Tobey Maguire stars as Bobby Fischer in Edward Zwick’s Pawn Sacrifice. (photo by Takashi Seida)
If there is any lingering goodwill in the world toward the late Bobby Fischer – the once-in-a-century chess whiz who achieved fame as an unlikely “Cold Warrior” – Pawn Sacrifice pretty much snuffs it out.
Veteran director Edward Zwick’s fast-paced, bleakly entertaining film builds relentlessly from Fischer’s Brooklyn childhood to his internationally celebrated 1972 showdown with Soviet grandmaster Boris Spassky in Iceland.
A jittery retelling of the rise and zenith of a man with undiagnosed mental illness that manifested itself in paranoid (and frequently antisemitic) delusions, Pawn Sacrifice presents Fischer as a deeply unlikable and unsympathetic protagonist. He is not, to use the vernacular, someone with whom you’d like to have a beer.
Some of that can be attributed to the unfortunate casting of the eternally boyish Tobey Maguire, who plays Fischer as a petulant child rather than a calculating genius.
Maguire’s tics and tantrums do serve the film, ultimately. In a singularly subversive strategy for a mainstream movie, Steven Knight’s shrewd screenplay forces viewers to confront the fact that the social misfit and erstwhile American underdog we are rooting for is, in reality, a lunatic and a mamzer.
Pawn Sacrifice, which opened recently in Vancouver, is worth seeing for that reason, as well as to revisit a period when the Soviet Union was the United States’ great rival and – before the Miracle on Ice, before Reagan moved into the White House – a skinny, 29-year-old New York Jew emerged as the locus of national pride.
Another incentive is the always-terrific Liev Schreiber, whose delicious performance as the taciturn Spassky conveys imperiousness or bemusement with a raised eyebrow or barely perceptible head tilt. The Jewish actor, who played a Jewish Belarusian resistance leader in Zwick’s Defiance, likewise delivers his few Russian lines with a wonderful clipped accent.
While Spassky is a shades-wearing nonconformist, to the degree he could be, disdaining white shirts and ties in favor of his signature black turtleneck and blazer, Fischer is a rebel without a cause beyond his own single-minded drive to win. Actually, “destroy” is a more accurate word.
In flashbacks to his adolescence, we see the seeds of paranoia planted by his Jewish mother (played by Robin Weigert), whose communist beliefs and friends attracted FBI surveillance. The young Fischer’s trust was further eroded by her refusal to tell him who his father was.
By his teens, Fischer wouldn’t listen or take advice from anyone. Paradoxically, just a few years later, he embraced audiotapes that pinned the ills of the world on the Zionist conspiracy (among other villains).
As its title promises, Pawn Sacrifice poses the question, “What does it avail a man to win the world and lose his mind?” To its credit, the film doesn’t try to explain Fischer’s illness, nor put too much diagnostic or symbolic weight on the episodes it depicts from his youth. Consequently, it isn’t a cautionary fable except in the sense that Fischer didn’t have the tools and help to stop himself from slipping down the rabbit hole.
Fischer’s erratic behavior during the 1972 World Chess Championship led the media to portray him merely as an enigmatic, mercurial iconoclast. In one of the movie’s occasional forays into black comedy, Nixon and Kissinger telephone their support. (Apparently, among paranoids, it takes one to know one.)
That series of matches between Fischer and Spassky provides the dramatic crux of the film, and it is undeniably riveting and unpredictable.
To counter the fundamental unhappiness at Fischer’s core, as well as the static nature of chess games, Pawn Sacrifice employs rapid-fire editing and a double-LP’s worth of 1960s rock hits. The strategy effectively mitigates the main character’s depressing aspects without obscuring his legacy: Fischer was neither a hero nor an anti-hero, but an irredeemable narcissist with a mean streak.
Michael Foxis a writer and film critic living in San Francisco.
In Love, Theft and Other Entanglements, Sami Metwasi plays Mousa, a likable but unlucky car thief. (photo from Vancouver International Film Festival)
Men in turmoil. If there were a common theme between the films the Jewish Independent reviewed in anticipation of this year’s Vancouver International Film Festival, which opens Sept. 24, it would be that. It also seems to apply to the other few movies in the festival with Jewish- and/or Israel-related content.
Of the films reviewed, Love, Theft and Other Entanglements (Palestine Territories) was the most engaging, though it was slow in its pacing. This was likely done purposefully to reflect aspects of the main character and his milieu, but the movie – which is described by director Muayad Alayan as “a drama, a thriller and a fairytale” – would have been more intense if several lengthy shots had been trimmed even by a few seconds. We don’t have to see a car drive from Point A to Point B to know that it went from A to B, for example.
That being said, Love’s Mousa, is a likable “hero,” and this makes viewers want to stick with him to the end. The choice to film the movie in black and white was made, says Alayan on the film’s website, to minimize “the visual noise that detracts from the story” and reduce “the temptation to examine the setting of the film against the hyper-realistic images of Palestine common in TV reports and documentary films. I wanted the place to be a context that serves the story and not a point of interest in and of itself.” In this, he succeeds. While the film includes evident commentary about Israeli and Palestinian societies, as well as the conflict between them, it is Mousa – representing anyone who has made some bad choices in life – who is at the centre of the narrative; and the desert landscape accents his scarce hope.
Walking out on a job that his father arranged for him with some effort, Mousa steals a car – not his first. Unfortunately, this one has valuable cargo in the trunk and Mousa becomes a man of interest – and use – to both Israeli intelligence and Palestinian militia. Adding to his self-made burden is an affair with a married woman.
Mousa desperately wants to flee from it all. When he tells his father he is leaving, his father responds, “A man who doesn’t solve his problems in his own country, won’t be any different in another country. You’re just running away.” By the end of the film, Mousa is no longer running.
***
Hockney is a flattering documentary by Randall Wright (United Kingdom/United States) of British artist David Hockney. It portrays a creative, innovative man who lived his life publicly, not only explicitly wrestling with his homosexuality in his artwork, but filming many moments of his life, some of which are very intimate and, one would think, private.
