Translating Science

The title of the lecture given by Yivsam Azgad under the auspices of the Israel Translators Association was billed as ‘Translating Science.’ Although I personally did not translate that kind of material when I worked as a translator, I have a passing interest in the subject due to my husband’s occupation as a physicist.

The lecture was held in the very pleasant conference venue adjacent to the Herzl Museum on Jerusalem’s Mount Herzl, and was attended by some fifteen participants from all over Israel.

Mr. Azgad hegan his talk by stating that he had parted company with the Israeli school system at the age of fifteen, but that did not mean that he had not continued learning. This obviously marked him as a teenage rebel and, presumably, an autodidact. He did not say as much, but his appearance told us that his teenage years were long forgotten. What he did tell us was that he had gone on to forge a respectable career for himself as a scientific journalist.

Mr. Azgad proceeded to tell his audience that it was important when translating scientific material to understand the subject matter in the source language and, if possible, convey it as accurately as possible in the target language. That rule is good for any kind of translation, though it obviously might be more difficult to achieve when it comes to translating scientific subjects which are not universally accessible.

Mr. Azgad then tried to make us undertake a thought experiment (‘gedank experiment,’ as devised by Einstein) and transport us as physicists from the corridor of the physics department at the Hebrew University to a similar corridor at Princeton Univesrsity. Would we notice any difference, he asked. The answer he gave was no, we wouldn’t, because physicists the world over all speak the same language, use the same terms and equipment, and share a common bond. Any two physicists in a given group of people will always find one another and be able to communicate with one another, wherever they may hail from originally. Their identity as scientists is the paramount aspect of their being (over and above their national or individual identity).

Giving a few examples of abstruse scientific theses that he (or someone) had had to translate, the lecturer made it clear that translating science is phenomenally difficult. I can subscribe to that sentiment, being married to a physicist and having been involved in translating the title and English summary of his doctorate (“Excitation Processes in Organic Systems Under Irradiation with Vacuum Ultraviolet Radiation,” in case you’re interested).

All well and good. I would very much have liked to hear more about the universality of scientific language, but beyond those initial statements the lecture deviated to focus on Mr. Azgad’s own experience as a journalist at various Israeli newspapers, where his chief aim was to popularize scientific subjects. He gave us a few examples of the dangers of deviating from the exact meaning of a scientific idea when trying to convey it in more simple terms. He claims that he thought up the idea of producing a comic strip (‘Nanocomics’) based on scientific topics, aimed at both adults and children. Posters with these comic strips have been put up in schools all over Israel. He was also, he claims, the originator of the idea of giving lectures on scientific subjects in bars in Rechovot and Tel Aviv, a project which enjoyed great popular success. Mr. Azgad now works in the publications department of the Weizmann Institute where, amongst his other activities, he continues to publicise and universalise science for the masses.

The Changing World of Books

After a two-year hiatus due to the pandemic, the Jerusalem International Book Forum was held once more this year. The opening ceremony included a (virtual) presentation of the Jerusalem Prize to British author Julian Barnes by the mayor of Jerusalem (accepted by the representative of the British Council in Israel on his behalf), and a televised acceptance speech by Julian Barnes himself (who was prevented by il-health from making the journey).

It was good to be surrounded by people who, like myself, are in the business of reading, writing, editing, translating and even publishing books, in a variety of languages and from a wide range of countries.

However, the highlight of that first evening was the address by Stefan von Holtzbrinck, the head of the German Holtzbrinck Publishing Group. Speaking in perfect English, this distinguished guest started by stating the view that recent developments in the Russia-Ukraine war had brought us to a situation in which he personally felt safer in Jerusalem than in central Europe. He then went on to declare his love for the city, which he has been visiting almost yearly since 1988, to pronounce Israel a light to the world and to assert his and his company’s solidarity with the country. Of course, the audience applauded enthusiastically.

To hear these sentiments at a time when there have been almost constant disturbances, mainly in eastern Jerusalem, associated first with Ramadan, then with the death and funeral of the Palestinian journalist Shireen Abu Akla, was astounding. Like me, many of the Israelis in the audience could hardly believe their ears. And, like me, many people took advantage of von Holtzbrinck’s participation in subsequent events, to thank him for speaking so positively.

The next three days of the forum were full of interesting talks, open discussions and informal opportunities to strike up conversations with old and new acquaintances. A fascinating and entertaining talk entitled ‘Listen Up: Audiobooks, Podcasts, and New Opportunities’ given by David Rowan, Founding Editor of WIRED UK, began with a couple of video clips indicating where the world is headed. One showed a traffic cop in California stopping a driverless car for not having its lights on. Confounded when he realized the driving seat was empty, the cop returned to his police car to seek assistance, whereupon the driverless car sped away (it obviously had a mind of its own). As Mr. Rowan pointed out, the world – including the publishing world – is becoming increasingly digitized and democratized through AI (artificial intelligence), the all-pervasive Metaverse and the general interactivity of everything through smart phones.

Those few days of talks and discussions gave me plenty of new information as well as a great deal of food for thought as I continue to write and publish my work.

