Questions Only

By: Judy Batalion

The penultimate session of Jewish Book Week, the Judith Butler/Udi Aloni discussion sparked with the tired delirium of the near-end. From the start, the energy was zany, and the edge was hardly allayed by the attempt to fit the ‘minor’ thesis – Israel’s paramount need to accept its own guilt – into an hour.

The chair, perhaps prepped for a potentially contentious idea marathon, awaited no applause, and launched straight into an introduction. Swiftly, American theory guru Judith Butler began a presentation based on her latest book, which considered the need for mourning and forgiveness in the post-9/11 world, and following, the need for Israelis to forgive and come to terms with their own guilt in order for new possibilities for peace with the Palestinians. A charismatic speaker, with a presence displaying modesty but also gravitas, Butler ventured into the personal, relaying her own Cleveland childhood experiences of Judaism, and her understanding that at Judaism’s crux is the appreciation of all life – Jewish and other. To her, critiquing Judaism and Israel is an integral component of Jewishness, and she chastised the Israeli call for self-defense, claiming it had gone too far and was a lie. She called, then, for Israeli compassion and forgiveness. Butler drew on the writings of Derrida to explain that forgetting is about getting, but forgiving is about giving - it is not based on logical or rational ‘deals’ with the other party, it is not resolution, but is beyond calculation, it is in the self.

Following Butler was acclaimed Israeli film-maker/writer Udi Aloni. Sporting a more rambunctious brand of charisma, Aloni opened with oozing accolades to Butler, and then a couple of hearty one-liners – he threw away his notes and started off the cuff, claiming that he would talk for 15 minutes – an ‘Israeli 15 minutes’… And that he did. Aloni presented a sort of parsha-analysis, looking at the meanings of the Hebrew word ‘face’ (‘panim’ – which in Hebrew refers not just to the façade, but to interiority), and to the ‘face-off’ between Jacob and Esav, focusing on the moment the brothers encountered each other after the birth-order-scandal – the moment between murdering and being murdered. Aloni highlighted that we have come to interpret the text to mean that the brothers were enemies and bit each other, but that in the original language, they actually kissed. Aloni stated that Israelis keep pursuing aggressions because they don’t deal with their own guilt about having more than the Palestinians. Declaring that he was pro-Israel and Palestine, states which he referred to as brothers, his message was to stay positive, to kiss.

Indeed, despite their different nationalities – Aloni an Israeli and Butler from left-wing Berkley, these speakers were certainly of a similar optimistic and idealistic face. 2 Jews, 1 opinion – is it even possible?! I eagerly awaited to see how the JBW audience, whose stirrings I could feel, would react to this fairly one-sided side. The question period, unfortunately, was not spiky, but turned into a rather strangely-toned mishginneh balagan. People’s comments were mainly personal-based anecdotes, and the chair – perhaps in an attempt to control this – seemed harsh, adamantly cutting people off and repeating: ‘Questions only, questions only!’ A few good points did emerge from this clipped session, including those about the moment that one decides to go out on the limb, to do some forgiving, and those about subtle differences in Butler’s and Aloni’s forgiveness models. There were also a couple of comments from ‘the outside’, tackling the Butler-Aloni position. Notably, the chair himself asked Butler why it was always made out that Israel is bad and the Palestinians are good? The audience, around me at least, groaned at his question, and Butler replied that she did not say that, but was just advocating that as a Jew, all life is important.

Soon after, I was dismissed into a cold Sunday night rain, and like after many high-impact lectures, I felt unsatisfied, confused, and generally wet. Some of the lack of satisfaction may have come from the frantic session, but I also had questions about the presentations themselves. For one, Butler’s take on Judaism intrigued me. I had always understood that Judaism did not advocate ‘open’ forgiveness – in fact, the forgiveness she described struck me as a noble Christian value. I had been under the impression that at Judaism’s crux is the taking of responsibility for one’s actions, and that Judaism stressed the importance of personal and interactive apology and forgiveness. On Yom Kippur, we can pray for absolution for sins against God, but not against other people – that has to be person to person. As for the notion that all life is important – I understood this of course, but had again thought that Judaism offered a slightly different interpretation. For instance, self-preservation is a Jewish obligation. My own childhood education involved the lesson that if you see somebody drowning, but you aren’t sure that you can make the swim, then you are not supposed to jump in. Butler claimed that the Israeli claim of self-defense is 'a lie', and I am eager to read her book and see how she comes to this. Does she hold that self-defense is an excuse or a complete fabrication? The boundary between self-defense and impact on others is surely a highly complex and ambiguous one.