By turns flippant (deciding to become a blond after seeing a Clairol commercial that claimed blonds have more fun), sad (mourning with every aspect of his being the end of his relationship with Peter Schlesinger) and serious (continually pushing artistic boundaries and learning new techniques), Hockney is a fascinating person.
Wright’s documentary features interviews with Hockney, 77, as well as Hockney’s family and friends, fellow artists, subjects of his paintings and others. For the film, Hockey – who still works in the studio every day – provided Wright with access to his photographs and “home” movies. Hockney was a documenter not just of what he saw around him in people and nature, but of himself. “I always wanted to see more,” he says about why he always wanted to sit on the top level of the bus on the way home from the pictures – he describes himself as almost being raised with Hollywood, though he was born and raised in Bradford, England. After several stints in Los Angeles, he moved there in 1978.
The documentary serves as an interesting and visually stimulating, if uncritical, introduction to Hockney and his work. The VIFF screenings mark its Canadian première.
Quentin Dolmaire et Lou Roy-Lecollinet in My Golden Days. Dolmaire is scheduled to attend the film’s première at the Vancouver International Film Festival. (photo from VIFF)
Another national première is My Golden Days, directed by Arnaud Desplechin (France). Actor Quentin Dolmaire, who plays the young adult Paul Dédalus, is scheduled to attend the screening.
Called Trois souvenirs de ma jeunesse in its original French, the film begins with the adult Paul in bed with a lover, saying goodbye, set to return to France to take a position with the foreign ministry. His first souvenir (memory) is of his childhood: to understate matters, he doesn’t get along with his mother, who is ill, and, after she dies, his father never recovers and fades into the background of his children’s lives.
Paul’s second memory – and the most interesting part of the entire film – is triggered when he is stopped at customs. Apparently, another Paul Dédalus exists in Australia, with Paul’s same birth date, etc. How can that be?
It goes back to the 1980s and a high school trip to Minsk. Not Jewish himself, Paul helps his friend Marc Zylberberg smuggle documents and money to refuseniks. He is asked, not pressured, to “lose” his passport when he meets with them, which he does.
The strength of character Paul displays at 16 in Russia escapes him upon his return. The third and final memory of his youth takes up more than half of the two-hour film. Despite including some violence, lots of emotional chaos and a few sex scenes, the romance between Paul and Esther is, not to mince words, boring. Though well-acted, the characters are not compelling or sympathetic, and it is hard to care what happens to them and their relationship.
***
The Jewish Independent is sponsoring the Canadian première of Tikkun, directed by Avishai Sivan (Israel). Among other awards, it won top honors at the Jerusalem Film Festival.
When Haim-Aaron, an ultra-Orthodox scholar, collapses and is resuscitated by his father after being declared dead by paramedics, he completely changes personality. While he struggles with that and his new lack of faith, his father is fearful that God is angry for having His will (that Haim-Aaron die) denied.
Among the other films of Jewish interest is Son of Saul, directed by László Nemes (Hungary), which takes place in Auschwitz, where Saul is forced to help the Nazis kill his fellow Jews. In doing so, he sees the corpse of a boy he believes to be his son. He decides to save the body, intent on giving the boy a proper burial.
And there is A Nazi Legacy: What Our Fathers Did, a documentary by David Evans (United Kingdom). Another Canadian première at VIFF, the film follows Niklas Frank and Horst von Wächter, both the sons of Nazis responsible for thousands of deaths, on a trip to Poland and Ukraine. The men have completely different opinions about their fathers’ actions during the war, and “human rights lawyer Philippe Sands investigates the complicated connection between the two men, and even delves into the story of his own grandfather who escaped the same town where their fathers carried out mass killings.”
VIFF runs from Sept. 24-Oct. 9. The full program can be found at viff.org.
Ian Penn’s exhibit at the Zack Gallery, Pole, “isn’t happy but it’s genuine.” (photo by Olga Livshin)
The poignant tale behind Pole, Ian Penn’s new multimedia exhibit at the Zack Gallery, is a bleak travelogue detailing his recent journey to Poland.
Although Penn’s family came from Poland – his parents were lucky to have escaped the Holocaust and settled in Australia – he never wanted to visit the country of his ancestors. “My mother said she would never set a toe in Poland,” he told the Independent.
Growing up in Australia, Penn moved to Vancouver, where he worked as a cardiologist for many years. He is mainly retired now but still teaches at the University of British Columbia and works as a medic with the emergency-response ski patrol in Whistler.
“When I retired, I enrolled in Emily Carr,” he said. “I graduated in 2010 with a bachelor’s in fine arts but I’ve always kept a visual diary, since university. I have hundreds of little albums at home. Wherever I am, wherever I go, I draw and write in them. It’s how I explore the world.”
He paints regularly, landscapes and figurative images. “For me, painting is a way of telling a story, one of many. There are other ways, too: words, sculpture, video, photography. I used the multimedia approach for this show because I wanted to bring all those ways together, see how they fit. The show is a story of Jewish soul.”
Penn found his subject in Poland. He had resisted making the trip for a long time, until a couple years ago. “My daughter said to me then, ‘It’s time to visit your history,’ so I made the decision to go,” Penn explained. “I have a friend in Australia. We have known each other for a long time. He is a Pole, he speaks Polish, and he wanted to take me. He said we should both read a few books first to prepare ourselves, books about the plight of Jews in Poland during the war, but written by Poles, not Jews. We didn’t want to go as tourists. We wanted to understand.”
Nonetheless, Poland shocked him. “There are almost no Jews left there, and the ones who remain don’t know anything about Jewish culture. I went to a synagogue and I had to say Kiddush because nobody there could speak Hebrew. But the Poles – they exploit Jewish history. They charge 23 euros for a trip to Auschwitz. They have those happy golf carts all around Krakow and they take you to the Schindler’s factory and to the ghetto. They sell Jewish souvenirs, but who made them? Not Jews. This is not how you engage in history. They made a commodity out of our tragedy, of the Jews killed by the millions. It’s like Horror Disneyland. I couldn’t stay there more than one week.”
