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War and Exile in Washington

joselitDecember 22, 2010November 16, 2017Leave a comment

This article, which first appeared in the Forward's blog The Arty Semite, is part of a cross-posting partnership with the Forward.

By Menachem Wecker

"Black woods howl in the stove/Our dog turned into a lion/but today the grownups are/Frowning like a mean witch." So go the lyrics to Karel Berman's song "Children at Play" from his 1944 work "Poupata" (Buds), sung by Canadian bass Robert Pomakov.

Berman's lyrics convey a naïve perspective but were composed for a bass on purpose, according to James Loeffler, research director of Pro Musica Hebraica, an organization that revives neglected Jewish music.

"If the cantor is the sound of a grown man crying, this is the sound of a grown man being reduced to a child," said Loeffler in a November 18 lecture, "What Is Jewish Classical Music and Why Does It Matter?" at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C.

The talk preceded the 90-minute performance "War and Exile: The Music of Berman, Braunfels, and Ben-Haim," featuring the works of Jewish composers Karel Berman, Paul Ben-Haim, and Walter Braunfels. Pianist Dianne Werner accompanied Pomakov, while the Ben-Haim and Braunfels pieces featured violins (Benjamin Bowman and Marie Bérard), viola (Steven Dann), cellos (Bryan Epperson and David Hetherington) and clarinet (Joaquin Valdepeñas).

According to Loeffler, the Holocaust was a "backdrop" to the lives of the three composers, "but they are also three different key figures in a kind of mid-century moment of reconfiguring and rethinking what it means to talk about Jewish classical music."

Pomakov, who is not Jewish and does not speak Hebrew, said prior to singing the Berman music he had never sung Hebrew opera. The new experience opened his mind as a musician, he said. "You can get very stuck doing Beethoven and Brahms and all the usual stuff."

The performance also drew on his childhood. "I'm Catholic, and half of our Bible is the Torah," he said. "I grew up singing religious texts my whole life. It's something I can look to my past for."

Pulitzer Prize-winning writer Charles Krauthammer, chairman of the board of Pro Musica Hebraica, introduced the performance.

"We started from the premise that this is a very neglected area of Jewish culture, and a neglected area of classical music," Krauthammer said of the organization he co-founded with his wife Robyn four years ago. "This is a small room in the mansion of Jewish culture, and an equally small room in the mansion of Western classical music."

According to Krauthammer, people tend to identify "Jewish music" with klezmer, songs like Hava Nagilah, or liturgical music sung in the synagogue. "This whole world of Jewish classical music, which is so rich and moving, has been neglected,”"he said.

Asked if he thought Pro Musica Hebraica's audience was mostly classical music nuts wanting to learn more about Jewish culture, or Jewish music aficionados looking to expose themselves to more classical music, Krauthammer said, "I'd like to do an exit poll." He estimated that two-thirds of the audience fits the latter category, and one-third was the former group.

However exposed to Jewish classical music the audience was, it was treated not only to something other than the usual stuff, as Pomakov explained, and not only to Jewish works on par with secular classical music, as Krauthammer suggested, but also to a program that was defined as much by its sounds as by its effect on the musicians.

Berman had Pomakov grinning at the humor of the childish lyrics, and Ben-Haim's and Braunfels's compositions moved the musicians into a symphonic game of Twister, where they were swaying in their chairs and coaxing palpable emotion out of the music.

James Loeffler will be coming to GW on March 8th to deliver the annual Fleischman Lecture in Judaic Studies. His theme: the storied relationship between the Jews and the violin. Stay tuned for details.

Say it with flowers

joselitDecember 17, 2010November 16, 2017Leave a comment

I don't know about you, but these days, when my mailbox bulges with solicitations from just about every non-profit organization known to man, I can't help but wonder whether there might be another way to go about it.

The history of fundraising, after all, is the history of innovation. Think pink -- pink ribbons, that is; or pledge cards with their turn-down flaps, each flap designating a specific dollar amount. And how about the Christmas and Easter seal, silent auctions, Las Vegas night?