Awoken in me was also a long-standing ambivalence about the use of psychoanalysis or psychology as applied to nations – sometimes these theses can seem so general and arbitrary. For instance, couldn’t Aloni’s idea of brothers be replaced by sisters? Several psychoanalytic and psychotherapeutic writers offer sisterhood as being a more competitive and complex relationship. Sisters are deeply ambivalent about each other, because their abilities to express their sentiments are hampered by their co-dependence. Sisters’ aggression is suppressed and then when released can be explosive. Their complicated emotional attachments might be an alternate model in which to consider prolonged national antipathy – that is, if one is to look at theoretical models. Aloni mentioned he shows his films in Palestinian venues, attempting to incite conversation. I’d certainly be interested to hear how Butler might suggest that her philosophical ideas be integrated into the real-life middle-east situation.

Finally, what emerged for me from the evening was the old chestnut of Jewish self-criticism. As a comedy performer, I am constantly thinking about and playing with different forms of self-deprecation, which comes in many tones, has several purposes, and is always about the receiving audience. Certainly, Jews (and everyone) should self-criticize (and criticize). But since as Jews we self-criticize so much, I have become interested in criticizing our self-criticism: are there different forms of Jewish self-criticism? Different tones? Are some more effective or more responsible than others? And does any responsibility for reception hang with the self-critic? In the fields in which I work (UK academia and the culture industry), I consistently see the singling out of Israel as an object for attack. Does the Jewish self-critic of Israel need to take any responsibility for the ways in which their writing might be interpreted? And if not, who does? Finally, I wonder when Jewish self-criticism stops being about the self, and instead becomes criticism of other Jews? Not to say that this shouldn’t occur, but perhaps should be treated with a different tone or nature.

Self-criticism, dealing with one’s guilt, the sanctity of life, forgiveness, giving, kissing – these are all wonderful ideals. But so are self-preservation and even a touch of self-celebration. So what does this mean? I don’t know. But it reminds me of an old Jewish joke…

Two Jews went to their Rabbi for a judgment. The Rabbi heard the plaintiff’s case, thought for a moment, and said, ‘You’re right’. Then he listened to the defendant’s case, thought for a moment, and told him, ‘You’re right’. The witness was perplexed, and asked, ‘Excuse me Rabbi, but how could they both be right?’ The Rabbi took another moment, looked at him, and said: ‘You’re also right’.

---

Canadian Judy Batalion is a London-based writer, lecturer, and stand-up comic. Her edited collection, The Laughing Stalk: Live Comedy and Its Audiences, will be published in the USA in 2008.

Feminists and Jewish Book Week

By: Dina Rabinovitch

“That’s a great skirt,” the blonde woman in shades of emerald velvet, says to the younger, darker-haired American who has just come into the room. The American’s skirt is some kind of soft brown cloth, intricately draped and folded so it falls interestingly when she sits, and moves gracefully when she stands.

She accepts the compliment with a nice smile, the American woman, but she launches straight into what’s top on her mind. “I want to say,” she says to the room at large – there are maybe eight of us, scattered around drinking tea, eating biscuits, in what they call the Green Room, a place for speakers at Jewish Book Week to gather before they go on stage – “I want to be referred to by my correct title. I have an endowed chair, that is a full chair, nothing part-time about it, at Dartmouth College, which is Ivy League. I was here Wednesday evening, and some youth in a suit introduced me, and he called me Dr Susanna all evening. I am Dr Heschel.”

It’s my job to introduce her this Sunday lunchtime, when we all sit around in the Green Room, I am introducing Dr Heschel, and also Baroness Julia Neuberger, and Lynne Segal too, who tells me in a mutter, “you can say I teach at Birkbeck, if you like.”

“Ok,” the blonder, older lady says, turning to me with a smile. “If we are doing this, then I am Baroness Julia Neuberger, and I’ve just finished being the Bloomberg professor of philanthropy and public policy at Harvard.” I write this down, but when I get on stage I forget to say it.

“And my next book,” Susanna Heschel says in the direction of my notebook, “is called, ‘When Jesus was an Aryan: Christians, Nazis and the Bible.” Actually, I already have this scribbled on my page of notes, but I write it down again anyhow, even double-checking the exact title.

Just be Jonathan Freedland, Just be Jonathan Freedland goes the soundtrack in the back of my mind, This is my first time chairing an event at Jewish Book Week, but I have watched Jonathan Freedland chair dozens and I aspire to his blend of easiness and absolute dictatorship over the audience. So it’s visions of Jonathan chairing unruly audiences, competing with visions of three eminent women and their correct titles, all jostling for space in my over-drugged (strictly medicinal) mind this Jewish Book Week Sunday, as we all make our way out of the Green Room and onto the stage.