Penn found most of the Jews of Poland in the cemetery. “There, every stone has a name written on the tombstones, remembered, while those who died in Auschwitz are just dust. I learned that Nazis burnt 1,000 people an hour in the ovens in Auschwitz. I tried to wrap my head about the number. That’s why I did this show. It’s about those thousands of souls.”
All of the works displayed in the show bear the same name, “1000 Marks.” By creating the paintings, Penn wanted to visualize his non-memories, remember something he had never witnessed. Five paintings are similar: dead trees, brown and dreary, wooden poles striving to reach the sky, one pole for every Jewish soul that didn’t have their name written somewhere. Together, they form a memorial.
A couple other paintings have a subtitle: “From the Village to the Ramp.” They are painful to view, powerfully evoking the horrors of the Holocaust. So does the entrance to the gallery, decorated with two real wooden poles, with bark still on in some places, unpolished and branchless. The “Welcome Back” mat underneath them doesn’t look particularly welcoming either. There was a sign at the entrance to Auschwitz, too, and the correlations reverberate in the air.
“This show isn’t happy but it’s genuine,” said Penn. “It’s my response to the entertainment industry they made of the catastrophe. Their tourist trips have nothing to do with our dead families.”
The show also includes a few short videos, two of them filmed at the Jewish cemetery. The screens are mounted to the walls like paintings, continually running loops of footage. “I shot them myself,” said Penn. “There is serenity at the cemetery. And lots of greenery, living trees. I saw a man restoring the text on one of the tombstones and filmed him. I didn’t talk to him, didn’t ask him anything. He was doing a holy job. That was enough.”
A few more wooden poles, also part of the exhibition, are placed outside of the Zack Gallery. They are suspended above the atrium, where the stairs lead down to the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre.
“They are uprooted, like all of us whose parents left Europe,” said Penn. “The poles come from the UBC Endowment Lands and from the Whistler area. They remind me of the trees in the Jewish cemetery but they are also my connection to this place, to Canada.”
The show Pole opened on Sept. 10 and continues until Oct. 11.
Olga Livshinis a Vancouver freelance writer. She can be reached at [email protected].
From The Completely Unfabulous Social Life of Ethan Green, by Eric Orner.
It was never on Eric Orner’s agenda to go to Israel. He resisted his mother’s entreaties to join a young people’s synagogue trip to the Jewish state. A relatively secular upbringing and a tendency to play hookey rather than attend Saturday morning religious classes meant he emerged into adulthood without a sense of strong connection to Israel or Zionism.
As a young adult, he was busy with a dual career that had him working days in the office of Barney Frank, the iconic, gay, Jewish congressman, and spending his nights drawing an iconic gay, Jewish comic strip that, at its height, was running in about 100 alternative and LGBTQ newspapers across North America.
It was circumstance, not Zionist fervor, that eventually took Orner to Israel, and among the results of his three years there is a series of comic strips that are, in turns, disturbing, thought-provoking and moving.
***
Starting in 1989, Orner drew the self-syndicated cartoon strip The Mostly Unfabulous Social Life of Ethan Green. For 15 years, it was a cult favorite that followed a cast of sharp-tongued characters across a dramatic time in the evolution of the AIDS epidemic, the gay rights movement and politics in general, while capturing the spirit of the time in ways that perhaps only the medium of a comic strip can. The cartoon is cut through with Yiddishisms and sometimes unmistakably Jewish humor and sensibilities. Orner acknowledges that Ethan Green is, like him, a short, culturally Jewish, gay man, but the strip is not about Orner’s life.
“There’s 15 years of episodes of things happening to him and those things didn’t happen to me,” he said. “It was about somebody who had characteristics like me but it wasn’t about my life.”
For those who missed the strip in its serial incarnation, or who want to catch up, a compilation has recently been released, titled The Completely Unfabulous Social Life of Ethan Green.
When The Mostly Unfabulous Social Life of Ethan Green was turned into a film, in 2005, Orner figured that was a good time to wind up the strip and make a change. He had spent a decade working in the Boston and Washington offices of Frank, the recently retired longtime congressman whose name is synonymous with Wall Street reform, consumer protection and pithy lines. Frank had met Orner around Boston, where the Chicago-born Orner was studying at Tufts University.
“I forget who first raised the question that he would work for me,” Frank told the Independent. “He’s very smart, he’s very thorough. The fact that he was doing the cartoons made him more interesting. It wasn’t relevant to his work one way or the other.”
But while Frank is noted for humorous quips, Orner apparently saves his best for the page.
“What I found in Eric is that his wit and humor comes out more in his writing,” Frank said. “He was not shy, but not nearly as outgoing as the cartoons.”
Frank said Orner has one of the hardest work ethics he’s encountered, which may help explain how he held down an intensive job as an aide to one of the country’s leading politicians while also pumping out a bi-weekly comic strip and distributing it, in the days before the internet, by stuffing it into envelopes. To top it off, during this time, Orner also studied law and was called to the bar.
Frank, who introduced the first gay rights bill in Massachusetts, in 1972, is a central figure in the movement for sexual orientation equality, which experienced its most dramatic achievement when the U.S. Supreme Court ordered marriage equality for gay and lesbian couples, just days before Frank spoke with the Independent.
“No social movement in America, that I can think of, has moved remotely as quickly as this one,” Frank said. While the congressman was fighting legislatively, he credits Orner for playing no small part in the movement as well.
“This was not always an easy fight for people and there is also this tendency for people in movements to be grim and to talk about all the negative stuff,” he said. “But having someone who saw the humor in it was affirming in a way.”
***
Orner left the congressman’s staff to follow his dream to draw full-time. He moved to California and got a job as an animator with Disney.
“Most cartoonists I know aren’t lucky enough to do it full-time,” Orner said. “The only time I’ve had that experience was the time when I was working in animation and really they both involve drawing but they’re very different.”
It was not everything he had imagined. Orner acknowledges he is a good animator, but maybe not as good as some at Disney, who accused his Tinkerbell of flitting across the screen like a Black Hawk helicopter. Even this was not the main problem.
“That was not about my creativity, that was about Uncle Walt,” he said. “Animation is, in some sense, factory work.”
Like a lot of factory work, much of it was moving overseas. His boss got a job as head of a project in Jerusalem, which was at the time competing with Tel Aviv to become a media industry hub.
