A Reading Practice

I’ve been working on adding some new practices to my daily schedule. A key thing I added in December – even before the Solstice, much less the official New Year – was to spend about 15 or 20 minutes reading every morning.

The original purpose was to give myself a reason to sit quietly for a few minutes before checking my blood pressure – which I’m keeping a close eye on – but it quickly evolved into something I really wanted to do. And that was probably because of the book I started with: Carlo Rovelli’s The Order of Time.

I stumbled on that book in a used bookstore in Sebastopol (the one in California, not Crimea) last summer and bought it on impulse. When I started doing the reading back in December, I pulled it out with a couple of other books on much the same impulse, and quickly fell into it.

Rovelli is a physicist, and the book is about the understanding of time by physicists, and yet that doesn’t begin to completely describe it, not to mention that it doesn’t tell anyone what a joy it is to read.

Rovelli is a lyrical writer and a gentle one. He can make statements that might be controversial without issuing a challenge. While I’m reading the English translation of this book (it was translated by Erica Segre and Simon Carnell), I am quite sure the beautiful and gentle writing is all Rovelli and was there in the Italian original. Rovelli does speak English (and likely several other languages, given the different scientists with whom he has worked), so I imagine he has some idea of what his words should look like when translated.

In doing this reading, I began to keep something of a commonplace book in which I wrote down quotations from the book or, occasionally, my own reaction.

Here are some of quotes that struck me:

Nothing is valid always and everywhere.

[T]he world is nothing but change.

The world is not a collection of things, it is a collection of events.

We are part of a network that goes far beyond the few days of our lives and the few square meters that we tread.

We are more complex than our mental faculties are capable of grasping.

I could go on, but perhaps that is enough to entice others to read this book. Continue reading “A Reading Practice”

Raised in a Barn: The Tango

As I was making the bed this morning I found myself humming “Tango Jalousie.” It’s a melody* that has been used for ads and other things, and is familiar in that in-the-background-of-western-culture sort of way. But it’s also familiar to me because when I was… 9? My parents decided that my brother and I should learn to tango.

Insert glyph of “huh?” here.

This was in the 60s, mind, when the Bossa Nova was in. The Twist. The Frug. The Mashed Potato. Not the tango. But my father liked to tango, and felt that somehow this would be a civilizing influence on his hell-spawn young.

The tango was initially considered a scandalous dance, one which dismayed the proper citizens of Buenos Aires (where it first emerged) in the 1880s.  The partners stand so close together! (Bear in mind that seventy years the tango emerged, the waltz was considered vulgar and outré for the same reason.) The tango’s origins were a mix of African and European influences, and it was a dance of the poor people. Like jazz, the tango came from the margins and–like jazz–it took over. By the early 1900s the tango had become a European dance craze. It had its rises and falls, and by the time I learned it it was…quaint. Where some of my classmates might have been forced into dance classes where they learned the two-step or foxtrot, no one I knew was tangoing. Except me and my brother.

It’s not a difficult dance; the pattern is simple: 1-2   1-2-3. The steps can be taken in a straight line (a la Gomez and Morticia Addams) or, as we did, in a box. Step forward on my left, then right; step back on my left, step a little further out on the right, then bring the left in to join the right. The second three steps are a little faster than the first two. Once I could do that without falling over, Dad introduced other steps (my favorite was a sort of zig-zagging step where he held on to my elbows and turned me right and left, back and forth, for a count of five to the tempo of the music). And there were dips–Dad did not drop me backward as in the illustration here. Mine was just a slight bending backward, supported by his hand (nor did I wrap my leg around him. We didn’t have that kind of relationship). I assume my mother was teaching my brother roughly the same things: I wasn’t watching him, I was watching my feet.

Years later, when I was a theatre major in college, my ability to tango reliably (and to follow–or occasionally lead a dance partner who didn’t know how to lead) won me a certain amount of performance cred. “How did you learn that?” a director asked me. “My father taught me.” Silly me, I thought everyone learned the tango at home.

