Cold shoulder or pit bulls? On Peter Beinart, the Atlanta Jewish Book Fair and how to act when you disagree with a writer

I don’t often comment on news items, but this one is both Jewish and book-related, so I thought it would be worth mentioning.

Earlier this year, Peter Beinart–blogger and professor–wrote a book blaming the lack of peace in Israel on the Israelis. Even to someone whose politics are somewhat atypical for an Orthodox Jewish American, I found the premise of Beinart’s book both offensive and intellectually flimsy.

Should we set the dogs on ‘im?

This week Atlanta’s JCC hosts 10,000 visitors at its annual Jewish Book Fair. Initially, Peter Beinart was scheduled to appear there to promote his book. But, due to the outrage of many Atlantans who disagree with his public attacks of the Israeli government, Beinart will no longer be welcome to speak at the book fair. Instead, he’s speaking this evening at a different venue. (For more coverage, see here.)

Was this the right reaction? Continue reading

Finding Inspirational Words from Sarah Shapiro–Defining Jewish Writing, Part 2

A couple of weeks ago, some of the comments on a post I wrote about defining Jewish writing revolved around the introduction to Sarah Shapiro’s All of Our Lives. I took a workshop with Sarah–who writes, edits, and teaches amazing writing workshops that have inspired many fledgling Jewish writers–and have a lot of respect for her opinions, so I borrowed the book from a friend (thanks Miriam!) in order to more accurately represent Sarah’s opinions here.

Sarah’s essay “The Writer’s I” reflects several of the issues I discussed in my original post. Jewish Writing can be defined by the author’s identity, by its subject matter, or can be considered a completely arbitrary label. She personally feels that “all three are right,” but admits the difficulty in establishing a single definition.

Sarah goes on to say that attempts to identify or define specifically Orthodox Jewish writing are even more complicated. Continue reading

How to teach people while you entertain them: Modern-day Moshels

To those unfamiliar with the term, a “moshel” is the Hebrew term for a parable, a story told with the intent to illustrate a lesson (usually a moral or theological one). I equate moshels with the soda your mom would offer you as a chaser after taking whatever foul-tasting medicine the doctor had prescribed you. It makes it easier to get the lesson down, and you might even look forward to the next dose.

Moshels–particularly those of the Baal Shem Tov, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, and the Ben Ish Chai–are familiar to most readers with a Jewish education. They often appear in Rabbis’ drashos, and they sometimes make their way into children’s books. Several authors have recently attempted to update classic moshels and make them more appealing to tweens and teens–most successfully, perhaps, Steve Sheinkin in his entertaining Rabbi Harvey series, which take place in the Old West. One of the most challenging aspects of this genre is that you want to convey the lesson accurately without sounding pedantic, boring, or preachy. Also, some of the settings and situations detailed in traditional moshels don’t appeal to contemporary readers, or (more often) are so unfamiliar as to complicate comprehension of them.

I have my own spin on the Modern-day Moshel that I’ve been trying to market, which I’m not sharing here (because, like many authors, I’m terrified of people copying my idea before I can sell it myself–see this post). However, I thought I’d provide a heads-up to my readers what I’m thinking about right now.

Silence is golden: how to be a writer without harming others

Shimon, the son of Rabban Gamliel, said:

“I was brought up all my life among the Sages,

and I have found nothing as good for the body as silence…”

                                                                                                   (Pirkei Avot/The Sayings of our Fathers)

Sometimes a punch is less painful than a verbal blow.

Usually, when we hear about the value of silence, we think about what literally comes out of our mouths. According to Jewish law, before speaking, we’re supposed to chose our words carefully, and use them to teach, to learn, to express love and gratitude, to connect with people and with G-d.

However, as we become more conscious of our speech, we discover how often we use our words to accomplish the opposite. How many people have we offended because we mouthed off with the first thing that came to our heads? How often many times have we said something hasty and then wished we could take it back? Are there people who don’t trust us because we let slip their secrets?

