A Master Class in Writing

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IAWE, Ilana Blumberg, The Balancing Game

 

After publishing my novel, ‘The Balancing Game,’ I felt that I was entitled to subscribe to the IAWE (Israel Association of Writers in English). Since joining I have begun to receive invitations to attend one or another of the writing seminars that they organize. Of course, all these involve paying a fee of one kind or another, and the cost involved means that I am generally well able to resist the temptation to hone my writing skills and – perhaps more importantly – meet other like-minded individuals.

However, when I received notification about a one-day seminar, known as a master class, on the subject of ‘Writing About Family,’ I finally succumbed. It was to be held not far from where I live, the cost was not exorbitant and I began to look forward to the encounter with fellow-writers and kindred spirits.

In ‘The Balancing Game’ I focus to a great extent on family life, as perceived by a child, and although it’s too late to amend any mistakes I may have made in it, I have other books in the pipeline which I felt might benefit from a fresh approach. In fact, in one way or another pretty much everything I write is connected with family, and I have to admit that it is the focal point of my life.

Prior to the class the fourteen participants were sent three passages as reading assignments. These were largely associated with mother-daughter relationships, and were of varying quality. But I persevered, even though one so-called ‘story’ was particularly long and boring, wondering as I did so how some of these writers managed to find publishers who were prepared to bring their material to the world.

And so it was that on a fine June morning I found myself sitting round a long table on a shady deck in the Judean Hills, together with the other participants, all of them women and all (except one, who had children who were younger than my grandchildren) no longer young. It was interesting to meet the other aspiring writers, some of whom had even been published in one forum or another.

After everyone at the table had introduced themselves and given a brief biography, we got down to business. The moderator, Ilana Blumberg, who has published a memoir entitled ‘Houses of Study’ and teaches English literature at Michigan State University, made some good points about what helps to make a narrative text flow smoothly, what is the nature of good writing, and the importance of being aware of the audience to which one’s writing is addressed.

We were then asked to write about how one’s mind wanders while performing a routine activity such as washing dishes, and each one of us was asked to read her piece out. It was interesting to see what the others had produced, and some of the writing was really amusing, insightful and revealing.

I found myself writing about a situation in my childhood when I and my sisters would help our father washing the dishes at the weekend. The train of associations that it produced was quite an eye-opener for me, and several of the participants said that they would like to hear more (they could if they bought ‘The Balancing Game,’ and one of them actually did).

After each piece was read out Ilana analysed it with considerable insight and tact, always seeking out the positive aspects. Then the other participants were asked for their comments. The women were almost invariably generous in their praise, and I don’t recollect a single word of criticism from any of them. Perhaps they were too kind, but it was helpful to hear what everyone had to say.

Finally, we were given another writing exercise, this time it involved generalizing our personal experiences, as the author of one of the set texts had done. Once again, I was amazed at the stream of ideas that emanated from my fevered brain. Who knows, maybe one day it will constitute part of another book that I may or may not write.

Passing Out

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IDF

 

 

 

 

In Israel it is a matter of routine for the majority of the population that when one’s child, whether boy or girl, reaches the age of eighteen they go into one of the forces that make up the IDF in order to give two or three years of service to the country.

I have now reached a stage in life where it is my grandchildren who are being called to serve their country, and while it is a source of pride, I find that various kinds of emotions are involved.

So it was with mixed feelings that this week I attended the passing out ceremony of my eldest grandson, Gil. Looking at his impressive six-foot frame now, it is with a slight pang that I remember him as a toddler who always had a healthy appetite, grew at a rapid pace, played football and basketball with his friends, and was not a great one for talking. In fact, in common with many of his generation, he seemed to develop a special way of talking and unique vocabulary that made it difficult to understand him even when he did speak.

Like many of his friends, on completing high school Gil was eager to join a combat unit. Not for them the life of the backroom boys who sit before computer monitors or in offices. These boys are only too eager to launch themselves into military training of the most rigorous kind, testing their ability to endure hardship and prove their mettle.

The passing out parade that I attended, together with the families of the other soliders, was held in a grassy area surrounded by woodland. At the centre was a memorial for soldiers from the force who had fallen in battle, fronted by a relatively small parade ground. As is the custom at such events, the parade was preceded by a meeting between the families and the soldiers who had just completed one and a half years of training. Each family had come laden with food and drink for the young men, who fell eagerly upon the feast set out on tables among the trees. The mothers of the soldiers in Gil’s unit have organized themselves into a group which is in constant contact with one another through the WhatsApp application. This means that throughout the training period they shared information, even arranged a get-together at one stage, and serve as a support group for one another.