It also happens to be the Jewish festival of Purim, so I have started the day in synagogue listening to the story of how Queen Esther saved the Jews from the machinations of the wicked Haman. It’s one of the most picturesque, carnival days of the Jewish calendar, and in synagogues around the world, as the story is read out with its universal tune, children in the community hold “greggers” – little wooden noise-makers – and when the name Haman is read from the text, all the greggers are waved and sounded to drown out the sound of the bad guy’s name. It is an extraordinary, enduring sight, like watching a sixteenth century crowd at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre.

I open the proceedings on stage by saying “what better day to discuss Jewish feminism, than on the day when we read the story of Queen Esther?” Is she a feminist heroine, or – using her beauty to bewitch the Persian King – is she designed to raise feminist hackles?

I also show the audience that I have brought a gregger with me. Before we slip on to the stage Baroness Neuberger says to me, “I’m sure I can be ruder than you, Dina, so if you need any help controlling the audience…” I smile and say, “well, thank you” – and now it is pictures in my mind of the West Wing’s Ainsley Hayes saying, “gee, thanks” anytime somebody offers to help her out. I tell the audience that I have brought a gregger with me: “anybody who monopolises the conversation…” and I wave the noisemaker menacingly.

And so we begin a discussion of these three women and how they came to be Jewish feminists. Susanna Heschel says she was born a feminist, and says, “I was born thinking.” Maybe she was.

She tells the audience about being patronised by men, and gives them her “full professor” speech. Heschel strikes me as by far the panellist with the best Jewish education; it comes through in her books too.
This Sunday she launches into various intricate images of her thoughts about Judaism and its homoeroticism.

Julia Neuberger says she was born a feminist too, and indeed, perhaps she was. Neuberger is a woman rabbi, and on stage you can see how brilliant she is with people – she must be excellent parochially. She talks about the down-to-earth stuff that matters within a
community: deaths, divorce, relations between men and women, between the races.

Lynne Segal has written a book, “Making Trouble” which I have read and enjoyed. It is all about how little Judaism there was in her childhood, but on the platform she talks more about how many Jewish influences there were on her. I ask her about this, and she says, “well it was there, but we didn’t shout about it.”

And then the audience join in, clamouring to ask questions about Jewish divorce procedures, and co-operation with Moslem women. There is, of course, not enough time to hear all the questions, and everybody could have listened to the panellists for much longer.

At the end Lynne Segal says to me, “great shoes”. They are burnished gold, with high stacked heels. Dr Heschel has gold shoes too, but a Mary-Jane shape with buckles. Lynne Segal is in blue trainers, and Baroness Neuberger is wearing polished black courts. And, by the way, I never needed to use the gregger.

Dina Rabinovitch is a writer and critic. She launched her book Take off Your Party Dress at JBW this year. You can read her own blog at: http://www.takeoffyourrunningshoes.typepad.com

Nora Ephron

By: Benjamin Markovits

It's a sign that you've made it as a writer when you don't have to count yourself in the tally of people who show up to your readings. Nora Ephron was outnumbered on stage by a total of three to none. Five hundred people came to hear her speak and if she had been one of them, that would have made it five hundred and one.

Most of them probably felt they got their money's worth. Nora appeared on two giant screens either side of the podium. In the backdrop, the towers of downtown LA. Apart from her stories, and she told them well—about the making of When Harry Met Sally, her marriage to Carl Bernstein, the identity of Deepthroat, etc.—there was the simple pleasure of watching a practiced personality perform. She had told her stories before, but the repetition meant only that by this point she knew how to tell them.

Still, it was the sense of repetition, of the practised personality, that gave her amusing anecdotes a deeper interest. She seemed, of course, larger than life. The screens were about eight feet high. The fact that she was too busy to come, that she was too busy to come because she was filming something in LA, really only added to the glamour of the life she was selling: the life almost ordinary, which wouldn't interest us much if it really were.

The book, I Feel Bad About My Neck (two extracts were read), seemed on the whole a little less interesting and funny than she was herself -- but the popularity of the book, of her work in general, is one of the things that's interesting about her. She has taken a great deal of all-round smarts and a great deal of specific technical craft and turned what is essentially the life of an American aristocrat into books and movies that a huge number of people feel represented by.