________
*familiar enough that Mad Magazine set lyrics to it, which I recall as “Jealousy, how could you do this to me? Because my eyeball just fell into your highball…” Which is hilarious if you’re eight years old… or my mother.

 

I am the Red Queen

I am so the Red Queen this week. I am running so very hard and would love to be able to feel that I’m on top of anything. I still can’t do long posts answering questions, but I have such good reason.  Six things have happened and any one of them would be enough to demand I re-order my day and drink much coffee.

Let me explain the things in random order. All of this has happened since Friday.

  1. I can see! Because I have unusually problematic eyes, new glasses are not so easy. I needed 3 pairs. Two pairs came last year and it took me about a week to get used to them. The third arrived on Friday and it took until today for my eyes to be able to interpret the world without dizziness. The new specs are very smart and I like them a lot, but, for me, buying glasses is always a bit of a gamble. If I have someone with me with good taste (as I had for the first two pairs) their good taste makes me look respectable. I cannot see things for myself, and for some reason, taking pictures of my in empty frames and then looking at the pictures on the screen just makes me want to walk away. I don’t know how I look, in other words, until I have the new glasses.
    Some of my friends hear the news and say, “New glasses!” They show me their reading glasses and tell me which chemist one can buy the best $10 pair at or that they were only $3.  Mine cost a lot, lot more than this. All three of mine together, in fact, added up to $1,000, which, given my eyesight, was a bargain. When I buy in Australia, I have to go to a specialist shop. It takes about two weeks once I’ve ordered, because the lenses have to be cut in Japan. Occasionally the optometrist loses my order (this happened last year, for the first two pairs) and I have to start from scratch. The new glasses are from France, and the same price as the Australian… but the glasses are lighter and easier to wear.
  2. My computer was dying.  On a bad day, it took eight hours to boot up. I have a new computer and it’s lovely. It arrived just before lunch yesterday and… I’m still sorting things out. Because I don’t like buying new computers, the technology changes a lot in between computers. I’m still adjusting to the new one. This may take a while.
  3. This is the week of my literary review. I sent 9,000 words to my supervisor and get comments on Thursday and then have to complete it. By Monday I also have to change a bunch of other things, and the Monday after (if I’ve got the dates right) then 65,000 words ought to be ready to go. In normal times, this is not a big deal. My normal self is seriously good at this kind of thinking and writing. This month is not normal times.
  4. My email didn’t transfer over properly from my old machine. All the saved categories mysteriously disappeared. Most of the deleted mail re-appeared. I found myself with well over 90,000 emails from just one account… and they included things that need to be done this week. I’m working on it.
  5. I have had a health blip recently. Since about November, in fact. On Sunday, my body announced that it may be deciding to recover from the blip, but it’s not certain. I feel a lot better than I have been. but I need to rest… a lot. Also, I lost 3 kg on Sunday, all inflammation deciding it didn’t like me (which is a good thing). It’s a bit too exciting. Blood tests are tomorrow, which is also a bit too exciting.
  6. I now know the shape of left wing antisemitism in Australia. I made a simple statement in public and received some very interesting and mostly vile responses and matched them to a bunch of previous knowledge. If anyone needs to understand the new antisemitism better, I can now explain it. That’s the good thing. The bad thing is that most of its purveyors want to tell Jews what we are and how we think and do not stop to listen. This is where the “All Jews murder children” stuff comes from, and I can now  explain how it begins in simply not listening, to not respecting, to bullying, to turning individuals invisible, to outright hate. If anyone wants to understand how the Left does this, ask me. I already knew about the right wing stuff, and have reached the stage where I can talk sensibly with many people on the right and we can come to a bit of an understanding given time and space. The irony is, of course, that I’m of the left.
    The reason I am the historian I am is because I refuse to dismiss all bigots out of hand. Most of them are really fine human beings who can’t see where their ideas and their hero-worshipping leads them. Right now, though, we’re at an odd point and it’s rather difficult to get past the hate and talk to the fine human being. This is the moment when violence is about to begin. This is also the moment when most people who are developing this problematic stuff are both moving into self-defensive mode and into a place where their ideas are consolidating into passionate beliefs. I’m seeing more theology of hate than I’ve seen in such a long time.
    I so miss being allowed to teach these things so that people can understand themselves and their friends and make their own decisions about which direction they’re going to travel in and why. Dumping people like me from teaching is, of course, a small factor in what’s happening. None of this is cheerful… but at least I understand more.

