Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival

Meet new or favourite writers

The Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival starts this Saturday night (Feb. 9) with Joshua Cohen, author of Moving Kings and ATTENTION: Dispatches from a Land of Distraction. It continues for five literary-filled days at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver, and here’s a sampling of books you might want to add to your reading list, and authors you might like to meet.

Set in 1920, in the fictional shtetl of Golikhovke during the Russian civil war, Judgment, by David Bergelson (1884-1952), is a melancholic novel about humanity in a time of uncertainty, where different political factions are warring, each under their own ultimately meaningless banner; neighbours cannot trust one another, let alone strangers; and justice is meted out randomly by a cruel, indifferent force.

Stationed in an also fictitious abandoned monastery called Kamino-Balke, near Golikhovke, the sickly Bolshevik Filipov is in control of the area along the Ukraine-Poland border. There are smugglers who travel across the border for commercial reasons and Socialist Revolutionaries who travel across it in preparation for an uprising against the Bolsheviks. Jews and non-Jews live together in relative tolerance but political loyalties, ethnic ties and differing ideas of morality ensure a constant tension. All live in fear of being captured by one of Filipov’s agents, as guilt of a crime does not need to be proven for a person to be beaten, imprisoned and/or shot.

What makes this novel beautiful is Bergelson’s prose. Imaginative metaphors: “Large, invisible hands merrily picked up whole heaps of snow and just as merrily released them.” Animated objects: “… the coat lay there bent over, dejected, as if it had made a long, pointless, idiotic journey” and “The cannons’ muzzles – black, fat and eyeless – stared longingly in the direction of the forests around Moshne….” Humour: “Stone fences suited the inhabitants of Yanovo, for all of them were as stubborn as their stone fences: stone upon stone.” And empathy, in this case, for the undercover agent Yokhelzon, whose “eyes (which inspected everything, people said) had already taken in the horror of death – they winked joyfully, so that the horror would not show afterward.”

As should be obvious, Harriet Murav and Sasha Senderovich have done a masterful job of translating Judgment from Yiddish to English. They also provide a fascinating introduction to the novel, its historical context, the author and his other works (Bergelson was executed in 1952, on Stalin’s orders), the book’s title, form, themes and use of language.

Senderovich will be at the book festival on Feb. 10, 3:30 p.m.

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Michèle Smolkin’s novel Silence, je tombe is a witty, philosophical novel that explores how people can become isolated from one another, including themselves. Told from the perspectives of a few protagonists, readers will likely relate to many of the feelings expressed.

The novel starts with a pregnant Tania, as she, her husband Paul and their toddler Margot are making the drive to their new home in “Manhattan, Kansas, The Little Apple,” from Vancouver. Tania’s disenchantment is obvious and she expresses her anger towards her husband – who, as a professor of philosophy, couldn’t find a job elsewhere – with vicious (and very funny) sarcasm, mostly in her thoughts, but aloud, as well. She had imagined a different life for herself – living in New York, the Big Apple, for one thing; and certainly not in the Bible Belt. As a Francophone Jew, she anticipates that fitting in might be a problem.

As the book progresses, we get to know Tania, Paul and a disturbed man named Kevin, plus a couple of other minor but important characters. Through them, we contemplate love, what attracts people to one another and what forces them apart, what happiness is, what actions might be unforgivable, how our childhoods influence our adulthoods, and, of course, the inadequacy of words for certain situations, and understanding why, sometimes, silence is the only possible response.

Smolkin’s talk – the book festival’s first-ever French-language event – will take place Feb. 10, 5 p.m. (Note: Festival program shows incorrect time.)

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A River Could Be a Tree is, thankfully, not the memoir of a person who goes from believing fanatically in one religion to being swept away as unquestioningly into another, though it might seem like it would be, given some aspects of the press material. “How does a woman who grew up in rural Indiana in a fundamentalist Christian cult end up a practising Jew in New York?” asks part of the blurb on the book flap. Well, for starters, Angela Himsel seems to always have been an inquisitive person, and never an avid follower of Herbert Armstrong’s Worldwide Church of God. She was an obedient child, but is still struggling with understanding how her parents believed so much in the church doctrine that they didn’t give her sister the care that might have prevented her death at a young age.

A River Could Be a Tree is a measured, often humourous, always intelligent memoir. Himsel starts with a prologue that gives readers a very large hint as to what led her to ultimately convert to Judaism: she and her boyfriend Selig were, “just once … careless about birth control.”

But the journey to that point is long and more complicated, and Himsel takes readers through it with the benefit of hindsight, hard-won insights and a writing style that is serious, honest but unsentimental, and filled with initially unexpected levity. As but one example, a mere three paragraphs into Chapter 1, in which Himsel talks about her parents’ religious heritage, Roman Catholicism and Lutheranism, she writes about Martin Luther, that, at age 41, he “married a nun, a woman he had helped smuggle out of a convent in a herring barrel. While irrelevant to Luther’s religious beliefs, a nun in a herring barrel is always worth mentioning.”

And A River Could Be a Tree is well worth reading. Himsel will speak at the book festival on Feb. 11, 7:30 p.m.

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There is so much information in Why You Eat What You Eat: The Science Behind Our Relationship With Food by Rachel Herz. And a refreshing aspect of the book is that it’s not written from a dogmatic, all-knowing viewpoint. Herz acknowledges that sometimes studies come to different conclusions, sometimes scientific progress means that what was once thought true is disproven, and that different people will experience food, exercise and other things differently. Readers looking for certainty might be disappointed, but those wanting to learn will learn a lot. Who doesn’t want to know, for example, why tomato juice is one of the most popular drink orders on planes? Does sugar really help the medicine go down, so to speak, i.e. reduce the effects of pain? And why can buying ethically branded or organic products make us less charitable?

But Why You Eat What You Eat is more than an amalgamation of trivia. Herz has compiled a very readable and relatively comprehensive resource that will, as the title promises, help explain why we eat what we eat; how all of our senses – taste, smell, sight, touch and hearing – affect how we experience food. And knowing these things just might make us feel better about ourselves, and make choices that would serve us better.

Herz will be at the book festival on Feb. 13, 6 p.m.

Saved by Dutch Resistance

Janet Wees at a book signing for her novel When We Were Shadows, which she’ll be bringing to the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival on Feb. 10. (photo by Jack Cohen)

Ze’ev Bar was 5 years old in 1937, when his family fled Germany to the Netherlands, where they lived in safety for a few years. But, in 1940, as the Nazis extended their hold on Europe, the family had to go into hiding, managing to survive the Holocaust with the help of members of the Dutch Resistance.

Calgary-based educator and writer Janet Wees tells Bar’s story of survival in the book When We Were Shadows. She will present the novel for younger readers (ages 9-13) on Feb. 10, 10 a.m., at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver as part of the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival, which runs Feb. 9-14. Wees and five other authors – Leo Burstyn, Miriam Clavir, Arnold Grossman, David Kirkpatrick and Helen Wilkes – will briefly introduce their works at the event A Literary Quickie.