The repertoire of fundraising devices is a capacious and imaginative one. Heading the list, at least for me, is Flower Day, a little known JNF initiative of the interwar years. Most of us associate JNF with the little blue tin collection box and the purchase and planting of trees, but flowers were also pressed into service.

"Buy a flower to make the Negev bloom," importuning children exhorted passersby on the urban street. (Remember the scene in Woody Allen's "Radio Days?") For a donation of 10 cents, one would receive a flower to be pinned on a lapel, much like a boutonniere. In other iterations of Flower Day, youngsters sold packets of flower seeds to friends and family in the hope that they, just like the Jewish state, would eventually blossom.

"Zionists are progressive and democratic in their propaganda," observed one eyewitness early in the 20th century, trotting out Flower Day as a case in point. Progressive and democratic they may have been, but floral-minded Zionists also took their cue from the growing practice within middle class circles of decorating one's home with carnations, gladiolas, roses and tulips.

Framing the Zionist project in terms likely to appeal to an upwardly mobile audience, Flower Day both feminized and modernized the raising of funds with which to build a Jewish homeland.

Roses, anyone?

Ringing in the holidays

joselitDecember 7, 2010November 16, 2017Leave a comment

Those who, for one reason or another, stand outside the frame of Yuletide cheer often find their voices muted come Christmas. The singing of "Silent Night" leaves us, well, silent.

Not so, the protagonist of "The Loudest Voice," one of the most celebrated of Grace Paley's many singular contributions to American arts and letters.

Lilly Rivlin at premiere of Grace Paley: Collected Shorts. Photo by Steve Rhodes.

In this short story, the young Shirley Abramowitz is recruited to play the voice of Jesus in her public school's annual Christmas pageant. "They told me you had a particularly loud, clear voice and read with lots of expression. Could that be true?" inquires Mr. Hilton, who is in search of a "child with a strong voice, lots of stamina." Flattered, Shirley agrees eagerly to become Jesus, if only for an afternoon. ("'It was a long story, it was a sad story…. Sorrowful and loud, I declaimed about love and God and Man.'")

Shirley's immigrant parents don't quite know what to make of this turn of events. Perhaps it's a good thing, muses her father, Misha. "What's the harm? You're in America." Shirley's mother, Clara, doesn't quite share his cautious optimism.

Eventually, though, she comes round, too. Told by a nosy neighbor that a number of Christian students in the school were not given parts in the play, she responds: "'What could Mr. Hilton do? They got very small voices; after all, why should they holler? ... You think it's so important that they should get in the play? Christmas …the whole piece of goods … they own it.'"

For the entire Abramowitz family, the opportunity to give voice to Jesus turns out be more of an opportunity to embrace America than a betrayal of Jewish history. "I expected to be heard," Shirley says. "My voice was certainly the loudest."

So, too, was Grace Paley's voice, which left a profound imprint on the American imagination. At once droll and wry, piercing and heart-tugging, it will be heard next semester when the students in Faye Moskowitz's "Jewish Literature Live" will read her collected works as well as screen a brand new documentary, "Grace Paley: Collected Shorts," directed by Lilly Rivlin, a GW alum.

Meanwhile, stay tuned as "From Under the Fig Tree" will soon introduce a brand-new feature: a radio blog. Fittingly enough, its very first guest will be none other than Faye Moskowitz, who will take to the airwaves to discuss Grace Paley, E. L. Doctorow and the other distinguished writers and critics who will grace her classroom and GW's campus next year.

Hanukkah humbug

joselitDecember 3, 2010November 16, 2017Leave a comment

In this season of good will and holiday cheer, Howard Jacobson, the Booker Prize-winning author of The FInkler Question and a guest last term of GW’s English Department, has made mincemeat of Hanukkah. Taking to The New York Times to make his case, he suggests that this Jewish holiday has outlived its usefulness — if, in fact, it had any in the first place.