She was the child of Hollywood writers; she interned with Kennedy; she married the most famous journalist of his day; she has written best-selling novels and one of the great romantic comedies of all time. An enviable life. In the process you'd think she'd have picked up a lifestyle that cushioned her against the common fates. Probably she did: that might be one of the facts that explains the difference in quality between When Harry Met Sally and You've Got Mail. She may have gotten a little less Jewish in the process; that's more than I can say.

But she showed, both in the interview, and in the book, which is about the humorous unmentioned unpleasantness of aging, the common touch -- in the sense of touch, that is, which means something sensitive, skilled, and refined. Still, it's as a kind of aristocrat, of the best American variety, liberal, rich, informed, opinionated -- that I found her most interesting, as someone who has learned confidently to expect certain things from life. The expecting is what's so attractive.

Among her most useful pieces of advice: if blogs don't come as easily as leaves to a tree, they had better not come at all.

Benjamin Markovits is the author of The Syme Papers and Either Side of Winter. Originally from Texas, he now lives in London and writes for the London Review of Books and the Times Literary Supplement.

An Evening with Howard Jacobson

By: Penelope Solomon

I’m not sure there are many people I’d go out into central London for on a cold rainy wet Sunday night. But I’m glad I did. And I didn’t mind paying £4.50 for the car park even when there was free parking on the streets because if I hadn’t been able to find a parking place, I might have had to park miles away and then I’d have got soaked.

So I’m sitting there and there’s a buzz. This is the finale to Jewish Book Week 2007. People are excited, the place is filling up. I see lots of glasses and teeth.

Howard Jacobson is sharp; no wonder he was a University Lecturer. He is eloquent and intelligent and gets to the very nub of the matter. What he says resonates, touches you, warms you, reaches you. No wonder he’s sold out. You cannot help but listen to everything he says. His stories envelop you, they take you somewhere beyond yourself. Often to Manchester where he like me grew up. He was poor Jewish, we were rich (ish) Jewish but that’s not relevant.

His phrases stick in your ear – ‘I am the Jewish Jane Austin’, ‘I write to deliver’, (sounds like Dick Turpin) ‘Jews don’t like anal intercourse cos they can’t talk to the woman and Jews like talking’ Yes oh yes and these bookish literary Jews of London laugh and I feel relieved that someone has the guts to talk dirty and gets away with it. Why? Because he’s the Jewish Jane Austin.

And I asked my question first, so that I wouldn’t have to tremble with nerves whilst waiting to ask my question. It seems that his latest novel Kalooki Nights is more overtly Jewish in content than any of his previous ones. Apparently when writing it, he was terrified, as every other word was ‘Jew’. But no, the non Jewish critics have hailed it as his best work yet. Howard or ‘Mr. Jacobson’ as the London literary Jews called him said, ‘It’s universal - The more particular you are, the more universal you are’. So rather than feeling excluded the non Jews have been welcomed in. ‘So why then’ I asked ‘is it so hard to get overtly Jewish comedy onto television or radio? He said that the reason is that in the media the people in charge are Jewish and most Jews are awkward /embarrassed about being Jewish. They want to keep low, hide. A lot of the people with the power are Jewish and usually don’t want to jump up and down about it.

But then I thought maybe it’s easier via a novel because books are quiet you can put them away on a bookshelf amongst a load of other books. They’re not in your face (unless you’re long- sighted), they don’t have a collective audience, they’re not so dangerous. Whereas TV and radio are much more out there, a public activity, an audible intrusion – pehaps more
scary or embarrassing?

As I drove home and the rain beat against the window pain, I thought about the stirring passion found in Jane Austin’s novels and about the passion for writing and Manchester that Howard Jacobson had communicated. And I identified with his words, ‘The sheer joy of writing a sentence’ and ‘Manchester – It’s the heartland’.

Penelope Solomon is a television comedy writer, yiddish cabaret singer and was Daily Telegraph Open Mic semi-finalist.

Hitchens and Amis define philosemitism

By: David Labi

The erudite eloquence of the protagonists is indisputable. Luxurious at times. They both lounged languidly smoking possibly more cigarettes than they might have done had it not formed part of their public personae (judging by the frequent coughs), and drinking what, for all we knew, could have been apple juice, in Dean Martinesque stagemanship.

As many of the capacity crowd of Jewish intelligensia had probably guessed, Saul Bellow was merely a hook to get these two fascinating old friends on stage together for a chat. They dealt fairly rapidly with the recently deceased Nobel Laureate and personal friend (at least of Amis) before segueing into various other topics interesting to the ‘philosemite’, especially its antagonistic opposite without which it could never have come into being: antisemitism.