“My reasons for writing this book were twofold,” Wees told the Independent. “One, to help relieve Ze’ev from having to repeat his story over and over to schoolchildren because it was so upsetting for him, yet he felt it needed to be told so they would know what happened during the Second World War in their country. Hopefully, having had the book translated into Dutch in Holland, that might be happening. I have had letters from mothers of children who are reading the book in Dutch for book reports.

“My other reason was to expose North American children to the plight of children during war, to the bravery of the people who helped save lives at risks to their own.”

Among the real-life members of the resistance featured in the novel are Opa Bakker, Tante Cor, and Edouard and Jacoba von Baumhauer, all of whom have been recognized as Righteous Among the Nations by Yad Vashem. Wees said, “I made a promise to von Baumhauer’s son that I would honour the people who risked their lives helping to build the Hidden Village [near Vierhouten] and hide, assist and feed the people who were fleeing the Nazis.”

Wees visited the memorial site of the Hidden Village in 2005, and again in 2007. She interviewed Bar in Amsterdam in 2008.

“We spent three to four days in his dining room, talking, crying, laughing; I taped and wrote,” she said. “Once home, I poured it all out on computer and began to sort and edit and change, and watched it take shape. Of course, life interfered, and sometimes it was so intense, hearing his wavering voice on tape, that I would have to take a break. By 2011, it felt ready for an editor. After that, I submitted it, naively giving myself 12 rejections – apparently J.K. Rowling had 12 rejections before Harry Potter was accepted – before I reconsidered my direction.”

A change in direction did occur. In 2014, Wees was accepted into a mentorship program and, with that guidance, realized that the novel “needed a boy’s voice and an empathetic setting, where children could identify with the protagonist.”

Over some four months, Wees said, “I essentially rewrote the book using a different format and incorporating a boy’s voice. At the end, there was a reading and the book was so enthusiastically received that I knew I was on the right track.

“It felt like I had kind of lost perspective, as I was so close to the story and, even though I would have times of ‘Wow! Did I write that?’ seeing it through others’ eyes really gave me a boost. I began submitting again and, this time, the 11th publisher contacted was the one!”

The book was accepted by Second Story Press in 2017.

“I always wanted Second Story Press to be my publisher because of their Holocaust Remembrance Series for Young Readers. I read other books in that series and felt this was a good fit,” said Wees.

While When We Were Shadows is Wees’ first book, she has published articles in educational journals and in news magazines. In addition to other literary projects, she has written drafts for two children’s books, she said, “based on something I did growing up in Saskatchewan, and one based on my pen pal’s granddaughter’s activity with her Oma in Holland.”

The 60-something Wees first started writing her pen pal when she was 12 years old.

“My pen pal Henk had to find a pen pal in an English-speaking country for his English class in school. He put an ad for a pen pal in the Regina Leader-Post and I saw it and responded,” she explained. “He told me, on my first visit, as we were looking over all my letters he’d saved, that my letter was the funniest so he chose me as his pen pal.

“We wrote constantly but lost contact for a few years during which we both got married and started families. I reconnected, in 1972 or thereabouts, and, knowing how families in Europe usually stay in their family homes, I wrote to the old address. Lo and behold! There they were! After that, it was letters with Henk’s wife because she was better at that point with written English, but we telephoned and, upon the onset of computers, we emailed and then FaceTimed.

“I went to visit them for the first time in 1991, and have been back 10 times since…. On one of the trips where I stayed one month on the island (Terschelling), Hennie (Henk’s nickname) and Loes took me to see the memorial site of the Hidden Village and the urge to learn more about this site was palpable.

“Two years later,” said Wees, “we went again, and I sat for longer in the replica huts and tried to imagine what went on. It smelled like our dirt basement in Togo, Sask., and just thinking about living in that basement for 18 months gave me a bit of an idea of the sense of being confined; the smells, the dark, the cold. And I decided that I had to write a book, if not for my former students who were now in university, for their children. Sadly, Hennie passed away this past April without seeing the published book, but I used his name (with his permission) for one of my characters, so he lives on through the book. If not for him, this book may never have existed.”

In their first discussions about the novel, Wees said she and Bar had “talked about making it an ‘adventure’ of a boy during wartime.” The original title was Boy of the Forest. “But,” she said, “as I was writing, I realized this was not an ‘adventure’ as we perceive adventure, and he concurred, so I changed my title to Whatever It Takes. My publisher chose the final title, When We Were Shadows, and I love it because it personifies the whole concept of living in the shadows – unseen, and unable to see.”

In revising the original manuscript to be from a young boy’s perspective, she said her focus was on “the emotional being of Walter [Ze’ev changed his name as an adult] and how he perceived what was happening, being sheltered and wanting desperately to know and to do something, and about the selflessness of others. I wanted it to be about the people in his world, what was happening inside his head and heart, more than what was happening outside.”

Wees said the character of Walter took over “and his voice flowed through so eloquently and so quickly that there were many days I never budged from my computer for hours, missing lunch and working until dark. I ‘heard’ him in my head. I could ‘see’ what was happening. Until I actually was writing, I always thought that was bunk when I heard other authors say that their characters take them on their own journey. But now I know it happens.

“I also discovered that what I’d taught my students about editing, I had to follow as well, so I did most of my editing by reading the book aloud. I found errors that way in facts, such as tents not having zippers in the 1940s but pegs instead. I was able to find correct weather for dates in the letters by searching online.”

This diligence no doubt contributed to When We Were Shadows being nominated for the Forest of Reading Red Maple non-fiction award of the Ontario Library Association, which describes the award program’s aim as getting young readers (ages 12 to 13) to engage “in conversation around the books and … to use critical thinking while reading.” The awards will be presented in May.

In the writing of When We Were Shadows, Wees said, “I have become friends with von Baumhauer’s grandson and wife. While writing this book, I also found out that my grandmother lost sisters-in-law to the death camps and her brother was killed on the Russian front. Until then, I had no idea how our family was affected by the Holocaust, as I was unaware of family still living overseas. I am now in touch with the great-granddaughter of one of those women.”

For the full book festival schedule and tickets, visit jewishbookfestival.ca.

Friendship interrupted

The Princess Dolls by Ellen Schwartz, with illustrations by Mariko Ando, takes place in Vancouver in 1942. Esther and Michiko are best friends. They dream that one day they will be princesses together; in games, Esther is Princess Elizabeth and Michi is Princess Margaret. When they spy dolls fashioned after the real-life princesses in the toy store window, the girls dare to hope that they’ll each get their favourite for their birthday, something else they shared, both having been born on the same day.