Is this enough cause to be late in the Treehouse and still not answering my readers’ questions?

Not Just Plucky Underdogs

Most of us are suckers for “plucky underdog” stories. I say “most,” because I assume bullies aren’t into them. I notice that the grifter’s administration referred to itself as “Goliath” in one of its communications to Canada, which gives me some indication that whoever wrote that line was not paying attention in Sunday School.

But the rest of us love them. The first three Star Wars movies were colossal hits because the resistance fighters were plucky underdogs who eventually won.

For me, part of what makes the original Star Wars movies so satisfying is that the plucky underdogs are the good guys and they win.

The winning is important. It’s not just that they’re plucky and right; they succeed.

When The Force Awakens, the first of the last Star Wars trilogy, came out (We will draw a veil over the second trilogy), my first reaction was “Wait a minute. The good guys won in Return of the Jedi. Why are they the plucky rebels again?”

Now don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed the movie, even enjoyed the complexity of the good guys that got worked into that whole series. But my question stands.

Why weren’t the good guys fighting from a position of power? The implication is that even if the right people end up in charge, they can’t hold onto it.

Now there are certainly plenty of historical examples of the good guys winning only to be overthrown soon after. It happens. It happened here in the United States in November 2024 when the January 6, 2021, insurrection, which we all thought had failed, succeeded.

You can argue that we needed better good guys and that the United States needs some changes and I won’t disagree with you, but we are dealing with the destruction of our country right now, including a lot of the best parts of it. I come down on the side of clean air, equal opportunity, safety, antitrust enforcement, and retirement protection every time.

You can also tell me there was an election, but I will counter that the 14th Amendment bars insurrectionists from office. The failure of our institutions to protect us from this debacle will keep me angry forever.

Anyway, the plucky underdog story is a classic, whether the underdog wins or loses, and we the people of the United States do seem to be in the underdog spot right now. (I assume some of the people who voted for the grifter are still under the illusion that the leopards aren’t going to eat their faces, but they need their social security checks and their highway repairs, too.)

But unless the underdog wins and holds onto the win, it is so not the story I need right now! I need stories where the good people not only succeed, but figure out how to keep things going well. I want stories in which people develop a good society – if not a utopia, at least something on the path to one – and keep it going.

Continue reading “Not Just Plucky Underdogs”

In Times of War: A Flood of Horrific News

This was originally posted in April, 2022, as the Russian invasion of Ukraine was getting underway. It seems just as urgent now.

After the 2016 Presidential election, I wrote a series of blog posts, “In Troubled Times.” In them I explored my evolving feelings of disbelief, shock, horror, despair, fury, and rising determination. “Nevertheless, She Persisted” became our mantra. I hoped that my words provided solace and inspiration to others, and the process of putting them down did for me.

Now we face new, often overwhelming challenges to sanity. I find myself reacting to the news of the war in Ukraine, and yet being unable to look away. Then my friend, Jaym Gates, wrote this on her Facebook page, posted here with her permission.

Be really careful on social media for the next few days, friends. A lot of footage of Russian Federation war crimes, torture, rape, and murder just came out from Mariupol and other occupied cities. It is *horrific.* While it needs to be seen, shared, and remembered, it is going to be extremely traumatic to engage with.

If you’re a survivor of abuse or trauma, in particular, please be especially careful.

