Features
Astonishingly good debut novel by former Winnipegger Sandy Shefrin Rabin
By BERNIE BELLAN
One of the great joys of being in the position of editor of a Jewish newspaper is being on the receiving end of what seem to be a never-ending series of well-written books, either by current Winnipeggers or former Winnipeggers.
In the past three months I’ve had the pleasure of reading books by Allan Levine, Jack London, and Mira Sucharov. I would recommend any of them to readers of this paper – as I have in previous issues.
But, when I was contacted by another former Winnipegger by the name of Sandy Shefrin (whose married name is Rabin) some time back, when Sandy told me that she had written a book and was looking for a good publisher, I must admit that while I remembered Sandy’s name as someone who had grown up in Winnipeg around the same time as me, unlike the three aforementioned writers, I had no idea whether Sandy was a good writer or not.
If truth be told, when Sandy had also written in her email to me that what she wanted to publish was her first novel, as someone who has also received many first-time novels, my expectations were not all that great.
And so, when Sandy contacted me again recently to say that she had published her novel – and had followed up my advice to contact Friesen’s Publishers – a company which I knew had a reputation of being a quality publisher, I replied to her that I would get to her book once I finished reading some other books whose authors I had promised I would review.
I shouldn’t have waited.
From the moment I began reading the first chapter of “Prairie Sonata” I realized that Sandy was a writer of immense talent. Her descriptive language was breathtakingly beautiful – not overly laden with the kind of flowery prose that one might have anticipated reading when a first-time writer wants to show off how expansive his or her vocabulary is, but so evocative that I could picture her scenes as vividly as if I were right there with her characters.
And, what should “Prairie Sonata” turn out be about, but a story set in a fictitious Manitoba town called “Ambrosia”, beginning in 1948. Ambrosia actually is a thinly-veiled version of Winnipeg in so many respects (and if you read the following article, in which I ask Sandy why she didn’t just use the real Winnipeg as the location for her novel, you’ll read the answer to that question).
The book opens with the narrator, an 11-year-old girl by the name of Mira, wistfully recalling her childhood:
“And I would go back there if I could. Despite the freezing winters and piercing winds. If I could be in the same house and look out of the same windows at the long, arching tree branches laden with snow and watch the feathery snowflakes waft down from the sky like fairy dust. And if I could hear my mother in the kitchen, the rhythmic tapping of her wooden spoon against the sides of the bowl as she turned flour and shortening into a delicious cherry pie, so delicious it was almost like a miracle.”
As the story develops we learn that Mira has what we might consider an idyllic childhood, surrounded by loving parents – her father the town surgeon, her mother a thoroughly competent homemaker who always seems to find the right thing to say to Mira, and her little adoring brother Sammy, who is three years younger than Mira.
Into this tableaux of happy characters enters “Chaver B”, as he is known – a new teacher in the Peretz School (a name familiar to anyone who grew up in Winnipeg’s Jewish community). Chaver B, or Ari Bergman, which is his full name, is a survivor of the Holocaust and, as one might anticipate, he carries an extremely heavy burden within him.
As it also turns out, Chaver B is an accomplished violinist, but for some reason he does not play the violin himself any more. He is invited to the Adler home for Sabbath dinner and, while there, he discovers that Mira is also studying violin.
He offers to give Mira violin lessons when he is told that her former violin teacher has left Ambrosia. What develops though is not just a warm relationship between student and teacher, it is an opportunity for Mira to learn about life and for Chaver B to have someone to whom he can open up about what has happened to him.
There are many insertions of Yiddish phrases, often whole sentences throughout the book, and while the author does provide translations for many of them, some are undoubtedly included just to add a flavour to the time and place in which the story is set. While it would undoubtedly help to be able to understand Yiddish in order to appreciate the precise aptness of a certain expression, as someone whose knowledge of Yiddish is rather limited myself, by sounding out the words in my mind I was taken back to a time when my own grandparents spoke Yiddish between themselves. I would think that even someone who knows no Yiddish at all can get a sense of the cadence of that wonderful language in reading the Yiddish in this book.
While there have been more books written about the Holocaust than any other subject in history, “Prairie Sonata” is not really another Holocaust book. It forms a major component of the story but, as Mira grows from a bright and cheery 11-year-old to a mature 15-year-old, we get a full sense of what life was like in a bygone era, not too long after the end of the Second World War (which, by the way, precedes Sandy Shefrin’s own childhood by several years; this is not an autobiography, as Sandy explained to me.)
Each chapter of the book begins with a quote from something written by a host of well-known writers – and although they reveal the extraordinarily eclectic breadth of the author’s acquaintance with a vast number of literary works, trying to understand the significance of each quote is a bit of a puzzle. I’ll leave it to others who have far more refined literary tastes than my own to figure that out – and perhaps get back to me with an explanation.
One other wonderful element to the story is the explanation of musical terms that may be familiar enough, but whose actual origin is likely known only by music students themselves. In one vividly drawn chapter, Chaver B explains to Mira how a sonata is actually structured. In doing so, the author is also explaining to the reader why her book is structured the way that it is.