However, when Esther gets her royal doll as a gift, but Michi doesn’t, the girls’ friendship is strained. Before they have a chance to patch it up, Michi and her family – ultimately along with more than 21,000 other Japanese-Canadians – are forced to leave the West Coast, losing their home, business and possessions. Michi ends up in Kaslo, B.C.

A story thread throughout The Princess Dolls is Esther’s family’s worry over family members in Europe, as the Nazis round up Jews and send them to transit camps, about which Esther’s parents and grandmother know little.

The Princess Dolls is kind of a companion novel to Schwartz’s Heart of a Champion, in which 10-year-old Kenny Sakamoto dreams of being as good at baseball as his older brother, who is the Asahi team’s star player. Also set in Vancouver in 1942, the Sakamoto family’s neighbours and good friends, the Bernsteins, are Jewish. As she told the Independent when that book was released, “I wanted to point out that the treatment of Japanese-Canadians, although obviously not nearly as lethal or horrific, was comparable to that of Jews in Europe,” said Schwartz. “In both cases, a minority was being persecuted simply because of their religion or nationality. Giving Kenny a Jewish best friend would make both characters sympathetic about this issue.” (See jewishindependent.ca/uniquely-b-c-baseball-story.)

Schwartz will talk about The Princess Dolls on Feb. 10, 11 a.m., at Richmond Public Library, as well as at Vancouver Talmud Torah later that week as part of the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival. For the festival schedule and tickets, visit jewishbookfestival.ca.

The greatest Jewish novel?

What strange quirk brought it about that what may be one of the greatest and most Jewish of Jewish novels should be written not by a Diaspora Jew, nor an Israeli Jew, nor a Diaspora Jew who had made aliyah, but rather an Israeli who relocated to New York?

Further stymying expectations, Ruby Namdar did not write this novel in English, but in Hebrew (it was recently translated by Hillel Halkin). “For who?” asked an audience member at the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival event on Nov. 26, when I had the pleasure of interviewing Namdar in front of a small gathering. If Namdar wanted his novel, which he acknowledged to be soundly in the lineage of Bernard Malamud, Saul Bellow and Philip Roth, to be read by New Yorkers, why write it in Hebrew? If he wanted the novel to make sense to Israelis, why write it about a rootless Diaspora Jew with no connection to Israel?

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” said Namdar, “I don’t know who I was writing for, I just wrote.”

The Ruined House is not just a great Jewish novel or a great novel in modern Hebrew. It possesses a structure that is at once talmudic and kabbalistic, a structure that is deep and intricate yet carried off with such a sense of understatement and naturalness, effortlessly unfolding within Namdar’s lucid, lyrical and vivid prose, that most English-language reviewers thus far have not fully noticed it. This structure is what gives the novel its profoundly Jewish resonance, which is at once modern and ancient, rootless and anchored in the archetypal depths of Jewish experience and textuality.

Talmudic structure

The Ruined House is divided into seven books, with its seventh book being the culmination of an obviously Jewish numerical pattern. Each book follows the anti-hero, Andrew P. Cohen, over the course of one year of his life, as he enters what seems to be a midlife crisis from hell (or perhaps from heaven).

Cohen is a successful and wealthy professor of comparative culture, who lives in an idyllic Manhattan high-rise with a view of the river, a pristine Apollonian realm in the skies. He has a beautiful young lover, Ann Lee, and an adoring group of followers and acolytes. He cherishes his controlled, harmonious and detached existence, which he has gained through leaving his wife and two daughters years before.

At the end of the first six sections of the novel are a few pages of text designed to look like a blat Gemara, a page of Talmud. The central text in these inserts tells the story of a high priest preparing and executing the Yom Kippur sacrifices. While he does so, he is watched by Obadiah, a humble Levite who wonders whether the priest is truly pious or just a functionary in league with the elite. Encircling the narrative are passages from the Talmud, Mishnah and Tanakh, which describe the laws, folklore and spiritual significance of the high priest’s duty. They also feature key excerpts from Shaarei Gilgulim (The Gate of Reincarnation), a kabbalist text written by Chaim Vital (1542-1620) to expound the cosmology of his master, the Ari HaKodesh, Isaac Luria (1534-1572).

The insertion of these texts is deliberate and precise. Just as the narrative in the inserts is flanked by canonical Jewish sources, the narrative of the novel is surrounded by ancient Jewish forces. As the hidden, broken nature of Cohen’s life begins to surface, he begins to have intense, waking visions of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem. His dreams turn nightmarish, alternating between repressed guilt at his betrayal of his family and dreadful tableaus of the rape of Jerusalem by the Romans and the murder of Jews by the Nazis.

The structure of the story and the inserts are not the only mirrors in the book: Cohen’s life is cast as priest-like. His elite status; the pure harmonious realm in which he lives; his having separated from his wife like Moses to live in the skies; even the elaborate meat dinners he cooks up for his dinner guests alone in his perfect kitchen all point to it. His name, of course, highlights both the substance and the irony of his life as priestly metaphor. At one point, his daughter, Rachel, disgustedly mocks people who think that Jews named Cohen are descended from the priestly lineage: “Everyone knows they just gave out those names randomly at Ellis Island.”

As Cohen descends into apparent madness, a grotesque version of the priestly sensibility gets stronger in him. He becomes morbidly obsessed with the impure and averse to the physical, the decaying and the dead. He finds himself horrified by menstrual blood and semen. The explanation of this growing claustrophobic sensibility lies in the paragraphs of Shaarei Gilgulim, which are included in Namdar’s inserts.

Kabbalist elements

Shaarei Gilgulim describes the way that some souls, during the process of reincarnation, unite with other souls in order to complete their own tikkun (repair). In the first pages of The Ruined House, “one shining soul, the figure of a high priest” is suddenly visible above New York among the celestial machinations momentarily revealed as the veil is briefly sundered. The key to the priest’s identity lies in the kabbalist doctrine of ibbur, or impregnation, where a soul from beyond enters into an earthly person in order to help them, to complete their own mission, or some combination of the two. In Cohen’s case, as suggested in a last talmudic insert, he has been “impregnated” by the soul of the high priest in need of tikkun for feeling himself superior to Obadiah, the humble Levite. The high priest and Cohen share a sin in common: arrogance. Their collective confrontation and reckoning with it will be psychically violent and cathartic and come close to doing Cohen in.

Critique of Diaspora?

Some reviewers have read The Ruined House as a critique of the Diaspora Jew, viewing the narrative as a kind of punishment of Cohen, enacted on him by the rising tide of archaic Jewish intrusions into his life. Namdar said this is a moralistic distortion of his ambivalent, questioning text. Instead, Namdar pointed to the shatterings of the illusion of wholeness and perfection that happen in the book. “Where things are broken, there, seeds can take root and grow,” he said.