Amis had begun the session with a zippy profile of his own (self-coined) philosemitism. He held up his Jewish wife and ergo Jewish daughters as evidence and quipped about his father’s ‘mild antisemitism’. (On asking Kingsley, the famous novelist, how it felt to be a mild antisemite, his father had replied ‘Mild.’) After this he was somewhat more reserved than Hitchens, which is understandable given his career is primarily as a writer and academic, whilst the Hitch has built himself a solid reputation as someone with an enormous mouth. He delighted everyone with an array of polemical pronouncements, such as his assertion that the Muslims and Christians would never get over the fact that their prophets had both first been rejected as false by the Jews.

One could sense everyone’s pulses a-flutter at mentions of the injustices that Jews suffer daily. George Steiner’s idea that every Jew should have a bag packed under the bed (though as the Hitch pointed out, ‘where would they go?’) is something that many Jewish people relish. We currently live in peace and equality in the UK, but this is supposedly a barely tenable facade that will sooner or later flake and crumble, revealing with a brutal shock Dreyfus’s France, post-Weimar Germany, Tsarist Russia.

I asked a question on this point whose grammar was insulted by the Hitch, and whose meaning was misunderstood by both men. Amis had said that antisemitism is an obsession for antisemites. I pointed out that it is also an obsession for philosemites, and for the particular Semites in question. Isn’t it dangerous, I tried to ask, for Jewish people to identify themselves through their fear and analysis of antisemitism?

Admittedly my question was clumsily phrased, but many people approached me after the talk to tell me that they had understood the question even though Amis and the Hitchmeister had not. One person observed it was ‘telling’ that they had not.

The reason they did not understand the point was because they are not Jews. There, I’ve said it. Ok, Christopher Hitchens is Jewish, but discovered it late in life. I am not saying they cannot comment on antisemitism because they were not brought up as Jews. In fact they can and did comment very perceptively on antisemitism in its different mutations. On Bellow as the first Jewish artist to really enter the Jewish dialogue into the cultural consciousness of a United States that was and is latently antisemitic.

What I am saying is that it is only Jewish people who could be sensitive to the fact that 80% (say) of Jewish reporting, 80% of the comments Jewish families make at their dinner table, 80% of Jewish consciousness seems to be comment or reaction to some symptom of antisemitism; to the glimpse of the leering Cossack under the face of every non-Jew in the world.

With the liberal left agenda so obsessed with Israel, and with many of our contemporaries making no distinction between Jews and Israel, nor between Israel as a country and the actions of its government, philosemitism is actually a political posture. It certainly is for the Hitch, who makes a great figure for himself out of supporting war on Iraq, opposing the crazed union of liberal left and radical fundamentalists that Nick Cohen is busy challenging in his new book ‘What’s Left’.

Don’t think I didn’t enjoy the erudite humour and perceptive points that flowed between Amis and Hitchens. They expertly drew from classical and modern philosophy, from the canon of literature, to garnish their points. They were funny, charming and Hitchens in particular fascinating to listen to for the appreciation of his rhetoric.

But what does it mean for two celebrated academics and polemicists to come before a mass of arty Jews and pronounce themselves philosemites? The only reason they would use that term is as a reaction to antisemitism. And they proceeded to define their philosemitism as just that – a talk supposedly on Bellow quickly leaped into a condemnation of antisemitism, which no doubt warmed the Kosher cockles in the auditorium. For Eliot and Joyce the Jew was an artistic symbol of cultural degradation. But now the Jew seems to be a political symbol of the clash between East and West. Always like to be in the middle, don’t we?

David Labi is a Jewish writer and filmmaker living in Buenos Aires and London.

Opening Acts

By: Matthew J. Reisz

Sunday 25 February, the first full day of Jewish Book Week, got the event off to a typically exciting start with lively and challenging discussions on everything from Islamic fundamentalism to the Jewish white slave trade in Argentina and the complexities of the strange marriage of Leonard and Virginia Woolf.

I heard great things about the 11.00 sessions on archaeology and the war in Iraq, but I was busy preparing for my own discussion with the best-selling novelist (and former Algerian army officer) Yasmina Khadra. He proved to be a man of great charm and charisma, happily describing the many generations of literary figures in his family – with the sole exception of his soldier father – and the encouraging teacher who had led him to turn from Arabic poetry to French prose. He defended the role of the Algerian army which, with little support from Western liberals, had prevented Algeria turning into something like the terrifying Afghanistan he revealed in his powerful novel The Swallows of Kabul.

