fiction

Novels about love, art

Inspired by real people, Jai Chakrabarti and Michaela Carter have written novels that explore the Holocaust and its impacts. Their books also happen to share common themes. Notably, the power of art to change the world, and the power of love to change a person.

Chakrabarti (A Play for the End of the World) joins Gary Barwin (Nothing the Same, Everything Haunted: The Ballad of Motl the Cowboy) on Feb. 6 in a Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival event, moderated by Helen Pinsky, called Mythical Quests. Carter (Leonora in the Morning Light) and Meg Waite Clayton (The Postmistress of Paris) take part in the event Art and War on Feb. 9, moderated by Hope Forstenzer.

In Chakrabarti’s A Play for the End of the World, the quest is that of child survivor Jaryk Smith, who travels from New York to India in 1972 to collect the ashes of his best friend and fellow Holocaust survivor, Misha, who died of a heart attack. Misha had ventured to India to help a village mount a production of Rabindranath Tagore’s Dak Ghar (translated as “The Post Office”), which Jaryk and Misha had performed when they were under the care of Janusz Korczak (aka Pan Doktor by the children) in Warsaw in 1942.

While Jaryk, Misha and all the other characters are fictional, Korczak and Dak Ghar were very real. “The play is about a dying child living through his imagination while quarantined,” writes Chakrabarti in the author’s note. “Pan Doktor chose to stage the play to help his orphans reimagine ghetto life and to prepare them for what was to come.”

The Indian villagers are also being prepared for what is to come – they are under threat of expulsion, or worse, from the government; already, protesters have been imprisoned, even killed. The Indian professor promoting the play wants to bring international attention to their plight.

Tangled up in all this is Lucy, who Jaryk loves but abandons in New York when he hears about Misha’s death. One of the many choices Jaryk faces is whether he can accept the happiness that Lucy and life in general can offer him.

Happiness is a rare and difficult-to-achieve state in Carter’s novel, as well. The Leonora of the book’s title is artist Leonora Carrington, who was born in England in 1917 and died in Mexico in 2011. An unofficial part of the Surrealist movement (because women weren’t allowed), Carrington was an acclaimed painter and writer. Of her relationships, the most famed would be with fellow Surrealist Max Ernst, who was twice her age at their time of meeting.

“I was drawn to Leonora Carrington before I even knew who she was,” writes Carter in the author’s note. “Long intrigued by the Surrealist artists, by their playful take on creativity and their celebration of surprise and strangeness, I had set out, in 2013, to write a fictional story placed among them, set between the wars and with a young woman at its centre.”

It was only later that Carter, at the Tate Gallery, came across a piece by Carrington, as well as the book Leonora Carrington: Surrealism, Alchemy and Art by Susan L. Aberth. For months, Carter says, she resisted the idea of writing a novel, but “read everything about Leonora I could get my hands on, as well as everything available about Max and Peggy Guggenheim, who was, I realized, an integral part of their story.”

Ernst had many lovers, including Guggenheim, who helped him get to the United States, but Carter’s novel posits that Carrington was his true soulmate, and that he was Carrington’s. Their affair is interrupted by the Second World War, however, and, after we get to meet the couple in 1937, the novel mainly alternates between Carrington’s story from that point and Ernst’s from 1940, as he is trying to escape from France. While the two met in London, they moved to Paris – Ernst first (Carrington’s father apparently had a hand in Ernst’s work being declared “the product of an immoral mind,” which was an arrestable offence at the time in London), then Carrington.

Leonora in the Morning Light – which is named after a painting Ernst made of Carrington – takes readers to 1943, by which time Ernst is in Arizona and Carrington is in Mexico; both married to other people.

“During her 94 years on this earth, she created thousands of magical, mystical works of art – drawings, paintings, statues, masks, plays, short stories and her masterful novel, The Hearing Trumpet,” writes Carter of Carrington. “She was also an eco-feminist who fervently believed in the innate rights of all individuals – of humans, animals, plants and the earth itself.”

Visit jccgv.com/jewish-book-festival for the full festival lineup and tickets.

Community milestones … Temple Sholom endowment, awards for Alex Leslie, Sandy Shefrin Rabin, Hannah Moscovitch

Temple Sholom treasurer Daniel Gumprich, left, president Melody Robens-Paradise and Rabbi Dan Moskovitz. (photo from JCF)

Temple Sholom has a new $1 million endowment fund that will provide the congregation with stable, long-term income for the synagogue in perpetuity.

“We chose to establish this fund at the Jewish Community Foundation because we know that they will manage it carefully and expertly. We are thrilled that Temple Sholom will be able to rely on income from the fund to meet its needs for generations to come,” said the family who seeded the fund.

It was important to the family that they be able to leverage their giving to inspire others. So, in addition to seeding the fund, they established a program to match contributions, which not only maximized their own impact but that of every donor who joined them in giving.

“The foundation supported our staff and leadership to confidently approach congregants about contributing to the fund,” said Cathy Lowenstein, director of congregational engagement at Temple Sholom. “We were able to give everyone the opportunity to participate, which created the momentum necessary to reach our goal.”

“The endowment will ensure our ability to serve every facet of our congregation through dynamic programming, strong leadership and robust outreach for generations to come,” said Temple Sholom’s Rabbi Dan Moskovitz. “It also means we can undertake a long-term approach to planning, because we have the financial strength to adapt to the changing needs of our congregation.”

