"All things are mortal but the Jews"

When I began reading The Assyrian by Nicholas Guild, I chuckled to myself. 

The book is narrated by Tiglath, the son of Sannecherib King of Ashur.

I found it funny that unless one is a major in ancient history, only frum schoolchildren will recognize that name. My mind automatically piped, "The one who sent the 10 tribes into exile." 

The book does not deal with that detail at all. It dismisses the Hebrews as an inconsequential blip in the grand rule of Sannecherib. 

The author is scrupulous in how he writes from the point of view of an ancient Assyrian; in one amusing scene, the narrator meets with a nation of nomadic horsemen, and describes the odd garments they wear while never using the word "pants." 

And so, when he describes what time of year certain incidents occur, he uses the Assyrian months of the year: Nisan, Iyyar, Siban, Tammuz, Ab, Tisri, Marcheshwan, Kisleb, Tebet, Shebat. As a frum Jew, I knew what time of year he meant, even if he didn't necessarily clarify. 

The capitol city of Ashur is Niniveh. We know that one, too. 

Apparently, "Assyria" is the Greek name for Ashur, as there is no "sh" in that language. So the author always refers to the nation as "Ashur" in the book, not "Assyria." 

The book itself has its fallacies; the women, for instance, are all very disappointing depictions. The only lovely female is the narrator's mother, while the rest are manipulating, plotting, oversexed harpies. I expected better of a book written in 1987. 

However, the rest of the tome overcomes that lack. It's over 500 pages, and I can't believe I managed to finish it. And there's a sequel. 

The book says—and Google backs it up—that Sannecherib died at the hands of his own sons. Not a pleasant end. 

But what I marveled at is how no one today is familiar with the ancient empire of Ashur. They are barely aware of Egypt, Babylon, Persia, Hellenization, and Rome. 

Yet Jews are. Jews are one of the few continuous threads throughout the ancient world—that while we were dismissed as a nothing people of barely any consequence in the grand scheme of great conquests, we are still freakin' here. 

We sing Maos Tzur, listing all of our oppressors, and we are the only ones who remember them. We remember them because how else can we marvel at our survival? We are here. They are not. No other nation/religion can claim our longevity. 

*Mind blown*  

Whatever Will Be, Will Be

While I do admit to being a worrier, I don't worry about world events. I worry about minor things, like will Ben end up with a girl who will convince him to never visit home again. That sort of thing. 

Han has been brooding over the news, while I haven't at all. I'm too acquainted with history to get hysterical over who will become president because of this. History marches on, and it will be what it will be. It's fine. 

Mark Lilla delightfully calls out the modern "prophets" in "No One Knows What's Going to Happen." He even references Iyov: 

The history of humanity is the history of impatience. Not only do we want knowledge of the future, we want it when we want it. The Book of Job condemns as prideful this desire for immediate attention. Speaking out of the whirlwind, God makes it clear that he is not a vending machine. He shows his face and reveals his plans when the time is ripe, not when the mood strikes us. We must learn to wait upon the Lord, the Bible tells us. Good luck with that, Job no doubt grumbled.

While a potential pandemic may have been predicted by some, none was able to claim when exactly it would happen. 

Cable news brought with it an army of talking heads that usually prophecy doom and gloom (I don't think any of them ever have anything cheerful on the horizon). 

I think the biggest ha-ha moment was when Trump was elected. No one saw that coming. Like, not even Republicans.  

If we knew what the future would bring, what would be the point? Sure, it would have been nice to get a telegram before my first date at 19 and be informed, "Don't bother. You'll be over 30 when you get married, so you might as well spare yourself." The agony and angst and whatnot had its purpose, or so I believe. 

History has its own way of unfolding. The people who predate historic events, chances are, did not see them coming (I really feel bad for the Pompeii population, though. Predicting horrific natural disasters should be a priority). 

But as for who will be president, who cares? He'll be in office four years, which, trust me, is not long enough to blow this country sky-high. Check your history. Someone else will come along and clean up his mess.

Optimistic Faith

I was beginning to read a profile on Val Kilmer (I had seen a few of his movies in my youth and had a wee crush on him way back when—he was ridiculously pretty) and in the first few paragraphs, I was stunned with this line: 

" . . . if you have enough faith, you’ll see how every part of your life is just a piece of a bigger part of your life, and nothing is an accident, and everything is good." 

Oh, WOW.  

He's a Christian Scientist, but still, that line applies to all people of faith. 

"It was the special kind of optimism that maybe only the faithful have, the enduring belief that some force will come along and save us from the centrifuge of despair we’ve found ourselves in."

Is it possible to have optimism without faith?  

In my case, while I think have the faith, I also look at circumstances through a historical viewpoint. The Black Death occurred in a time when people had very little knowledge of germ theory and hygiene. The fact that an illness can be recognized and we somewhat know what to do to prevent the spread is progress indeed. 

I'm sure those who endured the Plague thought the end was nigh. As I recall, the mortality rate was approximately 50%. 

History has shown that humans are sturdier than they believe. Perhaps it is belief that keeps them going.

There Goes That Fantasy

When I entered my teens, Ma introduced me to the next level of "literature": Regency romances. 

The authors were typically Joan Smith, Carola Dunn, Fiona Hill. Georgette Heyer here and there, but she used a lot of annoying exclamation points and was rather antisemitic.  The books were usually about a mousey girl who for some unknown reason catches the fancy of a strapping, handsome marquis (he always had a title, rarely a mere Mr.), or about a spirited young woman of striking beauty but was too anticonvention for her own good who for some unknown reason catches the fancy of a strapping, handsome marquis. 