Music plays such a central role in “Prairie Sonata” that I often had to stop reading to go and listen to an actual piece of music that is referenced so that I might understand why that particular piece would elicit the type of reaction that it does from Mira when she first hears it played.
To reveal too much of the plot would be a disservice to readers. Suffice to say that, as Mira learns more from Chaver B about what happened to him during the war, she begins to understand the meaning of anti-Semitism. Having grown up in a rather sheltered environment in Ambrosia she is really quite innocent, even though she would have been a young girl during World War II. Discovering the unparalleled cruelties of what happened to Europe’s Jews through Chaver B’s story is something that will resonate with anyone of any age – not just someone close to Mira’s age.
While “Prairie Sonata” might be considered a work of juvenile fiction, and it is definitely recommended for young readers – perhaps even pre-teens if they would be interested in a coming of age story, I would say that this book – if word of its brilliance spreads, will find an audience especially among Winnipeggers and former Winnipeggers who remember a time when life was somewhat simpler – without all the technological distractions that nowadays seem to combine to rob young people of the pleasures that come with encountering the world without having to experience it through social media.
Our community has produced a number of talented female writers whose books are intended for a young audience, including Carol Matas, Eva Wiseman, and Harriet Zaidman. While we can now add Sandy Shefrin’s name to that list, I would suggest that “Prairie Sonata” can fit into so many different categories of fiction that it will appeal to readers of all ages. And, at a time when so many of us are looking for something that will help take us through what, for most of us, is the most difficult period in history, I could recommend nothing more absorbing than taking your mind off what we are going through than this book.
Prairie Sonata
By Sandy Shefrin Rubin
Friesen Press, published 2020
267 pages
Currently available on Amazon in either print or Kindle format
Sandy Shefrin on growing up in Winnipeg and how she came to write “Prairie Sonata”
By BERNIE BELLAN
When I was first contacted by Sandy Shefrin Rabin quite some time ago, I told her that I remembered the name Sandy Shefrin from long ago – when we both were teenagers. When she went on to tell me that she was a first-time novelist, well – I’ve heard from a fair number of writers over the years asking me whether I’d like to read their books, so I can’t say that I was in any rush to read her book.
At the time that she contacted me I didn’t ask Sandy for any information about her background. It was only after I heard from her again not too long ago to tell me that her book was actually published – and she wondered whether I would like to read it, that I became interested in finding out more about her. I asked her to send me some biographical information.
So, in addition to her book, which she sent me as a pdf, she also sent me a picture of the book jacket. The back of the book jacket contains the following biographical information:
“Sandy Shefrin Rabin grew up in Winnipeg, Manitoba, in a community much like Mira’s. She holds both a B.A. in English and an M.D. degree from the University of Manitoba. She completed an Internal Medicine residency at McGill University and her Neurology residency at the New York Hospital Cornell Medical Center in Manhattan. She currently practices Neurology in Marin County, near San Francisco.
“Sandy has written for the Marin Independent Journal and has been published in several medical journals. She lives in Mill Valley, California, with her husband and has three sons. Prairie Sonata is her first novel.”
In a subsequent email I asked Sandy to expand some upon her educational background and how she ended up where she is.
Here’s what she wrote back:
“I grew up in north end Winnipeg on Inkster Blvd. I am a graduate of I. L. Peretz Folk School and St. John’s High. I earned a B.A. in English from the University of Manitoba and my M.D. degree from the University of Manitoba.” (She later told me she left Winnipeg after graduating from medical school, when she was 25.)
A neurologist, I thought – with a very impressive CV. So, why did she decide to become a novelist I wondered –and, to be honest, since I knew that we are close in age (and I’m not exactly a spring chicken), why did she wait until now to turn out her very first novel?
So, I asked Sandy that question. Here’s what she wrote back:
“I wrote the book for a few different reasons. I had just written an article about my mother in remembrance of the fourth anniversary of her passing, and although I felt good about having remembered her that way, I was left with an uneasiness; after a couple of generations, who would remember her, and who would remember my father who died almost fifty years ago? They would become no more than people in photographs or videos. Who would remember their essence?
“So I decided to write a story set on the Manitoba prairies and use my parents as prototypes for the main characters. I created a fictional town, Ambrosia, since my mother was born and grew up in Winkler. In the end, neither my father nor my mother became any one character in particular, but you can see glimpses of them in several of the characters throughout the novel.
“I feel privileged to have had a wonderful childhood growing up in the north end of Winnipeg. Much of what I create in the novel is based on the Winnipeg Jewish community – especially Peretz School – fictionalized and transplanted to Ambrosia. Peretz School was a unique and wonderful place with caring teachers, and I wanted to capture that experience and hope that I have done so in a positive way.