Many local Jewish agencies, congregations and other organizations have endowment funds at the Jewish Community Foundation, including the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver, Jewish Family Services Vancouver, the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, and others. In addition, individual fund holders often choose to support an organization through their own donor-advised or -designated funds.

Diane Switzer, chair of the foundation’s board of governors, said, “We are very proud to manage endowment funds on behalf of so many crucial organizations across our community, and we take our responsibility to manage these investments prudently extremely seriously. This is how we carry out the important work of building and enriching our community.”

People can make a contribution to the Temple Sholom Endowment Fund via jewishcommunityfoundation.com. They can also establish a fund for an organization or an area of need about which they care by contacting JCF executive director Marcie Flom at 604-257-5100.

* * *

Alex Leslie’s Vancouver for Beginners was one of the works shortlisted for the 2020/2021 City of Vancouver Book Award. The honour recognizes authors of excellence of any genre who contribute to the appreciation and understanding of Vancouver’s diversity, history, unique character, or the achievements of its residents.

In the poetry collection, “[n]ostalgia of place is dissected through the mapping of a city where Leslie leads readers past surrealist development proposals, post-apocalyptic postcards, childhood landmarks long gone and a developer who paces at the city’s edge, shoring it up with aquariums.”

* * *

Prairie Sonata by Sandy Shefrin Rabin was named one of the best books of 2021 by Kirkus Reviews. The novel tells the story of Mira Adler, a teenage girl growing up on the Prairies after the Second World War, and what she learns about life and love from her Yiddish and violin teacher, Chaver B, a recent immigrant from Prague. Kirkus called it “a compelling work with a wistful longing for days of childhood innocence. A poignant and eloquent reflection on tradition, family, friendship, and tragedy.”

Winner of the Independent Press Award, and named a 2021 New York City Big Book Award Distinguished Favourite in the young adult fiction category, Prairie Sonata has been introduced into high school curricula.

* * *

The Canada Council for the Arts’ 2021 Governor General’s Literary Awards winners include, in the drama category, Sexual Misconduct of the Middle Classes by Hannah Moscovitch.

“Hannah Moscovitch’s play is an articulate, poetic, beautifully written play with characters who are complex and complicated,” noted the peer assessment committee. “A superb piece of writing that shines as a play, as a living piece of theatre and, no doubt, literature that will endure.”

In the drama, “[t]he archetypal student-teacher romance is cleverly turned on its head for the post-#metoo era…. Jon, a star professor and author, is racked with self-loathing after his third marriage crumbles around him when he finds himself admiring a student – a girl in a red coat. The girl, 19-year-old Annie, is a big fan of his work and also happens to live down the street. From their doorways to his office to hotel rooms, their mutual admiration and sexual tension escalates under Jon’s control to a surprising conclusion that will leave you wanting to go back and question your perceptions of power as soon as you finish.”

Beauty amid harshness

Rachel Rose, left, and Ami Sands Brodoff take part in the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival on Feb. 8.

None of us knows what lies ahead. We might think we do, but a lack of awareness one moment can have tragic impacts, mental or physical illness can overtake us, and our actions and reactions can hurt ourselves and others, whether harm is intended or not. Control is a fiction. And two recently published short story collections that will be featured at the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival on Feb. 8 explore that fact with tales that should make most of us feel grateful for the relative boringness of our lives.

Poet Rachel Rose’s debut novel, The Octopus Has Three Hearts, presents a series of unconventional characters in life-challenging situations difficult to imagine oneself in and yet portraying familiar emotions. The characters in Ami Sands Brodoff’s The Sleep of Apples will be easier for many readers to recognize in themselves, but they are also a diverse group of people for whom living is more of a task than a pleasure. In both collections, instances of uncomplicated joy, love and connection are rare. Nevertheless, they leave one feeling melancholically appreciative of the incomparable value of life, and acutely mindful of its fragile nature.

Rose’s stories are explicitly linked by the animals with whom her people interact, from dogs to rats to pigs to parrots and others, including, of course, an octopus. The title story centres around a polyamorous relationship, the narrator husband, his wife (who is a biologist at an aquarium) and one of his wife’s partners trying to find an octopus who’s escaped their tank under the biologist’s watch. The animal’s attributes – intelligence, fluidity, ambiguity, etc. – have obvious symbolic meaning not only within this particular chapter but the collection as a whole; similarly with the other animals that figure into Rose’s narratives.

The Octopus Has Three Hearts was longlisted for the Scotiabank Giller Prize, and Rose is no stranger to awards and recognition for her writing. She is the poet laureate emerita of Vancouver for good reason. She writes with succinct and oft-times detailed brutality, with touches of dark humour, and with much insight into humanity. Elements of her characters – whether they be ex-cons, cheating spouses, or people who just made a terrible mistake – are within all of us to some degree and our world would probably be a better place if we confronted these aspects of ourselves, instead of burying them or pretending they don’t exist.

