronic communications make all kinds of information so accessible. The great need for mitzvot in our own com­munities and far beyond is very present. Liz and I are grateful to Jewish Lights Publishing for helping us communicate to young people that they each have the power to make a difference. As writers, Liz and I hope to continue to focus on the theme of good deeds.

Diane, thank you for this interview and the joy of mitzvot you and Liz have brought to a new generation.

Christine Maasdam holds a Masters in Humanities, certifications in Mu­seum Studies and Cultural Property Protection. She is currently complet­ing her M.L.I.S. Her interests are philosophy and the impact of art and technology on culture.

Ten Percent of American Jewry's Top 100 List

Monday, February 25, 2013 | Permalink

M. M. Silver is a modern Jewish history scholar at Max Stern College of Emek Yezreel in Israel. His newest book, Louis Marshall and the Rise of Jewish Ethnicity in America: A Biography, is now available. He will be blogging here this week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

Here's a thought experiment designed to show you how the Jewish world does not work today. Imagine that some extremely committed, professionally accomplished Jewish individual arose today in America, and suddenly served as lay director of key Jewish religious institutions, stewarded vital Jewish community interests on Capitol Hill, supervised American Jewish contacts with Israeli leaders, and managed campaigns for imperiled or impoverished Jewish communities around the world. You're thinking about a Jewish Papacy that could never arise – at least never again.

Let's expand these experimental terms, and move beyond the concerns of Modern Jewish History and think about ethnic realities in American History. When has it ever happened that the acknowledged leader of one ethnic group takes up the reins for other ethnic groups, managing and directing their courtroom and public battles against discrimination and prejudice? How many ethnic leaders in America have attended to the parochial affairs of their own group, fought for justice for other socio-religious groups, and creatively broadened conceptualizations of legal rights to afford protection to the environment?

By all these, Jewish History, American History and Ethnic History, standards, Louis Marshall's life (1856-1929) stands out as a singular, and compellingly intriguing, event.

Reviewing items stored in his archive, at the American Jewish Archives in Cincinnati, I wondered how many lives could have collected so many papers that would have to be ranked with the "Top 100 documents in American Jewish History." No matter how seriously or entertainingly one might envision such a list – whether it would include George Washington's letter to the Jews of Newport or Sandy Koufax's first contract with the Brooklyn Dodgers – Marshall's collection would likely provide 10 percent, or more, of the items. Henry Ford's apology to the Jews (sent to, and dictated by, Marshall) is in the Cincinnati archive, as is the recently discovered "Protocol of Peace" agreement ending the great cloakmakers strike of 1910, along with cornerstone documents of the early phases of signature American Jewish organizations and institutions (the American Jewish Committee, the Jewish Theological Seminary, the Joint Distribution Committee).

Any search for primary documentation attesting to American Jewry's relations with world Zionism in the decade after the Balfour Declaration and the British conquest of Eretz Israel would begin and end in Louis Marshall's archive. The same could be said about American Jewry's relations generally with overseas Jewish groups during the first half of the interwar period.

Have you ever wondered how American Jews responded to aspersions about Jewish bootleggers and "wine rabbis" during Prohibition? Or what they had to say about the Ku Klux Klan when that hate group's membership soared to include several million members, during its second wave of activity in the 1920s? You can go find the essential documents in Marshall's archive.

I'm not sure exactly where each of these would rank on the "Top 100" list. Ahead of the purchase receipt for Monica Lewinsky's dress but behind Woody Allen's script for Annie Hall? Ahead or behind Mordecai Noah's 1825 proclamation for the "reestablishment of Hebrew government" at Ararat? Nestled somewhere between the maps of General Grant's number 11 expulsion order and Groucho and Chico Marx's search for the "why a duck" viaduct on the Florida peninsula?

Insofar as they point to the difficulty of prioritizing experiences and events in the Jews' (or anyone else's) history, these questions are not entirely facetious. Ultimately, what counts as important in a national/ethnic/religious group's experience is whatever makes its members' hearts throb in fear or excitement, and whatever pries open a grin or grimace on their faces.

By such down-to-earth standards, along with the far more sententiously formulated measurements relied on by those of us who, for better or worse, received professional training in Jewish History, Louis Marshall ranks as an overwhelmingly important figure in American Jewish History. His archive has as many heart throbs, grins and grimaces as that of any other prominent activist or leader in the community's history. I wrote a big book about him out of the feeling that collected within his life is as much evidence about what American Jewish life has really been about as could possibly be found in any biography.

