Jan. 27, 1931: Mordecai Richler born.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Monday, January 26, 2015
Q&A with Ori Z. Soltes
Ori Z. Soltes is the author most recently of Jews on Trial: Judges, Juries, Prosecutors and Defendants from the Era of Jesus to Our Own Time. His many other books include Embracing the World and The Glory of Ukraine. He teaches theology, art history, and philosophy at Georgetown University, and he is based in the Washington, D.C., area.
Q: In your latest book, you look at Jewish-related trials over the
past two centuries. What were some of the biggest changes over that time
period, and how did things remain more or less the same?
A: Two things change in the course of the book and the
history that it depicts. Most obviously, Jews go from being an accepted
minority by the Roman pagan imperium to a sometimes intensely disfavored
minority by most medieval Christian states, to being nominally accepted in a
post-revolutionary modern world but then radically disfavored by the late
19th-century due to the shifting view of Judaism as a race rather than a
religion.
Indeed the historical narrative is complicated here and
elsewhere by the too-often unacknowledged complication of defining Judaism--as
religion, race, ethnicity, nationality, culture, body of customs and
traditions, etc.
Appositely, I deliberately continue to re-angle the precise
way in which Jews are "on trial": Jesus is a Judaean, not a Jew; the
Inquisition theoretically has nothing to do with openly practicing Jews, but
with heretical Christians; Spinoza is a Jew tried by other Jews influenced by
the Inquisition; Eichmann is a nominal Christian tried by Israeli Jews--and so
on.
Part of this second issue is a function of the definitional
complication to which I refer in relation to the first issue.
And in any case, this re-angling also wishes to make a
point--which is what does NOT change over time: that the Jews seem always to be
on trial in the court of world opinion, whether accused of mock-crucifying
Christian children or spying for the Soviet Union or being suspected of being
unable to offer a major Nazi a fair trial.
Q: You write about Jesus’s trial that there are “radical
differences between the Gospels and the non-Gospel sources.” What are the most
important differences, and what do they signify?
A: The most radical differences are a) Jesus' significance
for the world of which he is part; b) the actual role of the Sanhedrin, and in
general, the Judaeans, versus the Romans, in leading to his demise; c) the
nature and specific role of the Roman Procurator, Pontius Pilate, in the
narrative.
If one recognizes that the Gospels take some time to achieve
canonization--they are being written between circa 70 and 110 CE, and the
entire NT does not achieve canonization until 395, at the Council of Hippo--and
that during that time, nascent Judaism and Christianity are not only struggling
with each other regarding who has the Truth vis-a-vis God and how to fulfill
the Covenant, but are also struggling for acceptance by/from the pagan Roman
authorities, then one realizes how and why, over the time between the trial and
crucifixion and the final writing down of the various Gospels that end up
making it into the canon, the perspective becomes skewed: Pilate becomes a
virtual innocent, the Romans are white-washed and the Judaeans become the
villains.
This is politically necessary if Christianity is to survive,
much less flourish. And given the translation complication of distinguishing
between "Judaeans" and "Jews," the villains over time
become not the Judaeans but the Jews.
Q: The 17th century philosopher Baruch Spinoza, you write,
“had to be made an example.” What were the circumstances leading up to his
expulsion from the Jewish community?
A: Alas, for Spinoza, his community was made up mostly of
refugees from Spain and Portugal and from an Inquisition that had come to direct
itself mainly toward the heresy of Judaizing, and was now living in a place
that had successfully asserted its independence from Spain only a few
generation earlier--but for whom the fear that this situation might change and
revert to a Spanish, Catholic, Inquisition-dominated reality seems to have
remained in force.
Moreover, as open as the Dutch republic was to diversity of
religious perspective, there was clearly a fear on the part of the Sephardic
rabbinic leadership that, should their community, or a notable member of it, be
suspected of not being God-believing--that this would be too much for the Dutch
authorities, who would step in and expel the community.
It was also just plain bad timing that Menasseh Ben Israel
was in England by the time the proceedings came to a head. He may well have
been wise enough to protect his former student from the narrow-minded madness
of his colleagues.
Q: Moving to more recent times, you write that the case of
Julius and Ethel Rosenberg “cut directly against the assertion that the
American legal system inevitably leads to justice.” Why do you think that?