“Another impetus for the novel was the state of the world at the time I began writing. I started writing in early 2016 when ISIS was at its peak, and we were able to witness their atrocities on television. I was shocked that the world had descended to this level of barbarism, and it made me wonder if civilization had advanced at all over the ages. While growing up, I remember thinking that the world was definitely going to become a better place over the years, but it certainly seemed to be falling very short of that goal. Little did I know at that time that the next four years were going to bring even more turmoil — and not just Covid-19 – but also division among people and worsening racism and anti-Semitism around the world. These last four years serve as a lesson in how quickly a society can change when presented with misinformation and lies, and how we all need to remain vigilant against bigotry and hatred, issues that my novel addresses. Mira, my main protagonist, struggles not only to cope with the random uncontrollable things that happen in her life but also to understand why one human being would willfully perpetrate evil on another. Out of these ideas grew Mira’s journey from innocence to experience.
“There are various themes in the book, both timely and timeless, and I think it would be a great addition to high school and college reading lists, and book clubs. I’ve included a Discussion and Study Guide at the end. I hope people enjoy reading it.”
Once I finished reading the book – and, if you read my adjoining review, you’ll see that I was simply floored at how good it was, I had so many more questions for Sandy. (By the way, as I write this, I’ve handed the book to my wife, who is also an avid reader. She herself said she was astonished at how good the book was when she had only finished the first few chapters.)
I asked Sandy whether she still had any relatives in Winnipeg?
She wrote back: “I still have relatives in Winnipeg from both sides, Shefrin and Danzker. My mom’s maiden name was Clara Danzker and she married my dad, Sam Shefrin. I have a sister, Myrna Shefrin, who now lives in Vancouver and a brother, Hersh Shefrin, who lives near me in Palo Alto. He won the distinguished alumnus award from the University of Manitoba in 2019. He’s an economist.” (We had an article by Myron Love in our May 29, 2019 issue about Hersh Shefrin’s receiving that award, by the way. You can find it on our website jewishpostandnews.ca if you enter the words “Hersh Shefrin” in our search engine.)
Although “Prairie Sonata” is labeled a work of fiction, there are so many passages that will remind quite a few of our readers of their own experiences, especially for anyone who had ever attended Peretz School, that I asked Sandy how much of the novel is based on her own experience?
She replied: “Good question. Prairie Sonata is a work of fiction; it’s not a memoir. Like many authors, my novel is informed by my own experiences, but it’s not autobiographical. I am not Mira. I never had a teacher like Chaver B nor did I ever have a relationship with a teacher even remotely similar to Mira’s and Chaver B’s relationship. “I was the youngest of three, not the oldest of two. My parents were not professionals. I studied piano for most of my youth, and learned a little violin in Junior High School, although one of my sons plays the violin. However, I did go to Peretz School, and I definitely wanted to capture the uniqueness and character of the school.
“Although I grew up in the 60s, the story takes place in the late 40s and early 50s, and the historical events that I describe took place during that time period, or some even earlier. Even some minor things were not part of the 60s. For example, there was no Yiddish theatre in Winnipeg in the 60s, as far as I know. The Friday night get-togethers at Peretz School were long gone by then. So I hope that anyone who attended Peretz School “would identify with the book.”
Something that I kept wondering as I made my way through the book was: Why did Sandy create a fictitious town – Ambrosia, when so much of what happens would be so familiar to anyone who grew up in Winnipeg’s Jewish community?
Her answer was that “I debated that for a long time, and you may be right, perhaps I should have, but ultimately I came to the decision to not set the story in Winnipeg for a few different reasons. I initially thought I would model the protagonist after my mother, who grew up in Winkler, although in the end Mira turned out to be her own character. I was interested in a setting closer to nature, and believed I could best accomplish that in a rural setting. I didn’t want a “city” book; I wanted a “country book,” a book about all that the fields and sky and the landscape evokes. Natural imagery is a big part of the novel, both mirroring and contrasting with what the characters are experiencing, and the landscape almost becomes a character in of itself.
“Someone suggested that I use a real place, such as Altona or Winkler, but I didn’t want to do that either, because I really knew very little about them and didn’t believe that I could accurately portray them in that time period, and would likely receive criticism for my inaccuracies. As I said, the book is not autobiographical, and I thought that if it were set outside of Winnipeg, people would be less likely to view it as a memoir.
“The novel is about Mira’s journey from innocence to experience. Ambrosia is defined as “the sweet nectar of the gods.” I thought that was the perfect name for a place that embodies the sweetness of innocence, in particular Mira’s innocence.
“Overall, I believed that a fictitious town would make the story more universal. So, I don’t consider the town of Ambrosia to be a façade, and I hope others don’t either. I wanted to create a work of fiction, and I thought that was the best way to accomplish that goal.”
Finally, I asked Sandy about her married name. How did she end up marrying someone with the name “Rabin” I wondered- and, was this really her first novel? (which I found so hard to believe because it’s so beautifully polished from beginning to end).
Sandy responded: “Rabin is really my married name. Funny you asked about a nom de plume, because my husband often said I should take one. I was never sure if he was serious. As far as I know, it was just shortened from Rabinowitz, but we haven’t talked about it in a while, so I’ll ask him again tomorrow.
