Books – Page 31

Ever-changing job landscape

Prof. Ilana Gershon’s latest book is Down and Out in the New Economy. (photo from Ilana Gershon)

An increasing number of people in their 50s and 60s are needing or wanting to find work – and are finding that next job elusive.

Indiana University anthropology professor Ilana Gershon has been researching the (often unsuccessful) ways in which job seekers look for work. One result of this research is her latest book: Down and Out in the New Economy: How People Find (or Don’t Find) Work Today (University of Chicago Press, 2017).

Long gone are the days that employers just want an extra pair of hands to do a job, said Gershon.

“We used to have an idea of ourselves as workers, in which we imagined we owned ourselves, as if we were property,” she explained. “This was the metaphor – that we were renting ourselves to an employer for a certain period of time and, when the time was over, we’d get ourselves back. The idea of renting ourselves as though we were property really affected the ways you could have particular ideas, of what was a just work relationship.

“So, you thought you could have arguments about whether you should have a 40-hour work week or not, about how much time you should be able to rent yourself to an employer … and people would have legal cases and legislation around the boundaries of work. Should people be paid for putting on a uniform that would make them be work ready or should they put on a uniform in their own time, and should employers only pay for them once they put on the uniform?”

Gershon said this metaphor very much shaped how people thought about what was appropriate and what was not.

“One of the other consequences of that is that unions were able to argue that, in fact, people were not just renting a portion of their day,” she said. “Unions argued that they were renting a portion of their lives and, as a result, the companies owed them health insurance or a pension … that they should be reimbursed for giving over a portion of their lives to the company.”

On the other side of the equation were the companies, which were very interested in ensuring there was some form of company loyalty.

According to Gershon, in the United States and the United Kingdom, after Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher took power, respectively, things began to change. People began to imagine themselves as though they were a business – as a bundle of skills, assets, qualities, experiences and relationships that had to be consciously managed like a business. And, as a business, continual enhancement was required.

“When people are entering into an employment contract, that now means they are entering into a business-to-business contract, in which they are offering temporary solutions for market-specific problems a company experiences,” explained Gershon. “So, now you have all these self-help articles that talk about being the CEO of Me Incorporated.

“One of the other consequences of this is people now talk a lot about having a personal brand. Because, if you imagine yourself as a business, then you should have a personal brand, as businesses have brands. So, a lot of the ways in which people understand what the employment contract can now offer them is being shaped by this change in metaphor.”

Gershon’s research on the topic began in 2012, with the interviewing of people around Indiana University and her attending one or two job search workshops available to undergrad students. In 2013/2014, while being a fellow at Stanford’s Centre for Advanced Study in the Behavioural Sciences, she did field work in the Bay Area in California.

Not everything regarding the job market is new, she said. “People already know a lot about hiring, because they participated in hiring in their previous workplaces … and they shouldn’t ignore everything that they already know.

“I was trying very hard not to make it a Silicon Valley project,” she said of her research. “I was very concerned about that, because, what I wanted to do was think about the hiring ritual in general. I interviewed people in the Midwest and East Coast about this – not as many people as I interviewed in the Bay Area, but I wanted to check if I saw any difference.

“The major difference I saw was that the people had a very different idea of how much time you should spend at a job. People in the Bay Area thought the ideal time you spend at a job was two to three years. And, in the Midwest, it was something more like seven to 10. On the East Coast, it was more like five to eight.”

According to Gershon, she worked hard to produce an “anti-advice book.” Her aim was to focus the book on the implications of thinking of yourself as a business and how that has changed hiring and affected what employment contracts have become. Further, she wanted to explore how one should present themselves as an employee, and what employers feel are desirable traits in candidates.

One of Gershon’s findings is that the new concepts are now standard fare in all job search workshops.

“People are being told to do this, but people in the trades and blue collar workers don’t seem to find this way of thinking terribly useful yet,” she said. “So, the people for whom it fits their situation best are going to be white collar workers for the most part.”

But, whether or not everyone finds the ideas useful, they are being encouraged.

“People working retail are constantly being told they have to brand themselves,” said Gershon by way of example. “I don’t think this particular way of trying to brand yourself constantly or imagine yourself as a business is making all that many people happy.

“If you haven’t been in the workforce for 15 to 20 years and you’re suddenly going to these job search places where they’re telling you everything is new and the ways you used to look for jobs no longer make sense … it’s all very confusing. I’m offering the context for that, explaining why things might seem new, and what’s genuinely new and what isn’t.

“I think figuring out how to get a job is actually something you have to do specifically for your particular industry,” she added. “People offer a lot of standardized advice, as though there’s a magic bullet that works in every context. What I’m talking about is how not to engage with that kind of standardized advice. Instead, figure out how to do the research so that you can understand those communities on your own.”

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Life-giving practice

On Feb. 1, Sarah Peyton speaks at Or Shalom on the topic Why Love is Not Enough: Family Heartache and the Path of Repair. (photo from Or Shalom)

Have you ever longed for someone who would be able to listen to you without judgment, to every concern, fear, yearning or hurt you might have? Someone able to hold you in gentle understanding and with deep compassion all the time? Such a person does exist – within yourself. And you can find out how to meet them through the work of Sarah Peyton.

Peyton is a neuroscience educator and certified trainer of nonviolent communication, which was pioneered by American psychologist Marshall B. Rosenberg. She will introduce the latest understanding of neuroscience and the part it plays in building social and family relationships in her talk at Or Shalom on Feb. 1, called Why Love is Not Enough: Family Heartache and the Path of Repair. Peyton will show how deep, resonant empathy for oneself and the other can connect conflicting parties, even as the conflict resides within one’s own inner voice of criticism.

I met Peyton in the summer of 2015. My husband was assisting in a nonviolent communication retreat, and I had been asked to facilitate a writing session as a part of it. At the last minute, I painfully withdrew. My mother’s death, less than two years before, had left me paralyzed and in deep grief and mourning. I was not up to the task of supporting anyone, not even myself. Tearfully, I watched as my husband left for the weekend. Miraculously, my husband forgot something he needed and returned home to retrieve it. “Come back with me,” he urged. “Don’t facilitate. Just sit outside, swim, write under the trees. Get well.” I said, “Yes.”

That weekend changed my life. Peyton warmly guided a group of participants in her process of resonant language and connection. Peyton, I would come to learn, had lost her beloved son just the year before. Given that, how was it possible that she could contribute with such presence?