“So they built a beautiful animation facility and a bunch of Californians, including myself, went over there to work on a film.” The project never saw light, which is common enough in animation, he said. But, again, he was moonlighting with his own projects.
“Suddenly there I was in Israel,” he said. “It changed my life in many, many ways. I didn’t want to go and I wasn’t very happy about it, but that all changed and I fell in love with it and now I worry about it every day of my life. I disagree with a lot of things that are happening over there and yet I have dear, dear friends.”
From Avi & Jihad, by Eric Orner.
The strips he wrote in Israel are part of a to-be-published volume called Avi & Jihad. One strip, called “Kotel 3 a.m.,” is a powerful short story of a midnight stroll to the Western Wall, where a skeptical American Jew finds resonance and a connection to the millennia of history there. When he tells his colleagues at the office about his stroll, it evokes stories of “nutcase Americans” who arrive from Great Neck or Savannah or Palo Alto and start speaking in tongues. Another is about the unadvisable idea of not taking seriously the El Al security agents. In one deeply dark strip, a love story between a Jewish man and a Palestinian Arab man turns into violent carnage that Orner said is not specifically about a single incident, but clearly evokes the murderous attack on a gay youth centre in 2009, and which has added resonance after the stabbings at this summer’s Pride parade in Jerusalem.
Orner’s politics were on his sleeve – or, rather, on the page – when he was writing Ethan. Some of his Israeli comics are less overt and more slice-of-life, but he pulls no punches when speaking about Israeli policies and the positions of American Zionists.
“I think that if it’s fair game to be critical of the Likud in Tel Aviv, then it should be fair game to be critical of it in Washington, D.C.,” Orner said. “I think we’re a little afraid to be critical. This is not the Israel of Golda Meir and Moshe Dayan and David Ben-Gurion.”
Orner said that if you can love America and not love George W. Bush, you can love Israel and be critical of its leadership.
“Sometimes, dialogue is unpleasant and uncomfortable and harsh,” he said. “I think we’re tough enough to handle that. I think we’re strong enough to have this conversation without going to pieces, thinking, oh God, our campuses are full of antisemites.”
Orner was in Israel from 2007 to 2009, which was the aftermath of the Second Intifada, the tensions of which are depicted in his pieces from those years.
“They are constantly under threat,” he said of Israelis. “Do I understand why people would then go to the polls and vote for Netanyahu? I do. Because you might disagree with him but, in the end, you think he’s a tough guy and that’s what we need.”
But Orner thinks there is an element in Israeli politics that doesn’t want a resolution to the conflict.
“I’m a Zionist, but I think the settlements, settlement activity, has been counterproductive from the beginning and I think there’s a lot of people that promote the settlement activity particularly because it is counter-productive to peace.”
Orner recognizes that his opinions may not be a consensus viewpoint, even in his own circles.
“I make a lot of people mad,” Orner said. “I’m not sure my old boss agrees. I know my stepfather disagrees. I know my best friend disagrees. But, having lived there for three years, that’s what I saw. I saw settlements over the [Green] Line and, if I were a Palestinian, that would enrage me also. I don’t know what the answer is, but my guess is building more settlements over the line quicker isn’t the answer.”
After the global recession hit and he lost his job in Jerusalem, Orner returned to Frank’s office and remained there until the congressman retired in 2013. Orner is now a speechwriter in New York. He is looking for a publisher for his Israeli cartoons and is working on another book depicting his time in California.
He has no regrets about his three years in Israel. It piqued his interest in Jewish history and changed him.
“I became far much more appreciative of my connections to Jews from other parts of the world, not just Israel, but France, Italy, Morocco, Iraq,” he said. “I looked out my window – I had this apartment that I could see the gold dome of the Al-Aqsa Mosque from my window – I lived in a hilltop neighborhood called Abu Tor and I looked right down on the Old City walls. You can’t live there without being more interested.”
Following your dreams takes guts, hard work and perseverance. You have to admire someone who goes for it, whether or not they succeed. And if they succeed, it’s all the more impressive – and inspiring.
Two books came across my desk this summer via local connections. Emiliano’s Discovery is a first novel by Toronto-based Paula Hurwitz, whose uncle lives in Vancouver. Finding Home is a collection of non-fiction essays by Danita Dubinsky Aziza, whose mother lived here until recently moving to be closer to the family in Winnipeg. Both books were self-published with FriesenPress: Hurwitz’s in 2014, Aziza’s this year.
It might be an exaggeration to say that writing a novel was a dream of Hurwitz’s but she went to lengths to make it happen, a fact that can be seen from her acknowledgements. A lawyer by profession, she thanks a University of Toronto introduction to the novel course for giving her “the foundation to write this book,” as well as the Humber School for Writers, and several individuals. The end result is something of which to be proud.
Emiliano’s Discovery begins in Russia in 1903. The prologue in which Duvid, Malka and their family in Kishinev encounter the violent pogroms of the time sets the stage for Emiliano’s eventual search for family. It also reminds readers of the precarious world in which Jews seem to continually live. Chapter 1 takes us to Buenos Aires in 1994 and the terrorist bombing of the Asociacion Mutual Israelita Argentina (AMIA).
Emiliano – about to graduate university and in need of employment – heads to the AMIA with his girlfriend, Lia. With the lineup barely moving, he suggests they go and grab a coffee, but she chooses to stay behind. “Just as Emiliano steps out [of the elevator] an enormous blast knocks him from his feet. He hears people yelling and feels debris falling around him. Then he loses consciousness.”
While Emiliano is directly affected by the attack, both physically and mentally, more than 10,000 kilometres away, in Winnipeg, Naomi’s “lazy summer day” – she doesn’t start Grade 12 for six weeks – is interrupted by a newscast about the tragedy. Long after she turns off the television, “she can’t shut out the horrific images replaying in her mind. If only she could figure out how to help. Doing something might calm her down.”