“This is my first novel. I think my last short story was in grade six about the Mystery of Cornelia Hilltop — the mystery being that she had a twin, and then I wrote a short story that I sent into Chatelaine when I was about 14 that was rejected. I don’t even remember what that was about. I wrote a poem when Bobbie Kennedy died and sent it to the family, to which they graciously replied, but no novels.
“I know I’ve said already many times that this is not an autobiography, but I did have to get into my 11 and 12 year old head to write the book, and once I did, it just seemed to take off. I often wonder if I could write the same book again, or any other for that matter. I hope I can and will, but once I got going, it just seemed to flow. It was a lot of fun to write.”
Features
“The Rabbi of Baton Rouge”: new book is both a rom com and an insightful look at the challenges of living in a small Jewish community
Reviewed by BERNIE BELLAN About a month ago I received an email from a publicist about a new book titled The Rebbe of Baton Rouge.
Now, I should explain that even though I’m now officially retired as publisher of The Jewish Post I still receive loads of emails inviting me to review new books. Unfortunately, most of the titles seem to fall into one of two categories: Either self-help books or books about the Holocaust. I usually don’t even open those emails.
But, when I received this particular email – whose title alone intrigued me (“Review copy: the Rebbe of Baton Rouge”), I decided to read the email.
Here’s what it said:
“Dear Bernie,
“I hope you’ll consider The Rebbe of Baton Rouge for review or feature coverage in The Jewish Post and News. It’s a new Southern-Jewish novel from University of Louisiana at Lafayette Press, out this October.
“Anna Zisk, a Yiddish literature professor, flees a scandal in Boston and moves back into her childhood home in Baton Rouge. Adam Kluger is the new rabbi in town, trying to hold together a shrinking congregation in a city with barely enough Jews to fill a high school gym. His ex-fiancée left him at the altar, a rival synagogue is picking off his members, and he’s being haunted by a Yiddish-speaking ghost. Then he starts falling for Anna.
“It’s a funny, fast-moving rom-com that’s also about faith, belonging, and what holds a small community together.
“The authors, Jennifer Anne Moses and Stuart Green, lived in Baton Rouge for years and raised their three children there. Jennifer has written nine previous books, including the memoir Bagels and Grits: A Jew on the Bayou. Stuart is a Distinguished Professor of Law at Rutgers.
“I’d be glad to send a PDF or print review copy or arrange an interview with the authors. Thank you for considering it.”
I responded to the publicist:
“This sounds interesting – a bit of a distraction from the endless series of Holocaust books that we’re usually asked to consider reviewing.
“You can send me a pdf of the book and I’ll take a look at it – no promises.”
In short order I received a pdf of The Rebbe of Baton Rouge – and wow – was this one ever good!
The problem is, after you’ve finished reading what’s about to be a glowing review, you’re going to have a tough time buying this book. From what I can see, it’s available only through Amazon so far – and even though Amazon says it’s just a paperback, it’s priced at $42.66 (I assume that’s in Canadian dollars because I looked for it on Amazon Canada.)
Putting aside the cost of the book, however, I want to tell you why I was so thoroughly entertained by this book – and why I think it will interest Winnipeg Jews in particular.
The story is set mostly in Baton Rouge, which I discovered is a relatively small city (only about 225,000 population) – with a very small Jewish population (only about 1500).
From the way it’s described in the book, anyone considering moving there would have to think twice before doing that. It’s very humid, is infested with mosquitoes – and, at the time the book was set (which is 2016), it was prime MAGA territory.
The two principal protagonists in the book, a Yiddish studies professor named Anna Zisk, and a Reform rabbi named Adam Kluger, both end up in Baton Rouge – although neither one by choice.
Anna has become entangled in an embarrassing affair with one of her male grad students in a Boston college – and when the affair ends at Anna’s insistence, the grad student launches a sexual harassment campaign against Anna, which forces her to leave Boston and head back home to Baton Rouge, which is where she is from and where her family still lives.
Rabbi Kluger, on the other hand, is looking for a pulpit of his own – even though he’s had a prior successful career working as a programmer for Google. He’s also decided to break off a relationship with a woman he says he loves, Deborah, because she wouldn’t even consider moving with him to the boonies – in this case, Baton Rouge.
Now, that particular aspect of the story really resonated with me. Here we have a rabbi who doesn’t really want to move to a community which is looking for a new rabbi (after the previous rabbi has died suddenly), but he figures he’ll take the position – until something better turns up.
Frankly, given the fact that neither Anna nor Adam is looking forward to living in Baton Rouge – for different reasons, I was expecting the book to turn into a typical rom com where two ill-starred people find love by being thrust together in unfortunate circumstances.