Over the next two years, I worked privately with her, learning about resonant language and how to live it. Last year, Norton Press published Peyton’s first book, Your Resonant Self: Guided Meditations and Exercises to Engage Your Brain’s Capacity for Healing. I interviewed her recently, in anticipation of her Vancouver talk.

DAS: What began your work with resonant language?

SP: I began this work when my 33-year-old adopted son was dying. His death took a long time, eight years. His dying began when he had a reawakening of the trauma in his family. I was desperate to save him. I began to learn and practise a way to share life and our experiences, a way to enhance life. We were all sustained by this practice, through his dying and afterwards, through our mourning. Relational language allowed us to find each other through the dark cloud of loss and death. It took me five years to write the book. I began writing it in the last year of my son’s life.

DAS: What is resonant language?

SP: Our brain has two hemispheres, and the structures of each side are different. The language centres of the left brain are instructional-based. They help us to take action, plan and strategize…. Our right brain creates a relational language where you and I are experienced together. Relational language is resonant and is the language of poetry, metaphor, visual imagery, longing, dreaming. Warmth is a way to navigate to this resonant relational right brain and create connection to ourselves and others.

A lot happens in family when we live in a world of doing in our caring for each other. A different way of being together happens in a world of relational language and resonance. This work is the work of awakening remembrance of what it’s like to reclaim our birthright, the birthright of being relational beings in a world of warmth.

What stops us from engaging in this relational right-brain language is fear. We have made, early on in our lives, promises in our hearts to prevent pain or disappointment in and for ourselves. When we recognize our own fear and the ways that we closed our hearts, we’ve taken the first steps to remember what we have forgotten. We will be reminded of what we know and have lost. We’re learning what the “garden” in our brains needs. It needs warmth.

DAS: What is your hope for your work and our world?

SP: We’re looking at a world that is split between doing and being. Brain by brain, we can change our world and change our planet. We will look at a world that is not split.

I hope that those who come to our evening will be able to discover a way to listen and know themselves differently, and to discover the pathway to their own warm, beating hearts.

* * *

Though I will always miss my mother, the terrible grey numbing grief has lifted. My heartache has become touchable, a renewal in the richness of my life lived with her. I have learned that being able to touch heartache in its many guises provides us with life-giving renewal in our relationships. Peyton’s relational emotional language is one that continually restores me to compassion and connection, with myself and others.

Dael Adams Segal is a writer and a mentor of writers. She writes midrash and prayer and facilitates women’s-centred Torah study at Or Shalom Synagogue, where she is a member.

Perpetrators offers new insights

Who could shoot at close range two million children, women and men who were standing at the sides of graves they had just been forced to dig? And then, when this process proved inefficient, who could herd four million more into cement bunkers and drop cyanide pellets on top of them? Were they monsters?

“Monsters do exist,” Primo Levi once said, “but they are too few in number to be truly dangerous. More dangerous are the common men, the functionaries ready to believe and act without asking questions.”

Christopher Browning, in his famous 1992 study of Holocaust perpetrators, Ordinary Men, came to the same appalling conclusion: the killers were simple, middle-class working men, “believing Christians” from all walks of life (including thousands of priests and seminarians), just witlessly and anxiously “following orders” and blindly obeying peer pressure, not, in most cases, virulent antisemites.

The controversial nonagenarian scholar Guenther Lewy, the author of Perpetrators: The World of the Holocaust Killers (Oxford University Press, 2017), and son of a camp survivor, begins his new study of Holocaust perpetrators with the same question: “How could such terrible deeds happen in the heart of Christian Europe and among a nation known for its poets and thinkers? What had converted so many seemingly ordinary people into killers, willing participants in what is the worst crime in modern history?”

Lewy’s study is the first English-language volume to make use of the 49-volume collection of 929 German trial records of Holocaust perpetrators recently published by the University of Amsterdam (it is not made clear why the records were not published in Germany). He also draws upon an enormous accretion of “previously untapped” sources such as the 50,000 letters and diaries of Wehrmacht soldiers recently released by German archives, as well as victim recollections and, most importantly, hundreds of trial records of Nazi functionaries, beginning in Nuremberg in 1945 and continuing to the present day. Of the 1,200 citations in the 25-page bibliography and the 600 footnotes, by far most of them are from the late 1990s to the present.

Lewy’s conclusion is similar to Levi’s and Browning’s: the perpetrators were not characteristically sadists or psychopaths, or even necessarily antisemites, but simply obtuse followers of orders, vassals to peer pressure, or simply “ordinary people” trying to advance their careers.

Lewy’s graphic details and conclusions will be familiar to readers of Saul Friedlander’s monumental Nazi Germany and the Jews, 1939-1945: The Years of Extermination (2007), but Lewy’s access to the most recent documentation brings some new and important facts to light.

First, the whole notion of a “clean Wehrmacht” can now be dismissed. Lewy proves conclusively that there was close contact between the Wehrmacht and the SS and particularly the 38 “Totenkopf” (“Death’s Head”) divisions of the Waffen-SS: new evidence shows that Jews were “squarely in the crosshairs of the Wehrmacht” and that the number of members of the Wehrmacht who took part in the murder of Jews “is in the tens of thousands.”

Second, Lewy’s close study of the new material available allowed him to conclude that “not a single person who asked to be relieved [from duty in the killing squads] was tried by a military court” and, in fact, “most of their requests were granted.” Lewy found 85 cases of Wehrmacht soldiers who refused to shoot civilians: all were simply transferred to other duties. The significance of this finding, of course, is that it puts the lie to the excuse frequently made by the killers that they “had no choice” and “had to follow orders.” (Lewy points out, significantly, that Yad Vashem has in fact recognized 45 Wehrmacht soldiers as “saviours of Jews.”)

In the sixth chapter of Perpetrators, “Flawed Justice,” Lewy makes his most significant mark. Here, Lewy reveals that, of the 200,000 or so former Nazi killers who, through 2005, were investigated by German authorities, fewer than 10% had charges brought against them; and, of these, only half were convicted. Light sentences were the norm; and only eight of the 2,000 former members of the Einsatzgruppen investigated received life sentences. Most of these examples of “flawed justice,” Lewy concludes, had to do with the fact that so many judges were “tainted” as former party members, and that German law (unlike Canadian law) distinguished between perpetrators and accomplices, usually finding the latter innocent, as they were “only following orders,” that they were only “tools” or were not “unseemingly zealous” in their murderous actions. (Two years ago, German courts finally adopted Canadian/American style “common design,” sharing the guilt between perpetrators and accomplices.)

