‘Rachel’ books bring family’s Jewish past out of hiding

jewishbooksNovember 15, 2013Post a Comment

The year is 1903, and young Rachel is leaving Russia with what remains of her family, escaping the violent pogroms that took her father’s life. After a cross-country train ride to Shanghai — one of the closest safe havens for Jews at the time — the teen tries to adjust to life in China, finding a job at a Jewish newspaper to help support her mother and siblings while she dreams of moving to America.

It reads like historical fiction, but much of “Rachel’s Promise,” the second book in Shelly Sanders’ “The Rachel Trilogy,” is based on fact. Sanders’ grandmother Rachel eventually left Shanghai for San Francisco, enrolled at U.C. Berkeley and became the first Jewish woman to be accepted into the university’s science program, graduating in 1930.

(via JWeekly.com )

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From Refugee Rescuer to Drug Trafficker: The Duality of Harold Derber – Thoughts on “The Wireless Operator” by David Tuch

There was an intriguing article in the Atlantic a couple of months ago about how our ancestors really felt. It focused on the work of Rob Boddice, who explores the history of emotions and senses. It was very much on my mind as I was reading about Harold Derber. Derber had a most interesting life, which would have been too exciting for most of us, as David Tuch meticulously documented in his “The Wireless Operator: The Untold Story of the British Sailor Who Invented the Modern Drug Trade.” The title and subtitle convey a great deal about his life, but not all. Read the book to get the whole picture; it’s worth it. Tuch conducted thorough research, gathered many documents, and used them as the basis for the book about his unknown cousin. He did much more, though: filled in the gaps with a narrative that turned the (not-so-dry) facts into a fascinating story, a spellbinding docudrama. But how did Derber really feel? What were his motivations and drives? We can never know how he or anyone else really felt. Boddice argues in Emotion, Sense, Experience that history should view emotions and senses as deeply connected rather than as separate fields. In his early life, Derber must have experienced a lof ot pain, like most of his contemporaries. Maybe not while he was part of the Manchester Jewish Lads’ Brigade, but certainly, when he witnessed the devastation of the Blitzkrieg, he surely had to take on the partial responsibility of his role to support his family. The latter led him to finding the path to becoming a radio operator, studying at the College of International Marine Radio Telegraphic and then working for years on various ships during the war. The rest of his winding life was surely defined by what he sensed in his formative years and his emotional reactions. Trying to understand him was the most challenging part of reading the book. I welcomed that challenge, and I think Tuch did as well. Here are some of the author’s hints: He may have concealed his Jewish identity to avoid antisemitism or ensure his eligibility under the British quota. Or maybe he was severing ties with values that no longer served him. (Page 51) Playing with fire, entirely legally, was a perfect summary of Derber’s life philosophy. (Page 139) Trafficking arms was a necessity, oil a calculated gamble, and refugees a moral obligation. Drugs were simply the next step. (Page 155) True to his moral code, Derber