If we’re lucky, we learn–like Rabbi Shimon, above–to value the word that is withheld as much or more than the one that is expressed.

Recently, I’ve noticed that sometimes silence can be golden when it comes to writing, too. It’s striking that many writers out there will justify misusing words for “art” or for profit. In the news lately, we’ve seen writers paid to produce reviews of books and others who write college and graduate school essays for a fee. Both are misleading their intended audiences.

I once read a novel that portrayed a beloved historical figure as a murderer. I guess the author thought it was was okay because it was just “fiction,” but the personage has living relatives. If she were living, she could sue, but because she’s dead, there’s nothing to protect her reputation.

And think about all the memoirists who paint vengeful, unflattering one-sided pictures of their nearest and dearest “because it’s the truth.” It might feel great to tell everyone you were mistreated by your drunken father, but how does your sister feel? And what if dad decides to become sober and you patch things up…how will you be able to retract the words you published for all the world to see?

It’s interesting, but in Jewish law, you can say something that could be harmful to a person’s reputation if it is for a constructive purpose–but ONLY if it is for a constructive purpose. If you have even the slightest thought of vengeance when you write a review, or you take the smallest grain of pleasure in describing your neighbor’s foibles, you are not allowed to share them. Imagine if everyone held themselves to that standard.

With the new year approaching (at Rosh HaShanah), I’ve been considering how much a writer has to say…and what shouldn’t be written. Even the non-professional writer has moments wishing they could push “unsend” after sending an email or drop a fishing line into the mailbox in order to retract the angry letter they’d just posted. Let’s hope we all channel beauty and purity into the world through our pens and our keyboards in the coming year.

How to find a kosher book: Nifty bit in this week’s HaModia

There’s an article this week about Rabbi Alexander Seinfeld in HaModia, and it mentions almost as an aside that he and his 12 year old daughter have started a website with books for Jewish kids.
I visited the site, and the coolest thing is that it is SEARCHABLE! You can look up selections by subject and by age of reader, as well as title and author. However, it does not contain all the books out there. I’m assuming it is a work in progress and I’m very impressed with what they’ve done so far. It would be a great resource, for example, for those looking to buy a gift for a particular child or looking to stock up for a school or classroom library.
The link is in the list to the right of this blog, as well, and will remain there indefinitely.
In other “HaModia” news…my all-time favorite serial (aside from the one co-written by yours truly…) wrapped up in that magazine last week. Hopefully, This is America! will soon appear in novel format in Jewish bookstores. I really hope so, as it will deservingly find more readers this way.

The secret to finding happiness: Using your talents

A few years ago, a group called Mishmeres HaShalom (now called Tiferes) sent out a DVD of Rabbi Noah Orlowek on the topic of Happiness. Happiness is a particularly apropos topic at this time of year. We’re now in Adar, and “When Adar enters, joy increases,” as the Sages said.

According to Rabbi Orlowek, people are happiest (animals, too) when they are fufilling that which they were created for. A person should 1) consider their talents and abilities, then 2) use them for the purposes of a mitzvah.
There’s a famous story (I think it appears in the the Gemara) of a gentleman who had a beautiful singing voice. When he would travel on pilgrimage to Jerusalem every year, he’d lead the prayer services. One year, he just didn’t feel like doing so. He was punished by G-d, since G-d had given him this magnificent voice for it to be used in Heavenly service.
When I heard the lecture by Rav Orlowek, I thought about my own talents. At the time, I’d sold a book (it hadn’t yet come out), but had no additional publishing success. I was frustrated about how much work I was doing–writing, researching, submitting–with little to show for it.
I decided to use my writing as a chessed. I sent goofy poetry to relatives. I prepared the newsletter for one of my son’s nursery school. I wrote an article for a local magazine about a community issue that needed attention. I began to think about my writing not just as a way to express myself or a way (I hoped) to make a little money, but as a responsibility.
Maybe we can all think about our talents and choose one thing we do well to bring assistance or joy to others.