In his final chapter, “Explaining the Holocaust,” Lewy concludes that nobody, ultimately, can simply give up his freedom. Situation, genetics, conditioning are all significant, but “they do not dictate or determine character.” In fact, recalling how anxiously in 1945 the Nazis strove to cover up what they had done led Lewy to conclude that “even Hitler and the members of his immediate entourage probably knew deep down that they were doing wrong.”

And, as Lewy concludes, in his last sentence, “The fact that so few avoided evil orders remains an ineradicable blot on an entire German generation and a cross that their descendants continue to bear.”

Perpetrators is a valuable addition to a long story, one which may never be conclusively told.

Graham Forst, PhD, taught literature and philosophy at Capilano University until his retirement and now teaches in the continuing education department at Simon Fraser University. From 1975 to 2010, he co-chaired the symposium committee of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre.

Help share aliyah story

An illustration from Yerus Goes to Jerusalem. (photo from Sid Tafler)

The Ethiopian aliyah to Israel inspired people around the world when it was first revealed in the 1980s. Today, there are 125,000 first-, second- and third-generation Israelis from Ethiopia.

The story of the courage and determination of the community to return to Eretz Yisrael after 2,000 years of isolation from the rest of the Jewish world is told in the beautiful children’s book Yerus Goes to Jerusalem. About a young girl’s experience making the difficult journey from her village in Ethiopia, the award-winning book, written in Hebrew and illustrated by Ethiopian artist Moran Yogev, is well known to thousands of Israeli students and their parents. A new crowdfunding campaign will translate it into English, to make it accessible to Jewish schoolchildren everywhere, so they can share in the triumph of the Ethiopian community in achieving their dream.

Everyone is invited to join this venture with a donation of any amount, large or small. Only $20 will reserve one of the first copies of Yerus Goes to Jerusalem published in English for your children, grandchildren or your synagogue or Hebrew school.

This campaign is led by Dror Yisrael, a service organization in Israel, and a committee of organizers, mostly in Israel and the United States, including Sid Tafler of Victoria, the only Canadian on the committee.

To donate to the crowdfunding campaign, which ends Dec. 1, and for more information, visit jewcer.org/project/yerusgoestoyerusalem or facebook.com/yerusgoes. For the options of how to donate after Dec. 1, email Gilad Perry at gilad@drorisrael.org.il.

Immersed in Judaism

Abigail Pogrebin, author of My Jewish Year: 18 Holidays, One Wondering Jew. (photo from Abigail Pogrebin)

A few years ago, author Abigail Pogrebin spent an immersive year studying the Jewish calendar and attempting to observe it. She chronicled her experience in a column in the Forward and, subsequently, in the book My Jewish Year: 18 Holidays, One Wondering Jew (Fig Tree Books, 2017). On Nov. 19, she was in Winnipeg for the city’s Tarbut Festival.

“I did not approach this as a gimmick,” she told the Independent. “It was really a sincere stab at an understanding I never had, which is the origins for all of these chaggim [holidays] … and also, not just the origins, but the underpinnings, because these are obviously … human-created milestones that have endured for thousands of years. I wanted to understand both how and why they were conceived – what they’re supposed to mean for us today, not just to our ancestors. I definitely had a hunch that, for something to have endured for as long as it has, it has to resonate wherever you are in your life – at least for a large swath of people who live by this calendar.”

Pogrebin recognizes that there is a segment of the population that adheres to it simply because they inherited it, without questioning. Yet, for many people, Jewish observance, particularly of holidays, is a deliberate choice.

Pogrebin grew up in New York City. Her mother, writer and activist Letty Cottin Pogrebin, was instrumental in promoting women’s rights in the 1970s, and her writing includes analyses of what it means to be Jewish and female.

“I was not someone who celebrated nothing before this,” said Abigail Pogrebin. “I had sort of the five or six tent poles of Jewish holidays in my life…. I grew up with Shabbat…. It wasn’t enforced, but it was observed when we were together as a family. I went to synagogue on the High Holidays. We had always lit the menorah for eight nights, and I went to two seders back-to-back. Then, also, the feminine seder, which was a tradition that was started in mid-1970s by a group of women, including my mother.

“So, those were the basics that I’d grown up with. But, obviously, I was missing the majority of the signposts of the Jewish year. It bothered me that I didn’t know [them]. I also wanted to experience them in a way that might lead me to more meaning in my life.”

As examples of what she learned on her journey, Pogrebin said she had never understood before that the process of atonement and introspection needs to start far in advance of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

“During the month of Elul, we’re supposed to do what is called, in Hebrew, cheshbon hanefesh (accounting of the soul). And, when I asked various rabbis how I might go about that, because there’s not a clear blueprint for observance, quite a few suggested taking the middot (characteristics) and breaking them down, exploring one a day. So, I chose to do that for 40 days leading up to Yom Kippur.

“I did this with a friend, a study partner, essentially. So, my friend, Catherine, and I took these 40 middot that a rabbi had posted online. One day, you’d do anger, another you’d do courage, another envy, another humility.”

As the women went through the days, they aimed to look at themselves as deeply and honestly as they were able and to write their reflections on each characteristic at the end of each day.

“By the time I got to synagogue on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I felt like I was in a very different zone for reflection,” said Pogrebin. “On Yom Kippur, I went to a mikvah [ritual bath] for the first time, and that was extremely meaningful.”

Pogrebin spent Sukkot in Los Angeles, interviewing four rabbis in two days, with each one discussing a different aspect of Sukkot that she never had understood before.

“One emphasized the fragility, the impermanence of our structure, and our shelters in our lives,” she explained. “How resonant that is today, with natural disasters and poverty, and all kinds of things that should shake our foundations, both literally and metaphorically.

“Another talked about the fertility, the imagery that is in Sukkot – the shaking of the lulav and etrog, which was much racier than I ever understood. Another talked about agriculture, and the land and connecting – reconnecting with the earth in ways we don’t do in other times of the year.

“Another rabbi talked about wandering, the importance of being lost and being comfortable with being lost; embracing the idea of the most important lessons and reckonings when we don’t know where we are going.”

Pogrebin also mentioned Yom Hashoah, which commemorates victims of the Holocaust. According to her, not many people know when it takes place. “I think it’s just not in the fabric of how many of us were raised, but it seems to me to be a crucial holiday, even though it could never be adequate to mark such a vast and devastating history and persecution,” she said.