Join M. M. Silver for the Louis Marshall and the Rise of Jewish Ethnicity in America: A Biography book launch on March 12th at Congregation Emanu-El in NYC. More information about this event can be found here

Places Never Seen

Friday, February 22, 2013 | Permalink
Earlier this week, Jay Neugeboren wrote about the title story of his third collection and the art of silence. He has been blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

My most recently published novel, The Other Side of the World, contains a 100-page novel-within-the-novel set entirely in Singapore and Borneo. The book appeared in early December, and since then readers and interviewers keep asking an obvious question: Have you ever been to Singapore and/or Borneo?

The answer: No . . .

And the response to this answer is often bewilderment, as in: How can you write about a place you’ve never seen or been to? To this point no one, including friends and reviewers who have been to Singapore and Borneo, has questioned the credibility of the Singapore and Borneo I’ve conjured up. But why should people believe that a fiction writer has to go to a place in order to write about it? An earlier novel of mine, The Stolen Jew (1981), begins in Israel, on a beach in Herzlia, and I wrote this novel before I’d ever been to Israel. The Stolen Jew also contains several sections set in the Soviet Union, both in time-present (about smuggling out a Jewish dissident), and in the nineteenth century (about a Jewish boy kidnapped to take the place of another Jewish boy for 25 year service in the Tsar’s army—the dreaded cantonist gzeyra).

I had never been to the Soviet Union.

The list of writers who have written about places they’ve never been to is long and impressive, beginning with Shakespeare (his many plays set in Italy: Othello, Two Gentlemen of Verona, Romeo and Juliet, and The Merchant of Venice, etc.), and includes, for starters, Saul Bellow (Henderson the Rain King, set in Africa, which Bellow had never visited), Franz Kafka (Amerika, set on our shores, which Kafka never saw), Italo Calvino (Invisible Cities, an imaginary dialogue set in China between Kublai Kahn and Marco Polo). And Shakespeare, I note, never met a Jew, for they were banished from England during his lifetime, yet he created Shylock.

William Saroyan, a splendid novelist and story writer, once did a travel piece for Esquire magazine about Mexico City. After the article appeared, his editor at Esquire called to tell him that several readers had written to the magazine saying they could not find some of the places Saroyan mentioned in the article. Had Saroyan visited them? “You asked me to write about Mexico City,” Saroyan replied. “You didn’t say I had to go there.” And of course there are the thousands of historical novels—novels that try to portray historical periods and figures by fictionalizing them—as opposed to what writers like Bellow, Calvino, Shakespeare, McMurtry, Charyn, Chabon, Laxness, Dickens, and others have done, which is to re-imagine historical periods and figures.

But why, in novels and stories, should writing about a place you’ve never been to be any different than writing about imaginary people you’ve never known? Or about historical figures you’ve never met (e.g., E. L. Doctorow’s Ragtime, Colm Toibin’s The Master, Mark Twain’s Joan of Arc)?

The great joy for me as a writer of fiction is to be able to go anywhere in time and place, and to be anyone. In my next novel, The American Sun & Wind Moving Picture Company (March 2013), I’ll start out as a twelve-year-old boy in the year 1915 who, on a frozen lake in Fort Lee, New Jersey, is about to play the part of a young girl in a (silent) film his family is making. And the novel I am at work on now is told by a black man, born in Louisiana at the beginning of the twentieth century, who becomes close friend and “Man Friday” to the heavyweight champion, Max Baer, who famously, and in my novel, strode into the ring at Yankee Stadium on August 6, 1933, proudly wearing a Star of David on his boxing trunks, and proceeded to knock out a former heavyweight champion of the world, “Hitler’s Boxer,” Max Schmeling. And after that, I’ll probably be . . . 

Jay's newest book, The American Sun & Wind Moving Picture Company, will be published in March. Visit his official website here.

Book Cover of the Week: The Fun Parts

Friday, February 22, 2013 | Permalink

Posted by Naomi Firestone-Teeter

In Sam Lipsyte's newest collection, The Fun Parts (Farrar, Straus and Giroux), he brings to life a reality-brandishing monster preying on a boy's fantasy realm, the daughter of a Holocaust survivor, who makes the most shocking leap imaginable to save her soul, a doomsday hustler, and a grizzled male birth doula, among others. The Fun Parts will be published on March 5th.

View past "Book Cover of the Week" posts here.