The novel alternates between Emiliano and Naomi, until their paths combine. They do so in Winnipeg, and that is one of the most interesting aspects of this story because the Winnipeg Jewish community actually did encourage Argentine Jews to immigrate to their city, and it’s kind of like getting a peek behind the scenes. Another compelling aspect of the story is the concept of how two families – one in Buenos Aires, the other in Winnipeg – could have ancestors from the same village who ended up in such completely different places. While the novel may wrap up its narratives a little too neatly for some readers, it doesn’t detract from their value.
Not quite so neat – in fact, quite chaotic at times, perhaps because it is an account of her real-life experiences – is the story told through essays by Aziza of her family’s decision to make aliya, their years in Israel and their ultimate return to Canada.
Aziza has done a commendable job in compiling the almost 40 essays that were initially written as stand-alone articles or blog-type pieces. Rhonda Spivak, editor of the Winnipeg Jewish Review, asked Aziza to write about her experiences for the online publication, and she did. The Jewish Federation of Winnipeg also asked her to share some of her stories on its website.
Written over four years (2008-2012), each article – and now, each chapter – conveys a lesson Aziza learned, and not always the hard way. From “start slowly” (“leh-at, leh-at” in Hebrew) as a way of coping with all the changes one faces as an immigrant, to “your children are not your children” and, therefore, you need to let them make their own choices, even if it’s to enlist, to the title lesson, “finding home,” which may not be where you think it should be, Aziza takes readers on her journey. She writes with humor and with honesty, and without embellishment, a style I like very much.
The impetus to make aliya – Aziza, her husband, Michel, their three kids and their dog – came 23 years prior to when the family arrived at Ben-Gurion Airport in 2008. Aziza, living in Toronto in 1985, reluctantly headed to the gym. There, she met “the cute guy with curly black hair” and, after a couple of weeks, “with gym bags flung casually over our shoulders, Michel and I collided at the end of the cement walkway that led to the overcrowded parking lot of the JCC.” Regular meetings followed and, in one of those early encounters, Michel asked her, “Danita, would you ever consider living in Israel?” To which she replied, “Oh, for sure, I would love to live in Israel! I have visited three times and it is such an amazing place!”
As she would find out, visiting and living somewhere are two very different things. Learning a new language, negotiating a foreign culture, being far from your aging parent, seeing your son enter the army and facing the prospect of your daughters following suit, building a new home (in their case, literally constructing a house) and many other factors are challenging aspects of any immigration experience. There are also many new discoveries and joys. But sometimes leaving a place – in this instance, Winnipeg – makes you realize that you might have been home all along.
And, as Aziza writes about her response to a friend who was curious whether she “had failed at living in Israel. With an air of confidence I acquired only after living in Israel, I told her, ‘I didn’t fail. I think that our family did more in four years there than most. I believe the failure would have been for us not to have gone to Israel in the first place.’”
Most of us love a good mystery. Add intergenerational secrets to the mix and you’ve just upped the grip quotient. Add to that a medical procedure that’s the stuff of nightmares and horror movies, and you’ve got a potential hit. Janet Sternburg’s memoir White Matter (Hawthorne Books, 2014) takes this recipe and adds a layer of truth.
Born and raised in Boston, surrounded by members of her mother’s large Russian-Jewish family, Sternburg knew from an early age that her uncle and one of her aunts had undergone lobotomies, the form of neurosurgery that severs the “white matter” of the frontal lobe from the rest of the brain in the attempt to alleviate emotional and mental distress. Though the procedure went out of vogue years ago, it’s clearly a surgery that still has the power to fascinate. Just last week, People magazine featured the story of Rosemary Kennedy, who, more than 70 years ago, was subjected to a lobotomy in a decision apparently made by her father in the hopes that it would make her “less moody” and “docile.” The decision to have the young Rosemary undergo a lobotomy is referred to in the article as the Kennedy dynasty’s “darkest secret.” In a family famous for its “dark secrets,” that’s saying something, and it gives some idea of what the decision to lobotomize two out of six siblings must have meant to the Sternburg family legacy.
Sternburg has written an engrossing tale about unraveling her family’s secrets, how she came to be a writer and what it is about the intersection between the personal and the medical that fascinates her most. The memoir lays bare a trove of family lore against a backdrop of shifting attitudes toward mental health and the dislocations of assimilation and generational trauma, as well as the changing roles of women. Sternburg has woven into her family chronicle the history of lobotomies and the contributions of notable figures in the world of neurobiology and psychiatry, some of whom came into close contact with her family. As a filmmaker and poet as well as a prose writer, she also references depictions of mental illness in the film and literary worlds, offering her writing additional depth and cultural relevance.
While the decision to lobotomize two family members would today be unthinkable, we still face complex decisions about how to help family members struggling with mental illness in the face of stigma, and fears of inheritance. Sternburg’s family’s decisions to lobotomize are described as desperate attempts to keep the family together, particularly after her easily enraged grandfather abandons the family and her distraught grandmother quickly becomes overwhelmed. With the siblings left to care for their fractured family, decisions are made that have far-reaching – and disturbing – consequences.
The book hasn’t received a lot of pick up, even though it was chosen as an “indie” book to read by Publishers Weekly, but it does deserve a readership. This story has resonance in an age in which the debate around the origins of mental health and the efficacy of various treatments – drugs versus talk therapy, for example – are as ongoing and fierce as they ever were.
Aside from the ghoulishness of the lobotomies themselves, what I found most disturbing about Sternburg’s story is the lack of family intimacy. Her mother’s family was competitive and easily offended, and their early home was full of rage. They seemed to have little knowledge of how to take care of each other’s needs or emotions, yet they were “so entwined that to turn one’s attention elsewhere was tantamount to betrayal.” The family’s desire to reduce conflict and alleviate their siblings’ emotional and mental distress is understandable, even if it was misguided.
As much as Sternburg’s family mystery held my interest, it hasn’t had the staying power of The Seven Good Years (Granta Books, 2015), a new memoir by Israeli writer Etgar Keret. This collection of biographical essays begins with the birth of Keret’s son Lev (during a terrorist attack) and ends with the death of his father, from cancer, seven years later. Known for his collections of short fiction, this is Keret’s first piece of non-fiction, and I hope it’s nowhere near his last.