For example, Cohen’s harmonious life is an illusion that is shattered in the course of the book, leaving a “ruined house.” Yet the figure of the ruined house (bayit asher necharev in the original Hebrew, a phrase that comes from a poem by Yehuda Amichai) is also an allusion to another ruined house, that of the Beit Hamikdash, the Jerusalem Temple, whose pristine world of order and control, Namdar suggests, also was illusory.

The third ruined house is suggested by the timing of the events in the novel. The story begins in the Hebrew month of Elul (signifying its theme of repentance), on Sept. 6, 2000. After the narrative comes to a head on Tisha b’Av, the date of the destruction of the Temple, it jumps from Aug. 1, 2001, to Sept. 18, 2001, leaving a lacuna where Sept. 11, 2001, and the destruction of the Twin Towers, resides.

“I did not want Sept. 11 to appear in the narrative, thus making the novel reducible to being about that event,” said Namdar when I asked him about this. “Rather, I wanted the trajectory to point to its occurrence outside the frame.”

There is much more to talk about in this remarkable novel, which manages at once to be so Jewish, so Israeli, so American and so human. I did not touch here on the attention Namdar lavishes on the details of Cohen’s daily life or Namdar’s subversion of the lineage of Malamud, Bellow and Roth in his intense empathy with the female characters of the novel, and his unsparing deconstruction of Cohen’s narcissistic masculinity. I did not examine his vivid and hilarious slow-motion evocation of a grossly excessive bar mitzvah, or his brilliant parody of the Zionist clichés of a Birthright-like propaganda tour of Israel, and many other delights. I hope this introduction is enough to invite you to step into Namdar’s mesmerizing fusion of a talmudic-esoteric structure with an incandescent evocation of life in Manhattan, and discover what else he has hidden there, of which, I promise you on good authority, there is much.

Matthew Gindin is a freelance journalist, writer and lecturer. He writes regularly for the Forward and All That Is Interesting, and has been published in Religion Dispatches, Situate Magazine, Tikkun and elsewhere. He can be found on Medium and Twitter.

Granirer paints with words

I am the proud owner of a Pnina Granirer work. More importantly, I am privileged to know the wonderful human being who is Pnina Granirer. After reading Light Within the Shadows: A Painter’s Memoir, I now know more about her art, its influences and styles, and her life, its joys and challenges. I also discovered that she writes as beautifully as she paints, and has a warm sense of humour.

Each chapter features a relevant quote from people throughout history, something they said or, most often, wrote; people as diverse as Roald Dahl, Anne Frank and Shakespeare. In these and her own words, Granirer imparts not only her life story but her philosophies on creativity, education, identity, family, business.

“There are people who plan their lives meticulously, step by step – I have never been one of them,” she writes. “Of course, I had goals, but these were like signposts to be reached one by one, short-term endeavours without a specific plan for the faraway future. I rather liked the idea of floating along, steering my boat from time to time and hoping that I would reach my destination, whatever it was meant to be.”

And the 82-year-old has experienced many destinations on her continuing journey. In a May interview with the Vancouver Sun, she talked about having written a book twice the size of what was published.

“There were a lot more historical references, many stories about family members and some more memories – it was too long and had to be cut,” Granirer told the Independent.

About the possibility of another book, she said, “I’m thinking about this and how I could use some of the chapters that have been cut, but, at the moment, I’m far too busy with getting through with the exhibition. I need a quiet space in order to begin thinking about writing and hope that I’ll begin doing just that early in 2018.”

Granirer will do an artist’s talk at the Sidney and Gertrude Zack Gallery on Nov. 16 to open an exhibit of her work mounted in conjunction with the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival because the occasion also represents the launch of her memoir. The event is sponsored by National Council of Jewish Women. This is especially appropriate because one of the topics that Granirer explores in her memoir is the difficulty of being a mother, a wife and an artist. About the 1970s, when her two sons, David and Dan, were young, she remarks, “I had little contact with the visual arts community in general and its avant-garde segment in particular. I didn’t have much time for forging professional ties, as my world consisted of my husband and my sons, who were a great source of joy and a well of inspiration for my art.” In this period, she not only produced much work, but also took on teaching.

Her memoir – which includes pages of colour photographs of her work – is divided into three acts. It takes readers from Romania, her birthplace and where she grew up, surviving the Holocaust; to the safety of Israel in 1950, to where first her father, then the family, fled from the dangers of communist Romania; to the United States in 1962, where her husband Eddy, a math professor, could find work, as the recently initiated American-Russian space race saw Americans “pouring money and resources into research, hoping to be the first to put a man on the moon…. Mathematics, the cornerstone and essential building block of scientific research, was suddenly in high demand all over North America.” Three years later, the Granirers would make their way to Vancouver.

Granirer talks about luck throughout the memoir and, specifically, about a couple of “old hackneyed sayings” being true, that of being “in the right place at the right time” and of being “born under a lucky star.” “Events beyond our control do change the course of our lives,” she writes. And, while they don’t always do so for the better, Granirer chooses, at least in looking back, to appreciate her good fortune.

“Of course, I never even thought of being lucky at the time,” she admitted to the Independent. “One just lives one’s life as it comes along and only later, in retrospect, one sees the whole picture. Getting older allowed me to have a better perspective of the past and writing the memoir brought it all together. We kept saying for years how lucky our family was to live in Vancouver, but day by day there were ups and downs and the occasional complaints when unfortunate events happened – and they did. The memoir was a watershed for me and helped me see the serendipitous moments in my life when fate could have gone easily the other way.”

The light and shadows of the book’s title not only apply to the vividness of remembered moments and the darkness in which forgotten moments lie, but also the grey areas through which we must travel in life – the uncertainties, the aforementioned circumstances beyond our control.

When asked if she was a naturally optimistic person or developed into one, she said, “I probably am more of the former, although that does not mean that there are not times when I feel as if the world is collapsing on me. There have been hard times for me in the past, but somehow I seem to manage to get through. I just try to deal with the black thoughts, when they come. Nothing is really black-and-white, it’s through the shadows that we have to find our way.”

In addition to geopolitics, health and other uncontrollable issues, Granirer also had to negotiate the politics of the art world, in which she had to deal with many curators who “did not seem to be interested in art and artists, except as tools for enhancing their own careers.”

“… meeting someone who loves a painting and wishes to live with it, who wants to learn the details of its creation and is convinced that owning it will enrich his or her life, is the most rewarding experience for an artist.”

Nonetheless, she persevered – “Early in my career,” she writes, “I decided to follow my own course, regardless of the cost.” She did so, even as she realized that, in her profession, “being different was not considered an asset, but a liability.” Though admitting that all artists, including herself, crave recognition, she writes that “meeting someone who loves a painting and wishes to live with it, who wants to learn the details of its creation and is convinced that owning it will enrich his or her life, is the most rewarding experience for an artist.”