Similar themes appear in The Sleep of Apples, a more overtly Jewish compilation. Rather than animals linking the chapters, the people are related or connected in some way to one another. Miri’s Bubbe Zelda dies in the first story and, right away, loss, guilt, love, identity, tradition – throughout the book, no matter the characters’ gender, sexuality, age, upbringing, relationship and friendship choices, career path, they must deal with these and other basic elements of existence. Death is always present. But so, too, is the will to live, to forgive, and to care for oneself and for others.

It is interesting to think of the creative process and how people come up with stories that are out of the ordinary yet resonate. Some of the language and situations in these short stories will shock and discomfort readers. Many of the characters will not resemble people most of us regularly encounter. But, ideally, if we’re willing, they will open our minds in a way that will help us navigate the real world more thoughtfully and with more compassion.

The Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival is online only this year. For the full lineup of authors, visit jccgv.com/jewish-book-festival.

Book festival is shaping up

The 37th annual Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival takes place Feb. 6-10 at both the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver and online, with authors joining from across Canada, the United States, Israel, Australia and Great Britain.

“We look forward to welcoming our live audiences to the joyful experience of a shared literary event,” said festival director Dana Camil Hewitt. “The Jewish Book Festival strives to reflect and showcase recent literature that revels in the lively and pivotal ideas stemming from the modern world and, in the process, expose our city and community to meaningful and captivating conversations about the written word in every shape and form.

“And, while the nucleus of our festival is Jewish-themed, our speakers, events and audience happily represent a diversity of experiences and cultures that defy narrow categorization. We are attuned to timely and universal themes and we thrive on the interdisciplinary, always inviting visual arts and performance art into our events.”

Opening the festival are American novelist and journalist Dara Horn, with her book People Love Dead Jews: Reports from a Haunted Present, and British comedian and writer David Baddiel, with his book Jews Don’t Count. On the closing night, Daniel Sokatch, an expert who understands both sides of the Israeli-Palestianian conflict, will present his book Can We Talk About Israel? A Guide for the Curious, Confused and Conflicted.

Winner of the Canadian Jewish Literary Award for fiction Gary Barwin joins the festival with Nothing the Same, Everything Haunted: The Ballad of Motl the Cowboy, together with U.S. author Jai Chakrabarti, who brings A Play for the End of the World.

Short stories will be celebrated in an event with Vancouver’s Rachel Rose and her collection The Octopus Has Three Hearts, long-listed for the Scotiabank Giller Prize, together with Montreal’s Ami Sands Brodoff presenting her intricately linked stories in The Sleep of Apples. From Toronto, novelist and cultural critic Hal Niedzviecki discusses his latest novel, The Lost Expert.

Stories of artists in the Second World War era are presented by two U.S. writers: Meg Waite Clayton (The Postmistress of Paris) and painter/writer Michaela Carter (Leonora in the Morning Light). History also has an important place in the work of Leah Garrett, who presents X-Troop: The Secret Jewish Commandos of World War II (who were the inspiration for Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds), and Menachem Kaiser, whose Plunder: A Memoir of Family Property and Nazi Treasure won the Canadian Jewish Literary Award for non-fiction.

The annual Book Clubs event features Australian author Heather Morris, with her novel Three Sisters, the last in the Tattooist of Auschwitz trilogy.

Among the B.C. authors represented are Isa Milman, with her memoir Afterlight: In Search of Poetry, History and Home, and Rachel Mines, with her translation of Jonah Rosenfeld’s The Rivals and Other Stories. An epilogue event (i.e. after the festival run) moderated by Yosef Wosk features Robert Krell and his memoir Sounds from Silence and Alan Twigg’s Out Of Hiding: Holocaust Literature of British Columbia.

Regular updates can be found at jccgv.com/jewish-book-festival, where the digital program guide will be available after Dec. 28.

– Courtesy JCC Jewish Book Festival

Kalla’s latest great read

There’s something comforting about reading a thriller writer whose novels you’ve enjoyed in the past. You know exactly what to expect, and yet the pages almost turn themselves. Given, however, that we’ve been living through a real pandemic for almost two years now, it might feel “too close to home” to pick up a Daniel Kalla – who writes about mysterious diseases that run rampant, plagues that resurface, surging deaths from opioids and other such things – but, somehow, he makes it fun rather than depressing. His latest, Lost Immunity (Simon & Schuster), is a great read.

It helps that Kalla is a real medical doctor. An emergency room physician here in Vancouver, he knows that of which he speaks and can relate complicated information without sounding didactic. And there’s always what to explain in his books. In Lost Immunity, the lessons are particularly relevant, about how a bacteria spreads, the challenges of contact tracing and containment, the benefits and side effects of vaccines, the concept of herd immunity, etc., etc. But he does all this while being completely entertaining. Readers of Lost Immunity will have an idea of what Dr. Bonnie Henry and her team have been going through these last many months – minus (I hope) the human killer element.

Lost Immunity features a smart and likeable protagonist in Lisa Dyer, Seattle’s new chief public health officer. In a community health forum about a law mandating immunization for middle-school girls and boys with the latest HPV vaccine, Dyer takes on the doubters – members of “the ‘vaccine hesitancy’ community” – calmly and compassionately, with science always as her guide. Within this community are her own sister and father, so she’s had much practice.

As exhausting and frustrating as the forum is, Dyer’s job gets more challenging even before the Q&A is over – “her phone buzzes on the lectern. She can’t help but glance down at the health advisory from her office that pops up on the screen. ‘Four dead from meningitis. All attended the same local Bible camp.’”