And send support to Ukraine if you can. What’s happening there is awful beyond words.

 My daughter, a psychology student, spotted this article by Heather Kelly in the Washington PostHow to stay up-to-date on terrible news without burning out.

It can be hard to look away from your phone and live your life while terrible events are unfolding, Kelly writes. There’s an unrelenting flow of images, videos and graphic updates out of Ukraine, filling social media, messaging apps and news sites.

It’s important to stay informed, engaged and even outraged. But it’s also important to pay attention to our own limits and mental health by taking breaks, looking for signs of burnout and consuming news in the smartest way possible.

That means setting some ground rules for the main portal connecting us to nonstop tragedy: our phones [or computers]. Here are some suggestions:

  1. Give yourself permission to take a break

It is okay to hit pause on the doom and go live your life, whether that means going outside with the kids or just losing yourself on the silly side of TikTok. It’s necessary for everyone’s mental health.

  1. Take time for self-care

A break is not a few minutes away from Twitter. Start with real breaks of at least 30 minutes to an hour so that your brain has time to come down from what you were last watching or reading. Ideally, you’ll put your phone down and take a technology break … or do some activities known to help with stress reduction, including exercise, mindfulness and meditation, journaling, engaging in hobbies and other activities you enjoy, spending time with family and friends, and doing faith-based activities if you practice.

  1. Change your news habits

Disinformation like propaganda is designed to capture your attention and elicit strong emotions, which can contribute to any anxiety you’re already feeling. Instead, stick with reputable sources. If you can wait, opt for deeply reported stories at the end of the day over constant smaller updates. Avoid using social media for news, but if you do, follow sources and people that contribute to your understanding of an issue rather than those that just generate more outrage.

  1. View your phone in black and white

In your smartphone’s accessibility settings there is an option to make the screen black and white instead of color. Some studies have indicated that turning this on leads to less screen time.

  1. Know when to ask for help

Look for signs that you are burned out or experiencing serious anxiety. First, consider whether you’re predisposed to reacting strongly to a particular issue. Anyone who has personally dealt with similar trauma or war in the past might find constant vivid social media posts about Ukraine to be triggering. [Italics mine.]

In conclusion: be kind to yourself, friends. Practice healthy boundaries and filters, and good self-care. Ask for help, whether it’s a friend or family member screening news for triggers, or a companion on a hike through the redwoods. Find safe people to reach out to. I’ll be writing more about our journey together.

 

Summer and Eggs

My little bit of Australia has a heat wave. This is not unexpected, given it’s summer. It does, however, mean my brain is fried. It didn’t reach 100 degrees (using US temperatures) today, so, in the measurements of my childhood, it was hot enough to fry an egg on a car bonnet, but not hot enough for the pavement to melt. In my childhood, I would have said that this is a day when I can’t go running, but I can still play and read. Alas, I am no longer a child. Also, alas, this week is full of work that has unchangeable deadlines. If I had the energy, I would sing you (badly), “Too darn hot.” I do not. Also I have 3,000 words of deathless academic prose to write before I can sleep tonight.

I had better start writing.

Maybe next week will be cooler. Maybe the week after. We’re in our last month of summer. Schools have gone back, and universities will begin again soon and life will pick up pace. Maybe then I’ll have the inner-oomph to write those answers to the serious and interesting questions my readers sent me. I hope so. Then I can complain about storms and blowsy autumn leaves. I’ll have more energy for complaint and far less interest in dreaming of frying eggs on car bonnets.

One last note to leave you with: if it were ten degrees hotter, then I could fry an egg on the pavement. I tested this when I was a child. My parents did not let me eat the egg, alas, which is why the car bonnet is now my theoretical place of choice. It’s still only theoretical because none of my friends are willing to let me destroy their car enamel. Which is just as well, because my US friends have egg problems and if I had wasted eggs in testing the heat outdoors it would be rather rude.