A: In analyzing everything that I have read about the
Rosenbergs, I am firmly convinced that their trial was subject to improprieties
and/or prejudicial blindnesses, and that their execution was rushed, offering
no opportunity to mount a more potent defense or a second look at some of the
evidence and its alleged implications--and that this would not have happened
had they (and perhaps even more importantly, Judge Kaufmann and all the other
key figures involved with their trial) not been Jewish.
This is NOT an argument for their innocence (or their
guilt!); it is an argument for the unique impropriety of the procedure that led
to their swift execution.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: I am working on three largish projects at the moment. One
is to find a publisher for my book, God and the Goalposts: A Short History of
Religion, Sports, Art, Politics and War. (Feel free to propose ideas!)
The second is to finish gathering and inserting all the
images for the book for which I DID finally find a publisher (it's a very long
book!) on Tradition and Transformation: Definition and the Historical Challenge
of "Jewish" Art.
The third is to finish writing (I am about 75 percent done)
a book called Magic and Religion in the Greco-Roman World: The Beginnings of
Judaism and Christianity. These and a steady stream of smaller projects do
manage to keep me from slipping into the well of boredom.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Q&A with Elena Gorokhova
Elena Gorokhova is the author of the new memoir Russian Tattoo. Her previous memoir is A Mountain of Crumbs. She grew up in St. Petersburg, Russia, and moved to the United States at age 24. Her work has appeared in a variety of publications, including The New York Times and The Daily Telegraph. She lives in New Jersey.
Q: You write, “Russia, like a virus, had settled in my blood
and hitched a ride across the ocean.” What were some of the ways in which
Russia remained with you, even after you had lived in the United States for
many years?
A: I think that all immigrants live with their soul split in
half: one half is where your current home is; the other will always belong to
your birthplace.
One result of having grown up in Soviet Russia, for me, is
the inability to make choices, especially in shopping. Another is a fear of
making mistakes, maybe because mistakes back home generally had more severe
consequences.
I also have trouble throwing things away. I am not as
hopeless as my mother, who re-used paper napkins and saved plastic bags from
the produce section of grocery stores, but my husband has to push me to toss
away a cracked plate or an old drip coffee maker, despite the fact that no one
in my house drinks American coffee.
I’m still insecure when I speak to people in English, still
unsure of how to use English articles - all those a’s and the’s in front of
nouns - because the Russian language doesn’t have them. I have trouble
spending money, especially on frivolous things, especially on things for
myself.
What else? For parties, I always prepare more food than
anyone can eat, so my guests go home with containers of mayonnaise salads and
my family has to eat the party food for days afterwards. As you can see,
the virus of Russia keeps me pretty damaged.
Q: In the book, you describe you, your mother, and your
daughter using the imagery of matryoshka dolls, “mothers and daughters stacked
up inside one another.” How does that image resonate with you?
A: I think the image of matryoshka dolls is the image of one
generation following the other. My moving to the U.S. disrupted, in a way, this
generational continuity.
But I was still trying to have my daughter continue
something she didn’t understand and to which she had little connection. My
mother functioned the way she did back in Russia, and my daughter, born in this
country, did things an American child would do. I was caught in the middle – a
buffer between the old and the new – and I constantly felt bruised.
Yet we still belonged to the same family, and we remained
connected despite my mother not speaking English and my daughter not speaking
fluent Russian. Maybe I was the link between the past and present.
Q: How was the book’s title selected?
A: For me, the title carries two meanings. The first
one is literal, the tattoo on my daughter’s arm. The second meaning is
metaphoric: it involves all my Russian memories, influences and connections
that will always remain with me: Russia inked into my heart. It represents
the split heart and the divided soul that all immigrants are destined to live
with.
Q: Your first memoir focused on your life in Russia and your
second on your life in America. Was the writing process different from one to
the other?
A: It was very different. The first memoir took much
longer to write: as I was writing down my Russian memories that later became
chapters of A Mountain of Crumbs, I was learning how to write in English.
For the first few years in this country, I didn’t allow
myself to read in Russian because I made a deliberate choice to write only in
English. I learned how to write by reading good books in English and
writing down beautiful sentences and paragraphs that struck me.