The campers are children and teenagers, and the death rate rises quickly. (I admit to having skimmed the parts about dying kids, as they added a little too much realism for me.) Dyer and her colleagues must try to contain the outbreak – of the same strain of bacteria that caused 35 deaths in short order in Iceland six months earlier, and for which an American pharmaceutical firm is doing final-phase trials on a promising vaccine. Dyer pressures the company into releasing the vaccine early – as the mortality rate in Iceland was 46% – and goes ahead with a vaccination campaign. At first, it seems to be working, but then some severe and fatal apparent side effects bring everything to a halt. But is it really the vaccine that’s responsible? Even if you can probably guess the answer, Dyer’s journey to get there is full of twists, as well as fascinating exchanges on all aspects of the vaccination issue.

For a review of Daniel Kalla’s We All Fall Down, visit jewishindependent.ca/could-the-plague-come-back.

Can Syn save garden?

After a three-year wait, local writer Michael Seidelman’s Garden of Syn trilogy comes to a fast-paced, satisfying conclusion.

We first met our protagonist, Synthia Wade, in No One Dies in the Garden of Syn, which was released in 2016. (All of the books are published by Chewed Pencil Press.) A teenager when we encounter her, she is being parented by her aunt, as her parents went missing when she was 5 years old. In Book 1, due to circumstances beyond her control, Syn falls into another universe – one in which she can breathe easily, her cystic fibrosis nonexistent. But all is not healthy in the garden, as this other place is called, and Syn must rise to many challenges and challengers to set things right.

There are multiple universes in this trilogy, each with their own Syn, and, in at least one of them, Syn has a sister, Beth. The second book, Everyone Dies in the Garden of Syn, which came out in 2018, focuses on Syn’s efforts to rescue Beth, who has been kidnapped. Unfortunately, because of Syn’s actions, the healing powers of the garden disappear, hence, the name of this part of the story. Syn must take particular care, given her CF.

Many people die in the second book. So, at the beginning of the third book, feeling responsible and guilty for the tragedies, Syn doesn’t want to return to the garden. However, a determined friend-turned-enemy forces Syn to finish what she started. In the conclusion to the series, Too Young to Die in the Garden of Syn, Syn must fight to save the garden and its inhabitants, at the risk of her own life.

The plot that runs through the trilogy is complex. Characters thought dead turn out not to be, characters that seem like allies turn out not to be and vice versa, and, given the multiverses, there are numerous versions of key personnel. As well, the story tackles many ethical issues, mainly involving medical research and experimentation. The novels also illustrate that who the hero of a story is depends on who’s telling the story – the bad guys in Seidelman’s fictional worlds don’t think they’re in the wrong; in fact, they have good reason to feel aggrieved and betrayed.

The action doesn’t lose momentum in this third book and Syn and her allies must race and jump around universes, fight and think for their lives – and the lives of many others. Though I was both hoping and fearing Seidelman would wrap things up more darkly, I think he made the right choice for his young adult audience.

Too Young to Die in the Garden of Syn was worth the wait.

For articles on the previous books in the series, including an interview with Michael Seidelman, visit jewishindependent.ca/first-book-of-trilogy-now-out and jewishindependent.ca/persistence-a-common-theme.

Reflections of her childhood – an excerpt from The Singing Forest

Say hello to Leah, the daughter of a man who disappears when she is a baby and a mother who dies in a car crash when she is 6 years old. She is placed in the care of her Jewish aunt during the week, and her three eccentric Jarvis uncles on the weekends – Rudy, Gus and Malcolm. This excerpt is a flashback – she is now a junior lawyer, working on the deportation of a war criminal, and Nate is a fellow junior in the firm.

***

You have no idea where he is? said the social worker. I don’t believe it for a minute, said her tone.

No idea, said Rudy. I’m sure he would be here if he knew.

In fact, he was not at all sure of this. The youngest brother, the father – witty and weak and self-absorbed. And a man who was afraid, desperately afraid of – what? Of being ordinary. Of leading a rye-and-ginger life. Chasing anything that might save him from this, like a distracted dog. A fugitive from the everyday, the commonplace, always searching for a way out.

He’ll turn up soon, said Rudy.

He is far from sure of this either.

The aunt was the formal placement – the mother’s half-sister, 19 years older than her, almost another generation. But a woman whose kidneys were starting to fail, scarred organs slowly breaking down.

I can’t handle her full-time, she said miserably, exhausted by the disease.

The social worker knew enough – too much – about the foster home system to send the child into its labyrinths. So this arrangement would have to work – the aunt during the week, the uncles on the weekend. She did what could be done, the things that were possible. A session on child-rearing, simple advice, checklists on clothing, food, sleeping. The child was the only one who read the lists, though, or tried to – her small finger tracing out the letters she knew until the papers were stained and dog-eared. Hoping that somewhere in there were the clues she needed, the answers to what had happened, how her life had jackknifed so wildly. But she also passed along anything she understood to Gus.

A taciturn man, something that suited them both. He used words sparingly, as if he had only a limited supply, and was storing them for some future use. Instead, he preferred silence, or a range of silences: dusty silences, steep silences, warm silences.