only trafficked marijuana, steering clear of more lucrative but destructive drugs like cocaine and Heroin. (Page 165) What do you think about Derber based on just these four short references? The false dichotomy of good guy/bad guy clearly transpires, right? He was Jewish, so he surely incorporated at least some Jewish values, but then seemingly gave them up. But where would you put his strong need to rescue Cubans who wanted to flee their country after the Communist takeover? Was his humanitarian motivation driven by war memories from his teen years? Figuratively speaking, he was trying to part the waters for them, as Moses did, so they could be free. (Technically, it was the other way around, trying to secure ships for them for their voyage.) Being banned from multiple countries would play into the stereotype of wandering Jews. But then he was wandering all his life from one place to another. Yes, by conventional standards, he was a criminal who violated the laws of multiple countries. On the other hand, he had some moral code, see the last quote. So he was not the worst of the worst. I could go back and forth lots of times. To quote Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof: “On the other hand… No – there is no other hand!” Let me share two personal semi-personal connections. He established a cruise company, Empress Lines Ltd., with several innovative ideas, including recognizing and utilizing the loophole that gambling is legal on international waters, even if on most of the land of the US, it is not or heavily regulated. Read chapter four for the glorious and also dark details. My wife became a travel agent specializing in cruises, so reading chapter three felt like an insider’s history of her new venture. (BTW: Contact her here for any and all of your cruising needs.) The latest cruise my wife took was on the Magdalena River in Colombia, ending in Cartagena. As recently as a few weeks ago, I had never even heard of this town, so I was quite surprised when I came across it on page 157. Derber spent most of chapter 11 there. These little personal connections make a book even more memorable and relatable. Because the book is so wild and covers such a wide range of the world, I think many readers would find parts of it to connect with. I never really liked the expression “larger than life,” so I will not use it for Derber either. Let me just say that his life was movie-worthy. The trials and tribulations he went through, not unscathed, would make a spectacular movie with lots of drama and adventure in splendid settings. He was truly an international figure, stepping in and out of spy stories, creative spirits, and ideas, with a strong sense and skill of cultivating useful relationships and always finding ways to proceed. By studying his life, you can learn a lot about little-known pockets of history, too. I would never have learned about Derber or so many aspects of history I was not familiar with, without David Tuch discovering the black sheep of his family and pursuing his story. But thankfully, he did, and he did a superb job finding archival materials and turning them into a coherent story. Tuch skillfully weaves historical details into a gripping narrative, enabling readers to delve into the complex emotions and motivations that shaped Derber’s decisions. The 45 pictures included in the book made it even more […]
Matrilineal Descent and Ascent; Thoughts on Red Anemones by Paula Dáil