“I went to B’nai Jeshurun, which is a Conservative synagogue on the Upper West Side that, in partnership with the JCC in Manhattan, does something called the naming of the names, where they have this book from Yad Vashem … devastating lists of families who perished. Starting at 10 p.m. and going all night into the next day, people tak[e] turns reading those names,” said Pogrebin.

About how the yearlong experience has changed her and her family, Pogrebin said, “In a way, it’s changed completely and, in a way, it hasn’t changed radically. I’d say it’s changed completely in the sense that I don’t look at time, relationships, obligations, the same way anymore. I think, if the holidays do anything, they are constantly reminding us to ask ourselves who we are in the world and whether we are doing what we could be doing to alleviate someone else’s suffering or pain.”

Pogrebin is always looking for ways to bring the lessons of her journey into her day-to-day life, to make them come alive in a way they didn’t for her when she was a child.

About the book, she said, “If one wants to understand the arc of the year, you will. It’s not that there are not people who might disagree with this or that, but it was researched and tested with people who live this and teach this at a very high level. So, it’s not just Abby saying it to be true. It’s me putting on my journalist hat and making sure when I explain something that it’s definitely rooted in scholarship. I hope … it’s an enjoyable and entertaining book.

“The people who read it are coming along with me and my experience with the holiday for the first time. They are also getting, I think, a fairly thorough template of what a Jewish year involves and demands. I think that, whether you’re Jewish or an interfaith family that wants to explain or introduce … some of these holidays in your own home and you’ve never done them before, it’s absolutely a door into learning how.

“There is something magical,” she said, “about not just living by someone else’s clock, but by an ancient roadmap…. I think there’s something very powerful about embracing … whether it’s Judaism or any religion, what it imposes on you, in terms of [laying out] what you should be thinking about besides your own needs and wishes – to me, that’s an important takeaway that I think other people should explore.”

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Reflecting on New York

Raised by American parents in Montreal, Adam Gopnik moved, with his Canadian wife Martha, to New York City in the 1980s. There, he began a career as an art critic, editor and writer for such publications as GQ and The New Yorker, and with Knopf publishers. At the Stranger’s Gate: Arrivals in New York (Knopf, 2017) is his chatty memoir of those years.

There are many figures from the art and publishing worlds in this book, appearing in harmlessly gossipy anecdote after name-dropping anecdote. Gopnik is an amusing artist of the character sketch, as shown in his depiction of his wife.

“Someone once called her in print the most innately polite person she had ever met, and the truth is that in each of us natural sociability had been overlaid with Canadian politeness, and hers with a further code of Icelandic courtesy, producing a veneer of politeness so extreme that many took it for disingenuousness – which of course, in another way, it was.”

He can also neatly capture entire generations through their relationships to something inanimate.

“My grandparents had belonged to a check-cashing generation, proud to be engaged in it,” he writes. “To have an institution as large as an American bank in effect endorse their signature on a little bit of paper as equivalent to money meant to be taken seriously as a citizen. My parents, in turn, were credit card cultists – they loved having them, signing them, showing them, using them. For those who came of age in the boom times after the Second World War, the whole notion of credit, of sharing in a limitless improving future – of being trusted to buy now and pay later, since later would be so much richer than now – had some of the same significance that the notion of being trusted with checks had for my grandparents.

“We, in turn, generationally, had regressed, I realized,” he continues, “back into a cash economy – we used checks just to pay the utilities. The [bank] machines were one more instrument of that infantilization; we went to the machines for something that felt, at least, like our allowance.”

As much as the individual characters who inhabit the pages, the protagonists are often the miniscule homes the Gopniks inhabited – and the insects and rodents with whom they cohabited. He credits their first tiny apartment, at least in part, for their marital contentment.

“One reason we didn’t fight was that the studio was so small, so small that you could never get sufficient perspective for the fighting to happen. In order to really have a quarrel, you have to sort of step back three steps and eye the other person darkly. There was just no room for that. We were on top of each other, not in that that sense – well, in that sense, too, at times – but we were also colliding with each other all the time. I don’t have any mental image of Martha from those years, except as a kind of Cubist painting, noses and eyes and ears.”

A later loft apartment seemed too sweet to be true in a New York of radically rising rents, a suspicion that appeared fulfilled when thick, dark liquid began dripping from the ceiling.

“For the next two weeks, the ceiling kept hemorrhaging,” Gopnik writes. “Sometimes, we would wake up and find it dripping slowly, slowly. At other times, it would really be coming down, as though a whole new vein had been opened, or else as though – and this thought struck us both about the same time – a new corpse had just been stowed away under the floorboards upstairs.”

“That’s not blood,” a neighbour told them, “it’s just molasses.”

The building had been a candy factory at the turn-of-the-century and for inexplicable reasons it would sometimes ooze ingredients. Gopnik decided to find this charming: “It was thrilling, like the moment when they opened up the Dead Sea Scrolls and found them pristine. Sugar syrup from a century ago, bubbling out of the walls, and still so sweet.… I felt happy; I was living on the big Rock Candy Mountain.”

The couple were less charmed by another discovery. A pest control officer announces: “You got them, all right. You got the big boys. You got the super-rats.”

“What do you mean, the super-rats?” Gopnik asks.

“‘Well, let’s put it like this,’ He thought for a moment. ‘These rats, if you see one, they look at you like you the problem.”

Leaving the apartment, Gopnik homes in on two of the phenomena of the 1980s that impacted his life in the Big Apple.

“The two great technological gifts of the ’80s were the Walkman and the hyper-developed sneaker, which, together, turned walking into an all-encompassing emotional activity,” he writes. “For a long time in the 1980s, I seemed to do nothing but walk around Manhattan. The modern sneaker, rising from Nike and Adidas, constructed with more architecture inside than most apartments, now allowed even the flat-footed to stride, Hermes-like, on what felt like cushioned air.… And then the Walkman made every block your own movie.”

Eventually, like rats in a too-small apartment, the couple became overwhelmed by the city and they left to raise a family where there are lawns and gardens.

This is a highly sentimental book, which is not a bad thing, especially for a New York-o-phile. Some shortcomings are too-frequent hackneyed phrases (“dense as a hockey puck,” “impossibly beautiful women”), the oddly repetitive use of some esoteric words and a style that sometimes evokes Lake Wobegon, Minn., more than New York, N.Y. In other words, it’s a cute book, which may sound like faint praise, but, given current events, that can be a refreshing break.