A clam, said the social worker to her supervisor. But soon he became used to the child winding around his legs, and developed a clumsy affection for her. Not a man who was a good bet in other ways, though – someone with serial bankruptcies, an instinct for failure.

Raised by your uncles? Nate says in the same tone someone might say: raised by wolves? His voice is dark, slightly hoarse. He is intrigued by this odd household, intrigued as only someone with two card-carrying parents can be.

I raised her, says her aunt. They looked after her.

Anna Rubin. Puffy-faced, her skin floury, her dark eyes circled with shadows. Persistent in her own way, determined that the girl would know something of this other life, that she would have some sense of its latitudes and longitudes.

No such thing as half-Jewish. Don’t let me hear you say that. If your mother is Jewish, you’re Jewish. Halachah. Those are the rules.

Those are the rules, echoed the girl, curled under the woman’s arm.

But her aunt had more to say, much more. A personal mission, built around tzimmes and the ten plagues.

The plague of locusts. The plague of frogs. The plague of water turning into blood.

The girl held up a hand, raising her small fingers.

Only three, she said.

She was a literal child.

A selection of the best, said her aunt.

Behind the scenes, though, her kidneys were silently abandoning their functions, the toxins in her system slowly building. Soon – too soon – it was the uncles during the week, the aunt on the weekend.

Not even a Jewish disease, said her aunt disgustedly, her skin yellow.

No need to tell that social worker, she added.

What do you do when you’re there? Malcolm said once, not so much interested in the girl as the aunt, any possibilities for money.

The child hesitated.

We eat brisket, she said after a minute, the only thing that came into her mind. She had no words for this briny, tender woman, for her kitchen, her houseplants, vines running along mantels, trailing down shelves. For the moth orchids everywhere – windowsills, bookcases – leaning over pots, their grey air roots twisting around them.

Malcolm looked at her uncomprehendingly. The idea that the girl was half-Jewish, the idea of Jewishness itself was so foreign, so baffling to him – to all three of them – that they ignored it. They had an unspoken agreement to treat it as if it were an awkward genetic problem, something that was better left unmentioned. And after awhile, she understood that she was not to talk to them about it, that this was something she had – she was – with her aunt.

Is it only for girls? she said to her, early on. Being Jewish?

Who told you that? Full of men. Look at Moses. Look at Einstein. Look at Marvin next door.

Marvin – thinning hair, mild, someone who yawns a lot. Ida’s husband, content to drift in her slipstream. Neighbours.

She’s not the brightest, but she has a good heart. And he shovels my walk in the winter.

And Moses? Einstein? Other neighbours?

Big shots, said her aunt.

That night: Men can be Jewish, too, she said to Gus, putting her to bed.

He said nothing in an agreeable way.

Look at Moses. Look at Marvin.

More nothing.

She sighed, the world-weary sigh of a six-year-old.

Those are the rules.

* * *

Half-Jewish. This is unsound genetically as well, she discovers later in biology classes, not a matter of chromosomal halves. Instead, she has a mix of genetic variations, extending in all directions. If some of them mark her as a carrier of Tay-Sachs disease, Bloom syndrome and an inability to drink milk, one non-Jewish parent will make no difference. This is a mess of a genome.

* * *

A week after the motion. Nate is sitting on the arm of one of her office chairs, cracking pumpkin seeds in his teeth. Lime, chili, salt – I roasted them myself.

You’re distracting me, she says, although the truth is that she was already distracted. The stay motion has been stalking her thoughts, intruding everywhere. She is waiting for the decision, although this is a wholly pointless exercise – it could be issued tomorrow, next week, or even next month, especially if the judge decides to write extensive reasons, not at all improbable. Still, she feels suspended in the web of this case, in part because she is still possessed by the idea that if they lose, it will be her fault.

Unlikely, says Nate. Although not impossible.

Or that she will be blamed anyway, whether it is her fault or not.

Not quite so unlikely, Nate admits. Give me your hand.

She stretches out her palm, and he leans over and shakes some pumpkin seeds into it.

She studies them absently, and then puts them in her mouth.

For more information, visit judithmccormack.com.

Dream warms frozen flames

It was just before sunset on the last night of Chanukah, the coldest it had ever been in Chelm. (photo from pxhere.com)

It was a cold day in the village. It was so cold that when Reb Cantor, the merchant, sneezed without covering his mouth, his mucus solidified and blew a hole through the window of his shop, which his wife fixed by throwing a cup of tea at his head. He ducked, and the tea hit the windowpane and froze into place. It was that cold.

It was so cold that the flame of the eternal light in the synagogue froze solid. Instead of flickering brightly, it stood still, like red and yellow glass.

The villagers were frightened. It was just before sunset on the last night of Chanukah. Soup froze on its way from the pot to the table. Vodka oozed as it was poured into a glass. Chanukah candles snapped at the slightest touch. Reb Cantor’s matches broke into splinters. Stoves were almost useless. Warm challahs froze into rocks in seconds. Axes had to be warmed or else, when they struck the firewood, the blades shattered as if they were made of crystal. The Uherka River had frozen solid, trapping in its icy clutches a flock of geese late to leave the area.

It seemed as if the end was near. Everyone was hungry. They were afraid to go outside because the wind sucked the heat from their skin. The air itself left their lips numb. Kissing could be dangerous.