Growing up or living in the USA, you can be deeply influenced by the prevailing values of the surrounding society, namely, often being individualistic, libertarian, and pragmatic. You can live your whole life with your value system not being challenged. Family dynamics can heavily influence it. For example, what do you do if you have a loving, caring, and smart father and a mother who is not just distant and emotionally closed, but also seemingly incapable of loving you as a parent? You become self-reliant and a capable, strong adult, while maintaining a balanced bond with your father and not keeping up with your mother, who was rarely even present in your life. But what happens is that after the mother’s death, you have to take care of the deceased’s physical possessions, and you encounter tangible proof of family secrets. This is the strong premise and the starting point of the beautifully constructed rabbit hole our heroine reluctantly chases herself down. How and do our foremothers’ choices, traumas, lives, and personalities influence or define our own actions? That is the question Dáil’s book gives one set of examples and answers. It is a multi-layered exploration of maternal inheritance, generational trauma, and the archaeology of family secrets. While based on the author’s discovery of her own maternal lineage, it is not a dry documentary. It is a brilliantly braided narrative that is hard to put down. The threads woven into a coherent, intertwining novel include A father-daughter relationship based on mutual respect, love, and personal history, A budding romantic relationship burdened with not just religious differences but also the questinoning the nature of these religious observances themselves on both sides, A girl-aunt relationship, where the aunt has been acting as a loving substitute mother, and hard decisions need to be made that can ruin this lifelong bond, Unraveling a series of family secrets: what did the foremothers do, when and where, and in the first half of the 20th century. I will not spoil the last item for you as it is an exciting story, with many unexpected turns. It reinforced my belief that ultimately nothing else matters, just stories, their meanings and transmission, and finally their reactions/receptions. Families live through their stories. The book’s protagonist (and the author too) grew up in a small family, but through discovering documents of her ancestors, her family and sense of it grew in size and depth. They, the author and the book’s heroine, both worked hard to fill in the gaps in what they discovered in the official papers and personal letters. This is a powerful, moving story that was worth reading and exciting to follow. It also made me ponder the deeper meanings. One takeaway revolves around the inevitability of confronting inherited wounds. Each of the three generations of women had a complex relationship with their mothers. The two mothers were struggling with ambivalence about the role and expectations of motherhood and their own ambitions outside traditional family expectations. These inner struggles manifested in behaviours that clearly did not align with their family and society. These were the wounds they carried throughout their lives that caused trauma not just for themselves, but also for the people who loved them. And they transpired as intergenerational trauma to the main character, who did not know anything about her ancestors’ lives and inner conflicts. Neveretheless she inherited them and, because of her own integrity and intellectual curiosity, ended up confronting and dealing with them. The book gently suggests that it was inevitable. I am not sure, because a less integral person might have swept all these deep issues under the rug. But I agree that facing down the past is a brave and necessary act to live an honest and full life. Excavating what is hidden in one’s identity is a transformative experience. The depiction of choosing between willful ignorance and painful enlightenment is what I treasured most in the Dáil’s prose. The way she poses questions and unfolds layers of psyche through storytelling is exceptional. The eldest of the three women in the book embodies protective silence. She believed that burying painful truths shields subsequent generations from harm. To some extent, this pattern of behaviour appeared in the second generation. Modern psychology disproved this notion, but at the time, they acted in good faith and without this knowledge. If we don’t talk about it, it can protect the children and the descendants, right? As a third-generation Holocaust survivor, I am vaguely familiar with this concept, as my grandmother, an Auschwitz survivor, did not talk about her experiences to her children. One of her many feelings must have been along the same lines as above. The middle generation in the book represents unconscious transmission, passing along unprocessed trauma through behavior, choices, and emotional patterns without explicit awareness. This probably fits my grandmother even better. I know that my mother has been working hard through the nonverbal transmission she received. The youngest generation, the protagonist, symbolizes the breaking point, the individual who can no longer carry forward unexamined wounds and must choose between perpetual unconsciousness and transformative awareness. This is the true culminating point of the book for me. The cathartic, conscious decision-making and the buildup to it are the liberation we all need to read about. If you’re seeking a novel that braids memory, resilience, war stories, history, and family secrets into something illuminating, this is the book to pick up. Let its three generations of strong, searching women guide you toward a deeper understanding of what it means to carry and finally choose healing. I enthusiastically recommend it to readers who crave thoughtful, character-driven storytelling that you not just enjoy, but keep thinking about long after you finish it. Book trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y8AvfBGrEBA Reviews: Kirkus Literary Titan Readers’ Choice NetGalley Yarde Book Reviews The author’s website, page on the publisher’s site, and page on Facebook. * Promoted content
DEI: Digging, Equality, Inheritance; Thoughts on “The Unexpected Heiress” by George Mallory