Hanukkah, argues the British novelist in a cascading procession of paragraphs, simply fails to engage the contemporary imagination. Nothing about it — the food, the ritual, the music — can hold a candle to Christmas. "The cruel truth is that Hanukkah is a seasonal festival of light in search of a pretext," he writes, sidestepping history in favor of sociology. The best Jacobson can say of the holiday is that its name is "lovely." Really now.

As I made my way through the piece, I couldn't help but wonder whether Jacobson actually meant what he said or whether, his tongue firmly planted in his cheek, he was making light — and sport — of those who continually fault Hanukkah for not being Christmas.

Honestly, I couldn't tell. And I suspect other New York Times readers couldn't, either. Are we meant to chuckle at Jacobson's drollery, at his faux ho-ho-ho attitude towards Hanukkah? Or are we to take his thoughts to heart and give up on this age-old festival?

I, for one, hope that Jacobson is up to his usual tricks and is toying with us. If he isn't, well, some things are best left unsaid.

What would Herzl think?

joselitNovember 29, 2010November 16, 2017Leave a comment

Three cheers for Tel Aviv! Recently, the Lonely Planet travel guide singled out the Mediterranean entrepot as one of its top 10 cities for 2011. "Tel Aviv is the total flipside of Jerusalem, a modern Sin City on the sea," it noted, adding that "hedonism is the one religion that unites its inhabitants."

For those more accustomed to associating Israel with the Holy Land than with hedonism, Lonely Planet's endorsement may set tongues wagging and eyes rolling. And yet, it's hardly the first guidebook to steer prospective tourists towards the beach or the café and the carefree pursuit of pleasure and away from holy sites and the cultivation of responsibility.

As early as the 1930s, texts such as Samuel Sharnopolsky's Guide to Palestine: Land of Health Resorts made much of its natural delights. For one thing, it likened the country to the "California of the Orient," where the ozone-rich air was a blessing and every day a sunny one. For another, it sang the praises of the "firm and manly" character of its inhabitants, highlighting their "elasticity and sinuousity." The place had something for everyone, enthused the guidebook's author. "To the pilgrim, to the tourist, to the archeologist, to the seeker of sunshine and health, Palestine stands open-armed, beckoning all to come."

In the years that followed, El Al picked up where Sharnopolsky left off. In the wake of the runaway success of Leon Uris' 1958 novel, Exodus, and the ensuing popularity of the Hollywood film that was based on it, Israel's national airline promoted a two week trip that was heavy on popular culture and light on ancient history. Taking out full-page advertisements in the New York Times, it invited would-be travellers to experience their very own "sixteen-day Exodus," where they would "go on location to the same places where Otto Preminger took his film crew."

So much for walking in the footsteps of the matriarchs and patriarchs.

Still, I suspect that Herzl would be heartened rather than dismayed by these interpolations. After all, wasn't it he who said, "When we journey out of Egypt once again we shall not leave the fleshpots behind?"

On display

joselitNovember 15, 2010November 16, 2017Leave a comment

As just about everyone knows by now, the National Museum of American Jewish History in Philadelphia has opened a spanking new, $150 million facility where, say its supporters, the "American Jewish dream has been fulfilled."

Meanwhile, the National Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, Mass., has just debuted a number of imaginative and thoughtful, if small-scale, exhibitions of its own. They run the gamut from a salute to Yiddish children's literature to "Shalom Bayes: Reflections on the American Jewish Home," which I had the good fortune to curate.

Yiddish books — Image: National Yiddish Book Center

These two institutions couldn't be more different from one another. The National Museum of American Jewish History proudly takes its place within the urban landscape of downtown Philadelphia; the National Yiddish Book Center is nestled amidst a New England apple orchard.

One institution is big, bold and shiny; fashioned out of glass, it’s hard to miss. The other, which takes its architectural cues from the wooden synagogues of Poland, is a modest affair; fashioned out of wood, its exterior bears unmistakable signs of having weathered many a cold winter.