Keret navigates these seven years (referencing the seven “fat” years of grain harvest in Joseph’s biblical dream) with his sharp insight, humor and compassion. The 36 essays are tight – spare and direct – and Keret creates a deep sense of intimacy with readers. He seems acutely aware of this effect: he has declined to publish this collection in Israel, or in Hebrew, calling it “too personal” for his home turf.
The son of Holocaust survivors, Keret also has had to cope with intergenerational trauma, but it seems to have had a salutary effect on his inner life. In one essay, he’s unafraid to pretend to have a foot amputated just so he doesn’t have to hurt a stranger’s (a telemarketer’s!) feelings. He is acutely aware of other people’s perceptions, and his honesty is compelling, moving, electric and laugh-out-loud hilarious. Throughout, his attention is turned towards reducing the emotional friction around him and he recognizes the effect that living in Israel’s high-tension environment has on himself, his family and even on his interactions with strangers. He describes apprehensions about his newborn son’s future, relates intense discussions with his wife – the check and balance against his anxieties – and conspires with friends, siblings and others to make sense of his world. Through all of this, he worries about whether or not Lev will do his compulsory army service, about Iran getting the bomb, perceived and real moments of antisemitism, his relationship with the Holocaust, and when the next war might break out.
Critics have called Keret’s writing self-deprecating, but I don’t connect with that reading of his work. I see his expressions of uncertainty and self-doubt as the building block of his empathy, the foundation of his profoundly funny and humane observations about his fellow human beings. As a bulwark against the intensity of existence, Keret seeks moments of “meditative disengagement from the world,” whether those moments are captured alone while flying from one writers festival to another, in being a first-time parent or in dreaming of a better world in which even the Iranian regime turns towards love.
What makes Keret’s writing comforting is the importance he places on familial honesty, on sharing intimate space even with strangers, and on finding the good. It’s writing that makes me feel more alive.
Basya Layeis a former editor of the Jewish Independent.
Does terrorism work? This is the question that opens Anonymous Soldiers: The Struggle for Israel, 1917-1947 (Alfred A. Knopf, 2015). Western leaders insist that the work of terrorists will never lead to the ends they seek, but one of the lessons from this book is that this may well be wishful thinking.
Anonymous Soldiers – the title is from the anthem of the Irgun, the Zionist paramilitary force led by Menachem Begin – is the latest book by Bruce Hoffman, an expert on terrorism.
In the aftermath of the First World War and the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, Britain came to control the region known as Palestine, a victory that would prove confounding and tragic. Hoffman’s book is a story of endless miscalculations, under-preparedness and overreactions on the part of the British military and police.
The Balfour Declaration of 1917 was a statement of intent by the British government to create a Jewish national homeland in Palestine and the Jewish people there and elsewhere saw this as a sign that Britain would be their fiercest ally. However, almost from the moment the British Mandate began, until the forces of the empire departed with their tails between their legs three decades later, Palestine was riven with not only violent clashes between its Arab and Jewish residents, but by both those parties against the British and, as brutally detailed by Hoffman, fraternal conflict between Jewish militias.
The Haganah was the “establishment” militia, associated with the Jewish Agency and intended as a self-defence organization after the British proved incapable of or unwilling to protect the Jews of Palestine. In 1929, Arab riots led to mass killings of Jews and, while British police killed almost as many Arabs as the Arabs killed Jews, the balance demonstrated an inability of the British police and military to control the area. The diplomatic response was to attempt to appease the Arabs, which appears to be the first example in the book to prove that terrorism works.
The riots led to an investigative commission, a white paper and another British obfuscation on Zionism. The white paper blamed Arab violence on “excessive” Jewish immigration to the area in the mid-1920s and the purchases of land by Jews. This led some Zionists – notably those of Ze’ev Jabotinsky’s Revisionist party – toward the idea that Britain may not be a reliable ally. In 1931, Revisionists defected from the Haganah and formed Haganah-bet (later the Irgun), which did not see itself solely as a self-defence force but opened the door to “sabotage, bomb making and hit-and-run attacks – in other words, the core tactics of terrorism.”
From 1936 to 1939, Palestine was in a state of near civil war in the form of an uprising by the Arab populations against the British and the potential of more Jewish migration. At precisely this time, the fate of Jews in Europe was being sealed and countries, including Canada, were slamming shut the gates.
Clouds of war in Europe were accompanied by fear of Muslim uprisings in the vast British Empire. The priority, in the words of foreign secretary Lord Halifax, was to avoid “arousing antagonism with the Arabs.” Neville Chamberlain, the prime minister at the time, said it was “of immense importance to have the Muslims with us. If we must offend one side, let us offend the Jews rather than the Arabs.”
This, too, was a miscalculation that did not take into account the determination of the Irgun. British caving in the face of Arab violence was taken by the Irgun as proof that terrorism works.
And a third group, which had broken away from the Irgun – Lehi, also known as the Stern Group (or the Stern Gang by the British) – went further. They attempted an alliance with the Axis, viewing Hitler as “just another antisemite” and proposing a mutually beneficial partnership based, the author writes, “on the fatally erroneous assumption that for Hitler the crux of the Jewish problem in Europe could be solved by evacuation, not annihilation.”
Meanwhile, as terror was rocking the Middle East, Chaim Weizmann, the Zionist leader who was plugged into the British establishment, was mending fences in London and urging the Haganah to crack down on the Irgun and Lehi.
Weizmann was warned by then prime minister Winston Churchill that if the violence didn’t end, “we might well lose interest in Jewish welfare.”
Of course, the Irgun did not expect to defeat the British Empire militarily. “History and our observation,” Begin later said, “persuaded us that if we could succeed in destroying the government’s prestige in Eretz Israel, the removal of its rule would follow automatically.”
Weizmann’s diplomacy and the cooperation of the Haganah with the British forces in Palestine regained the trust of Churchill, but that was of limited value after the war leader lost the 1945 election and the Labor party came to power at Westminster.
The new prime minister, Clement Atlee, inherited a paralyzed Palestine, in which there seemed to be no winning position. At a 1947 conference, the British tried to share the mess with the United States, but that failed and they eventually dumped the problem at the podium of the new United Nations.