He was equally severe about Westerners who live in total safety but criticize Arab intellectuals failing to speak out about the abuses in their own countries when they would face real dangers in doing so. And he cheerfully admitted that his thriller The Attack, about a suicide bombing in Israel, was not based on detailed on-the-ground research (although he has Israeli contacts and knew many Palestinian militants in Algeria) but on a desire to find a personal human story which goes beyond the headlines and the slogans.

I missed the session on Taboos but, as always at Book Week, was soon confronted by a tough choice – between a tour of Jewish Bloomsbury and a conversation with the extraordinary Argentinian writer Edgardo Cozarinsky. A total one-off who claimed his major influences as Chekhov, Borges and Robert Louis Stevenson, he eloquently explored with Julia Pascal the themes which underlie his books, The Bride from Odessa and The Moldavian Pimp: the hidden, often tragic history of Buenos Aires; the great population upheavals which took so many people from Europe to the New World in the late nineteenth century and again in the 1940s; and the people so haunted by these events that their own lives seem strangely pallid and unreal

There was another tough choice at 5.30. The session Graphic and Novel featured the French cartoonist Joann Sfar, whose series of books about The Rabbi’s Cat offer an astonishing fantasy evocation of Algerian Jewish life. I have interviewed Sfar and found him one of the most compelling people I’ve ever met. Those who attended the session were similarly impressed.

At the same time, however, I was attending the session sponsored by the magazine I edit, the Jewish Quarterly, where Anne Sebba was quizzing Victoria Glendinning about Leonard Woolf. The Woolfs’ marriage turned out to be full of paradoxes, intense, loving but virtually sexless. On Virginia’s side, it seems to have been virtually an arranged marriage, with her family desperate to find someone who could take her off their hands and look after her during her frequent periods of mental instability. Leonard proved an extraordinarily devoted husband, setting up the Hogarth Press as a distraction for his overwrought wife, although it then went on to publish some of the major works of the twentieth century. But the real puzzle was how a man who claimed to have been little affected by his Jewishness and seldom troubled by antisemitism could have failed to notice his wife’s vicious visceral antipathy to Jews . . . In exploring these themes and the wider issues of Englishness and Jewishness, Glendinning offered a master class in the art of the biographer.

By this time, I was emotionally exhausted by the sheer quality of the debates and went home as the crowds were streaming in to hear George Alagiah and Andrew Miller discuss Self-Made Englishmen with Joanna Newman . . .

Matthew J. Reisz is the Editor of the Jewish Quarterly.

The Best of Times; the Worst of Times

By: Sophie Lewis

Anthony Julius, Leon Wieseltier, chair: Jonathan Freedland

So neither speaker wanted to sit to the left of Jonathan Freedland – what did this suggest about their politics? Even before the official introductions, allegiances were in dispute and words were being weighed with more than usual care.

The theme of this evening’s discussion seemed to invite pessimism, but Anthony Julius went one step further, denying his ability to provide any answers at all. He then relented and allowed that the existence of many ‘jewries’ and conflicting messages from day to day drive us back on our sense of mood, rather than anything concrete, on which to assess the state of Jews in our times. His main image was that of a general fog – which he and Leon Wieseltier proceeded to blow to shreds with their succeeding comments.

In fact, Julius and Wieseltier worked in wonderfully fruitful counterpoint. Julius brought his lawyer’s perspective to bear on Anglo Jewry, splitting verbal hairs with the nicest regard for integrity I have ever seen, even at the (slight) risk of alienating his audience by sounding pompous, while Wieseltier provided a deeply felt and informed but more broadly humorous assessment of the peculiar position of American Jews. His one-liners lightened analyses that often tended towards the hopeless: while the Jews of Russia have much to worry about, American Jews are “the spoiled brats of Jewish history”, their anxiety, merely “recreational”. He and Julius agreed however that the decline of Jewish knowledge is a great and legitimate anxiety, throughout the world. For Wieseltier, knowledge of the language of Jewish scriptures is one key we should not lose. He told of Haitian president Aristide’s attempt to address the cream of American Jews in Hebrew and being obliged to switch to English: just one “pornographic story” of Jewish knowledge from Wieseltier’s extensive collection, he assured us.

The discussion moved from the impoverishment of ‘Jewish’ politics, through the idea of Israeli Jews’ freedom from anti-Semitism, and a rejection of the notion of Tony Judt’s so-called dissent and martyrdom, to return repeatedly to the importance of language. Both speakers denounced Jews’ “tin ear” to anti-Semitism and lurid style. Both ultimately returned to the impossibility of wholly answering the questions of our times, Julius tacitly behind Wieseltier when the latter pronounced: “I don’t believe in identities that add up”.