American Exceptionalism

cover of It Can't Happen Here by Sinclair LewisOver lunch this week, Madeleine Robins and I discussed a book we’ve both read more than once: Sinclair Lewis’s It Can’t Happen Here.

We have not re-read it recently, and neither of us is willing to do so right now, but as we know the story pretty well, we see the parallels all around us.

The title says a lot about American Exceptionalism, in that we in the United States really believe all kinds of its can’t happen here.

For those of you who haven’t read it, here’s a brief summary. In 1936, U.S. voters, apparently dissatisfied with Roosevelt’s reforms, elect a so-called populist (modeled on Huey Long of Louisiana) as president. The government is handed over without a fuss (sound familiar?) and the new president, Buzz Windrip, quickly establishes a fascist government.

Our hero is Doremus Jessup, editor and publisher of a small town paper, a man who ends up an active part of the resistance.

If you don’t know how strong fascism was in the United States in the 1930s and how much the oligarchs of the time hated Roosevelt, this might seem like fantasy to you, but there were good reasons for Lewis to write this book when he did. Lewis is not the most elegant writer and his satire was always a little heavy handed, but he really understood this country, or at least the white people of it.

I recommend it, though I’m not doing a re-read right now because I know the end of the book and the themes of many other resistance stories. I want stories about how we win, not just how we persevere.

As we cope with real life, there are two pieces of advice that I keep seeing over and over in the wake of the new presidential administration.

One is a reminder that the firehouse of nonsense from the grifter is intended to freak us all out and we should stay calm and not let it get to us.

And the other is we need to support institutions. History professor Timothy Snyder, whose studies focus on authoritarianism, included that in his latest newsletter of things to do and Marc Elias, who has been suing over voting rights in particular, included in his list of things to do “Help Democrats.”

While I certainly think it’s important not to let all these assaults on our fellow citizens and our democracy overwhelm us, I will point out that there needs to be a response to each of them. I don’t mean an individual response – that’s not even practical in most cases – but rather a response by an organization that knows how to deal with that problem.

A lot of that response will be litigation, though some of it – particularly when it comes to their attacks on immigrants – might be more focused on protecting people and holding demonstrations. Regardless, it needs to be led by groups that know what they’re doing, but the rest of us need to know that such work is happening and to get some idea of how we can support it.

In the case of those groups – those institutions – I think support (volunteering and financial) is very critical indeed. I have noticed that the ACLU, Public Citizen, and the Quakers have all filed relevant suits, and so have state attorneys general.

One of the actions over the executive order that is intended to nullify the 14th Amendment to the Constitution has already had success in the courts. But there will need to be a lot more of that just to hold a little ground.

In general, when I hear the word “protect institutions,” it’s those groups I have in mind, because they’re the ones that have been doing the work.

Continue reading “American Exceptionalism”

Elements, Man

Last week my husband and I drove from San Francisco to Los Angeles. Excitingly, when we were not quite half way there several friends who knew that we were driving down pinged us to let us know that a new wildfire had broken out near I-5 on our route. During the minutes when Danny and I were discussing whether this would impact our drive the fire grew so fast that we decided to head west at Paso Robles and take the coastal route the rest of the way. Thus our tidy six hour drive became a squalid 9 hour drive. But we got there and I moved in to the apartment upstairs where I stay when I visit, while Danny continued onward to Anaheim and the trade show he was going to.

By 11pm I was in my jammies and on the edge of sleep when Danny called. I thought this was just a “g’night, I love you” sort of call. Instead he said “you know about the fire, right?”

Um. Did he mean the Hughes fire which had caused our detour through Paso Robles and San Luis Obispo etc.? Or the Palisades fire which was (at that point) still not entirely under control. As it turns out, he meant neither. A brush fire had broken out a couple of miles north of my aunt’s house. Um.

