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Aaron Lansky's unprettified tale of rescuing Jewish books is deceptively simple. He takes a simple story and retells it again and again, changing details each time, and advancing a larger narrative with each retelling. It goes like this. Someone called and said "come save our Yiddish books, they are (1) being thrown in a dumpster; (2) sitting in a basement that is about to flood; (3) moldering in an attic; (4) being thrown out because my parents just died; (5) etc." The author rents an old truck, gets some friends or coworkers together, drives through rain and snow, meets some interesting people, gets fed food from a long ago land, sits and listens to their stories, loads up the books into an old truck as they rest on the edge of destruction, and brings them back to his warehouse to save a culture and redistribute the books to new readers.
This work continues throughout the 1980s and 1990s, as the last Yiddish speakers fade away, and continues to this day. He tells this story again and again, and each time we slice through a new corner of the Yiddish world that was, from North America to Eastern Europe to Latin America. We are reminded that this Yiddish speaking world was not all happy Rothsteinesque ("The Joy of Yiddish") cute one word expressions that you can throw into your conversation, but was filled with sophisticated intellectuals and political activists, people who hated each other to their dying day - communists who wouldn't speak to socialists, socialists who despised culturalists, religionists who despised them all, and many more - all of who whom were determined to go to their deaths waging war against their fellow travelers in the land of Yiddish, even as they built a Jewish literature in the larger cultural universe. Indeed, there once was a world. It washed up on American shores and lived fully, but was not able to transmit itself to the next generation.
As Lansky travels from scene to scene, from old age home to dumpster to basement, hunting for every Yiddish book in existence, he introduces us to beautiful people and bitter people alike, and to a vast dying linguistic civilization. It's really fascinating.
For his work Lansky received a McArthur "genius grant" and founded the Yiddish Book Center which collects, preserves, digitizes and distributes Yiddish books. But much more deeply, he meditates on the varieties of Jewish identities and civilizational choices. There was a time in the late 19th century early 20th century when Zionism was just one possible Jewish future, while Yiddish culture debated many others too- a Soviet future, a socialist future, a secularist future, even an American future. Hitler and Stalin annihilated most of those, with only the Zionist option left standing, together with a deracinated American version.
When I lived in Israel in the 1980s, and was busy learning Hebrew, my aunt Elenore Lester, a theater critic in New York, told me about the Yiddish revival. I could not have been less interested - Yiddish was old news and I saw little future for Jewish life in America. Now, in middle-age, firmly rooted in the diaspora, I find questions of Jewish civilization in the diaspora much more engaging and important than questions involving Israel. For me the eternal Jewish question is not to regain the land, but to live in the condition of diaspora, galute. Yiddish civilization and literature puts me in touch with the last moment before the Holocaust and the rise of Israel when we Jews wrestled deeply and long with our place as a diaspora people. Yiddish will not be a spoken language (outside of the Hassidic world) in America again, but the questions raised by its literature are more relevant than ever to the Jewish project of building and maintaining a thriving diaspora civilization, and a unique cultural position within a multi-cultural mosaic.
This work continues throughout the 1980s and 1990s, as the last Yiddish speakers fade away, and continues to this day. He tells this story again and again, and each time we slice through a new corner of the Yiddish world that was, from North America to Eastern Europe to Latin America. We are reminded that this Yiddish speaking world was not all happy Rothsteinesque ("The Joy of Yiddish") cute one word expressions that you can throw into your conversation, but was filled with sophisticated intellectuals and political activists, people who hated each other to their dying day - communists who wouldn't speak to socialists, socialists who despised culturalists, religionists who despised them all, and many more - all of who whom were determined to go to their deaths waging war against their fellow travelers in the land of Yiddish, even as they built a Jewish literature in the larger cultural universe. Indeed, there once was a world. It washed up on American shores and lived fully, but was not able to transmit itself to the next generation.
As Lansky travels from scene to scene, from old age home to dumpster to basement, hunting for every Yiddish book in existence, he introduces us to beautiful people and bitter people alike, and to a vast dying linguistic civilization. It's really fascinating.
For his work Lansky received a McArthur "genius grant" and founded the Yiddish Book Center which collects, preserves, digitizes and distributes Yiddish books. But much more deeply, he meditates on the varieties of Jewish identities and civilizational choices. There was a time in the late 19th century early 20th century when Zionism was just one possible Jewish future, while Yiddish culture debated many others too- a Soviet future, a socialist future, a secularist future, even an American future. Hitler and Stalin annihilated most of those, with only the Zionist option left standing, together with a deracinated American version.
When I lived in Israel in the 1980s, and was busy learning Hebrew, my aunt Elenore Lester, a theater critic in New York, told me about the Yiddish revival. I could not have been less interested - Yiddish was old news and I saw little future for Jewish life in America. Now, in middle-age, firmly rooted in the diaspora, I find questions of Jewish civilization in the diaspora much more engaging and important than questions involving Israel. For me the eternal Jewish question is not to regain the land, but to live in the condition of diaspora, galute. Yiddish civilization and literature puts me in touch with the last moment before the Holocaust and the rise of Israel when we Jews wrestled deeply and long with our place as a diaspora people. Yiddish will not be a spoken language (outside of the Hassidic world) in America again, but the questions raised by its literature are more relevant than ever to the Jewish project of building and maintaining a thriving diaspora civilization, and a unique cultural position within a multi-cultural mosaic.