A Family Saga From Concentration Camp to Gold Mining Empire Editor: Juliette Lachemeier What is gold? On one hand, it is the very material and metaphor that represents wealth. On the other hand, it is also a symbol of spiritual redemption. Just think of the importance of the golden rule that exists in one form or another in many belief systems. In the olden days, gold symbolized divine purity and represented eternal value. We might be far from the times when these associations were almost universal, but many people still carry remnants of these beliefs even if unconsciously. And I haven’t even touched on how light is also associated with both gold and enlightenment. So, when you have a family in a novel that became rich through gold mine operations, it makes you think about why the author chose this particular option to make the fictional family rich. I want to think that it has to do with all of the above reasons. The connections between external riches and internal ones are subliminally present in the text itself. But reading the book, I got immersed in the realm of gold, which I rarely do, so all these topics came up in me. It may have more to do with me than with the book, but why not read a bit of deep redemption into it? You did it too, right? The book delivers a more explicit message about women’s equality. Part of the world of politics seems to be regressing and some forces are actively misogynistic and fighting against women’s rights. They say they only want merit and qualifications to be considered in the hiring process, and achievements. But in reality, they fired lots of very qualified women from their positions. I have to conclude that their words just cover their deep bias. The Unexpected Heiress sends a strong, unambiguous message to these outdated perspectives. Instead of the unqualified son of the patriarch, the highly qualified daughter becomes the heiress of the empire. This unexpected decision brings a host of challenges for all the parties involved, which is the main driving force of the drama. The trick is, of course, how you define qualifications. On the surface, the son had all the right education to become the company head, while the daughter studied different topics. If you dig deeper, you see who has the right character and a set of skills, including adaptability, ambition, learning skills, and soft skills. Good reminder, in the age of AI, to take a person holistically, not just the degrees and existing topic expertise. The internet is full of memes, pictures where elderly characters, mostly female presenting people carrying signs saying “I can’t believe I still have to fight this sh*t”. It refers to the fact that they fought for women’s equality for decades. I fully sympathize with the sentiment. The book does an excellent job of showing how a woman can break into an old boys’ club through the glass ceiling. I wish that it would be easier for them. I strongly believe we would be a happier society if women had the same opportunities at every level and received the same level of remuneration. Of course, men threatened by successful women would not be happier. But the rest of us, yes. One reason I enjoyed the book is that it showed how it can be accomplished. Men in positions of power can act as supportive feminists, too. The third set of thoughts the book evoked in me concerns inheritance. As I referred to above, a major storyline is about the fight for the material inheritance, a multi-billion-dollar gold mine conglomerate. That is really worth fighting for if you are into more money. Even the losing sides of this confrontation would have enough to live comfortably, by the standard of many of us. But if you are born into and grow up surrounded by wealth, then your standards are different than those of those who did not. Let’s not forget, though, the other kind of inheritance, the intergenerational trauma. The family’s founder is a Holocaust survivor from Poland who built his empire from scratch, with persistence, talent, and luck. His daughter (by the end of the book) managed to keep the company together through the same three elements. His children are adjusted to and prepared for life to varying degrees, which is quite natural as we are all different. I wonder, though, whether the intergenerational trauma plays a role in any of them. Again, this line of thought may say more about me than about the book. It does not necessarily mean, though, that it is not true. What about the book itself? I enjoyed reading it for several reasons. First of all, it is an easy read, with short chapters after each other. It alternates between storylines, characters, and styles, so the variety is refreshing and keeps me interested throughout. Beyond the storyline and the emotional impact, I also found plenty of deeper ideas to ponder upon, as you can see above. My only two caveats are that, for my taste some of the scenes were too explicit and the ending was a bit abrupt. But don’t let this or the fact that the main character is not straight hold you back from jumping into this utterly fresh book. In the end, The Unexpected Heiress shines not only as an engaging family drama but also as a bold, thought‑provoking reminder that true wealth lies in resilience, equality, and the courage to redefine tradition. The book’s page on the author’s site: george-mallory.com/books The author on Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube Disclaimer: I have received a digital copy of this book and a small amount from the author, which did not affect my review in any way.
Thoughts on “The Book of War: The Evolutionary Biology of Racism, Religious Hatred, Nationalism, Terrorism, and Genocide” by Daniel Kriegman