I got hold of my daughter (in another apartment in the building) and my aunt’s caregiver’s daughter (a PhD candidate who also lives in the building) and we were discussing what, if anything, to do, when an alert siren went off on our phones: the area we were in (Bel Air, right next to the San Diego Freeway) was now on Level 2 alert, meaning “get ready to get the hell out.” 

I was, by now, fully dressed. I threw the things I’d taken out of my bag back in, and my daughter and I packed her car with various stuff. Then we went to my aunt’s house. There, things were in motion to move my aunt to her caregiver’s house in Central LA. Since other than standing around making un-useful suggestions (my aunt’s caregivers raise Awesome to a new dimension, and have their act down) and entertaining my aunt (who has lived in this neighborhood for over 50 years and, even with dementia, has a sense of humor about all this shit) there wasn’t much we could do to help, we took off to the valley and my daughter’s beau’s family house, where we spent the night. This meant actually driving past the fire that had rousted us out of our beds. It was, as these things go, small–I don’t think it got bigger than 45 acres (the Palisades fire, in contrast reached 23,448 acres; while it’s still active, it’s 94% contained, thank God). But driving past it, seeing the tongues of flame going from one dark patch to another, and seeing the firetrucks and a helicopter (I think it was a helicopter) dropping water on the area, was terrifying and impressive.

Years ago I was in London, walking up Baker Street toward Marylebone Street, and realized that there was a serious fire two blocks ahead of me on. I stood and watched, riveted, as the London firefighters took after this elemental force, fighting it with water and foam and all the tools they had. Gradually the tide turned; they kept the fire limited to the one six-story building it had started in, then began to quell it, one section of the building at a time. I was left kind of breathless: there are people who go out and face down this force with nothing more than water and the tools that science and experience has given them.

As I’ve said before: fire doesn’t care. Neither does water (if you have ever been caught in an undertow, you know this). Based on my experience with fire and water, I’d go so far as to guess that earth–in the form of earthquakes and mudslides– and air don’t care either. And yes, I realize that calling water, fire, earth and air “elements” harks back to ancient times and isn’t scientific. But these forces are powerful, and they do not yield to persuasion. Given my choice of facing down a guy with a gun or a wall of fire, I’d go for the guy with a gun. Who knows? I might be able to figure a way out, or talk the guy down or something. But Fire Doesn’t Care. Period.

In the end the fire fighters got the Sepulveda fire sufficiently contained that the “get set to go” alert was cancelled, and my aunt got to stay in her own bed. The next morning my daughter and I returned from Tarzana (a 20 minute drive that took almost two hours; thank you, LA traffic) and the rest of the visit went on as planned.

On Sunday Danny and I drove back to San Francisco. We’d had some rain on Saturday evening, and the rain on I-5 turned to snow on the grapevine (a twisty high-elevation bit of the highway above Santa Clarita), and then alternated with torrents and blue skies most of the way north. So we got more of the elements, which was occasionally exciting in the pejorative sense. We Modern Folk tend to discount the elements–it’s only rain. Or snow. It’s only fire. Or an earthquake. Or Santa Ana winds that draw every last iota of moisture out of the air so that a Los Angeles hillside is an easy target for a spark–any spark. 

All I’m saying is that the forces of nature don’t care, so we have to.

Why is there no Jewish Australian culture or art?

I meant to return to answering questions today. Next week. Today I have other things on my mind.

Yesterday, I was caught up in trying to work out why it’s so important to so many people to not let Jews mourn loss. I saw Irish Jews forced to leave a Holocaust Memorial ceremony. I saw people told “What about others who have died?” when they tried to mourn families murdered during the Holocaust. I saw so much more than this that I lost words and avoided writing.

Even political leaders who gave official statements about the Holocaust toned it down this year, left off the dangerous word ‘Jews’ and generally faffed around. Someone on my timeline suggested that we should mourn all lives not focus on specific lives even for one day, and I wondered if it were possible to make all anniversaries about the death of a parent about all parents without hurting those who had lost their parents. We all need time to mourn because we all need to heal when we’re hurt. Each and every one of us at an appropriate time. Not all of us for just one shared minute.