The second memoir took only three or four years to
write. It was a matter of trying to figure out the complex and complicated
relationships with the people around me: my first husband, my mother, my second
husband, my sister, my daughter.
I was writing to bring back the memories and try to
understand how the multiple strands of motivations and desires created the
fabric of our lives. And it was my mother’s death that gave the book its
ending.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: It is a memoir (novel?) based on my sister’s life. She
was born during WWII, grew up in a small town in central Russia, and became a
prominent stage, film, and radio actress.
I am interested in exploring the process actors go through
in creating a role – the real make believe, as opposed to the fake make believe
we all had to live by in Soviet Russia. We pretended to believe in our phony
bright communist future – while Russian actors lived their roles, creating the
truth.
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: Despite all the damage I did while raising my daughter,
she was able to survive. She graduated from the University of Vermont,
magna cum laude, and is now a freelance photographer, whose work is published
in Redbook, Seventeen, Dr. Oz, Good Housekeeping, and other major
magazines. She is beautiful, talented and smart, and she lives in Brooklyn
with a pitbull mix rescued from a shelter.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Q&A with Ying Ying
Ying Ying is the author of Starting with Max: How a Wise Stray Dog Gave Me Strength and Inspiration. She lived in Hong Kong for many years, before moving to Australia in 1999. She wrote two books in Chinese before writing Starting with Max, her first book in English. She lives in Sydney, Australia.
Q: Why did you decide to write a book about your
experiences with Max?
A: There are several reasons why I decided to
write a book about my experiences with Max.
I think the fundamental reason was my
realization of how much I had been transformed by a mere animal. Before I met
Max at the RSPCA, I had had little interest in animals, not to mention love for
a dog. I had been quite a self-focusing arrogant human who had thought that
animals were not important.
But my experience with Max led me to a deep
understanding of human-dog relationships. He changed my thinking and feeling
about animals, and he brought out the best in me. I became so much different
that I thought I should keep a record of my story with Max for myself.
When Max turned 13, I witnessed my best friend getting
old and weak. His endurance of physical pain and persistence to continue to
live an active and joyous life touched my heart deeply, unlike any other
feelings that I had had before.
I was contemplative, sitting beside my elderly
Max, in silence, but having a mind full of words to describe my experiences
with my dog. So I thought I must make my words a book, to be shared with dog
lovers. The thought of other dog lovers coming to know Max through his story
made me determined to write.
I must also highlight that I wrote my book
because of Max. On the first page of it, Max is described as “more than a dog.”
To me, and also to those who knew him well, he was not just an ordinary pet. He
was my great helper and I owed my happy new Australian life to him. My book was
written with him as my inspiration, and for him as my most faithful friend,
trainer and teacher.
Q: You write, “From the earliest days, both my
husband and my daughter were amazed by my newfound devotion to Max and the way
he had helped me adjust to our new life in Australia.” Can you say more about how
he helped you deal with living in a new country?
A: In many ways Max helped me live a new happy
life in Australia. Looking back, I think it was crucial that we adopted him
right in the beginning of our move to Sydney. I started my Australian life with
one more member to take care of, finding myself unprepared and reluctant.
But this challenge gave me no time to pity
myself for the loss of career or disconnection from my Chinese family in Hong
Kong; and I had to take up the task thrown at me without hesitation. Because it
was a living thing that I had to deal with, not a job which I might just quit
when there was no satisfaction, I did not have an option.
So from the start, I was pushed along by the
important responsibility of caring for Max. That made me tenacious and
persistent, for I knew if I only did it half-heartedly, I would bring regret to
myself, might even create misery for the dog and my family as well. Max became
part of the inescapable set-up of my new life and gave me a good reason to learn
and unlearn, rethink and start truly anew.
At the same time, Max was a major input for fun
and happiness in my otherwise quite stressful and mundane new life. In the
midst of my busy schedules, he could always make me smile and laugh, distracting
me from my own self-consciousness.
It is lovely to live with a dog who loves you
faithfully; but it requires a special dog to uplift a frustrated soul. Max was
highly smart and intelligent, loved to be trained and learned fast; but he was
also playful, having a sense of humour, very sweet and gentle.
What I found most amazing was his extraordinary
sensitivity towards human feelings. It was astonishing how much he understood
me, shown by his exceptional obedient behaviours and unfailing love.