The day had been dark and cold, and the night would be darker and colder. Meals were uncooked and uneaten. Chanukah candles, set in their menorahs, were unblessed and unlit. Families stayed in their homes, huddled together in bed.

Even in the house of the wisest man in the village of fools, the menorah was dark.

Rabbi Kibbitz shivered in his bed with his wife, Channah Chaipul (she kept her maiden name, which, as you know, is another story). The two of them lay fully dressed beneath four sheets, three blankets, two quilts and seven coats – everything warm that they owned. Still, his teeth were chattering. For the first time in his life, he regretted not owning a dog or a cat.

“Channah,” the rabbi said. “We have to light the candles.”

“You do it,” she said. “I’ll watch from here.”

“My hand is too unsteady. The shammos will blow out. You are better at that sort of thing.”

“I’m almost warm,” she said. “You do it.”

“I’m nearly frozen,” he answered.

“So? You want me to get out of bed, light the candles, and come back in with icy cold feet?”

He shuddered. The last time she had put a cold foot on his ankle, his heart nearly stopped.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe in a few minutes he would….

“Are you awake?” she said, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Channah!” he said, suddenly sitting up. “I had a dream!”

“Are you crazy? Lie down, you’re letting in a draft.”

“No, Channah, I’ve had a dream. Quickly! Get up! We need to gather everyone together in the synagogue.”

Mrs. Chaipul squinted at her husband. She hadn’t seen him this excited since he’d beaten Rabbi Abrahms, the schoolteacher, at canasta. “What did you dream?”

“I can’t tell you,” he answered. He slid out of bed and gasped as the frigid air slapped his neck like an icy wet towel. “Tell everyone to bring their menorahs and come to the synagogue. Quickly!”

Grumbling and shivering, Mrs. Chaipul stood, and nearly stopped right there. She wondered if it was possible for blood to freeze. Then, the rabbi went one way and his wife went the other, banging on doors and windows. They ran as fast as they could (which was remarkably briskly, considering their ages), waking villagers and telling them to gather in the synagogue.

“What? Why? Are you crazy?”

“Yes, I am,” said Mrs. Chaipul. “But the rabbi has had a dream. So you can freeze in your house or freeze in the shul. It’s up to you.”

Parents groaned. Children were wrapped in blankets. Doors were pried open. Menorahs were carried carefully, lest they crack into pieces on the short trip to the synagogue.

The small shul filled quickly.

Rabbi Kibbitz stood at the front, on the bimah, with five tallisim wrapped around his shivering old shoulders. He stood beneath the eternal light, staring at the still-frozen flame.

“Is everyone here?” he asked. Everyone looked around and nodded. No one was missing. “Then, please, somebody shut the door!”

“It’s shut,” came a shout from the back.

“Oy,” muttered the chilled rabbi.

“So, Rabbi, what is it?” said Reb Cantor. “What is so important that you asked us to risk life and limb to come to the synagogue on a night so cold my eyeballs almost froze?”

“I had a dream,” the rabbi said.

“So, I heard,” answered Reb Cantor. “You maybe want to tell us what the dream was?”

“I dreamed,” Rabbi Kibbitz sighed, “that all the villagers of Chelm gathered together in the synagogue.”

“Yes? Yes?”

“Well, in my dream, it was a cold, cold night, and the Chanukah candles weren’t yet lit.”

“Yes? Yes?” the villagers repeated.

“And everyone, all of you, came here to the synagogue.”

“Yes? Yes?”

“That’s it.” The wise rabbi shrugged. “We were all here. Then Channah nudged me, and I woke up.”

“That’s not much of a dream,” muttered Mrs. Chaipul.

The citizens of Chelm stared in disbelief at their beloved rabbi.

“You’re crazy!” shouted Reb Cantor. “You yanked us out of our moderately warm beds and dragged us here to tell us that you had a dream that we were all here? That’s it? Rabbi Kibbitz has finally lost his mind! Rabbi Abrahms, it is time for you to become the chief rabbi of Chelm.”

The villagers began to grumble and argue and stamp their feet. A wave of exasperated hot air lifted to the ceiling as their voices rose into shouts.

“Wait, wait!” Rabbi Kibbitz said. “Please, listen.”

Just then a child’s voice shouted, “Look! Look!”

It was young Doodle, the orphan, and one of the most foolish boys in the village of Chelm.

Doodle was pointing up at the eternal lamp. The pale light was thawing – flickering faintly, but growing brighter as it filled the synagogue with its glow of red, orange, yellow and gold.

Reb Cantor himself lifted Doodle up. “Careful, careful now,” he whispered, as the young boy touched his shammos to the light of the eternal flame.

That candle was passed back and forth throughout the shul, as every family lit their own shammos. Everyone held their breath, wondering whether the wind and the cold would extinguish the thin flames.

Then, at long last, the villagers of Chelm said the blessings all together. The shammosim touched the other candlewicks. Soon, for each family, one flame became eight (plus the shammosim).

Now the synagogue was full of light, and the villagers began to sing.

Reb Cantor swept the old rabbi up in a bear hug. “That was some dream!”

Everyone laughed and danced.

They stayed there all night, and the candles burned so slowly that it was well past dawn before the last one burned out.