But The Rebbe of Baton Rouge isn’t that kind of book – much to my delight – and surprise. Sure, Anna and Adam do connect – although I won’t ruin the surprise by telling you what happens in the end, but their connection is more a result of their both respecting one another and having an honest appreciation of the plight that has led both of them to Baton Rouge. (Anna is actually pursued by a handsome Jewish doctor in Baton Rouge, while Adam’s former girlfriend is also quite beautiful – and still cares for him deeply, so it’s not as if Anna and Adam are two losers thrown together after having been rejected by others). They both need to decide whether they are willing to make certain concessions for the sake of ending up just “comfortable,” rather than truly fulfilled.
What I especially appreciated was the manner in which Rabbi Adam especially, comes to find the charm of serving as a rabbi to a small, and very unfunded congregation, so rewarding. There’s a complication to his position though: While he’s the rabbi of a very small Reform congregation, the rabbi of the only other Reform congregation in Baton Rouge, whose membership is much larger, has his sights set on absorbing the members of the smaller congregation into his own.
And frankly – it makes total sense for the two congregations to merge. (Now, haven’t we seen this same scenario played out in Winnipeg?) In fact, a major part of the book is taken up with Rabbi Adam seeking a better paying position elsewhere in the U.S. (in this case, Santa Barbara) because he’s very concerned his own congregation is about to be swallowed up by the larger congregation – and he’s worried that he will end playing second fiddle to a dominant, longer serving rabbi.
As for Anna, she tries to make the best of a bad situation by accepting a temporary position teaching English composition to the members of the Louisiana State University football team – which provides both some comic relief, but also puts her into another embarrassing situation when she is accused of becoming too close with the star of the football team – even though her intentions are totally above board (and so are the football star’s).
Through into the mix an intriguing sub plot about a Hasid ghost who appears every so often in Rabbi Adam’s life – to offer sage advice when Adam is at his lowest points. There is an explanation for why the ghost appears, but I wont’ spoil it here.
One other thing – the book is full of Yiddishkeit. Each chapter has a Yiddish title (there’s a glossary at the end in case you don’t understand the words) and there’s a fair bit of Yiddish sprinkled throughout the book. (After all, Anna is a Yiddish professor – not that she uses Yiddish in her everyday speech. It just gives the book a real “haimish” feel.)
I ought to mention something about the authors: Jennifer Anne Moses and Stuart Green. Jennifer Moses is an accomplished novelist (having written seven previous works of fiction, along with two memoirs), while Stuart Green is a Rutgers law professor who’s also written several books on the law. They began writing The Rebbe of Baton Rouge together during the Covid epidemic. It’s their first jointly written book.
The dialogue in the book is sharp and well informed. It’s clear that Jennifer Moses has honed her craft – and while I was expecting the book to be full of clichés about a rabbi and a congregant having to ward off their physical attractiveness to one another – which is the primary theme of that annoying American show about a rabbi and a non-Jewish woman falling in love in “Nobody Wants This,” this book makes offers much deeper insights into many of the challenges 30 and 40 something Jews face today, including choosing careers over relationships, and the difficulty of finding meaningful relationships in the first place.
And, as for getting a rabbi to move to the boondocks – well Baton Rougers, have you ever heard of Winnipeg?
The Rebbe of Baton Rouge
By Jennifer Anne Moses and Stuart Green
Published by University of Louisiana at Lafayette Press, 2026
202 pages
Available on Amazon
Features
You might not like what this article has to say about what happened on October 7 and the aftermath
By MARTY GREEN I just read a very disturbing article in Ha’aretz about the treatment of Arab prisoners in Israeli detention. 71-year-old Dr. Mazen Rantisi was recently released after 127 days in detention, and he told Amira Hass about conditions on the inside. No, he was not hung upside-down and beaten; his fingernails were not pulled out or his bones broken. That is not the Jewish way. Without getting into details, the conditions he describes are more along the lines of filth, enforced “discomfort”, hunger, and daily humiliations. And yes, occasional kindness from one guard or another. All in all, treatment no better (and probably often worse) than our own hostages received while they were being held in Gaza.
Which brings me to the point of this article. We like to justify our devastation of Gaza by reminding the world that the declared purpose of Hamas’s invaders was to kill every single Jew they could get their hands on…man, woman, or child. “It’s right there in their Charter!” we proclaim.
We, on the hand, were perfectly blameless in our conduct of the war. “We dropped leaflets to warn people of impending attacks”. “Civilian casualties were because Hamas used them as human shields”. And our trump card: “Hamas could have ended the war at any moment by simply releasing the hostages”.
Could they really have? The last hostages were released a year ago but we are still killing “militants” every single day…some 1,600 since October 10th 2005. (A figure not disputed by Israeli authorities…and considerably more than the 1200 Israeli’s killed on October 7th.) It seems we continue to carry out targeted killings of every single Gaza resident who we can identify as having participated in the October 7th operation…even if those targeted killings involve “collateral damage”.
Yes, we had every justification to invade Gaza to rescue our hostages. But on October 7th weren’t there already thousands of Arab prisoners being held “hostage” in our own prisons, including 1,300 being held without criminal charges or pending trial under our “administrative detention” system? And if the conditions were anything close to those described by Dr. Rantisi, was the need for action (at least from Hamas’s viewpoint) to liberate those prisoners – by whatever means possible – any less than the subsequent need for us to liberate our own hostages?