Connections

A few years ago an enterprising resident of the suburb where I live, just outside Jerusalem, initiated and organized an association providing social and cultural activities for the growing number of retired persons living here. Since then the association has reached over one thousand members and conducts a plethora of activities to suit every taste and inclination. There are outings to areas of interest or cultural events, lectures on all kinds of subjects, a choir, a reading group, a drama club, art classes, creative writing classes, exercise classes, and myriad other events. My own personal interest is in learning or improving my knowledge of foreign languages, and so each week I attend classes for the German and French languages.

The people attending the classes are all, like me, of pensionable age, and in those two classes most of us have similar backgrounds or interests (and we all live in the same area). In both groups we are fortunate in having interesting and enthusiastic teachers who invest time and energy in preparing their lessons and keeping us pupils interested and involved.

Our German teacher is an interesting character. She is a young non-Jewish woman from a remote part of southern Germany who is married (I haven’t investigated the story of how this came about) to an Israeli and has made her life here in Israel. Her classes focus on Germany, its language and its culture, and very occasionally the subject of the Holocaust comes up. The other pupils are, like me, from families which came originally from central Europe, with the ability to speak and understand German to a greater or lesser extent, but all eager to improve their command of the language.

In a recent class we talked about the Kindertransport, the acceptance by England of ten thousand unaccompanied children under the age of eighteen just before the Second World War broke out. One of the pupils, Zeev, who also grew up in England (the others all grew up in Israel) expressed particular interest in the subject, though he himself did not get to England under that scheme. To the next lesson I brought and lent him the book of essays about the experiences of Kindertransport children in England, ‘No Longer a Stranger,’ edited by Inge Sadan. Among the thirty-eight articles is one by my late father, Manfred Vanson, who, together with my mother, Frances, served as house-parents at the Sunshine Hostel in London from 1940 to 1945. At the end of the book are some photos, including one of the children (by then almost all teenagers) of the Sunshine Hostel. One of the girls is holding a baby on her lap, and as I proudly told Zeev, ‘that baby is me,’ aged about one year old.

Lo and behold, a few days later I received a message from Zeev telling me that he had found the name of his cousin on the list of those in Israel, but what had really touched him was to see his older brother Alfred in the photo of the Sunshine Hostel, the one with me as a child. Sadly, Alfred (second row from top, far left) has died since then, so we can’t ask him about his time at the Sunshine Hostel.

Who knows? Maybe Alfred even played with me back then, as many of the ‘hostel children’ did. But it is nice to have an additional connection with one of the pupils in the class I attend.

Watch Your Step!

I was recently made doubly aware of the importance of being careful to avoid falling by the incident in which a friend who is a little bit younger than myself fell in her home and broke her hip. This involved a trip to the emergency room of a local hospital followed by surgery and a lengthy recovery period during which she was unable to leave her house. Even today, several months later, she still walks with a stick to ensure stability. It served as a salutary lesson to me, and partly as a result of that I now wear closed sports shoes whenever I leave the house (except when I go to concerts).

But in my home I wear a kind of orthopaedic sandal, which is not closed, and that was my downfall the other day. It was Independence Day in Israel and we had been sitting in the garden with some friends, despite the weather – which was not as warm and sunny as we would have liked. In fact, it reminded some of us of our former homeland – England. Still, we managed to sit outside and enjoy our barbecued meat and the salads the guests had brought with them.

But for the next stage – coffee and cake – we decided to move indoors, and I began setting up the arrangements accordingly. Everything was going well until I decided to bring in some extra chairs from the garden. These were two rather ancient folding chairs, which have served us well for many years, and have not until now caused any untoward trouble.

But boy, how I wish I had taken my own advice as set out in the heading above before I tried to bring in those two danged folding chairs! Whether it was my shoe or the tip of the chair-leg, but something got caught on the step leading from the garden to our house. As a result I lost my balance and came crashing down onto the stone floor, banging my head in the process. As the afternoon progressed I found myself bring cossetted by concerned friends and family, switching from having been the capable (I hope) hostess to becoming an object of concern for others. The general advice was that I should rest and put ice on the spot, which I promptly did, and sat docilely while others brought me coffee and dealt with the arrangements of refreshments I had previously prepared. Conversation continued around me, even involving me from time to time, but it was obvious that I had sustained an injury which, while not life-threatening or even consisting of any broken bones, was evidently going to turn into something unpleasant.

As indeed it did. With each passing hour, the colour of the skin above and around my left eye changed dramatically, despite the ice pack I diligently pressed to the area for several hours. While I am not in any serious pain, anyone catching sight of me assumes an expression of horror and dismay. If I have to leave the house I’ll be wearing sunglasses, no matter if it’s sunny or not. I just don’t want to have to explain to people that the car-crash that is my face at present is not the result of a fight with my husband just a stupid fall.

And no, I’m not going to post a full-colour selfie of my face with its technicolour ‘shiner,’ just a picture of the offending chairs.

I hope this will cause others – as well as myself – to take note and be more careful when moving around in the home, as well as outside and everywhere. I thought I was one of those people who was aware of all the pitfalls that await us wherever we go, but it seems that even the most cautious among us are vulnerable.

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider reading one of my 8 novels, all available on Amazon, and from my website: www.shefer-vanson.com