Sophie Lewis is the first UK director of American publishing house Dalkey Archive Press, seeking out great literature to publish from all over the world. She also translates French literary fiction and prose into English.

Living with Mother

By: Amy Hanson, Michele Hanson, Irma Kurtz

The last time I went to Jewish book week, it was to see my mother, Michele Hanson and three other Jewish mothers talking with Alison Pearson, a non Jewish mother about the collection they had all contributed to- For Generations, a collection of essays by and about Jewish motherhood. My only involvement was to be deeply embarrassed as I was forced to stand up and show myself in the audience while my mother pointed from stage and told 650 people that had I been a boy I would certainly be circumcised.

This year I am on the other side as my mother has a new book out called Living with Mother and is a collection of all her Guardian columns about three generations of Jewish women living together and I have written a short story in it from the perspective of me the Jewish granddaughter and what it is like caring for a huge character at home who becomes very ill but never loses her amazing eccentricity.

Being on stage with Irma Kurtz between my mother and I and talking to the audience was an amazing experience, and though, due to the blinding lights I couldn’t actually see them, hearing how both mine and my mothers writing had touched a chord with so many people pleased me yet saddened me because Grandma would have been absolutely thrilled to see her daughter and grand daughter talking about her at Jewish book week- she probably would have invited everyone at the sobel centre bridge club in Golders green so that she could gloat!

I am finishing a childhood memoir called Now That I’m Nine which is about the contrast between mixed families, coming from a very close set of Jewish females on my mothers’ side then as a child meeting me father and his Christian family who were totally detached from me. It is also about understanding what it is to be Jewish as opposed to look Jewish. Hopefully next Jewish Book week will see my work as well as my mothers available and make Grandma even prouder!

The Michael Morpurgo Question

A few weeks ago I helped to judge the Jewish Book Week Primary Schools poetry prize. The quality of the entries delighted me; the quality of the eventual winners astounded me. So I was honoured to be there today when the prize-winners read their work and received their certificates.

It was a pleasure to hear the poems again, especially as they were all read aloud so well. Is there such a thing as Judge's Nachas? Let's just call it the satisfaction of confirmation that you chose some worthy winners. In truth, Ella Grodzinki's poem, which won in the older category, hadn't left my mind since I first read it, and I will never forget some of the lines in Moshe Waxman's poem, which won in the category for younger poets:

Green grass is a cow's prey.

Orainge is a mitye tiga
That can not resist a deer.

One of the winning poets couldn't make it, and one other chose not to read his poem himself, but there just happened to be an excellent substitute at hand to fill in.

If I ever write a poem, and if it ever wins anything, and if the poem is to be read out at Jewish Book Week (and the Pope will be there to hear it of course, just after his Barmitzvah), I will be calling Michael Morpurgo.

His voice enthralled an audience of hundreds for over an hour. He didn't even resort to such attention grabbing stunts as juggling, acrobatics, singing, making hardback books disappear up his nostrils, or low-brow gags (all cheap tricks that I frequently rely on when I give my own author 'performances').

None of that. He just read a story.

But what a story. And what a way to tell it.

It was called The Mozart Question. With it, the author mesmerised me as deeply as if Mozart himself had been standing there dancing a jig. The story was about a young writer going to Venice to interview a world famous violinist. But it was also about the power of music, secrets and story-telling itself.

There was also time for a handful of questions from the floor. As an author myself, I have come to know how often the same questions get asked over and over again. But Michael Morpurgo's final lesson to me (one of many), was a demonstration in how to answer everything as if it had never been asked before - with wit, with charm, with passion.

And without the aid of a violin.

Ladies and Gentleman, I give you... The Maestro, Michael Morpurgo.

Joe Craig is the author of the Jimmy Coates series, action-thrillers for 8-13 year olds, or anyone who loves a gripping read. It is sold in countries across the world, and has won several awards. Drop in on Joe at www.joecraig.co.uk, or read his own regular blog at http://turkeyonthehill.blogspot.com.

A Postcard from ‘Postcards From The Unholy Land’

Like many involved British Jews, I spend a lot of time talking about Israel. Like many involved British Jews, I spend a lot of time getting worked up talking about Israel. The last few weeks have been particularly intense in this regard. The debate over the Independent Jewish Voices declaration has given me many sleepless nights. As a lefty Jew, these are not easy times.

So it was a real breath of fresh air to chair Thursday’s book week session ‘Postcards From The Unholy Land’. The aim of the session was to talk about recent developments in the Israeli cultural scene, particularly in the field of ‘popular’ culture. The session featured three highly articulate Israeli culture-makers. Etgar Keret is a well-known short story writer and film maker. Idit Eshel is an up and coming singer-songwriter. Avi Pitchon is an artist/journalist/musician.