That morning, when the doors to the synagogue were opened at last, a warm breeze left the shul and spread out over the village.

The ice on the Uherka River cracked, and the flock of trapped geese took flight. All the villagers watched and cheered as the birds sped south.

And, from the east, the sun rose higher, and its rays felt warm with promise.

Izzy Abrahmson is a pen name for author and storyteller Mark Binder, who lives in Providence, R.I., and tours the world – virtually and in-person. Abrahmson’s Winter Blessings: Warm Stories from the Village was a National Jewish Book Awards finalist.

Milestones … Hart-Rappoport wedding, Canadian Jewish Literary Awards, new BGU residences

With gratitude to HaShem, mazel tov to Shmuel Hart (King David High School Class of 2016) and Reut Rappoport on their joyous and spirited wedding at Sakoya Gardens (just outside Jerusalem) on June 15, 2021. Elated parents – Alexander Hart and Kathryn Selby of Vancouver, and Rabbi Jason and Meira Rappoport of Alon Shvut, Gush Etzion, Israel – are so very proud of the newlyweds. The couple resides in Jerusalem, Israel, and both are currently studying at Hebrew University.

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Now in its seventh year, the Canadian Jewish Literary Awards recognizes and rewards the finest Canadian writing on Jewish themes and subjects. This year, the awards ceremony, which took place on Oct. 17, was presented on Zoom and is available for viewing on the Canadian Jewish Literary Awards YouTube channel.

The winner in the fiction category was Nothing the Same, Everything Haunted: The Ballad of Motl the Cowboy by Gary Barwin (Random House Canada). It follows a wannabe cowboy, Motl, as he and his mother flee Vilna and the Nazis’ massacre of the Jews. The ensuing events, characters and horror are met by Motl with humorous absurdity in the face of tragedy.

Plunder: A Memoir of Family Property and Nazi Treasure (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt) by Menachem Kaiser, which tells the story of the author’s quest to reclaim a residential building his family owned in Poland before the Shoah, won for best biography.

Lisa Richter won the poetry prize for Nautilus and Bone (Frontenac House). A reimagining of the unconventional life of Yiddish poet Anna Margolin, this collection also won the 2020 National Jewish Book Award for Poetry, the first time a Canadian poet has ever received the American honour.

For children and youth literature, the winner was Osnat and Her Dove (Levine Querido) by Sigal Samuel, with illustrations by Vali Mintzi. It is based on a true story. Although girls in 15th-century Mosul were told, “Reading is for boys,” Osnat convinces her rabbi father to teach her to read. As she grows older, she asks her father to seek a groom who will allow her to study Torah, and she helps run her father’s religious school while raising her own children. After her father’s death and, later, her husband’s, Osnat becomes the school’s leader, making her the world’s first female rabbi.

For scholarship, the awardee was Survivors: Children’s Lives After the Holocaust by Rebecca Clifford (Yale University Press), which is an exploration of the life trajectories of 100 children who were 10 years old or younger at the time of their liberation in 1945. Through archives found in 12 countries, including Canada, and through personal interviews, the author follows the impact the events of the Holocaust had on their lives, and on those who educated them.

In the category of writing about the Holocaust, the winner was In the Lights of Days: The Untold Story of Women Resistance Fighters in Hitler’s Ghettos (William Morrow) by Judy Batalion. The book points out the lack of recognition and the misrepresentation of women’s roles during the war, the actions they took to fight, as well as their crucial importance.

The Canadian Jewish Literary Awards jury for 2021 was Edward Trapunski, Pierre Anctil, Rona Arato, Miriam Borden, Rita Davies, Alain Goldschläger and Adam Sol.

For more information, visit cjlawards.ca.

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photo - Ben-Gurion University of the Negev student village — Ben-Gurion University of the Negev student village *(photo from CABGU)*

Fourteen new buildings have been added to the student village at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev (BGU) in Israel. It will allow more than 1,000 students options from studio apartments to married student housing.

“The student village lets them choose their living quarters in accordance with their personal preference,” said BGU president Prof. Daniel Chamovitz, “while everything they could need is nearby: the north campus and the conference centre, which are in development, a hotel for visiting students and faculty, stores and coffee shops … and the high-tech park, the train station and the university’s country club are just a short walk away.”

The student village offers apartments suitable for religious students and those with disabilities. Any registered student is eligible to apply for a room. The rooms come fully furnished with a smart TV, beds, closets, desks, a full kitchen, a sitting area and a solar water heater. Full maintenance service is offered, as is 24/7 security, a 24-hour service hotline, bicycle rooms, laundry rooms, and more.

“Situated in the country’s southern region, the university is known to be a destination institution,” said Mark Mendelson, chief executive officer of Canadian Associates of BGU. “This means that students who attend the university also live either on campus or in the communities in and around the university, including the city of Be’er Sheva. In addition, almost 60% of the undergraduate student body volunteers in their respective neighbourhoods, which is really something very unique to BGU and has brought outstanding community involvement to the citizens of Be’er Sheva.”

Novels miss the mark slightly

I was very much looking forward to two recent novels. Both are love stories, but unconventional ones. I enjoyed them, and read them cover to cover – generally, I allow myself to stop reading, watching or listening to whatever it is I’m not enjoying, so that I wanted to know how the stories ended is a compliment to the writers. But I was disappointed in the novels, ultimately. In both instances, I felt a little robbed of emotional impact.