Does any of this justify the unspeakable cruelties perpetrated by Hamas on October 7th? This is a difficult question to answer, because those cruelties and acts of barbarism were so…well, unspeakable…that Israel has for the most part refrained from posting the evidence online. Yet some details have come out little by little. For one thing, contrary to early claims, it does not seem that any babies were murdered by being placed alive in microwave ovens. Yes, it is all but certain that individual acts of wanton cruelty occurred, but let us look at some actual numbers: specifically, rapes and murders.
But we are going to analyze those in the context of what we will presume, for the sake of argument, to have been a “military operation” whose purpose was the taking of hostages for the “legitimate” purpose of negotiating the release of the detainees being improperly held in Israeli prisons. What are the numbers? And how do they compare with the numbers from our Gaza operation? You should stop reading right now if you don’t like where this is going. . . .
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Okay, let us continue. Of the 1200 Israeli casualties, 373 were members of security forces. That’s almost a third. So 800 deaths were civilians…that would be what we call “collateral damage” when they are Palestinian deaths. Then let us call them the same when they are ours. We pride ourselves on the low ratio of “collateral damage” we inflicted on Gaza, claiming 20 to 30 thousand armed combatants out of 70,000 total casualties. Well, then evidently our ratio of “collateral damage” is not better than that of Hamas.
(And by the way, how do we count the three unarmed Israeli escapees we killed? If they had turned out to be Arabs would they have been counted as enemy combatants (despite being unarmed) or merely as “collateral damage”? Clearly, we had no compunction about killing unarmed individuals who might have had concealed weapons. Should Hamas have been more scrupulous than us in terms of who they killed in the course of their operation?)
Now let’s look at some percentages. The biggest single site for casualties was the Nova festival, where some 350 were killed….about 10 percent of the total number there. After that, some nearby kibbutzes and settlements were hard hit…Kibbutz Be’eri, 132 dead out of a population of 1,000; Kfar Aza, 80 out of 800 (some of those were security personnel); and communities like Nir Oz, Nahal Oz, and Kissufim: 170 out of 1100.
So the numbers killed in the most heavily hit communities was 10 to 15 percent. These are devastating numbers but they are hard to reconcile with the claim that Hamas intended to murder every single Jew they could lay their hands on. Israeli resistance was stiff in many of these locales, as evidenced by the high number of military casualties. So many of the civilian deaths must have been, (once again from the point of view of Hamas) “collateral damage”.
We all know the story of the one killer who boasted gleefully of having killed ten Jews all by himself. But if we reckon that at least half the civilian casualties were “legitimate” (by the same definition we used for civilian casualties in Gaza), that they were merely “collateral damage”, then no more than two to three hundred civilian deaths would have been gratuitous murders. Those murders could have all been plausibly committed by no more than 30 to 50 of the six thousand invaders in total….less than one percent. Yet in the post-ceasefire world, it remains our declared intention to kill every invader who participated in October 7th.
What about women and children? Women were close to 300 civilian casualties out of 800. Children….perhaps 40 altogether, including exactly seven under the age of six. How many of the 70,000 casualties in Gaza were children under the age of six? We cannot know the true figure with any certainty, but it is hard to believe that the comparison would favor Israel on a percentage basis.
What about rape? There is little doubt that rapes took place at several locations, with many of the victims being subsequently killed. But no actual numbers are readily available. Surely the great majority of the 300 female casualties were mere “collateral damage” and not rape victims. All we can guess is that the number of women raped and then killed could have been anywhere from 10 to 100. But again, these are mere guesses.
Survivors of rape is another story. Only one woman has come forward to publicly testify that she was raped. How many more may have kept quiet or reported their ordeals only privately is unknown. But I would find it hard to believe that in the chaos of the day’s events, that 100 women were raped and only one survived to tell her story out loud. Yes, rape happened. But it could hardly have been on any kind of mass scale. Especially considering the eagerness of the Israeli side to publicize stories of atrocities.
Finally, it is important to remember that this operation was not a “walk in the park” for Hamas. It is said that out of an elite contingent of 3800 fighters, between twelve and fifteen hundred died on Israeli territory. More Arabs than Jews died on October 7th.
Those special forces were followed by perhaps 2000 civilian looters, many of them armed. To the extent that atrocities occurred, it seems highly likely that they came largely from perhaps a hundred individuals out of this contingent of opportunistic marauders, rather than the disciplined forces that were evidently fighting and dying to complete their assigned mission.
And what of the success of the mission itself? If it was intended to give Israel a black eye, it was hardly a failure. And if it was intended to secure bargaining chips in the form of hostages, then the 4000 Arabs released from custody would have to be a win for Hamas. What about the 70,000 dead? Well, we all know that human life means very little to the Arabs. Don’t we? We’ve said it often enough.