I am writing this the morning after the session and I have to admit my memories of exactly what was said are a little hazy – at the time I concentrated more on chairing the session than remembering it. However, what I came away with was a strong sense of how this encounter with Israeli cultural practititioners made the debates we have about Israel in the UK seem rather irrelevant.

At various points, all three panellists emphasised that Israel is much more complex than non-Israelis think and that cultural production has the ability to render Israelis as humans rather than as stereotypes. It is the impossibly complex, impossibly vibrant Israel that is often forgotten when we talk about Israel rather than with Israel. This is a failing that is prevalent across the political spectrum. Solidarity rallies and other ‘Israel we are with you’ activities by mainstream Zionists in the UK rarely really engage with Israeli reality – too often Israel is treated an inert slab of heroism and myth. Critics of Israel, particularly the anti-Zionist kind, all too frequently construct Israel as a similarly monolithic space.

There was little in ‘Postcards From The Unholy Land’ to fuel easy steroetypes about Israel. Avi’s discussion of the complexities of contemporary Israeli identity was light years beyond the easy platitutudes of some British Zionists. In a memorable quote he said that ‘I am a European Jew. Israel is a utopian experiment initiated by European Jews that I participated in’. Conversely, Idit and Etgar’s warm humanity also pricked the pomposity of those who see Israel as an entirely evil phenomenon.

On returning home from the session, I happened to find a video of Israel’s 2007 Eurovision song contest entry. Tea Packs’s ‘Push The Button’ is a delicious hybrid of pseudo-klezmer, rock, rap and drum and bass. The tongue-in-cheek lyrics may or may not refer to the President of Iran and it’s possible that the song will be banned from the contest as ‘political’. Perhaps Israel’s biggest strength is that Israelis can play with the situation they find themselves in. It’s certainly a preferable option to the endless earnestness which many of us British Jews react to the Israel question.

Keith Kahn-Harris is a British Jewish sociologist. His website can be found here and he writes a blog called Metal Jew.

Marx for the 21st Century

I’m lucky enough to get to a fair few academic gatherings, with prestigious speakers, panels and intelligent audiences. Eric Hobsbawn and Jaques Attali at Jewish Book Week, surpassed pretty much anything – and that’s before I get on to the speakers. I mean the audience was amazing – every question seemed to be prefaced by “I’m a Czech PhD student focussing on Marxist dialectic reasoning between 1862 and 1874” or “I’m general secretary of the French Trotskyite Party” and then each question itself was an eloquently crafted, insightful and challenging and delivered (it seemed) with the continental European lilt which always seems more appropriate for discussing Marxism than “North Londonese”. In fact it seemed as though we were nearly through the questions before the locals braved the intellectual cut and thrust of the q & a; it was en extraordinary advert for the diversity and intellectual calibre of the audiences that JBW attracts.

The main event was pretty good to. Why is Marx important? What is the role of Marx in the 21st century, what tools does he give us to help understand the world, where he see us ending up and what would he hope for? Eric Hobsbawn – one of the great historians of the 20th century – and Jaques Attali – a thinker, politician, activist of astonishing breadth – reflected on some of these questions.

Both thought the world today looks a lot like what was predicted by Marx in 1848 – Hobsbawn called it ‘uncanny’ (a strange choice of adjective for an eminent historian let alone an eminent Marxist historian) Of course its not uncanny – the nature of national and global economies has changed but the division between rich and poor and the inequalities of income distribution remain extremely wide. As Attali pointed out, 3 billion people in the world today live on under $2 per day.

Both were at pains to point out that the Marxist regimes that we have seen in the 20th century did not represent the vision of Marx. Attali argued that Marx was totally against the idea of socialism in one country and capitalism in others and saw capitalism and as a necessary step for the global economy before socialism could be reached – “Socialism is…beyond capitalism not instead of it”. Secondly Marx always argued that two principles are absolutely vital in a society – freedom of press and freedom of justice – obviously characteristics not found in Marxist societies.

On the future pessimism was rife – both saw a calamitous 21st century ahead, maybe with some good at the other end. Attali replied to a question as to whether he saw catastrophe ahead as much as Hobsbawn, saying “the most probable is yes because we have never seen in mankind the birth of something new without the death of something old”, which is an profound way of saying that you can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs.


Jason Strelitz

Jewish Book Week: Superwoman is Jewish?

Jewish Book Week: Superwoman is Jewish?