Perhaps, given their protagonists, I shouldn’t have been surprised that the cerebral aspects of the books would outweigh, even quash, the heart-rending effects. Morningside Heights by Joshua Henkin (Pantheon Books, 2021) is about an uber-accomplished, hyper-intelligent professor who is struck by early-onset Alzheimer’s. Never Anyone But You by Rupert Thomson (Other Press, 2020) is about two real-life cultural icons who were in the same social circles as people the likes of Ernest Hemingway and Salvador Dalí.

Love faces adversity

Within the first 20 pages of Morningside Heights, I didn’t particularly like either Prof. Spence Robin or his wife, Pru. He is an all-star academic, winning awards and grants of all sorts; he has ambition and has achieved some power in his world, and carries himself as such. He is Jewish but changed his name early in life, “to escape the Lower East Side.” He is Pru’s teacher, though only six years her senior, and downplays her concerns of being seen on campus as just his girlfriend, not as a person in her own right. And it is only after he semi-proposes that he tells her he has a sister with brain damage, who he visits rarely, and that he’d been married before and has an estranged son from that marriage.

For her part, Pru lets Spence get away with all these things. Worse, she abandons her own beliefs and dreams, basically, to be with him. For example, she keeps kosher before she meets him and in their early days together, but lets that go by the wayside. She has her own promising career that she gives up because her own areas of interest overlap with his award-winning expertise. He lets her become his shadow. He lets her main purpose become supporting him, while not reciprocating or appreciating that support at all, it seems.

So, it’s hard to empathize with the individual characters when their lives are completely upturned by Spence’s Alzheimer’s, which begins to affect him in his late 50s. That said, one doesn’t wish ill on anyone. The challenges both Spence and Pru face are severe, and Henkin brilliantly communicates the difficulties on both sides. Spence’s confusions and his not being able to understand fully the state he’s in are as heart-wrenching as his strong will and refusal to step down from work or admit his frailties are frustrating. Pru’s sadness at the loss of her partner and the heavy responsibilities of caring for him are palpable.

Perhaps the weight of these feelings and circumstances is part of what inspired Henkin to give – in my opinion – too much ink to Spence’s troubled son. Spence and Pru’s daughter Sarah doesn’t figure as prominently, but a lot of time is spent on Arlo and, in some respects, Arlo allows readers to get to know more about Spence. But those story threads interrupted, for me, the potential intensity of the Spence-Pru storyline, which, I have to admit, was both a relief and a letdown. I wasn’t surprised that Henkin has personal experience with dementia. In an online interview with the publication Shelf Awareness, he shares, “Although much of Morningside Heights is invented, it is, in many ways, my most autobiographical novel to date. My father, like Spence, was a professor at Columbia who developed Alzheimer’s, though my father developed it much later in life than Spence did. In writing about the ways Pru lost Spence, I was re-experiencing my mother’s loss, and my brothers’ and my loss.”

The rawness of that real pain is tempered in the novel, perhaps out of personal necessity. And perhaps most readers will appreciate that emotional distance, but I was hoping for a more intimate portrayal.

Not-so secret love

Never Anyone But You also lacks intimacy, even though it is about Suzanne Malherbe and Lucie Schwob, who fall in love and become both personal and professional partners. Thomson writes about the real-life French artists in a somewhat didactic and distanced way. He has done all his research but never fully inhabits or gives full life to his characters, who must have been quite passionate and committed people to have accomplished what they did under the circumstances in which they did it.

The women knew each other from childhood but end up becoming stepsisters when Lucie’s father (who was Jewish) connects with and eventually marries Suzanne’s mother (who was Catholic). Suzanne is immediately captivated by Lucie when they meet more formally; Suzanne is almost 17 years old and Lucie a couple years older than that. Never Anyone But You is told from the perspective of Suzanne.

Early on, the two decide to collaborate – Lucie’s words and Suzanne’s drawings. Lucie transforms herself into Claude Cahun before Suzanne reinvents herself as Marcel Moore. But the new persona cannot heal Claude’s bouts of depression and, throughout her life, she struggled to stay alive.

Claude and Marcel were unofficially (because they weren’t men) part of the Surrealist scene in 1920s Paris but their artistic (notably, photographic) success was tempered by the Second World War. They leave Paris in the late 1930s and take refuge in Jersey, where they use their talents to unsettle and educate the Nazi soldiers who occupied the island from 1940. It was their hope that their leaflets would demoralize the soldiers, and even cause some of them to desert. Marcel was fluent in German, so they could make the subversive material appear as if it were coming from one of the soldiers. Eventually, the two would be discovered and arrested. Though they would suffer imprisonment, they survived the war.

The bravery of Claude and Marcel is remarkable, as is their dedication to each other, though Claude is depicted as being unlikeable at times, between her mental health issues and her being more fluid with her sexuality than Marcel, ie. she had other relationships. Nonetheless, for Marcel, there was never anyone but Claude, though it is difficult to see why there was such devotion and loyalty on her side, and Thomson’s novel doesn’t answer that question. Ultimately, the two were together for more than 40 years, until Claude’s death in 1954, so there was, I guess, really never anyone but Marcel for Claude, either.