If the Arabs don’t regard their own casualties as human beings, maybe it’s time we started to. And going back to where we began this story, with Dr. Rantisi: let’s remember that we are supposed to be responsible for the humane treatment of prisoners. I can’t help but wonder if we haven’t somehow decided to make those who remain in our custody endure extra suffering on behalf of those we were forced to release.
Features
A Sensation at the Bible Contest in Jerusalem
The final of the International Bible Contest, Chidon HaTanakh, takes place every year on Israeli Independence Day (Yom HaAtzmaut). The event is broadcast live across the country, and American contestants appear each year — yet few expect them to win. History, however, records exceptions. In 1988, two teenagers from New York challenged decades of Israeli dominance, and one of them accomplished the impossible.
A TV Quiz Show Where the Subject Is the Bible
Chidon HaTanakh is an annual international competition testing knowledge of the Hebrew Scriptures — something like Jeopardy, except that instead of pop culture, every question revolves around the Torah. It is the country’s largest televised event, followed by the entire nation; the nation’s top officials are invariably present in the hall. Students travel from around the world, yet the balance of power is predictable. In more than half a century of the contest’s existence, only three Americans have taken the top prize. The crown almost always goes to an Israeli.
Why Israel Holds an Almost Permanent Advantage
The reasons for the host country’s dominance are less mystical than pragmatic. In Israel, Chidon is surrounded by state attention and public prestige, especially within the Religious Zionism community. Schools release promising candidates from regular classes for dedicated preparation; some are trained almost from infancy. The Israeli stage covers around 400 chapters from the most demanding books, while the American national qualifier covers roughly 100 from relatively accessible ones. Finally, the language barrier is enormous: absorbing hundreds of chapters of biblical Hebrew is incomparably easier when modern Hebrew is one’s native tongue. The language question frequently proves a stumbling block beyond Israel’s borders as well — kykNET is launching a new show in South Africa, Die 1% Klub, and one of the requirements for participants is knowledge of Afrikaans. This already eliminates a significant proportion of potential contestants from outside South Africa, even though there are formally no citizenship requirements.
For foreigners, the contest is just one of many extracurricular activities; for Israelis, it is a matter of national importance.
A Joke That Turned Out to Be an Accurate Diagnosis
As far back as the 1970s, the celebrated Israeli comedy troupe Lul turned the predictability of the results into a sketch that became widely quoted. “We are at the Chidon final,” gasps the host. “Of 60 contestants, three remain. The Scandinavian has 37 points, the Sudanese has 42, and the Israeli has 473 out of a possible 400. The final question is worth 13 points. Everything can still change!” The sketch captured a cultural phenomenon in which suspense existed only on paper.
A Quiz or a Money Game
The TV quiz show format built around the Hebrew Scriptures fits naturally within Jewish tradition. Competition in Torah knowledge is encouraged, and in religious circles it is perceived as an extension of study. Entertainment shows built on gambling are a different matter. The wheel of fortune, bets, multipliers, and cash prizes — as seen in Playtech Live Game Shows, information about which is publicly available — are also presented as televised spectacle complete with a studio and a charismatic host. From a religious standpoint, however, the picture is more complex. To simplify greatly and set aside the distinctions between streams of Judaism: the dividing line runs through money. A person who simply watches the broadcast as entertainment and risks nothing is not participating in gambling. One who places a wager is playing, and under halakha such conduct is either prohibited or, in more lenient interpretations, condemned. In Chidon, only points and reputation are at stake, and the only thing a contestant can wager is years of preparation. In 1988, those years unexpectedly outweighed decades of Israeli tradition.
The Exception That Happened in 1988
That year, two American teenagers arrived in Jerusalem not as also-rans. Jeremy Wieder and Noah Feldman were considered genuine contenders for the title. Both knew the material down to the finest detail. But the story of their rivalry ended in a way no one had predicted.
The American Qualifier, Where the Favorite Was Not the Future Champion
The national Chidon in the United States is divided into four divisions: two each for middle and high school, separately in English and in Hebrew. The strongest contestants typically emerge from the senior Hebrew-language division. In June 1987, that division was won by Feldman — with a near-perfect score. Wieder finished second. Contest organizer Dr. Mitchell Orlian noted that the gap between them was negligible, though the American program’s scope was considerably narrower than the Israeli one.
Who Wieder and Feldman Were
Wieder grew up in Monsey, New York, in the family of a physics professor. He studied at the Ashar and Spring Valley yeshivas and then at the Yeshiva University boys’ high school. An experienced synagogue Torah reader, he was competing in the international final for the first time and was remembered by rivals as someone who “simply knew everything.”
Feldman came from an academic family in Cambridge, Massachusetts; his parents taught at Harvard and MIT. He attended Maimonides School in Brookline and displayed intellectual brilliance from an early age. He won the national qualifier having lost only half a point — he had confused the dimensions of two sets of curtains of the Tabernacle. “I was off by about a cubit and a half,” he recalled later.