Isaac shaped Vatican II

Jewish Conscience of the Church: Jules Isaac and the Second Vatican Council by Norman C. Tobias (Palgrave Macmillan, 2017) is an extraordinary book about the volte face that the Catholic Church executed at Vatican II in 1963 when, as a result principally of the intellectual exertions of Jules Isaac, former inspector general of education in France, the Church radically altered its negative teachings about Jews and Judaism and repudiated its malignant doctrine of Jewish responsibility for deicide.

There are many anomalies highlighted in this meticulously researched and comprehensive survey of one of the most important developments in the 20th century. Tobias is, by profession, a skilled tax lawyer, who taught at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ont., and who latterly earned a PhD in religious studies at the University of Toronto.

The focus of his doctoral dissertation, Isaac, was a man of many talents. Isaac’s textbooks on French and general history were staples of the high school curriculum in France, and regarded as authoritative sources for those subjects. That he would become the driving force after the Second World War towards the re-direction of Catholic doctrines vis-à-vis Jews is not something one would have expected from the high position he had occupied, quite comfortably, in France.

That comfort disappeared during the Nazi invasion of the country, and the occupation that followed. Almost 70,000 Jews were deported by the Nazis, most of whom perished in the concentration camps. Isaac himself narrowly escaped capture and survived only through the goodwill of friends, who hid him from both French collaborators and German troops. His wife and daughter, however, succumbed to the Nazi dragnet and he never saw them again.

Another element that makes it even more startling that Isaac authored a number of treatises on the image of Jews in official Catholic doctrine is that Isaac had really little sympathy for Judaism. In fact, as Tobias reveals, Isaac once indicated that he much preferred paganism as a religious code. His indifference to the sancta of Judaism, a secularism that was quite common among many French Jews in the 1920s and 1930s, may explain why his son converted to Christianity.

It was during the Nazi occupation of France that Isaac, who had been a close associate of Charles Peguy, an early 20th-century sensitive Catholic poet, essayist and editor, began to analyze the sources that had contributed to the hatred that targeted his wife and daughter. He came to the not illogical conclusion that certain theological constructions in Catholicism were responsible for the teaching of contempt for Jews and Judaism.

Isaac, of course, as a gifted historian, knew that antisemitism existed before Christianity (as his Catholic interlocutors pointed out to him in later years) but he instinctively knew that pagan distaste for Jews was incidental, and recorded in minor chords, compared to the 2,000-year-old assault on Jews and Judaism first enshrined in Christian scripture and repeated century after century by the fathers of the Church and thereafter from Church pulpits especially in Europe. Isaac also knew that economic, political and social prejudices were sometimes hidden in the religious vernacular but his purpose was to show that it might be possible to alter the religious narrative through patient argument and persuasion.

The late Gregory Baum, a Catholic theologian of high repute, who wrote a warm introduction to the Tobias volume, originally responded to Isaac’s powerful Jesus and Israel (1948) by saying, in the early 1960s, that the New Testament was not antisemitic; it was an interpretation problem. Later, in the 1970s, Baum re-read Isaac’s work and reported that racial antisemitism was indeed present in parts of the New Testament.

For his carefully calibrated work, Isaac consulted with knowledgeable people and, during the decade from the end of the war, he organized his thinking in order to hone his criticism of the Christian texts with antisemitic tonalities and to suggest changes that would improve the image of Jews and Judaism. Isaac, in typical French style, created formats listing points to be analyzed like an explication de texte, that wonderful exegetical instrument.

It is not possible in a review to go through all of the points that Isaac deployed in his polemic but the major ones deal with the New Testament’s cruel caricature of Judaism as a corrupt and decadent civilization, its cavalier indictment of all Jews as being responsible for the crucifixion when most Jews actually lived in the Diaspora, and its horrendous “blood libel,” in which Jewish participants in the deicide legitimize their own punishment in perpetuity.

In the various encounters he had in print with respondents and in conversations with Catholic representatives in the 1940s and 1950s at various conferences in Europe – the descriptions of which Tobias offers with generous details, including a footnote apparatus I think should in some places have been inserted into the text – Isaac was always firm in his advocacy. His reputation as a sober, informed and flexible partisan of change in Church doctrines preceded him.

One of the most intriguing parts of the Tobias chronicle pivots on the road to Vatican II and the response to Isaac’s Jesus and Israel, just one of several of Isaac’s impressive works. Tobias has ferreted out the major reviews of the book that appeared in prestigious French journals. Not all were favourable, as might have been expected. One of the most acerbic criticisms focused on Isaac’s alleged memory lapse in not questioning Jewish unbelief after the crucifixion – as if this had anything to do with Isaac’s indictment of the New Testament’s “pogromist” attitude to Jews.

The Vatican II deliberations on Jews and other religions in 1963 incorporated, as far as Jews and Judaism were concerned, Isaac’s plangent plea for changes in statements about both. Isaac unfortunately passed away before it became official Church teaching but it was a wonderful posthumous reward.

On a personal note, in 1964, this reviewer heard Father Gregory Baum deliver a lecture at the University of Waterloo, in Ontario. I asked Father Baum how long it would take for Vatican II’s message to seep down to the parish level. He replied, “300 years.”

Arnold Ages is Distinguished Professor Emeritus, University of Waterloo.

Recipes from the world over

Cookbook author Joan Nathan, left, with journalist Sybil Kaplan. (photo from Barry A. Kaplan)

Before I review King Solomon’s Table: A Culinary Exploration of Jewish Cooking around the World by Joan Nathan (Knopf, 2017), I have to admit, I am prejudiced. I have known Joan for around 40 years, and every cookbook she writes is great. When she was in Israel recently, she agreed to appear at my English-speaking chapter of Hadassah Israel for a fundraiser. The program included my interviewing her, and her remarks are at the end of this article, after the recipes.

In King Solomon’s Table, Joan traces, through recipes and stories, the journey of many of the dishes that Jews eat, the people she has met over the years and the places she has visited. Alice Waters, well-known chef, food activist, owner and founder of Chez Panisse Restaurant in Berkeley and cookbook author, writes in the foreword: “Joan has become the most important preservationist of Jewish food traditions, researching and honouring the rich heritage that has connected people for millennia.”

photo - Sri Lankan Breakfast Buns are among the global fare in King Solomon’s Table. For the recipe, visit joannathan.com — Sri Lankan Breakfast Buns are among the global fare in King Solomon’s Table. *(photo from joannathan.com)*

Joan’s introduction is an amazing history of the roots of Jewish food. This is followed by “The Pantry,” a discussion of spices and other items. Then there are the chapters and recipes. Every recipe has a story, and there are 171 recipes in 12 chapters. One can find recipes from Azerbaijan, Brazil, Bulgaria, Denmark, Ethiopia, France, Georgia, Germany, Hungary, India, Iraq, Israel, Italy, Kurdistan, Libya, Lithuania, Mexico, North Africa, Persia, Poland, Rhodes, Romania, Russia, Siberia, Sicily, Sri Lanka, Syria, Turkey, the United States, Uzbekistan and Yemen.