This mood carried over into all kinds of other things. One of them left me incoherent until this morning. Please understand that I am not yet over my incoherence. This may not be the best post I’ve ever done, but my heart is in it.

Someone on social media said, “Think of all the colour, art, theatre, celebration and other cultural value that immigrants and different cultures have brought to Australia. Hmm just remind me what the Jews have brought us, a bit of theatre and film maybe?”

The first Australian opera was written by someone Jewish: Isaac Nathan. The famous story of Fisher’s ghost, the story that led to a Fisher’s ghost festival every single year in the Sydney region… it was written by someone Jewish. The writer who brought English folktales into the international fold and who is still read as the classic purveyor of English folk tales was Jewish and from Australia.

Jewish Australia was such a strong part of Australia’s nineteenth century culture.

We couldn’t stand out and be different very often, because that was not safe. This doesn’t mean that we didn’t contribute. Jews have been part of Australian culture since modern Australia began, just as Jews have lived in Australia since 1788. One of the first free settlers in Australia was a Jewish baby who arrived on the First Fleet, and many of the early arts and early printing in colonial Australia were by Jews or done with Jews.

This particular history shows why some of us create art and celebrate culture that is similar to mainstream culture: religious difference does not imply complete cultural difference.

More than that, though: many Jewish cultural mavens don’t have the same access to the wider community because it’s not safe or because they/we are too Jewish.

Still more, this means is that Jews in Australia are left aside by others who share culture, because of histories past and shameful. Let me give you an example. When I first came to Canberra I met the people in charge at our Polish club and they told me I was welcome to join, since I had ancestors from Bialystock and from around Warsaw and we spoke very similar cultural languages. Then they discovered I was Jewish and they said “We do not accept Jews.” At the cultural festivals in Canberra, there used to be Jewish and Israeli foodstalls and singing and dancing, but these days it’s not safe and very few Jewish culture-bearers from any background are on programs and everyone asks me “Why don’t we have a Jewish food fair any more?” The food fair is a specific thing. It covered many different Jewish food cultures, and was a delight. It was run to make money for children’s education, but the insurance premiums the Jewish community had to pay were so high after the Molotov cocktails 20+ years ago, that the community would not only not raise money with a food fair… it would go into debt.

One of the wonders of modern Australian history is the great change that made us a nation with so many writers and musicians and actors and… an immensely artistic country. This development of the arts into something of international note (including that enviable coffee culture) was spearheaded by Holocaust survivors. And yet there is not Jewish contribution to culture and the arts?

When I was in my teens I asked many Shoah survivors, including writers, “Why Melbourne? What made you choose to come to Melbourne?” I was told they wanted to get as far from Europe as they could. These people were mostly honorary aunties and uncles who went to school, university or shared a social group with one of my parents.

We were the older Australian Jews. They still shared their art with the rest of Australia. Much of Australia simply pretended my branch of Australian Jewish weren’t Jewish at all, or were pretenders, or did not have and specific cultural background they presented. My father’s first cousin, Linda, has had any indication of her Jewishness removed from her Wikipedia page, except for the title of one of her most popular song series.

We are not really permitted to show off the folk culture or the national culture the way other Australians are able.

There is the bigotry, which I’ve mentioned. Add to this the need to be safe, which is related to the bigotry.

There is another related factor. Many non-Jewish Australians pretend we don’t exist. This is why almost no-one in Australia knows who the author is of the first Australian Jewish fantasy novel. How do I know almost no-one knows? Because I am that author.

Another aspect is whether others who share our ancestral cultures are willing to share. The Polish Club fits in here. Just as the Polish club did not want me, few mainstream Australian culture experts see Jewish Australian writers unless we write about the Holocaust, about rebellion against Ultra-Orthodoxy… in other words, unless we create what they feel we ought to create. Our own culture is far less important than their view of it.