Another Israeli tradition on such occasions is to have special shirts printed denoting the family’s pride in their offspring. This had also been coordinated by the mothers of Gil’s unit, and each mother had a pale mauve T-shirt with a cartoon of a soldier saluting a mother on the front and a slogan which said (roughly translated from Hebrew): ‘OK, YOU’RE A FIGHTER BUT YOU’RE STILL MY SON,’ and her son’s name on the back. It was a sight to see. The mothers had also ordered special cakes with custom-made icing in the force’s colours, decorated with army boots and insignia made out of sugar. Another amazing sight!

After a relatively brief passing out ceremony and speeches by officers, the families were treated to a film showing some of the training that the soldiers had been undergoing in the preceding eighteen months. It was at that moment that I felt like passing out myself (in the other sense of the phrase). Those boys underwent training of the most strenuous and demanding kind. Not everyone who began the course had the strength and stamina to complete it. At the end of the film it was clear that not only had they been toughened up and were no longer boys but men, but also they had developed a special bond, forging them into a band of brothers, each one of whom would be prepared to lay down his life for the others.

And so, after a brief respite, the real work of being a serving soldier begins for Gil and the other members of his special crack unit. This means that for the next eighteen months Gil will see less of his family, and the family will make sure to tune into every news broadcast, each member keeping its eyes and ears open for information about the political and military situation, knowing that Gil and his companions are on the front line and that their lives may well be in danger at any given moment. Our emotions are a combination of pride and fear. We’re keeping our fingers crossed and hoping for some peace in the region.

 

 

The Status of Women in Israel

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Brandeis Series, Center for Women's Justice, Netty Gross-Horowitz, rabbinical courts, Susan Weiss

 

   The subject is a tricky one, because on the one hand Israel aspires to be a modern, democratic society, and in the public sphere women are treated as equals, on the whole. On the other hand, though, its laws regarding marriage and divorce are subject to the restrictions, regulations, and constraints imposed on it by its ancient, patriarchal religion of Judaism.

 The reasons for this are complex, but essentially Jewish religious law regarding marriage and divorce was adopted when the State of Israel was established as part of the price the ‘founding fathers’ paid in order to bring the religious parties into the coalition government, and in that it could be considered to have been a success. Back then, however, the religious parties were very different in their mien and outlook from the ultra-orthodox version that has come to be included in recent coalition governments.

 Thus, the laws set out in the Bible regarding the role of women in marriage are upheld to this day. If her husband dies without having had any children (sons, that is), his brothers must either marry her or release her. Yes, still in modern-day Israel! There is no such thing as civil marriage in Israel. Members of each religious group – Jews, Moslems, Christians – may marry only according to their religion. That was the arrangement during the more than four hundred years of Ottoman rule throughout the Middle East, and is still in effect.

 If a Jewish woman wishes to get divorced she can do so only if her husband agrees to grant her one. This harks back to the time when the wife was regarded as the property of her husband, and this approach continues to cast its long shadow over the situation of women in Israel today. It has given rise to many injustices towards women over the centuries, and it is not unknown for a man to deny his wife a divorce unless she gives him some material benefit, or grants him custody of their children, or whatever whim takes his fancy. The rabbinical courts which judge these cases consist entirely of men, so that the tendency is often in their favour. Divorce can’t be pleasant at the best of times, but I don’t envy any woman in Israel who wants to obtain a divorce. The process involved is a long-drawn-out, demeaning, and painful Via Dolorosa, and often ends in failure.

 Earlier this week I was fortunate enough to hear a talk by Susan Weiss entitled ‘How a Good Jewish Girl Became a Radical Feminist.’ Susan is an American-born attorney now living in Israel. When she immigrated to Israel some thirty years ago, she was an orthodox Jewish woman with a husband and three small children. Unable to work in her profession, she volunteered for various women’s organizations, where she encountered the problem of women denied a divorce by their husband (‘Agunot’). Using her legal training, Susan was able to help in some of these cases, and simultaneously found herself moving gradually away from her strict adherence to orthodox Judaism. Fortunately, her husband has been very understanding about this process.

 There are many other archaic aspects of Jewish law that restrict women’s rights, but they are too numerous and too arcane to mention here, to the extent that a person born into the modern world will find it difficult to believe that in Israel they are still the law, and are enforced by the agencies of the State.

 In 2004 Susan founded the Center for Women’s Justice in Israel, an organization devoted to protecting the rights of women in Israel to equality, dignity, and justice in Jewish Law. The organization has achieved a great deal in upholding women’s rights in the rabbinical courts, and has even instituted proceedings in the civil court for damages against recalcitrant husbands. These cases have been upheld by the courts, resulting in positive outcomes and setting an important legal precedent in Israel.