To mark her 80th birthday, in 2015, and her 50th year in Canada, Granirer gave many others a gift. “Established galleries usually charge the artist 50% commission for each work sold, in exchange for space and promotion,” she explains. “Why not invite the public … for 10 days and offer the commission to my collectors instead.” It was because of this generosity that I was able to buy my first Granirer.

After this exhibition and sale, Granirer and her husband headed back to Romania, 65 years after they had left the country. It was a meaningful visit with at least three serendipitous occurrences. But, back in Vancouver, she ended up in hospital. Sixteen days later, after two surgeries for diverticulitis, she made it home. “I counted my blessings and told myself how much worse it could have been,” she writes. “What if it had happened while I was in Romania?”

She returns to the memoir’s opening paragraph about getting older, in which she remarks, “Simple words like ‘later,’ ‘next year,’ ‘tomorrow,’ ‘not now,’ become risky, unsure and speculative.” But there is also much to look forward to, she says. At the time of writing, it was an international exhibit in Costa Rica and one in Spain. Currently, she’s preparing for the Zack Gallery exhibit and the launch of the memoir. The event takes place Nov. 16, 6 p.m., and admission is free. It will be a great opportunity to meet the artist – and pick up a copy of Light Within the Shadows.

Conversation continues

Author Nathan Englander with the Globe and Mail’s Marsha Lederman at an Oct. 22 event held by the Cherie Smith Jewish Book Festival, which runs Nov. 25-30. Englander was in Vancouver as part of a North American tour of his latest novel, Dinner at the Center of the Earth. For an interview with Englander, visit jewishindependent.ca/a-novel-born-of-heartbreak. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

New Western awards

The Western Canada Jewish Book Awards are a new initiative of the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival. The initiative is designed to celebrate excellence in writing on Jewish themes and showcase the achievements of authors residing west of the Ontario-Manitoba border. The awards aim to recognize the contribution to Jewish culture by these writers, and prizes will be awarded in several categories.

In the inaugural year of the awards (2016), books published in 2014 and 2015 will be accepted. A jury comprised of distinguished members of the literary community will examine the eligible submissions, which will be accepted until Feb. 29, 2016.

It is possible to submit to more than one category. The categories are the Diamond Foundation Prize for fiction, the Pinsky Family Prize for non-fiction, the Betty Averbach Foundation Prize for poetry, the Jonathan and Heather Berkowitz Prize for children and youth books, and the Marsid Foundation Prize for writing on the Holocaust.

Currently, there are two other Jewish book awards in Canada. One is in Montreal, dedicated to writing in Yiddish, and one in Toronto. Although the book awards in Toronto are national, it is the JCC Jewish Book Festival’s hope that Western Canada-based awards will encourage more authors to enter books into competition. By being geographically based, one goal is to enhance the literary scene in Western Canada, which, for the intentions of this award, is considered as being from west of the Manitoba-Ontario border, including the northern regions, to the B.C. coast.

The submitting author must have lived in Western Canada for the past 12 months or have lived in Western Canada for at least three of the past five years. A book written by a non-Jewish author is eligible if in accordance with the following criteria. Eligible books contain significant Jewish content or theme; they are written by an eligible author (see above); they are written in English or are available in English; they are published in English or in English translation between Jan. 1 and Dec. 31 of the year of the award and the year previous to it; they have a 13-digit ISBN, including eBooks; and graphic books are eligible.

The books submitted will be judged by independent industry professionals. The jury will be comprised of five judges, including a chair, to be drawn from a larger pool including judges from all Western provinces. The winners will be announced by mid-April. An awards soirée and event will take place at a later date in the spring. There will be a monetary award of $2,000 for each winning author.

To submit a book for the award, download the form via jewishbookfestival.ca. Mail or deliver in person the following items for each book submitted: a completed entry form, five copies of the book and the $36 entry fee per prize category. Send the package to JCC Jewish Book Festival, attn: Dana Camil Hewitt, at 950 West 41st Ave., Vancouver, B.C., V5Z 2N7.

Contact Camil Hewitt, JBF director, at 604-257-5156 or [email protected], with any questions.

Survivors’ immense impact

Holocaust survivors who came to Canada after the Second World War remade this country’s Jewish community.

Before survivors arrived in numbers, beginning in 1947, Canada’s Jewish community had a few poorly resourced social service agencies. The demands created by thousands of new arrivals – many with significant emotional and physical challenges – spurred the growth of Jewish communal organizations across the country. In turn, those survivors have had an impact on the community in the successive seven decades that is incalculable. The impact of the Holocaust – and the arrival of its survivors – is perhaps the defining factor in the development of Canada’s Jewish community.

photo - Adara Goldberg — Adara Goldberg *(photo from Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival)*

“The Holocaust is a watershed moment and the scale of this watershed resettlement was unprecedented,” said Adara Goldberg, a Vancouverite and author of Holocaust Survivors in Canada: Exclusion, Inclusion, Transformation, 1947–1955. “Many of the agencies across Canada only came to be as a result of the Holocaust. Jewish Immigrant Aid Services [JIAS] did exist, but this was a small organization that only dealt with small numbers up to this point. Having some 35,000 people come in, in less than a 10-year span, really trampled the organizations.”

Survivors who moved to the United States joined a vibrant Jewish community already in progress, while those who came to Canada found a Jewish community with little infrastructure. What exists of the Jewish community and its social service agencies today was built, in large part, for the survivors and, subsequently, by them.

To an extent, there was an unwillingness among Canada’s existing Jewish community to address the Holocaust experiences of the newcomers – those who did not experience the Holocaust may have been afraid of opening wounds or been unwilling to hear the horrors others experienced. There was also a history in Canada of immigrants getting off the boats and throwing themselves instantly into building a new life, leaving the past behind.

Still, Goldberg said, there was a recognition by people like the head of JIAS that these immigrants had some very particular needs.

“The problem was availability,” she said. “This is uncharted territory. Social workers themselves and the Canadian Jewish community were only learning with the survivors about how to treat victims of trauma … the idea of post-traumatic stress didn’t really exist.”

Getting the newcomers integrated was not only a matter of meeting social needs, she added.

“There is also a legal element to that,” Goldberg said. “The fact is, refugees who came to Canada under the auspices of either the Canadian Jewish Congress, or who received support from JIAS or who had relatives sponsor them, were liabilities. If they didn’t find work, if they didn’t have a home, if they became dependent, they risked deportation. They risked becoming a drain on the existing Jewish community, which was already really reaching its max in terms of what they could do.”

A symbol of success is that very few fell through the cracks, although many of the case studies in the book indicate that some survivors were miserable in their assigned living conditions or workplaces.

There was a realization after the war, as the magnitude of what would come to be called the Holocaust dawned, that Canada had failed the imperiled Jews of Europe in the 1930s, when there was still time.