Do you believe humans are inherently benevolent or malevolent? And why do you believe one way or another? Does it even matter what you believe? It probably matters to you as you view the world and humans through your own specific lens, including your belief system. What if instead of believing, you had proof for a more science-based approach to that question, or at least to a subset of the issues springing from the answer? The ethical question of what constitutes good or evil is too generic. Let’s narrow the topic to how it is possible for people to commit acts that most of us, but not all, would consider immoral. The subtitle of Kriegman’s book–“Racism, Religious Hatred, Nationalism, Terrorism, and Genocide”– lists some of these and even gives a hint of the answer: “Evolutionary Biology.” It is not so much about the how, though, but the why. Spoiler: The central thesis of his book, the human capacity for mass violence is “deeply human” rather than inhuman and is the direct result of humans evolving from great apes who naturally organize into competitive groups using coordinated violence, with larger brains enabling the formation of extended identity groups based on religious and ideological beliefs. There are plenty of deeply human stories in the book, which is the layer I enjoyed the most. The authors’ personal memories, observations about humanity in general, and the myriad examples of violence. These I could relate to, evoked emotion and intellectual responses in me, and I highly recommend them on a personal level. The intellectual honesty he approaches the difficult question of holocausts (yes, in plural), is truly admirable. Another level is the scientific explanations and exploration of evolutionary biology and how it explains our capacity for violence. While some of the details were fascinating, I admit that I sometimes had a harder time following them. At this point, I need to mention the style of the book, because it was in the top ten most difficult I have ever read. I was a graduate student 15 years ago in another discipline, so I am only somewhat used to this level of academic writing. The style was sometimes rather obtuse for my feeble mind, and the long compound sentences required some heavy mental disentanglement. I recognize that the whole text is a rich tapestry of rhetorical, philosophical, and scientific exposition, blending historical reflection, speculative fiction, evolutionary psychology, and even political commentary. Part of the fun and challenge is to follow where the author takes you in any given paragraph. He employs a multidisciplinary voice that shifts between the eloquent skepticism, imaginative detachment of science fiction, and the analytical rigor of contemporary social science. The tone is often critical and reflective, using irony and juxtaposition to underscore the paradoxes of belief and conflict. The prose is dense and layered, with frequent use of historical references, academic citations, and illustrative anecdotes. For me, a topic of interest in the book was religion as its perennial student. Kriegman had a lot to say about it, its relation to war, and it all boiled down to this: religion is not the root cause of war, but rather a culturally evolved tool that amplifies innate human tendencies toward group-based aggression. It is a provocative, intellectually charged argument that challenges conventional narratives by synthesizing evolutionary theory, political history, and cognitive science. Was I convinced of the claim’s validity? Mostly. More importantly, he gave me a lot to think about. I need to keep going back to check the details. By now, his conclusion feels reasonable, but I also want to fully understand it. As someone who studies sociology too, another main claim from the book was much easier for me to accept: religious ideologies function like hammers—they are instruments developed for specific purposes (tribal warfare success) rather than root causes of conflict. In my version of sociology, everything is a process and/or a social construct. So the analogy of a hammer related by groups makes total sense to me. As a matter of fact, this approach explains a lot of why war happens and how religion plays a role in it. I want to thank the author for challenging me to read 670 pages of dense text and illustrations, excluding the 90 pages of the appendix. It was the kind of mental exercise I have not done since graduate school. But it was worth it. I felt my cerebral muscles working overtime. Just as with physical exercise, I not only got mentally stronger but also gained a lot from it. The plethora of ideas, connections, and topics I could explore now based on the references from this book, is amazing. I also believe I now have a deeper understanding of war, even if I internalized only a minuscule portion of the author’s thinking. The author’s website and Wikipedia page. Disclaimer: I have received a digital copy of this book and a small amount from the author, which did not affect my review in any way.
Little Readers, Big Ideas: How Yiddish Tales Shaped Modern Jewish Identity

