Book review: The Yid, by Paul Goldberg

It is late February, in 1953. A gang of few Yids, plus a Black Proletarian worker from the oppressive America, speaking fluent Yiddish, are set on a mission: killing comrade Stalin, before it is too late. Too late before the Soviet Final Solution is implemented. There are also signs and testimonies, as Black Marias - the trademark car of 'intelligence' services - are busy transporting Jews. It is just the prelude of a massive operation aimed to make the great Soviet Union free of Jews. In his datcha, Stalin 'can imagine the multitude of Jews, foreign sounding names, and he cans ee the gallows he'll construct for killer doctors who had the gall to plot against them'. The Yids cannot let this happen. This tragic-comical team of Bar Kokhba fighters breathing Shakespearean drama and moving in the pace of Commedia dell'arte, but in Yiddish, succeeds and the Yids are saved. They do it discretely, as any lamed vovniks do and split ways. Mission accomplished.

 The author himself was born in the Soviet Union and emigrated later to the US with his family later. The book is based on a historical reality: Stalin did have a massive plan to eliminate Jews from the Soviet life that was interrupted by his death, in March 1953. There are a lot of stories about those events, including the assumption that Gd's will was not that Jews are destroyed. Another historical fact is that many Jews fought on behalf of the Soviets in the 'Big Patriotic War' and also many of them ended up in the Soviet prisons because considered disloyal and even, German spies. Sounds familiar...Personally, I've read as a child a couple of stories about a Black Proletarian worker that joined the Bolshevik revolution and become a citizen of the Soviet Union, but I bet there were more than one in the country of Soviets.

More than a historical tragic-comedy, the book develops many fine layers exploring the new and old transfigurations of anti-Semitism, from the blood libel to the 'Doctors' plot' and the everyday Jewish hate. As one of the characters is described: 'He hated us in the abstract. He hated the idea of our being. But one-on-one, he was a decent man. I've fought beside men like him, and I would again'. Sometimes the victim enters the logic of the accuser and assumes the labels assigned. In Paul Goldberg's book, the Yid is a common character, because this is how 'they' saw them, doesn't matter what.

Any story is nothing without the writing and in this respect, you have a happy mixture of many styles and influences, from Shakespeare to commedia dell'arte, Kafka and Daniil Kharms. Absurd and supernatural and a pinch of marxism-leninism, in the illegible Stalin version - what serious communist would ever give a 2 penny to Stalin writings. anyway. The dialogues are delicious and ridiculously smart. As smart as a pirouette with Finnish daggers in the heart of a NKVD little something coming to arrest a harmless clown. 

Forgotten Jewish painters: Rudolf Levy

A nostalgic portrait of a boy, traced with various nuances of blue. It is hard to avoid the sight of beauty and loneliness uttered by this figure, with the black holes as eyes, like those of a specter from a different world, not ours. But it could be one of the shadows of humans that were hunted, killed, followed and condemned to death in the cultured Europe. The author of this emotional work that I admired at the Pomeranian Museum in Greifswald, is Rudolf Levy, himself running across Europe to escape the Nazi hunters but ended up dying on the way to Auschwitz, after being caught by the Nazi occupiers of Florence.

The story of Rudolf Levy is of many German Jewish intellectuals of the time. Considered one of the 'pioneers of modern art movement', he was born in Stettin and studied in Baden, at the Grand Ducal School of Decorative and Applied Arts and after that, in Munich. He later moved to study with Henri Matisse, and the French painters, particularly Cezanne, played a big influence on his art. His love for France wasn't as big as his dedication to Germany though. During WWI, he volunteered for the front and fought for Germany against France. For his war achievements, he, as many other Jewish warriors on behalf of Germany, received the Iron Cross. 

After the war, he moved to Berlin, where he belonged to the German Secession movement. He was also on the board of directors and member of the jury of the Berlin Secession.

In 1933, he decided to flee Berlin to Paris, but once the Nazis approached Paris, he moved on to Italy, and Florence. During his wandering years, he continued to work, many portraits, mostly on commission, as well as still art. His paintings were owned by many German museums, but after 1937, his works were took off and probably ended up in the houses of many high ranking officials of the Nazi party. 

From his family, his brother, Paul, a railroads engineer, was also murdered at Auschwitz. His sister, Käthe, survived and moved to Tel Aviv, where she died in the 1950s. 

His works can still be found in some German museum - as it was the case in Greifswald, or auctioned by big houses in Europe or USA. 

Staying at home for the holidays. And some New Year wishes

This year is the second in a row when for the Jewish high holidays I am staying at home. The last year I was in the last days of pregnancy and the baby boy was born the evening of Yom Kippur and until I was out of the hospital, the holidays were already over. This year, the baby is still too small - at one year - to be carried on in a crowded synagogue and with him going up and down around the place, the chance to daven properly are almost nil. Thus, with the broken heart, I took the decision to spend one more year of holidays at home, taking care of him and trying, when possible, at least to meet some of my dear friends during the meals. 

Life with a baby is not easy and I was not expecting to be able to keep my usual routines, including the regular shul going. But, at least when the house is quieter, I am trying to daven quietly and to do the usual brachot. Fasting is hard, especially when I have to focus all my energy on taking care of the baby, preparing his food and taking him in and out of the house on my own - 10 kilos and counting is not very easy to carry on, but I am trying to not think at all at the weight and focus instead on offering him my safe arms for a smooth ride. (As I am writing those few lines, I had to stop several times to calm him down and watch him while making clumsy steps around the house, so even my favourite path of life, writing, is suffering considerably under the new conditions).

At the beginning of this difficult time, I used to have some second thoughts about what I would have done if...or if...or if...But wisdom prevailed and instead of poisoning my life with frustrations of 'never done', I decided, as often in my life, to focus on the moment and offer to my baby the best version of me, including in terms of time dedication. It is time for everything, my life had showed me and I am very much decided to keep this spirit for swimming through these holidays, and any other holidays when I would  need to stay with my baby at home. As for now, he is my precious diamond that I should take care of, with all my might. 

For this year, 5777, I wish myself strength, courage and humility to cope with all the challenges that, for sure, Hashem has stored for me. My wishes for all my readers too!