The variety is vast, from Hungarian Apple Pancakes to Sri Lankan Breakfast Buns, from French Buttery Olive Biscuits to Greek Eggplant Salad to Uzbek Noodle Soup. There are all sorts of breads, and recipes using couscous and different types of pasta. There are 15 vegetable recipes, 15 fish recipes, 10 recipes for poultry and 14 meat recipes. And, of course, there are recipes for sweets – 23 of them, including Sephardic Almond Brittle, Israeli Quince Babka and Brazilian Cashew Nut Strudel.

Scattered throughout the book are essays and, after the acknowledgments is a bibliography and index.

When Joan guest blogged for the Jewish Book Council, soon after the publication of the cookbook, she wrote: “One of the ideas that I have wrestled with throughout my career is the question of what is ‘Jewish food.’ Working on my latest cookbook, King Solomon’s Table: A Culinary Exploration of Jewish Cooking around the World, has at last answered that question for me.”

Here are a few of the recipes from this book.

SMOKY SHAKSHUKA
The name shakshuka comes from an Arabic and Hebrew word meaning “all mixed up.” It is said the dish was made in North Africa, when the women were busy with a lover and then made a quick meal for their husbands; it was born in the mid-16th century. This recipe makes eight servings.

4 red bell peppers
1 (1 pound) eggplant
2 tbsp olive oil
3 lamb, beef or chicken chorizo, sliced in rounds (optional)
5 chopped garlic cloves
12 chopped tomatoes or 28-ounce can chopped tomatoes
1 tbsp smoked Spanish paprika
2 tsp salt or to taste
1/4 tsp black pepper or to taste
1 tbsp sugar or to taste
1 bunch chopped cilantro
8 large eggs
crumbled Bulgarian feta cheese

1. Preheat the oven to 450°F and line a jelly roll pan with parchment paper. Cook the peppers and eggplant, pricking them first with a fork, turning occasionally with tongs until slightly soft and blackened, about 20 minutes.

2. Heat the oil in a pot over medium heat. Add peppers and fry about three minutes then add chorizo, if using, and garlic and cook six to seven minutes, stirring occasionally. Add tomatoes and simmer, uncovered, over medium-low heat for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

3. When the mixture is thickened, add the smoked paprika, salt, pepper, sugar, eggplant and all but three tablespoons of the cilantro. Stir to combine, Add seasonings to taste and add a little water if the mixture is too thick.

4. With the back of a spoon, make eight shallow wells in the shakshuka. Gently crack the eggs into the wells, cover the pot and poach over medium-low heat for five to 10 minutes until egg whites are set. Serve sprinkled with remaining cilantro and, if you like, Bulgarian feta cheese.

PICKLED HERRING SPREAD
(6-8 servings)

2 tbsp chopped red onion
1 tbsp almonds
1/2 Granny Smith or other tart apple, peeled and cored
1 large peeled hard-boiled egg
1 12-ounce jar marinated herring tidbits
1 tbsp fresh chopped dill

1. Pulse onion and almonds in food processor. Then add apple and egg to combine.

2. Pour off sauce and onions from marinated herring and add to food processor to chop. Place mixture in serving dish and sprinkle with dill to garnish.

LEEK AND MEAT PATTIES
The original 100-year-old recipe from Macedonia was a holiday staple for Balkan Jews, which Joan tampered with a bit. This recipe makes 12 patties.

1 1/4 cup olive oil
6-8 chopped leeks
2 1/4 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
2 pounds chopped lamb, beef or boiled potatoes
3 large eggs
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp allspice
1/2 cup chopped parsley
1/2 cup matzah meal

1. Preheat oven to 425°F and rub a rimmed baking sheet with oil. Toss leeks with more oil, one teaspoon salt and pepper. Spread leeks in single layer and roast, tossing frequently until golden brown and crisp at edges, about 20 minutes. Cool.

2. Chop leeks and mix with meat or boiled potatoes, eggs, cinnamon, allspice, parsley, matzah meal and salt. Form into 12 patties. Heat a frying pan with a thin film of oil. Fry the patties until golden brown on each side, making sure they cook through. If using potatoes instead of meat, add a little Parmesan cheese for extra flavour.

***

An Interview with Joan Nathan in Jerusalem, June 15, 2017

SK: How did you decide to continue in food writing after you left Israel in the 1970s?

JN: We moved to the Boston area and I met with an editor at the Boston Globe. He asked me to write about food. I also had a scholarship to the Kennedy School at Harvard to do a master’s in public administration. I also met Dov Noy, z”l, the world’s renowned Jewish folklorist, who said, I’ll help you if you decide to write a cookbook, because he knew a lot about ethnic groups.

[At some point,] I told Julia Child’s editor I wanted to write a cookbook, but my father wanted me to go to Schocken Publishers.

[Schocken published The Jewish Holiday Kitchen in 1979, An American Folklife Cookbook in 1985, The Children’s Jewish Holiday Kitchen in 1988, The Jewish Holiday Baker in 1997 and Joan Nathan’s Jewish Holiday Cookbook in 2004. Knopf published Jewish Cooking in America in 1994, The Foods of Israel Today in 2001, The New American Cooking in 2005, and Quiches, Kugels and Couscous: My Search for Jewish Cooking in France in 2010.]

SK: How long does it take you to write a cookbook?

JN: King Solomon’s Table took six years. On a trip to India, I saw a sign, “Since the time of Solomon,” and got the idea, although the [part of the title] … about my journeys everywhere was my editor’s idea.

SK: How did you acquire the recipes?

JN: I sent out to all the “tribes.”

[Joan digressed here to say that the three essentials for Jewish food are the dietary laws; that Jews went out to look, for example, for spices; and how Jews’ food is influenced by the food of the country in which they’re living.]

SK: Who does the various elements of a cookbook?

JN: I have people help me in testing and I do my research. In the process of putting together a book, professional photographs are essential today. For King Solomon’s Table, I knew where I would go in the world…. I would plan trips for 10 days and, when I returned, I got the material typed quickly. The whole book comes together with the introduction. Each of my books is like a big term paper.

Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, lecturer, book reviewer and food writer in Jerusalem. She created and leads the weekly English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda, she has compiled and edited nine kosher cookbooks, and is the author of Witness to History: Ten Years as a Woman Journalist in Israel.

Drawing on identity, Judaism

Artist and graphic novelist Miriam Libicki is currently Vancouver Public Library’s writer-in-residence. (photo from VPL)

“I think that a lot of my stuff does end up having to do with identity, through both the books I’ve published and the one I’m in the process of starting to draw right now, as well. I’m very interested in identity and I’m interested in identity as something that can change,” Miriam Libicki told the Independent in a phone interview.

Libicki is Vancouver Public Library’s writer-in-residence this fall. Her first event was Sept. 14 and her teaching sessions have been consistently full. At her finale event Dec. 7, attendees will get a preview of her new work. Libicki will also be making appearances at the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival, Nov. 26 and 30.

Both of her published books – jobnik! an american girl’s adventures in the israeli army (real gone girl studios, 2008) and Toward a Hot Jew (Fantagraphics Books, 2016) – have received acclaim. The former, which was based on the diary she kept during her service in the Israel Defence Forces, was a finalist for the Gene Day Award for Canadian self-publishing. The latter, a collection of graphic essays, won the 2017 Vine Award for Canadian Jewish Literature in the non-fiction category.

She attributes her curiosity about identity to her upbringing. “Part of it is the idea that I grew up in a very strong and defined community, which was Modern Orthodox Judaism, in the suburbs of the U.S., and yet, I always kind of felt that we were not the platonic ideal of Modern Orthodox American Judaism,” she said. “I guess, partially, because my mother was a convert, which, in some thought, is still kind of taboo, although, in the U.S., it’s very common … and that she was not ashamed or disparaging of where she came from at all, we were still very close with everyone in her family…. She was never somebody who preached that Modern Orthodoxy was the only way to live a moral life.”

This led to some tension, said Libicki, who went to an Orthodox day school. “Also, in my teens, being very attuned to hypocrisy – as many teens are – when people are doing things so much differently than what they preach,” it was challenging. “And then, going to Israel and finding that the social categories were completely different again, that Orthodox was a certain other thing,” raised other questions, such as, “Is religion a belief or is it a social category?”

Libicki spent four years in Israel “trying to be an Israeli.” But, she said, “I was constantly judging, with my over-analytical and insecure mind, whether I was succeeding at being an Israeli or whether I was doing something wrong. And then, I ended up leaving Israel and felt very ambivalent about that…. I think that that has driven a lot of my comics.”

Now living in Coquitlam and a mother of two, Libicki said, “I’m sending my kids to school and that involves a whole other declaration of identity.”

She and her partner, Mike, have a daughter, who just started kindergarten at Vancouver Talmud Torah, and a son, who is 2. “I’ve always … wanted to send my kids to Jewish school – I’m not ambivalent about it,” she said.

Libicki’s current project – the one people will get a peek at on Dec. 7 – focuses on the exodus of Jews from the Soviet Union as it was collapsing in the late 1980s and early 1990s. She has finished the script, she said, which is about “232 pages at this point. And now I’m starting to break it down into thumbnail drawings and starting to draw the first few pages of it.”

Of those Jews who emigrated, she said, about half went to Israel and just under half came to the United States, with the rest going to Canada, Australia and elsewhere. “My town – Columbus, Ohio – which was not a huge Jewish community, although we had five synagogues and a private day school, got a big influx of families … so my little Jewish day school, which was very small, was about a third to two-fifths Russian-speaking by the time that I was in high school. When I was in kindergarten, there were no Russians and then, by the time I was in middle school, there were lots. Growing up, my community was not very diverse and it was interesting to see this whole other community fall into the middle of my community.”

Libicki conducted the initial research for this project for her master’s in creative writing, which she recently completed at the University of British Columbia. For her thesis, she said, “I went back to Columbus and I interviewed a lot of people that I went to high school with, that I’d lost touch with, most of them immigrants, kids who came in the ’90s.

“My parents had moved to Ashkelon … in a community in Israel that I thought was somewhat analogous [to Columbus] in that it’s not a big or culturally important town, but it also absorbed a lot of immigrants in a short time. I tried to find a sociologically equivalent sample of Russian immigrants in Israel, who had come at the same time and had all gone to the same high school together in Ashkelon, and I interviewed them.

“Those interviews, and other people’s flashbacks, make up a big part of the book. And then, in with that, I also have the part where I’m analyzing it and deconstructing it through different lenses, and I also have my current-day life of trying to figure out what I am and what my family is, and children are.”

While jobnik! is mainly autobiographical, Toward a Hot Jew – a collection of essays written over the space of about 10 years, starting in 2005 – is a mix of autobiography, cultural commentary and analysis. In both books, Libicki doesn’t shy away from difficult topics, and is quite candid about her feelings, sexuality and other sensitive issues.

“A lot of my favourite writers do that and a lot of my favourite cartoonists, so that’s why I felt from the beginning that I should do this. I like reading memoir, and you can tell when people are trying to let themselves off easily or inflate something or avoid talking about something,” she said. “Obviously, nobody talks about everything, but I think you can tell in some memoirs when there’s a certain topic that really is germane and it’s being avoided or it’s being glossed over versus when somebody tries to confront something with honesty and openness. Since I liked reading that stuff, that’s what I wanted to write.

“I don’t think I’ve had too many regrets about doing that. One thing is that it does help to write about people who are far in the past, although this current book, it will have scenes from my current-day life, so I’m going to have to – I’ve been avoiding, actually, showing pages to my partner, but I’m going to have to do that before submitting it to publishers.”

When Libicki was discharged from the IDF, she applied to a few art schools and universities, in Israel and the United States, as well as a non-art-related university in Seattle, which she chose because she had friends in the city. She and her now-husband, who was based in Vancouver, had mutual friends. After about a year of dating, seeing each other on weekends, he suggested she apply to art school in Vancouver.

Libicki enrolled at Emily Carr in 2003 and now teaches at her alma mater, though her main job at the moment is being VPL’s writer-in-residence. “It’s a temporary thing but it’s a full-time job,” she said.

Writers-in-residence spend about 60% of their time on their own writing, she explained, and about 40% interacting with the public, in workshops, lectures and advising people on their writing projects. She has a studio at VPL, to which she commutes from her home in Coquitlam.