Thoughts on Modern Jewish Worldmaking Through Yiddish Children’s Literature by Miriam Udel How do you contain an explosion? If it is ideas you put them in a book, connect the bright sparks, and make it an illuminating volume. Udel’s book is so rich with ideas and details that the best way for me to describe them is as a jampacked container of diverse insights connected into a coherent package. Saying that it has many levels would not do justice, as it covers areas not just in one direction (up-down of levels), but sideways too. What am I talking about? On one hand, the basic premise of the book is simple: The authors of Yiddish children’s books in the 20th century deliberately packed their ideals into these books to embed them in future generations and inspire them to make the world a better place. OK, maybe not that “simple.” But it sure sounds effective. The arguments and details supporting this thesis are not just scholarly and pervasive, but fascinating too. In the process of expounding them and providing historical contexts, she covers not just a thousand books and dozens of authors, but more importantly, those very values too. I will try to crystallize some of those notions below, those that are dearest to my own value system, so I am most aligned with. Revolutionizing Gender Roles One of the book’s most compelling insights concerns how Yiddish children’s literature revolutionized Jewish gender roles. Traditional Jewish and non-Jewish societies had very rigid expectations for boys and girls. One way for those who want to change them is to use children’s literature as a laboratory for experimenting with new possibilities. Female authors like Kadya Molodowsky created girl characters who were smart, brave, and independent. As Udel wrote on page 158: “[These stories] developed as a set of images for girlhood that were not oriented around vulnerability and victimhood.” These girls solved problems, led adventures, and made important decisions. Male authors also contributed by creating stories where boys and girls were friends and equals, working together rather than being segregated into separate spheres. This subtle, yet profound revolution, normalized gender equality in children’s stories. Hence prepared a generation of Jewish children to expect and create more egalitarian relationships in their adult lives. Cultural Engineering The books analyzed in this book went beyond experiments (that can yield in unexpected outcomes): they were conscious engineering products with specific, expected results. The authors Udel examines weren’t just telling stories – they were engineering a cultural transformation. Writers like Sholem Aleichem, Y.L. Peretz, and lesser-known figures deliberately crafted literature that would reshape how Jewish children saw themselves and their place in the world. They understood that controlling childhood narratives meant controlling the future of Jewish civilization and, to some extent, Jews’ place in the world. These writers faced a massive challenge: traditional Jewish education centered on religious texts and Hebrew learning, while the surrounding secular world offered its own competing visions of childhood and identity. Yiddish children’s literature emerged as a third path, creating space for Jewish identity that was neither strictly religious nor completely assimilated. Building Alternative Jewish Worlds The book draws attention to how these writers created entirely alternative visions of Jewish society. Some authors imagined Jewish agricultural communities where children grew up connected to the land. Others envisioned modern Jewish cities where Yiddish was the language of science, literature, and daily life. Still others created stories where Jewish children could play heroic roles rarely available to them in real life. These weren’t just fantasy worlds – they were blueprints for cultural change. The authors used children’s literature to test ideas about what Jewish society could become. Udel, by writing about these books, which are largely lost from cultural heritage, brings back a part of the Jewish past that would have been lost entirely. These words and worlds have shaped our communal cultural visions, whether we know it or not. Reading this book makes this knowledge more explicit and hopefully increases interest in the wonderful books examined. I only picked three ideas above, but there are so many others. Let me just have a quick rundown of a few more that Udel uncovered in/from these books: Jewish children are individuals with their own thoughts and feelings. Girls as protagonists with agency and intelligence. Childhood is a valuable experience in itself rather than just preparation for adulthood. Creative adaptation: authors taking traditional Jewish stories and giving them new meanings, allowing children to feel connected to Jewish tradition while being prepared for a radically different future. Writing in Yiddish itself is a revolutionary act. Yiddish children’s literature is a fourth option in the battle over Jewish education between religious, secular, and Zionist options. Children are active participants in cultural creation rather than passive recipients of adult wisdom. Creating distinctly modern Jewish sensibilities: comfort with questioning and debate rather than blind obedience to authority; appreciation for beauty, nature, and secular learning alongside traditional Jewish values. Creative memory-making: selecting elements from Jewish tradition that could serve future needs while discarding or transforming elements that seemed limiting or outdated. Udel built and shared a world with me and all readers of her book that I was not aware of. In order to do so, she used three amazing skills. She had the perseverance of deep reading hundreds of children’s books. She used her stunning analytical skills to tease out the ideas I mentioned above and many more. My quick summary does not do her project justice. There is a plethora of more on every single page. I recommend reading it slowly so you can fully absorb it and enjoy the beauty of her erudite sentences, too, not just what they convey. Finally, she had a strong overall vision of pulling these together. She built a mentally invigorating world through writing the book. It was not always an easy read, but it was always worth it for learning from the past and gaining a vision for a better future for our times […]

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‘Rachel’ books bring family’s Jewish past out of hiding

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