“After the war, relationships changed and there was significant international pressure on Canada to help do its part in relieving the postwar refugee crisis of Jewish and also non-Jewish displaced persons,” Goldberg said. “On the one hand, we can say this was a humanitarian gesture.… There’s also a practical element that we can’t overlook in that Canada stood to gain something from allowing in the Holocaust survivor refugees. There was a need for skilled laborers and this is how most survivors did come in, they came in for skilled labor posts, so Canada benefited.”

The equation of immigration and Canada’s need for labor is underscored by the fact that there was no ministry of immigration at the time – until 1950, Canada’s immigration policy was administered by the ministry of mines and resources. The influx of Jewish and non-Jewish refugees postwar familiarized the Canadian government and public to the concept of receiving refugees on humanitarian grounds. The first major instance of this reconsideration came in 1956 after the Soviet Union crushed the democratic uprising in Hungary. Canada admitted 37,000 refugees in the course of a year.

Goldberg’s book begins with a refresher on Canada’s abominable record in the prewar period. Chapters then take on topics such as the unique requirements of young orphaned refugees; the double-edged sword of interned “enemy aliens” – Jews from enemy states, mostly Germany and Austria, whose nationality, in the eyes of Britain and its Canadian dominion, trumped their status as endangered victims of Nazism; the various programs under which refugees were admitted to Canada and how established Jewish communities, especially their women’s organizations, cared for refugees’ personal needs; the creation of social clubs and synagogues by and for survivors; the development of an ultra-Orthodox and Chassidic community here; and “transmigrants,” those who came to Canada after a sojourn elsewhere, often in Israel. She has included the stories of survivors who didn’t want to be found; those whose experiences in Europe led them to hide their Jewishness and their past as they began a new life in Canada. It is a monumental work.

A Toronto native, Goldberg wrote the book in fulfilment of her PhD at Clark University in Massachusetts and, while there are differences between the dissertation and the book, which was published in September by University of Manitoba Press, the book avoids the academic jargon that can exclude ordinary readers.

“As a social history that was created with the research that I did both in archives as well as through interviews and other sources, it was written with a wide readership in mind,” she said.

Goldberg eschews statistics in favor of personal case studies both from in-person interviews and records of social service agencies from decades past. The result is an introduction to hundreds of individuals and their stories, as well as a testament to the resilience of the survivors and the history of a small Jewish community rising – not always flawlessly – to the challenge of welcoming tens of thousands of co-religionists who had suffered unspeakable horrors.

The dissertation took about three years to complete and, after Goldberg moved to Vancouver, where she worked for three years as education director at the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, she took the opportunity to do additional research that incorporates more local content. The book is enriched by her background as a trained social worker, which underpins a deep analysis of the successes and failures of social service agencies in those early years.

Refugees are the top global news story today and Goldberg sees lessons for the present in her book.

“It’s a very different crisis,” she said. “I think what we can do is, without trying to compare individual experiences, to remember the risk of nativist attitudes and what happened when Canada had very discriminatory, restrictive immigration policies 75 years ago. Canada accepted the fewest number of Jewish refugees of any country in the Western world … Canada had an opportunity at that time to distinguish itself, to take a very restrictive policy and widen the gates. They could have done this and they elected not to. What we can do now is reflect on the result of this inaction. History does not need to repeat itself. Canada can distinguish itself as a world humanitarian leader.

“Similarly,” she continued, “Holocaust survivors have contributed to all aspects of Canadian society. I imagine that so, too, do other refugees to Canada and so will other waves that come in the future. There is so much that we can gain.”

The Vancouver launch of Adara Goldberg’s book takes place on Nov. 25, 5:30 p.m., at the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, as part of the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival. Admission is free.

Life-changing lecture

Avrum Nadigel (photo from Avrum Nadigel)

Not only is there no quick fix to making a relationship work, but there’s no quick fix for absorbing the main points of Avrum Nadigel’s Learning to Commit: The Best Time to Work on Your Marriage is When You’re Single. Its lessons can’t be summed up in a few bullet points – you’re going to have to read it.

That being said, Nadigel will have to make the audience at the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival “fall in love with” his book in less than 180 seconds. He’s part of the event A Literary Quickie, which takes place on Nov. 22, 10 a.m., at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver. The brunch event lineup includes authors Richa Dwor, A.D. Gentle, Rosa Harris, Revital Shiri-Horowitz, Paula Hurwitz, June Hutton, Evelyn H. Lazare, Olga Medvedeva-Nathoo and Marina Sonkina. Admission is by donation.

Nadigel has been a therapist for more than 15 years. He received his master’s of social work from McGill University in Montreal in 1997, and did post-graduate training with the Western Pennsylvania Family Centre, which teaches Bowen family systems theory. He also received supervision via Skype from author and family therapist Dr. David Freeman (who died in 2010). In Learning to Commit, Nadigel doesn’t just offer theories, but advice gained from personal and professional experience. Advice that changed his life, and he’s hoping it’ll help others.

Though Nadigel only lived in Vancouver for about six years, from 1999 to 2005, it was here that he first encountered Freeman, who was speaking at a singles event at the J. His words had a profound impact on Nadigel.

“For all I thought I knew about relationships (I was a practising therapist at that time), Freeman debunked many of my own assumptions, for example, that poor communication is the cause of relationship problems,” writes Nadigel. “He introduced novel ideas about romantic love, providing subtle warnings that the very things that cause a young lover’s heart to flutter can, down the road, be the catalyst of dissatisfaction and divorce. He encouraged us to focus on our own interests, because the more interesting we are to ourselves, the more we have to bring to the table in our relationships.”

Nadigel had come out west, lured by the Rocky Mountains. “From that moment on,” he said, “I knew I had to live near mountains, but also in close proximity to a Jewish community. Vancouver was an easy choice.”

He told the Independent, “It was a total ‘head west young man’ move. I was 30 years old. I sold everything I owned, loaded all of my guitars, some clothes and CDs (remember those?) and headed west. No job, no family, no relationship and only one friend in B.C.

“For money, I worked as a child protection worker, and then as an addiction therapist and family therapist…. Most importantly, I took courses at Emily Carr, composed music for films and learned how to mountain bike.”

He also came here to meet a local Jewish woman but, he said, “true to [his] commitment-phobic self,” he “couldn’t find anyone in Vancouver (or Victoria, Seattle or Calgary) to settle down with.” Eventually, on frumster.com, he met the woman who would become his wife, Dr. Aliza Israel – from Richmond. At the time, she was living and studying in Toronto. “Anyway, we dated long-distance (perfect for a commitment-phobe), and then I agreed to move wherever her residency would be. She was accepted into the Toronto psychiatry program, and the rest is history.”

The two were married in June 2007 at the J here because that’s where Nadigel first heard Freeman, which led to his rethinking about marriage and other things. “The JCC in Vancouver holds a very special place in my heart,” he said.

And so still does Freeman, one of the people to whom Learning to Commit is dedicated, “for providing me with a lighthouse; a way to navigate the rocky seas of my relationships.”