 Written together with journalist Netty Gross-Horowitz, Susan’s book, ‘Marriage and Divorce in the Jewish State: Israel’s Civil War,’ has been published by the Brandeis Series on Gender, Culture, Religion, and Law. The volume describes cases dealt with by the CWJ in which women were refused a divorce by their husband or upon whom various restrictions were imposed by the rabbinical court. Incidentally, even a woman who has been married abroad in a civil ceremony abroad (which is recognized in Israel) must seek a divorce in the rabbinical court.

 However, the ultimate solution to the situation, according to Susan, must be the separation of religion and state in Israel, bringing the country into line with the tenets of a modern democracy, enabling couples to wed according to their own inclinations, and releasing the stranglehold of the rabbinical courts on legal procedures in Israel.

 Roll on the day!

 

Scrabblers and Scrabblish

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Jerusalem Scrabble Club

“Have you played Scrabble before?”

“Oh yes, I’ve played it at home with my children and grandchildren.”

“Well, it’s a bit different here.”

Thus was I greeted when I entered the portals of the Jerusalem Scrabble Club one fine evening, after having been told about the club, which meets once a week. Little did I know that I was in for a surprise (and not a particularly pleasant one, either).

For most of my working life I have dealt in words, whether as an editor, translator, proofreader, or even publisher. I pride myself on my command of the English language. Pride goeth before a fall, they say, and in my case that was certainly the case.

There was very little to remind me of the happy times spent with the family around the kitchen table as we tested our wits and vocabulary. In an austere, book-lined room (this was a public library, after all) some fifty English-speakers – some of them from out of town – gathered, paid their dues (as did I) and sat down at one of the tables available. I was told to sit wherever I liked, but was immediately shooed away from the seat I chose and told that that place was reserved for the group’s ‘doyenne.’

I realised that things were going to get grim when people started pulling out their own Scrabble boards, bags of letters, and – oh, horror! – clocks like the ones used for timing chess competitions.

At this stage the organisers announced the pairs. Everyone there belonged to one of three categories or levels of expertise, and since I was an unknown quantity I was put in the lowest. In my capacity of novice, I was handed a card containing a list of about 100 two-letter words that are accepted in the Scrabble world and was told that after a few weeks I would no longer be allowed to have it. What was the meaning of ‘words’ such as AA, AO, QI and others no one seemed to know or care. All that mattered was that they appear in the bible of Scrabble players, the Scrabble Players Dictionary, a fat tome containing lists of words – but without definitions – supposedly culled from five reputable dictionaries in the English-speaking world.

In addition, each player was handed a score sheet on which we were expected to note the score for each turn, adding the numbers up as we went along. So, not only does one have to be good at words in order to play competitive Scrabble, you also have to be good at mental arithmetic.

And so the fun began. I was told that each player has 25 cumulative minutes to complete each of the three games he or she plays per evening, with three different partners. My first partner (the pairs were decided by computer program) was a very fast player, and kept reminding me that I had to start my clock ticking when I put my letters down on the board. Of course, even I know that it’s a good idea to get on to a double-word or triple-letter square if you can, but I found myself constantly getting left behind.

During the game my first partner gallantly refrained from challenging my use of the word ‘nous’ but looked it up in his ‘bible’ afterwards and was surprised to see that it exists. The other word I used (which I can’t remember now) was not, but he didn’t make a fuss about it. What I hadn’t realized, however, was that at the end of the game the winner adds to his/her score the sum of their opponent’s letters. Of course, I still had my X and Z and other high-value letters when the game ended, so that my final score was far, far behind that of my opponent.

Then, without further ado (or even a cup of coffee) on to the next partner, again selected by computer. This person was somewhat less charitable. When I queried a word (‘getters,’ I believe it was) she said: “Are you challenging me?” I’ve heard of ‘go-getters,’ but not of ‘getters,’ so I said that I was. She promptly opened her ‘bible’ and pointed to the word. “That means you forfeit your turn,” she triumphed, and continued to play without further ado.

After that I chickened out and refrained from challenging ‘bace,’ but got quite upset when I was told that IQ is not acceptable, even though QI is (I looked it up at home in my Concise Oxford Dictionary, where of course it is not to be found). And so my opponent proceeded to trounce me thoroughly, albeit with a sweet smile.

My final partner was somewhat less intense, and told me that we could dispense with the clock. Even so, I came off somewhat the worse for wear.

And so, my feathers seriously ruffled, my ego definitely deflated, I dragged myself home. The other players waved me a cheery goodbye and said they hoped I’d come back again next week.

Maybe. But only after I learn to read, write and speak Scrabblish.