So, does terrorism work? In the Palestine example, Hoffman demonstrates that the Arab riots of 1921 resulted in restrictions on Jewish immigration to Palestine and the 1929 riots resulted in Britain backpedalling from its commitment to Zionism. The Arab Rebellion, from 1936 to 1939, resulted in a huge reconsideration of Britain’s policy in Palestine and, though the author doesn’t make this explicit, possibly the deaths of millions of European Jews.
On the Jewish side, violence seems to have had its intended effect, as well. “By September 1947, the Irgun had achieved its objective,” Hoffman writes. “Each successive terrorist outrage illuminated the government’s inability to curb, much less defeat, the terrorists. Already sapped by World War II, Britain’s limited economic resources were further strained by the cost of deploying so large a military force to Palestine to cope with the tide of violence submerging the country.”
The author sees the Irgun’s campaign as critical to understanding the evolution and development of terrorism in the second half of the 20th century and the already bloody 21st century. “Indeed, when U.S. military forces invaded Afghanistan in 2001, they found a copy of Begin’s seminal work, The Revolt, along with other books about the Jewish terrorist struggle, in the well-stocked library that al-Qaeda maintained at one of its training facilities in that country.”
Shulem Deen, author of the memoir All Who Go Do Not Return. (photo by Pearl Gabel)
One of my Haaretz blogs several months ago told the stories of two individuals who left the Orthodox fold. This past June, I nearly swallowed whole the new former-Chassid memoir everyone was talking about: Shulem Deen’s All Who Go Do Not Return. I then caught up with Shulem by phone, where we spent two hours musing about Talmud and kabbala, faith and questioning, whether the concept of dogma can be expressed in Chassidic Yiddish, what he sees when he revisits the film The Chosen and whether he still loves Beethoven, the first movie he ever saw (he doesn’t).
Those who have read the memoir or the press coverage of it know that, after he was declared a heretic, his Skverer Chassid community in New Square, N.Y., excommunicated him. Along with their five children, his wife – still a firm believer – moved with him to the nearby town of Monsey, before his marriage ultimately dissolved. He now lives in Brooklyn and is on the board of Footsteps, an organization dedicated to helping former Chassidim adjust to secular life. Tragically, his children refuse all contact with him.
I admitted to being a bit confused as I approached the topic. In my youth, I had learned that Judaism, more than any other religion even, encourages questioning. Is this true? I asked Shulem. Of modern Judaism, it is, he admitted. But not of orthodoxy. He cited a talmudic dictum that appears in his book: “He who asks the following four questions – what is above, what is below, what is the future, what is the past – it is better if he were never born.”
Shulem described what it was like to lose faith. “Once my faith fell apart,” he told me, “my worldview fell apart…. If one of these [principles] is not true then what is true?” Shulem likened it to existing in a Matrix-type world, or being a character in The Truman Show.
Yet, despite rejecting his Chassidism at enormous personal cost, and no longer believing in God, Shulem maintains a strong Jewish identity, including a commitment to “Jewish peoplehood, Jewish history, Jewish text, Jewish culture and Jewish tradition.”
He studies Talmud weekly, approaching the text as “literature,” as he puts it. Neither is he dismissive of Yiddish – the language that has effectively kept many Chassidim ignorant of English: another barrier to engaging with the secular world. Yet he enjoys reading Yiddish writers such as Sholem Aleichem, Chaim Grade and Isaac Bashevis Singer, and even grants spoken Yiddish press interviews as the need arises.
Where he draws the line is dogma.
Community-instilled religious dogma is what arguably led his children to reject him. Shulem is insightful about how things unfolded. “When a child is taught that his parent is wicked … what the child feels … is shame,” Shulem writes in the book. And, from this shame, comes a desire to distance oneself from the perceived source of the shame.
It’s enough to make any parent rage forever into the night. But, as a writer, Shulem was careful to contain his anger, feeling that deploying that emotion “would have impeded” the reader’s experience.
And yet, others’ anger was on his mind as he decided what to include. At one point, he ran into a former student. Without his beard, Shulem wasn’t immediately recognizable, until something clicked. “I know you,” the student said. “You hit me with a wire.” Shulem apologized, and left the exchange feeling “incredibly ashamed.” Including the scene about his act of corporal punishment was for him an “act of penance.”
Before our interview, I had noticed Shulem recommending the film The Chosen on Facebook. One of the favorite movies of my own childhood, my curiosity was piqued. What would a former Chassid get from a film about the tension between fundamentalism and modernity? Hadn’t he lived it enough? Not so, which is what makes Shulem such a thoughtful and appealing writer and interlocutor. “I think it’s brilliant. It’s beautiful,” he says of the film. His favorite scene? The rebbe’s tisch (communal meal). Unlike the contemporary tisch (a setting that Shulem wrote about in a poignant 2011 essay revealing the pain of a once-believer), he said of the film’s scene, “This is a 1940s world where a rebbe has only several dozen followers. It’s a very intimate, very spirited setting. Something very simple, yet devout.”
I was touched by Shulem’s ability to still be able to glimpse goodness in a system that had oppressed him; perhaps this is the definition of open-mindedness, that rare commodity among the ultra-religious.
Indeed, the broad themes of the film continue to speak to him. Given the increasing porousness between Chassidism and the outside world due to the march of technology, “people are testing the boundaries and trying to see what is possible while staying within the community,” Shulem said. And, while his book recounts his struggle to do just that, via a primitive AOL internet hookup, a job in Manhattan and – something he relayed to me – taking his daughters to the public library, his world eventually imploded. Part of this was due to the feeling that the ground was opening beneath his feet. And part of it stemmed from a problem all too common in modern life: basic marriage incompatibility.
To a non-Chassid, Shulem’s story is a fascinating glimpse into a hidden world, just as it is ultimately a universal story about the pursuit of personal truth, the attempt to be open-minded in a close-minded world and, ultimately, the bitter inability to control what others believe about the righteousness of one’s path.
Mira Sucharovis an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She blogs at Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward. A version of this article was originally published on haartez.com.