At least one of the ideas in the book seems counterintuitive – the admonition to not compromise.

“Too many relationship books/ speakers assume that compromise is the key to a successful relationship, and so our culture embraces this opinion – and that’s all it really is. And good people use this to avoid growing … discomfort, fear, etc.,” explained Nadigel. “Compromise is no virtue if it’s the first thing you reach for to avoid difficult discussions or situations. Now, more mature people are able to compromise without feeling like they’re betraying their values/principles, because they’re clear on what they stand for, and what they won’t put up with. They won’t compromise on big-ticket items, and will be willing to face the sting/consequence of staying true to their principles.”

In Learning to Commit, Nadigel writes, “According to Dr. Murray Bowen, togetherness and individuality are two opposing forces that we are all born with. We spend the rest of our lives trying to reconcile their often-contradictory impulses.” A well-differentiated person – someone who is confident of their values and principles, and doesn’t change their opinion or action “just to defuse tension” is able to balance those opposing forces.

“Differentiation is not selfishness,” stressed Nadigel. “It is not about a focus on my needs, damn everyone else. It’s about living a life guided by well-thought-out principles, some of which will address who I want to be/act/think with my partner, children, parents, colleagues, friends, etc. It’s about balancing feelings with good, clear thinking. Actually, one could say that immature, high-feeling-centric people are so fragile that the mere thought of considering another person’s point of view is crushing, whereas higher differentiated people can choose to be guided by their partner’s best interest. But the key here is choice!”

The lessons in Nadigel’s book are relevant for all relationships – in fact, he writes, “one of the main tenets of family systems theory [is]: ‘You will only succeed in future relationships in ways you have already succeeded with your parents, siblings and/or extended families.” They are also useful in dealing with controversy or difficult issues, in developing the ability to hear what you need to hear, even though you may not want to hear it.

To remain open, he explained, “you need two things – curiosity and (if possible) playfulness. These things are very hard to come by in high-tense situations, i.e. acrimonious marriage, Middle East discussions, anything involving high emotions mixed with perceived/real threats. Which is why I believe, as a blogger recently noted while discussing my book: ‘Doing some self-examination and exploration … while we are single might be the best marital therapy we’ll ever have.’ Curiosity and playfulness is much more likely when we’re single, or dating, than when mired in the marital muck of resentment, etc…. I think the best that one can do – in any area – is to share your thoughts as clearly as possible, and without any expectation that people are going to support your thinking or applaud your efforts. When you think about the qualities of great leaders/leadership, these attributes apply.”

For the full book festival schedule, visit jewishbookfestival.ca.

Hot off holiday press

In the last couple of months, three new Chanukah-themed picture books have been published. Most recently, out of Mahone Bay, N.S., is Hanukkah Lullaby. Out of New York City are Oskar and the Eight Blessings and The Parakeet Named Dreidel. All three are delightful.

Hanukkah Lullaby, written by Ruth Abrams and illustrated by Tia Mushka, is part of a series of books from Baby Lullaby Publishing. Until this holiday edition, the series – the books of which have various authors and illustrators – has focused only on places: in Canada, Newfoundland and Labrador, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Saskatchewan, and Alberta; in the United States, Hawaii and Alaska. Each book, intended for a 0-to-6-year-old audience, has a link to its own song and video. The music for Hanukkah Lullaby was composed by Keith Andrews and the video was made by Jonah Peveril, both of whom have contributed to other lullabies in the series.

Hanukkah Lullaby follows one family’s celebration: enjoying the winter snow, making dreidels, lighting the chanukiyah, dreaming of the Maccabees, eating all the fried treats, spending time with Baba and Zayda, singing songs, telling the Chanukah story and having a lantern parade. The last two pages of the 18-page board book offer a very brief overview of the holiday’s symbols and rituals, and a paragraph summarizing the story of the Maccabees. Abrams’ lyric text and Mushka’s bold, colorful artwork make for a lovely read.

***

Oskar and the Eight Blessings (Roaring Brook Press), written by husband-wife team Richard Simon and Tanya Simon and illustrated by Mark Siegel, is for somewhat older readers, ages 4-8.

It begins, “Oskar’s mother and father believed in the power of blessings. So did Oskar … until the Night of Broken Glass. His parents put him on a ship to America. He had nothing but an address and a photo of a woman he didn’t know – ‘It’s your Aunt Esther.’ – and his father’s last words to him: ‘Oskar, even in bad times, people can be good. You have to look for the blessings.’”

When Oskar arrives in New York, it is the seventh day of Chanukah and he wants to reach his aunt’s – 100 blocks away – before she lights the chanukiyah. Along Broadway Avenue, he encounters a woman feeding some pigeons, a newsstand vendor, Count Basie, boys having a snowball fight, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt and a Christmas tree seller. He is treated with kindness at every turn, and is able to reciprocate on more than one occasion. Siegel’s rich illustrations beautifully capture the darkness and the hope of Oskar’s journey.

In the author’s note that follows the story, Richard Simon writes about the inspiration for the book and its 1938 setting, including a bit about the real people the fictional Oskar meets along the way.

“Oskar has lost everything,” he writes, “but from his despair he awakens to his freedom: the choice to see the good in his new world. I like to think that this orientation of optimism is the key to our survival, as individuals and as a species. It is how we, as American Jews, have made a place for ourselves beyond the shadow of darkness that tried to destroy us.”

***

The playful and imaginative watercolor illustrations by Suzanne Raphael Berkson dovetail perfectly with Isaac Bashevis Singer’s story in The Parakeet Named Dreidel (Farrar, Straus and Giroux).

Intended for kids age 5 to 8, the title character loses his way. As David and his parents celebrate Chanukah, David notices the yellow-green bird outside their window. A cold Brooklyn night, they quickly move aside the chanukiyah (so the bird won’t get burned by its candles), open the window and welcome it in. Initially frightened, the bird settles down, eats some millet, drinks some water, plays a little dreidel – and speaks some Yiddish! “Zeldele, geh schlofen.” (“Zeldele, go to sleep.”)

Despite posting notices around the neighborhood, no one claims the lost bird, who the family names Dreidel. The “photo” montage of Dreidel and David growing up together is wonderful. The bird really does become part of the family.

When, years later, David meets a woman named Zelda at college, it turns out that she is Dreidel’s Zeldele. But lest readers worry that Dreidel leaves David’s parents, the bird becomes part of a larger family when David and Zelda get married, their families come together, and the couple decides to start a family of their own.

All of three of these books are available from chapters.indigo.ca and their respective publishers in hard copy and electronic formats. Hanukkah Lullaby will be available at the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival, Nov. 21-26, at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver.