As to what led her to the graphic novel form, she said, “It’s something that just kind of happened. It happened while I was in undergrad. I always read comics. I was a big fan of comics, and I was a fan of more alternative and literary comics that started to come out, essentially, in the ’90s and beyond. But I never thought I’d make comics because whenever I had an idea, I didn’t follow through, and the idea of drawing the same character over and over and over was not something I thought I could do. But, I really wanted to be an artist. I drew a lot of portraits…. I thought I might be a children’s book illustrator. So, when I went to art school, I was just thinking of doing a drawing major but then I did one comics art class.”

In that class, she said, she used one of the entries from the diary she kept while in the Israeli army – “I’d had a particularly eventful and bad week, and adapted that into a five-page comic.”

The response to that work – which grew into jobnik! – was positive. “People were curious, they said they wanted to see more of my army stories, and it seemed like a better way to talk about my experience,” she said.

During undergrad, she started doing more comics, and the title essay in Toward a Hot Jew – about “the Israeli soldier as fetish object” – was created as her senior project in art school. Not only did she want to write a research essay that people would actually read, she said, “I wanted to do something that I could use pictures … as part of my argument that I was making, add a nuance through the drawings, as well.”

Libicki said she writes “in a pretty systematic way,” starting with brainstorming, “then I’ll do an outline, then I’ll break down my outline into pages and do a map of it that way, then I’ll do a script and then I’ll do thumbnails and then I’ll move on to art.

“I guess that a lot of people who do any creative endeavour have a lot of anxiety around it and fear that, every time you start a new project, perhaps you’ve forgotten how to do this, so I try to break down my practice into as many small steps as possible, so each one will not be as scary,” she said.

And, a shorter project is something she can put together for a comicon. For example, she created The Quotable Mered – based on tweets she had written about cute things her daughter had said – specifically for VanCAF (Vancouver Comic Arts Festival), a free, annual two-day event that has taken place at the Roundhouse since 2012.

The genre – which she described as “daily journal comics or comics about a small theme” – was something she had never done before, and she wanted to try the style, as well as drawing a bit more loosely and “writing to a punchline.”

“It was an experiment, and I did learn things from it,” she said. “I might do one of those again but I just have so many things to do.”

Granirer exhibit, book linked

Pnina Granirer’s current art exhibit, which is at the Zack Gallery until Dec. 12, features work highlighted in her memoir, Light Within the Shadows. (photo by Olga Livshin)

Pnina Granirer has always been an experimenter. She enjoys trying new artistic techniques, forms and directions. Consistently ignoring the trends, she has forged her own path towards meaning and beauty.

Granirer’s memoir, Light Within the Shadows, was launched on Nov. 16, as part of the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival. The event was held in conjunction with the opening of her solo show at the Zack Gallery. As the exhibit includes some of the same paintings and drawings Granirer highlighted in the memoir, it serves as a mini-retrospective of her artistic life.

“People often told me, you had such an interesting life, you should write about it,” she said in an interview with the Independent. So, she did. “I wrote bits and pieces over the years, but my painting always interfered. I’d get distracted by a painting or a series and I would forget what I wrote before. I realized that I couldn’t paint and write at the same time.”

The concept of time is significant. “Time is what differentiates visual art from any other creative expression, like writing or music,” she explained. “According to some research, people in a museum spend an average of three seconds in front of a painting. But, to read a book or listen to a symphony or watch a movie, they have to spend hours. The same is true from the creator’s point of view. When I look at my painting, I see everything at once, all the details. I know what and where I have to fix. But, when I looked at my manuscript, I needed to read from the beginning to remember the details I had written in the previous chapters. I needed time.”

To solve this dilemma, she stopped painting about four years ago to concentrate on writing. “I wanted to tell my story and, for that, I needed words. Painting wasn’t enough anymore,” she said.

Granirer started by reading a number of memoirs. She took creative writing classes. She delved into history and studied old family photographs, while researching her family roots. And she wrote.

“By 2015, I had a very long manuscript, but I still didn’t have the ending. Then, in June 2015, we visited Romania, the country of my birth, for the first time in 65 years. When we came back, I ended up in a hospital. Had two surgeries. Suddenly, I knew what the ending was. I was fortunate. Serendipity is the new motto of mine. Of course, my life was not all roses, but I cherished everything good that happened to me.”

A consummate professional in everything she does, Granirer knew that finishing a manuscript was only half the job. “I needed to structure it in a way that would make sense,” she said. “I decided on a story in three acts to highlight the three stages of my life, three languages, three countries: Romania, Israel, North America.”

She also had to deal with one of the most important considerations for any memoir writer: the people who feature in the book, especially the ones who are still alive. Granirer was very sensitive about the issue. “When you write a memoir,” she said, “you have to think about other people’s feelings, of course, but it was my book, my life. I tried to avoid offending anyone, but I felt I had to be as honest as possible. I didn’t lie. If I couldn’t say anything nice about someone, I often skipped that person. I did mention some disappointments in the book but, mostly, I focused on how lucky I was.”

After that, it was time for test readers. “I asked a few people to read the manuscript, and the feedback was very encouraging. Then I found a wonderful editor – Pat Dobie. She did a stellar job. She cut off about half the text, everything that wasn’t my story, but rather historical background or stories of the other members of my family. Pat said it takes the reader away from my story. She also rearranged some sections and paragraphs to make the flow better.”

The next step – publication. Again, Granirer embarked on a period of extensive research. “I thought about traditional publishing and contemplated looking for an agent, but I didn’t have the time,” she said. “I’m in my 80s. When you send a book to an agent or a publisher, you have to wait for a year to get an answer, and it might not be a yes. But, even if it is, and they accept it, it would take another year or two until publication.”

To skip that waiting time, she published the book herself, with the help of Granville Island Publishing. “They were great,” said Granirer.

Yet more research was needed to choose the right title and the right cover. Of course, the cover would be one of her paintings; that was never in question. It was an artist’s memoir after all. But which painting? After browsing through her archives, Granirer finally picked the painting that became the cover. “It has my son’s footprints, when he was young, like a child’s journey. It seemed fitting,” she explained.

Selecting which illustrations should accompany each of her story’s three phases was another crucial task. “Some of the paintings I included are still in my studio, others have been sold, but I have the JPG files,” she said.

Now, she is deeply involved in the next stage of the publishing business – promotion. As she does everything in her life, she approaches it with panache and determination. In her publishing endeavour, like in her art, she is aiming for total success.

Granirer’s art is at the Zack until Dec. 12.

Olga Livshin is a Vancouver freelance writer. She can be reached at olgagodim@gmail.com.