Yermiyahu Ahron Taub is the author of Beloved Comrades, a new novel in stories. His other books include Prodigal Children in the House of G-d. He is also a translator from Yiddish into English, and he lives in Washington, D.C.
Q: What inspired you to write Beloved Comrades, and how did
you create your large cast of characters?
A: Over the years, in poetry and prose, I have been
repeatedly drawn to exploring human relationships within the framework of
organized religion, specifically Judaism, and the ways in which individuals
navigate their own desires, longing, and dreams through and around religious
strictures and cultural obligations.
The synagogue, with its inherent blend of the spiritual,
institutional, social, and quotidian, struck me as a supple vehicle to explore
these and other concerns.
As I embarked on the project, the characters came to me,
making their voices heard, advocating for and ultimately insisting upon their
own inclusion. One character led to another; each new plot development required
me to step back and map out and consider anew the trajectory of the evolving
whole.
My role was to make space for these protagonists, to chart
and sculpt their concerns, interactions, and dreams with clarity, to
welcome them into the novel's fold.
Q: The book is described as a "novel in stories."
How would you define that in contrast to a story collection or a novel?
A: Although some story collections, including my own,
Prodigal Children in the House of G-d (2018), may contain interconnected
stories or share themes and subjects, I tend to see them as assemblages of
discrete entities.
In a novel, even one with a broad canvas and a large cast of
characters, there is typically a focus on particular characters and their
destinies. The plot line returns to those characters and the narration
repeatedly picks up the points of view and voices of those same characters at
different phases in the book.
In Beloved Comrades, all of the characters and their stories
are completely connected. And yet, each of the stories, except for one, focuses
on a different character. Yehoshua Weissman is the only character around whom
two stories ("Blessings After Bread, Baked and Broken" and "Her
First Vacation") are centered.
The stories can all function on their own, and a number of
them have done just that done in previously published form in literary
journals. So although different stories refer repeatedly to the same
characters, the narrative point of view and plot don't typically emanate from
the same characters. So that explains the "in stories" designation.
The appellation of "novel" comes from the
"wide-angle shot" that looks at the synagogue community as a whole.
Indeed, the synagogue itself — the building, its spirit, the shelter
it provides to the gathering of souls, and its ultimate fate — is the
book's unifying thread, arguably its central character.
It is to the synagogue that the plot returns to, or rather
focuses on, since it never left it. So the synagogue provides the focus and
structure of the novel while the narrow focus (close-up shot) of the individual
stories give the book its story collection feel. In the end, this book is a
hybrid. I've also seen this genre referred to as a "composite novel."
Q: Can you say more about what you think the synagogue at
the center of the book means to the various characters?
A: To many of the characters in the book, the synagogue is
their spiritual anchor, the locus of all their dreams, a place for them to
connect with God, tradition, friends, and folk.
Arnold Kestenberg founded the synagogue with the specific
goal of it being a welcoming setting for all. And indeed it (largely) is. Yet,
the synagogue is also a site fraught with tension as lofty goals tangle with
ambitions, desires, long-simmering rivalries and rage.
For others, it is a place they need to escape, yet one which
continues to draw them throughout their lives. For Rosa Vakhtman Klein, it is
the embodiment of all that she wishes to put behind her. And there are those
outside the synagogue community, and indeed the faith, who have to face
their own reactions to the synagogue's presence.
Throughout the book, I sought to balance these ambiguities
and tensions. Ultimately, the synagogue figures as a critical life force of its
own — essential, but also mysterious, perhaps not entirely knowable even
by its most vociferous advocates.
Q: What do you hope readers take away from the book?
A: In Beloved Comrades, I aimed to create a portrait of a
faith community that was inclusive but not romanticized or idealized. I sought
to shine a light on the seemingly "ordinary," mostly not particularly
learned, individuals who pursue and participate in a vision of a welcoming
Judaism, all in the shadow of an august yeshiva of advanced Talmudic learning.
The experiment they create is flawed, imperfect, but
hopefully, also compelling.
Through that holistic approach, I wanted to foreground
themes of gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, and social justice
within a seemingly traditional framework. My goal was to present queer
characters who were fully developed in their own right, not merely
ancillary friends of the straight principals.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: In addition to getting the word out about Beloved
Comrades, I'm also working to publicize the recently published volume of
memoirs by Rachmil Bryks (1912-1974) that I've translated from the Yiddish
called May God Avenge Their Blood: a Holocaust Memoir Triptych (Lexington
Books, an imprint of Rowman & Littlefield, 2020).
Bryks wrote with great clarity and emotional power about
pre-Holocaust life in his hometown of Skarżysko-Kamienna, Poland, the
early days of World War II in Łódź and elsewhere, as well as his wartime
experiences in Auschwitz and other camps and places of captivity. I am
extremely grateful to have these books make their way into the world,
especially during a pandemic.
I'm currently translating Dineh, a posthumously published
autobiographical novel by the Yiddish poet and writer Ida Maze
(1893-1962).
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: As these words come into being, suffering, sorrow, and
injustice continue on such an epic scale in this pandemic. The Angel of Death
seems to be lurking ubiquitously, poised to pounce upon the slightest
"lapse."
It can be a struggle to foreground gratitude for all that
one has while also acknowledging the anxiety and fear that it may all be
quickly lost. It can be tempting to give up, to question the value of all
of the things that we (used to) do.
Yet, along with my support networks and my belief in the
work of science and public health practitioners, art sustains me. Even as I
yearn for in-person connection, I am thankful for my creative projects —
both my own writing and the translating of Yiddish literature for
English-languge readers.
And I'd like to broaden that out to readers of this Q and A.
Whatever work you're doing to make the world a better, more just place sustains
me, sustains us all. Thank you.
And thank you, Deborah, for this chance to discuss Beloved
Comrades.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb. Here's a previous Q&A with Yermiyahu Ahron Taub.
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