Also, for some of us, our culture is Anglo-Australia. My cultural foodways include challah and lamingtons and meat pies. We’re entirely allowed to publicly celebrate the lamingtons and meat pies, but most Australians don’t see how challah fits into the picture.

Add to all this that we can’t appear too different and still be safe. There are days and times I cannot walk in a given place and guarantee my safety. When I’m in Melbourne on a day where pro-Palestinians march, I cannot use the State Library without walking around the long, long way and entering by the back, for instance. I cannot walk that far, so I cannot use the State Library on those days.

Jews in Australia have never been permitted to be too different from majority culture and so we have our own culture, that is similar to that of the majority. This doesn’t mean we bring nothing, because our ancestors were part of that majority culture before we even came to Australia. It means that some people look and don’t see something they think of as distinctive or exotic and so think we have brought nothing. Take Jewish composers out of Australian history and the whole modern development of international level music would be jeopardised. The folk music scene in Melbourne would lose its best violinist.  Dame Edna Everage would not have worn those glasses. Eliot Goblet and John Safran and Elle McFeast would not be part of our world. There is so much culture Australia would not have.

We cannot appear too different in public. I can be publicly Jewish because I have an Anglo-Australian culture, but local bookshops do not stock my books – not even the ones used in universities in the US and Germany – and I am not sufficiently distinctively Jewish  because when anyone assesses Jewish culture in Australia, the whole of the Anglo side of things tends to be ignored. This is why I wrote The Wizardry of Jewish Women – I am trying to redress that balance.

Let me ask that question from social media again:

“Think of all the colour, art, theatre, celebration and other cultural value that immigrants and different cultures have brought to Australia. Hmm just remind me what the Jews have brought us, a bit of theatre and film maybe?”

What does most of Australia bring to understanding and even encouraging Jewish Australian cultures? Not much at all. It’s not a lack of culture. It’s a lack of knowledge and a lack of community.

Update: I always tangle certain writers. There was more than one John Lang. The one who wrote Fisher’s Ghost was Australian-born, and famous for it. He was not the brother of Andrew Lang, of the many-coloured fairy books. The Fisher’s Ghost Lang’s maternal grandfather was one of the Jews who arrived here on the First Fleet, so Lang himself was not actually Jewish.  I always, always get the many Langs confused. I wrote articles to make sure I didn’t, but I still do. John Lang still fits here, but as someone with Jewish heritage, not as a practising Jew.

Birthright

As a White person with an ancestry in the United States that goes back before the country existed, I’ve spent most of my life assuming the truth of American Exceptionalism.

Don’t get me wrong – I’ve been critical of my country most of my life – but there was still this belief in some of our principles and maybe even the Constitution that let me think “we’re different” and “we’ll get around to fixing that.”

One of the things that kept that belief intact was birthright citizenship.

I recall learning at some point that people who were born in Germany to parents who had come from other places to work there were not German citizens and I was appalled. I had always assumed that birthright citizenship was a given everywhere, but instead it appeared it was an exception.

As in exceptional. As in one of the things that makes the United States exceptional.

The grifter – who is back in the White House because no one with the authority chose to enforce another provision of the 14th Amendment that bars insurrectionists from office – wants to take away one of the key elements of American Exceptionalism.

He doesn’t want the country to be exceptional. He just wants to do his performative powerful rich man routine and see how many people he can hurt in the process.

Of the many things that man and his minions – or maybe his handlers, given the financial power of the broligarchs – are doing to destroy our country, this might not be the worst. Even the current Supreme Court might rule it violates the Constitution. It’s certainly not the one that will affect me personally, given my ancestry.

(The only people who have the right to tell me I don’t belong here are those whose ancestors were here before the Europeans invaded, and that certainly doesn’t include people like the grifter.)

But it’s the one that stabs me in the heart. There’s just something about the principle that if you’re born someplace, you belong there.

I mean, where else can you really belong but the place you were born? Continue reading “Birthright”