Meet authors at book festival

Assaf Gavron (photo from JCC Jewish Book Festival)

As it does every year, the 31st annual Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival offers readers the chance to meet some of their favorite authors. Sean Michaels, the 2014 Scotiabank Giller Prize winner, starts it all off on Nov. 21 at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver’s Rothstein Theatre. Among the festival’s many highlights are Israeli writer Assaf Gavron and American writer Nomi Eve, to whom the Independent had a chance to e-speak recently.

Gavron’s latest novel, The Hilltop (translated into English from Hebrew by Stephen Cohen), deals with one of the most contentious and emotion-laden aspects of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict: the settlements in the West Bank. It does so with humor and humanity – and an even eye, examining the larger societal issues through the troubled relationship of two troubled brothers. Family, bureaucracy, unintended consequences, and more, factor into the story.

JI: What is it about fiction that allows it to communicate controversial ideas or speak to controversial topics in a way that seems to be more easily received than other media, such as journalism, academia, documentary film?

AG: I think that usually when ideas are termed “controversial,” it is on a simplistic level – when you can sum it up in a sentence or two, it is easy to annoy, or touch a nerve, or whatever. The other forms of media you mention, like journalism or documentary, are also susceptible to this superficiality. Fiction gives you more time, and depth, to really get to the story and to the people behind it. And, whatever the subject is, it can’t remain on the simplistic level. Yes, hopefully it causes more thinking and a better understanding of complexities. I like that about reading fiction, but as to the reason why I choose to write, I think that, over the years, I learned that it is the kind of storytelling I am best at, and most comfortable with.

JI: When I used to ask my grandmother how she was doing, her response often was that she still had her sense of humor – once she lost that, then…. What purpose does humor serve in your writing, or is it “just” a matter of style?

AG: That’s how I write, it is part of me, part of how I communicate. I can identify with your grandmother. I think that it is important, and sane, not to take things too seriously. And not less so, probably more so, in situations that are perceived as sad and difficult and tragic. We must be able to smile. In writing, it is mainly entertainment. It is more fun and enjoyable to read something that makes you laugh. In my books, I would like to entertain as much as anything else, like making a point, educating, etc.

JI: Not everyone can put themselves into someone else’s shoes, something you seem to have mastered in your writing, including your latest novel, The Hilltop. Does that openness and empathy extend into your “real” life? What is it in your personal “toolkit” that allows you to at least write from multiple viewpoints with sincerity?

AG: I disagree. I think everyone can put themselves in someone else’s shoes. This is why people read books, go to movies, read newspapers or even just talk to each other – they are curious about the experiences of others and, when they hear or read or watch them, they are always imagining if it was them, what would they do, how would they react. But it is true that people are reluctant to identify or see the world through eyes of people they perceive as an enemy, or as very different, as an “other,” in the real life. Sure, I hope I’m as open in real life. I think it is crucial to fundamentally accept that there are others, and to attempt to get to know them. I guess that it is no more than this belief that is my “toolkit.”

JI: You write books, translate, create videogames, are in a band … could you share a little bit about your background and how you came to your expertise in these areas?

AG: First and foremost I’m a fiction writer. But I’m also a curious person, like to keep myself interested … so I tend to do other things as well. The band, for example, is a lifelong project of three friends, who decided to do this for the long run, with little interference to our “daily” life. This is why we release an album every six years and not more frequently. Translating and teaching I do sometimes for income and sometimes for interest. The computer game was a one-off project.

JI: Your write-up on Wikipedia notes that you were in Vancouver in 1997, studying “new media.” Do you still have Vancouver connections?

AG: I do! My first cousin lives there with her family. Having family was part of the reason I came, and what I heard and imagined of the city and the school, which offered what I was interested in studying at the time. I had a great year in Vancouver, had a lovely apartment in Kitsilano. That year, I also wrote what would be my second book. I have been back only once since then, in 2003, I think, so it’s been awhile. I’m really looking forward to this visit, my first as a writer.

JI: Where are you and your family currently based?

AG: We are in Omaha, Neb. I have been teaching here for the past year. I’m moving to your time zone, San Diego, in January for six months, and then next summer back home to Israel.

***

The main character in Nomi Eve’s second novel, Henna House, is Adara, born in Yemen in 1918, the year that Imam Yahya took control of the region. He passed many restrictive decrees, including the Orphans Decree, calling “for any Jewish child to be confiscated, converted and quickly adopted by a Muslim family if a father died,” writes Eve. When the story begins, Adara’s father is already ill.

The bulk of the novel follows Adara and her family – notably, two cousins – from the 1920s in Yemen to the early years of Israel, briefly touching upon Operation On Wings of Eagles, better known by its nickname Operation Magic Carpet, when almost 50,000 Yemenite Jews were airlifted to Israel between June 1949 and September 1950.

JI: Research is an essential part of your creative process, but you also said in one interview that reality limits your creativity. How did you navigate the need for both research/reality and imagination in your two novels, seeing as both are rooted in “real” historical spaces?

NE: History is much more than a backdrop in my fiction. It also provides soul and substance. But I never let myself feel straightjacketed by history. I make things up and let my readers know that this is fiction, not academic research that they are reading. In Henna House, the fact that I have a first-person narrator also helped me navigate this terrain. My narrator uses her memory and imagination to construct her own version of the past. Memory is porous, and doesn’t always hold truth. Memory is powerful and often finds truth in unlikely places.

JI: Have you reached your 100 Book Clubs goal?

NE: I did book club #143 tonight – it was a Skype visit to Toronto. I love my book club visits. Readers are my wildest dream, and I feel lucky each time I get to chat with a new group.

photo - Nomi Eve — Nomi Eve *(photo from JCC Jewish Book Festival)*

JI: In Henna House, you write about Mizrahi Jews. What is your background? Did you have a mix of traditions growing up, given that your father was from Israel?

NE: My family is Ashkenazi, but I have a Yemenite aunt. It is from her that I learned to love Yemenite Jewish culture. But most of what I learned about the history of the Jews of North Yemen and Aden I learned through my own research. The most fascinating things that I learned were about henna traditions, and the Orphan’s Decree. Both of these things became central to the plot of my book.

JI: Your two novels are both set in the past. What appeals to you about the past and imagining what it might have been like?

NE: I find it easier to write about the past than about the present. The past feels multi-dimensional to me, whereas the present feels one-dimensional. I think that I am attracted to the fierce power of memory and the perspective gained by the passage of time.

Assaf Gavron in conversation with Marsha Lederman takes place Sunday, Nov. 22, 8 p.m.; tickets are $18. Nomi Eve speaks with Israeli-Canadian writer Ayelet Tsabari on Tuesday, Nov. 24, at an intimate gathering at 6:30 p.m. ($16) and to a book club and book-lovers event at 8 p.m. ($18); to attend both, the price is $30. For tickets to these and other festival events, call 604-257-5111 or drop by the J in person. For tickets and the full festival lineup, visit jewishbookfestival.ca.