A Year of Preparation, Two Different Approaches
From September 1987, Wieder — who had enrolled early at Yeshiva University — devoted at least one hour each day to reviewing the material. His foundation was a thorough knowledge of the Pentateuch, which made up a third of the program, but the remaining sections required months of additional work.
Feldman structured his preparation differently. His school released him from classes during the Prophets (Nevi’im) period, and he used the 42-minute slot to memorize texts with traditional cantillation. In the final months, he discovered in the Harvard library an archive of Chidon questions and answers dating from the 1950s and used it as a training tool.
The Two Weeks Before the Broadcast That Viewers Never See
Foreign participants arrive two weeks before the final. The program includes tours of the country, meetings with rabbis, politicians, and the Prime Minister, and a visit to a military base — all guided by mentors drawn from former finalists. Informally, the whole experience is known as “Tanakh camp” — a project for strengthening Jewish communal bonds around Israel and the biblical text.
It was here that the Americans first grasped the scale of the competition. Among the contestants was a student from behind the Iron Curtain who had arrived with a teacher from Hungary, and Canadian champion Sean Zelig Aster. The Israelis displayed photographic memory: one of them moved a finger across his forehead as if turning pages and recited entire passages from memory. “They were a little frightening,” admitted another American contestant, Jeremy Spierer. Feldman summed up the contrast this way: in America, he had simply been told — “Noah, there’s a Tanakh quiz, you like that sort of thing, go tomorrow.”
The Final at the Jerusalem Theatre and the Role of the Written Exam
On Israeli Independence Day (Yom HaAtzmaut), thousands of spectators filled the Jerusalem Theatre, where in earlier years David Ben-Gurion had personally checked contestants’ answers against his own Bible. Television cameras broadcast every movement on stage.
A significant portion of the contest, however, is decided before the broadcast. Several days before the televised rounds, contestants sit a written exam of 50–60 questions, and the points scored carry over into the final. The questions on stage are made easier so that no one is publicly humiliated, meaning that anyone who loses too many points in the written portion is effectively out of contention before the cameras roll.
In 1988, the written exam proved unusually lenient and even included a multiple-choice section. Several contestants achieved a perfect score. “I was lucky,” Wieder said. “The Israelis knew the material better than anyone, and the only reason I had a chance was the unusually easy written exam.” Sixteen contestants advanced to the televised rounds; Wieder and Feldman were among them.
On stage, the foreign contestants added color: Aster placed a small Canadian flag in front of him, and Feldman, in the Israeli manner, answered with long quotations, reciting a passage from the Song of Songs from memory. Contestants were eliminated one by one, but several maintained a perfect score into the decisive round. The final question was posed, as tradition dictates, by Prime Minister Yitzhak Shamir. Contestants were given ten biblical occurrences of the word shalom and asked to identify the source of each and provide commentary. Wieder answered 19 of the 20 points correctly. The result: a tie for first place with an Israeli contestant of Tunisian descent, Zehava Haddad. Aster finished fourth, Feldman fifth.
Shock, Rumors, and Mutual Suspicion
The result triggered a wave of conspiracy theories. The American participants believed that Wieder had in fact won outright, but that the judges had not dared award the gold to a foreigner and had arranged a tie instead. The Israeli side advanced the mirror-image accusation: one of the finalists publicly claimed that the political establishment had wanted the prize to go neither to an Israeli nor to a woman. The organizers rejected both versions.
The Winner Himself Called It Luck
Wieder consistently emphasized that his success was a confluence of circumstances. In a “normal” year, with a rigorous written exam, he would never have reached the final question. Nevertheless, the record stands: the first American victory since 1973, when the prize was taken by Leora Reich of the Flatbush yeshiva in Brooklyn. The next comparable result came only in 2013, when Yishai Eisenberg shared first place.
Two Paths After the Contest
Wieder received rabbinic ordination (semikha) and became the youngest head of the RIETS rabbinical school in Yeshiva University’s history. He also earned a doctorate in rabbinic literature from New York University and today teaches Talmud and Tanakh. “The knowledge of Prophets (Nevi’im) and Writings (Ketuvim) that the preparation gave me has remained a resource for life,” he has noted.
Feldman graduated from Harvard with the highest grade point average in his class, received a Rhodes Scholarship to Oxford, completed Yale Law School, and clerked for Supreme Court Justice David Souter. He later advised the Coalition Provisional Authority in Iraq and became a professor at Harvard Law School. He described Chidon as “one of the most important educational experiences of his life,” one that opened access to medieval Hebrew poetry, to English-language literary corpora saturated with biblical allusions, and that deepened his inner connection to a foundational text.
A Rare American Victory Still Debated Today
Over more than half a century of Chidon HaTanakh history, Americans have won only a handful of times. The 1988 final stands out against the backdrop of prolonged Israeli dominance for several reasons at once: an anomalously lenient written exam that for the first time opened a genuine path to victory for foreign contestants; a tie for first place that some considered fair and others politically motivated; and two careers that grew from a single youthful competition.