I gobbled them up like tater tots. They were my main form of entertainment for years, until I branched out into medieval romances as well. Cough. 

In the last decade or so, I've left them behind, preferring historical novels of other topics. But I still watch the Austen adaptations with glee. 

My sister-in-law and I swap books, and she excitedly handed me "A Murder in Time" by Julie McElwain. It's about a female FBI agent who gets sucked into a vortex and ends up in Regency England. 

However, she is not familiar with Austen's work, and finds the restrictions on women to be simply ridiculous.  Seeing the era through her eyes, you do realize that she's right. The romance is gone. So while all the language of those books I once enjoyed are there, the limitations women faced, the hardscrabble existence of the other 99% of humanity that wasn't landed gentry, the misconceptions on science and medicine, has sort of removed the glow from those tales. 

It's like when I read "Longbourn" by Jo Baker, and however considerate Lizzy is depicted in "Pride and Prejudice," maids were not granted that consideration. While most women believe they would have been Emma in another life, chances are they would have had the job of scrubbing her boots for a pittance. 

When I was a teenager, "Ever After" was one of my favorite movies. Spirited girl wins heart of prince! Yay! Then I began to read Sharon Kay Penman's novels about the British monarchy, and it became quite clear that princes did not marry for love. They married for political reasons, and had mistresses for love. I think I read somewhere once that character of Danielle was actually based on a mistress of a royal Henri. Being a royal mistress was actually  a great position so had Danielle been offered that, she would have been thrilled. All those scenes of Marguerite angling to become princess is all the more laughable because she would have known that's never. Ever. Gonna. Happen. 

I can't rewatch "Ever After" again knowing that. 

There are times in life when fantasies are fun and helpful. But then you grow out of them, finding you don't need them anymore. 

But I still anthropomorphize toys. Hmm.

I Finally Read Gluckel

Gluckel of Hameln is supposedly required reading, the memoirs of Jewish woman from the end of the 1600s. Every time I tried to take it out there was always a hitch, but I finally got my hands on it and read it through, much to Ben's annoyance ("Hey Ma! What's so interesting?")

What is surprising to me is how money is most of the conversation.  This person is worth this much; that person has that much; this person had this much but lost it. "Thalers," the currency of the time and place, is probably the most repetitive word in the book.

Gluckel had 13 children to marry off, so that was the other theme. Girls of 12 were promised to boys from other cities that they would not see until the "betrothal feast," at which point everything was agreed on. No child said, "Mother dear, not for me." Gluckel herself wed at the age of 14, and was widowed at 44, after 30 years of marriage. 

One passage in particular I found entertaining was when she recounts a visit to her in-laws. While her husband's father was worth a staggering amount,  he gave them a  gift worth a paltry sum. However, she proclaims, we treasured that present, unlike other ungrateful children who suck their parents dry. I can't tell if she's being serious or sarcastic, if she's pointedly chewing out one of her kids.

It's also a reminder of how precarious life was for Jews in the past. The rabble could be roused, the leader could banish. Life was cheap and murders were often unavenged. Never mind illness; Gluckel lost a little girl and many other relatives to diseases that probably do not plague us any longer. 

While reading of all the arranged marriages, I snarked to myself,  "Hey, solution for shidduch 'crisis' right here! Let's bring back betrothing tweens to unseen grooms!"

My neighbor has a great-granddaughter born the same time as Ben. I hear she's quite the cutie. Crisis averted. 

For Cuteness!

A number of months ago, there was an article in the NY Times that niggled at me. And niggled at me. And niggled at me. 

I have found the only way to deal with the niggles is to write about it. 

The article, by Pagan Kennedy, was called "Why You Want to Eat This Baby Up: It’s Science." She begins by describing how since childhood, she never wanted to have children, to the horror of everyone. 

She just doesn't find babies cute, she claims. According to her, that's the only reason a woman would want to have a child. 

Like, for reals?

The only reason why people have children is because they're cute?

What I never quite understood about those who profess no desire to besmirch their comfortable existences with demanding little humans is this: we were ALL children once. Our parents besmirched their comfortable existences to create and raise you. 

Additionally, how long are we cute? Not very long, in the grand scheme of things. Many babies enter the world colicky and crabby. Babies leak from every orifice. As Han's friend joked, "Babies begin smiling when we're about to chuck 'em out a window." Cuteness is for survival. 

But why do we have kids? As Jews, we know why. Heritage, mesorah, passing on the flame, etc. etc. The cuteness is just a perk. 

"The Old Consciousness"

One of the difficulties of the current modern age is the application of contemporary perspectives to that of, say, biblical times. 

For instance, Torah detractors grumble about a number of incidents that, by today's sentiments, are brutal and sexist. 

We have a lot of mass murder at the hands of the shoftim and melachim. Dovid, our paragon of divine servitude, was up to his eyeballs in blood. Women don't seem to get a fair shake either (Pilegesh b'Givah? Shiver).

While reading a book review of a novel retelling The Iliad from the female perspective, the reviewer, Geraldine Brooks (a favorite of mine) notes: 

Henry James famously warned historical novelists never to go back more than 50 years beyond their own era, since “the old consciousness” would surely elude them.  

Brooks herself writes of historical characters, and she does say she does not concur with his opinion. 

There are a rare few who can go back and see, but the rest of us have limited imaginations, I think. 

Feminists often cite the Bible or Jewish law as being sexist. Yet that is their misapplication of modern sensibilities. The world, in general, was crueler—to everyone. 

In another fifty years, society will probably view us as being more brutal and sexist as they are. I'm not saying everything was awesome millennia ago, but it was different. It is not fair to see their norms through our eyes, for they knew things that we don't anymore.