The time spent alone with Max became my healing
moments; it was not just to get rid of any negative feelings, but to strengthen
and inspire me; so that my mind was broadened and my heart filled with joy.
And of course, being physically active is
essential to a good life. Max made me get up and out, no matter what. I had
been often sick before we moved to Australia, but I became physically fit and
strong due to the training with Max.
The daily outings with Max also brought me new
friendship with dog lovers who, without our dogs, would only be strangers to
me. We could connect easily and my life was getting more and more interesting.
My newly found passion for animals gave me another aspect of the meaning of
life.
In short, a wise stray dog became a life force
for me at a time when I was most frustrated and vulnerable. He helped me by
showing what he was, getting close to me and teaching me how to live a simple
joyful life with him.
Q: In the book, you discuss “dog consciousness.”
How well were you able to figure out Max’s thoughts? And vice versa?
A: I believe that only the dog owner can figure
out well what his/her dog wants or doesn’t want, likes or dislikes, and what is
going on in the dog’s mind. We know our dogs by sharing our lives with them. Through
careful observations and experiments, we have become certain of their
“consciousness.”
As I hadn’t had any experience with dogs before
I met Max, I paid a lot of attention to his facial expressions, body language
and behaviours.
I learnt from trial and error to find out that
he actually had a mind of his own and a heart filled with feelings, just like
humans. Judging from his very expressive eyes, ears and mouth, I was sure that
he didn’t operate with only mechanical instincts governed by physics and
chemistry.
To answer your question, I dare say that I could
figure out Max’s thoughts very well. He also tried his best to let me know his
thoughts and feelings. Because dogs are consistent in how they express
themselves, it is not difficult to understand your own pet after a while.
I like to give you two examples. To show me how
much he didn’t want me to go away, he climbed into my suitcase when I opened it
to pack for a trip. His miserable look and his pleading eyes told me his thoughts:
“I sit here so that you can’t pack. Please don’t go away again, and if you have
to, please bring me along.” There was no mistaking how he felt.
On another occasion, after my husband had left
for his business trip, Max led me to our bedroom and I found his beloved plastic
bone on my husband’s pillow. After a few times, I figured out that he was trying
to show me his love for my husband by offering his best gift, hoping that my
husband might be touched and wouldn’t go away again.
On the other hand, I also think Max could
understand me well. Of course I mean simple thoughts like, “It’s raining heavily
outside. We should wait until the rain becomes less to go to the park.”
I did talk to Max about what I thought—I thought
aloud when I was with him. He could understand the words, “rain,” “outside,” “wait”
and “park”; and the rest he could easily guess from my expressions and movements.
His ears were exceptionally smart, able to detect clearly the different sounds
in a sentence; and he had a very good memory of words that he had heard before.
I tried to be very expressive, using simple
words, my eyes, mouth, head, hands and body to communicate with him. Because he
was always in a waiting position, i.e. waiting for instructions and activities
to happen, he listened and watched me all the time.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: I have started giving talks about
human-animal relationships in Australia and Hong Kong. Relating to my
experience with Max, I want to explain how companion animals, especially dogs,
can help us live a more meaningful and rewarding life; and that they are able
to transform us by their unconditional love.
I want to raise the awareness of welfare for
dogs, especially in Asia where they are largely treated with little respect. It
is my wish to share what Max taught me with other animal lovers.
At the same time I have started writing a novel based
on my mother’s life story. It is a story of the struggle of the Chinese who
fled the civil war in China and went to Hong Kong after the end of the war with
Japan in 1946. I like to depict the mixed sentiments of the Chinese during
those years, and how their predicament led them to settle in different parts of
the world.
The idea of writing a novel developed while I
was talking to my elderly mother in Hong Kong. I became very interested in what
the older generation went through during the turbulent periods in China and
Hong Kong. I hope to create a book which shows the impacts brought by
historical events on individuals.
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: I think the reader should know that Starting
with Max is not just another book about a lovely dog. It is also about how a
migrant struggling to come to terms with her new identity was greatly helped by
her dog in pursuing meanings in her new life.
In trying to understand her dog and all that is
related to him, the author reflects on significant concepts such as love,
beauty, aging and mortality. The reader will feel the contemplative mood of the
author in her storytelling. So the book is as philosophical as it is
narrative.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)