Orientation, no less than physical attributes, also distinguishes the two institutions. One looks outward, its sights set on America, or what historians have taken to calling the New World. The other looks inward, unabashedly embracing the Old.

And a third distinction: The National Museum of American Jewish History, as befits its mandate, gives objects pride of place. The National Yiddish Book Center, as befits its mission, gives pride of place to words.

Despite their manifold differences, what links one to the other is a shared commitment to showcasing and interpreting the richness and complexity of the cultural patrimony of the Jews, from those who spoke Yiddish to those who pointedly did not.

Some of us might prefer the company of objects to that of books, or the subtle gesture rather than the extravagant one. No matter. When it comes to the transmission of knowledge about matters Judaic, America's Jews need all the help and encouragement they can get.

Mudslinging

joselitNovember 8, 2010November 16, 2017Leave a comment

Right on the heels of last week's post about the relationship of Jews and capitalism comes this cold dose of historical reality: Henry Ford's claim that the Jews controlled the Federal Reserve Board.

I had known, of course, that the automobile tycoon was no friend of the Jews, but I was unaware that his antipathy ran so deep. But now, thanks to the research of my student Jonathan Robinson, a GW political science major with a keen eye for historical detail, I'm all the wiser.

Over the course of the early 1920s, Ford had spilled a lot of ink railing against the Jews for their embrace of modernity. From his perspective, they had polluted the morals of the nation's young by introducing them to the movies and to jazz.

By 1926, his animus in full bloom, America's leading industrialist went on to charge the Jews with playing fast and footloose with the nation's economy as well. "The international Jew is in direct control of all financial centres of government, including the United States Federal Reserve System," he categorically declared.

Ford's claim so enraged Congressman Sol Bloom of New York that he publicly demanded that the manufacturer support them with hard and cold facts, even going so far as to suggest that he appear before Congress to give a full accounting of himself.

"Mr. Ford," said Mr. Bloom, "is a public man. When he speaks he has a national audience." Besides, his net worth is greater than that of the United States Treasury. His remarks cannot go unchallenged.

Not surprisingly, Ford declined the invitation. But his allegations, his casual relationship to the truth, live on, a testament to the ways in which -- then, as now -- innuendo is the coin of the realm.

Money matters

joselitNovember 1, 2010November 16, 2017Leave a comment

Many moons ago, when I was a graduate student in Jewish history happily spending my days doing little else but reading, one of the most intriguing books I encountered was not Maimonides' Guide to the Perplexed, or Transactions of the Paris Sanhedrin or, for that matter, Hannah Arendt's The Origins of Totalitarianism but Werner Sombart's The Jews and Economic Life.

money — Creative commons licensed image by Flickr user Tracy O.

Published in German in 1911, this work sought to account for why, time and again throughout history, the Jews were to be found on one side, and one side only, of the ledger book--the side that placed a premium on money, on matters mercantile, rather than on agriculture and the production of organic matter. How was it, Sombart asked, that the Jews seemed characterologically drawn to capitalism?

Instead of turning to the usual suspects for answers--to statistics, say, or government records--the German sociologist turned to Judaism or, more to the point, to the desert where Judaism was born. Linking religion to topography and culture to climate, he allowed how the religion of a rootless, desert people accustomed to reckoning with the hard, tree-less environment of the desert gave birth to a way of thinking that rewarded abstraction. And, in the fullness of time, this predilection for abstraction flowered into capitalism.

Wild, wooly, fanciful and fantastic, Sombart's theory drew me like the proverbial moth to the flame. Whether it was right or wrong, grounded in a willful misreading of the Bible or a skillful, daring reinterpretation of it--none of this mattered to me. What mattered was the way Sombart transformed a mode of thinking into a cultural position, a way of being in the world, a social value. To put it another way, I liked the way Sombart thought.