Sim Shalom founder Rabbi Steven Blane leads the services and the band on the online synagogue’s new CD. (photo from Sim Shalom)
Google “Canada synagogue live streaming” and a handful of choices come up, including Vancouver’s Temple Sholom. There are many more options out of the United States, but it appears that there is only one completely online synagogue – Sim Shalom. Though if you’re in New York at the right time, you could attend Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur services. This year, they will take place at the club Bitter End. But, if you can’t make it or watch them online, you can hear a sampling of the congregation’s interpretation of the prayers on their new CD, Sim Shalom’s Live Jazz High Holidays.
Sim Shalom founder Rabbi Steven Blane leads the services and the band. The CD comprises some of music from the services last year and was recorded live at Zebulon Sound and Light (aka ZEB’S) with jazz guitarist Saul Rubin. It features Carol Sudhalter (sax and flute), Tai Ronen (bass), Jack Glottman (piano), Frank Levitano (drums) and Itai Kris (flute). Sudhalter, Ronen, Glottman and Levitano will once again join Blane for this year’s High Holiday services – Sim Shalom’s fourth – which will be live streamed, and include live chat.
For those who are not willing or able to bring themselves to participate in – or even watch – Shabbat or holiday services online, the CD is a nice compromise. That is, if you like jazz. With the exception of a mostly traditional rendition of Kol Nidre and Ashamnu, the prayers are full-on jazz, though many regular attendees at a non-Orthodox synagogue that has a cantor and/or choir will recognize most of the main melodies and be able to sing along.
Given that Sim Shalom’s vision “is to become the principle online worship, spiritual and learning resource for the Jewish unaffiliated and the interfaith,” it is appropriate that Sim Shalom’s Live Jazz High Holidays begins with Hine Ma Tov, a hymn expressing how good it would be if people could sit together in unity.
The Barchu and Sh’ma that follows will be familiar to anyone who has heard White Rock South Surrey Jewish Community Centre Cantor Steve Levin lead a service (sans instruments), as will at least a couple of others. Rounding out the CD are Halleluyah, Amidah, M’chalkayl, Untanef Tokef, B’rosh Hashana (which will become a favorite of listeners), Ochilah L’el, Sh’ma Koleynu, Shofar Service (the blowing of the shofar followed by a rousing Areshet Sefataynu), Avinu Malkeynu and Hayom.
“During the High Holidays, members of the Jewish community reflect upon life and the year that has passed. They pray that the year ahead will bring blessings and peace,” reads the CD’s promotional material. “Jazz is thoughtful music, improvisation within a structured form that can be filled with many emotions. Playing jazz in many ways is a metaphor for experiencing life. The new CD reflects the juxtaposition of emotions where jazz and the High Holidays intertwine.”
In reality, the range of emotions this CD evokes most likely will be limited to the happier, less introspective end of the spectrum, but that’s not a bad thing. SimShalom’s Live Jazz High Holidays is a well-produced live recording that captures the positive energy in ZEB’S at last year’s services. It is an enjoyable and uplifting CD.
A downloadable version is available at cdbaby.com/cd/rabbistevenblane for $9.99 US, or 99 cents US per song. For more information about Sim Shalom, including how to join its services online, visit simshalom.com.
Atomic Falafel poster. (photo from Atomic Falafel PR via israel21c.org)
While world headlines focused on the landmark Iranian nuclear deal, an enormous billboard outside a Tel Aviv building announcing the upcoming opening of an Iranian embassy in Israel in August had the local social media community wondering whether it was an art installation, an anonymous peace group’s campaign or someone’s idea of a joke.
The billboard announcement that had Tel Avivians talking. (photo from Atomic Falafel PR via israel21c.org)
The Hebrew billboard included pictures of the two countries’ flags, a local phone number and the text: “Opening here soon – embassy of Iran in Israel.” It was erected at Rabin Square, the favored site for political peace rallies.
The mystery was solved in the last days of August by the people behind the sign. It was a public-relations stunt to drum up publicity for the new Israeli comedy Atomic Falafel, a madcap film about a nuclear conflict between Israel and Iran.
“A satirical comedy mocking ultra-militarism” is how producer Avraham Pirchi explained the film, which was scheduled to open in Israel on Sept. 10.
Atomic Falafel is the latest from director Dror Shaul, winner of the 2007 Sundance World Cinema Jury Prize for his semi-autobiographical film Sweet Mud. It tells the story of two girls – one in Israel, one in Iran – who spill their countries’ most valuable secrets on Facebook to prevent a nuclear crisis. The movie pits a wifi-connected younger generation against old-school warmongers in an effort to stop a preemptive Israeli attack on Iran’s nuclear facilities.
“Teenagers around the world today are much more similar than different to each other. They dress the same, listen to the same music and are not really interested in wars. I hope that the sane, logical side of Israel and the world will overcome the irresponsible one, and that my little boy born just two weeks after the end of shooting will be rewarded with a safe future,” said Shaul.
“When we started to make Atomic Falafel, we didn’t know we would be releasing the film when Iran’s nuclear power would be so relevant. But that’s what’s happened,” Pirchi told variety.com, adding that the film is “pro-peace and optimistic.”
The film is co-produced by New Zealand’s General Film Corp. and Germany’s Arden Film, Getaway Pictures and Jooyaa Film. It stars Israeli actors including Shai Avivi, Mali Levy, Yossi Marshak and Zohar Strauss, as well as Germany’s Alexander Fehling (Inglourious Basterds).
Tara Melter, a German actress of Iranian descent who plays a supporting role in the film, raps the soundtrack’s title track, “Hitchki.” (screenshot)
Tara Melter, a German actress of Iranian descent who plays a supporting role in Atomic Falafel, raps the soundtrack’s title track, “Hitchki.” The song, composed by Bahar Henschel, is addictive.
Production company United Channel Movies (UCM) announced on Facebook that Atomic Falafel has all the makings of a hit, citing that the movie’s trailer (in Hebrew only) racked up more than 100,000 views in its first two hours online. UCM says it is in talks with international agents to secure wide distribution of the movie following its Israel release.
Israel21Cis a nonprofit educational foundation with a mission to focus media and public attention on the 21st-century Israel that exists beyond the conflict. For more, or to donate, visit israel21c.org.