His conclusions, laced with a kind of racism that precluded change, was something else again. But his imaginative process was nothing less than captivating, prompting me to range a bit more freely in my own work on the modern Jewish experience.

It's been years since I've had Sombart in my thoughts. But now, thanks to Jerry Muller's provocative and perceptive new book, Capitalism and the Jews, Sombart is back in my sights.

Muller's lucid and gracefully written account not only devotes a couple of pages to Sombart's musings about the Jews but also makes abundantly--and at times even painfully clear--how money is not simply an economic transaction but a cultural and social phenomenon, whose consequences transcend the marketplace.

Money has meaning, a social meaning, especially when it comes to figuring out the place of the Jews in the modern world.

A gadget for Gods and days

joselitOctober 27, 2010November 16, 2017Leave a comment

This article, which first appeared in the Forward's blog The Arty Semite, is part of a cross-posting partnership with the Forward.

By Menachem Wecker

Though about half of the 16 artists in the current show at the Sixth and I Historic Synagogue in Washington, D.C., are Jewish, curators Eloise Corr Danch and David Zuckerman unabashedly admit there is nothing Jewish about the exhibit, beyond the Jewish venue.

In the catalog to “I’ve Gone Looking for that Feeling Everywhere: An Exhibition of Emerging Artists,” which hangs through Nov. 2, the curators identify “an insistent urge to examine and discover” as a thematic tie-that-binds.

orrery — Orrery courtesy of Sam Zuckerman

“This exhibition celebrates the idea of art as the product of (or byproduct) of that curiosity, of the artists’ need to engage their surroundings and indulge their fascinations,” they write, insisting the art is “visceral, emotional, curious, playful,” rather than “steeped in concept or theory.”

In fact, not only do the curators say there isn’t even anything Jewish, or even spiritual, about the works in the show — though they refer in their statement to “the restless yearning spirit that drives the action” — but the title derives from a Denis Johnson novel, Jesus’ Son, about a drifter.

But Sam Zuckerman, David’s cousin, says his contribution to the show — which is in fact the first work of art he has ever made — has at least a partial Jewish component.

...continue reading "A gadget for Gods and days"

Naming names

joselitOctober 26, 2010November 16, 2017Leave a comment

Who among us doesn't have a relative whose name was changed at Ellis Island? Rare, indeed, is the American Jew whose surname is the same as that of his or her European and Israeli cousins. Normative rather than exceptional, the immigrant's acquisition of a new name seems to be as American a phenomenon as, well, apple pie.

But now, in an article published by Dara Horn in Azure magazine, we're told that the changing-of-the-name is itself a bube mayse, an urban legend, a fabrication of the immigrant mind. It simply didn't happen, or, if it did, these flights of onomastic invention took place well before Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe even came to the New World. By Horn's lights, name change had little, if anything, to do with tone deaf inspectors at Ellis Island.

"Ellis Island Medical Exam." Flickr creative commons photo by jjprojects.

In an imaginative and extended riff, Horn not only denies the historicity of name changing but also claims that the whole thing, from start to finish, is a tall tale of expiation, projection and apology. Having so readily turned their backs on the Old World in their eagerness to become one with the New, Jewish immigrants, she claims, made the whole thing up. It's all one big mea culpa for our sins.

"By inventing a story that depicts their name change as beyond their control ... these immigrants sent a powerful message to future generations: I did not shed my Jewish identity intentionally. And despite the values of the country in which we are living I hope that you won't, either," she writes.

When I shared the latest news with my students, they were taken aback, even baffled. And not just baffled. Suddenly they were cast adrift, floating free of family stories that had once anchored them. Only a few days earlier, one of my students had written lovingly and at great length about how his great grandfather's name had been changed by an official at Ellis Island, and now he was being told that his forbear had made it all up. Who to believe? Dara Horn or grandpa?

The choice is not an easy one. Maybe it's easy for Horn to throw down the gauntlet, come what may. But where does that leave the rest of us who cherish the stories of how Smilensky became Smith, and Zabarsky became Zabar?