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‘Fleishman is in Trouble’ hits FX Thursday. Just don’t call it a Jewish series, says its creator.
(JTA) — From Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s point of view, her best-selling 2019 novel “Fleishman Is in Trouble” wasn’t all that Jewish. She’s a little perplexed by the deluge of press junket questions about its Jewish essence.
“It’s funny: I don’t think of it as a Jewish book. I know people do,” she said.
Brodesser-Akner, a journalist famous for her sharp celebrity profiles, is now the showrunner of the book’s star-studded TV adaptation, an 8-episode FX series that debuts on Hulu on Thursday. In the story, Toby Fleishman (played by Jesse Eisenberg) is a 41-year-old Jewish hepatologist who has recently divorced Rachel (Claire Danes), his ambitious, icy, blonde theater agent wife. Early on in the story, Rachel disappears in the middle of the night, leaving Toby with their two children and a truckload of resentment. Toby, who had a nebbishy and romantically insecure youth before marrying Rachel, is now drowning in the sexual bounty of dating apps.
On Zoom, Brodesser-Akner was speaking a few days after the show’s blowout bash at Carnegie Hall and Tavern on the Green, an iconic Central Park restaurant. “I’ve never been to an event like that. It was 600 people,” she said. It sounded like a scene that could have been plucked right from “Fleishman,” which is set on the extremely wealthy Upper East Side, and in which the responsibilities of marriage and parenthood are at odds with the ambitions and personal longings of its middle-aged characters.
Brodesser-Akner, 47, who was both adrenalized and a little frazzled, had to balance the premiere with parenting duties — she’s a mother of two boys, ages 15 and 12. “I’m still picking sequins from my teeth.”
As a writer, Brodesser-Akner likes to play with the power of subjectivity, and she built “Fleishman” on it. Though the story begins as Toby’s, it eventually morphs into a “Rashomon”-esque take on the divorce and what really went wrong in the Fleishmans’ marriage. The story is narrated by Libby (Lizzy Caplan), Toby’s friend from their year abroad in Israel. A former men’s magazine writer, Libby is now a lost and frustrated stay-at-home mom in suburban New Jersey (and a stand-in for Brodesser-Akner). Adam Brody steals scenes as Seth, an immature finance bro and another year-in-Israel friend with whom Toby reconnects after the divorce. (His presence is a homecoming of sorts for those of us who spent our tween years watching him play a different Seth in “The O.C.”)
“I don’t think of it as a Jewish book,” says Taffy Brodesser-Akner.
Brodesser-Akner pieced together the story’s Jewish elements: a doctor named Fleishman, a bat mitzvah, Friday night dinners, a year abroad in Israel, a few jokes about Jews being bad at home repairs (which is the subject of a very funny scene in episode six between Toby and Seth). There are a few insidery details that she fails to mention, like a fake Jewish sleepaway camp called Camp Marah, which sounds like the real Camp Ramah but roughly translates to “Camp Bitter” in Hebrew. Does all this add up to a “Jewish” story?
“I read ‘The Corrections’ by Jonathan Franzen, and it mentions Christmas I think 47 times. I read ‘Crossroads’ and it’s about the family of a youth minister. But neither of those is ever called a Christian book. This is called a Jewish book. I don’t object to it being called a Jewish book. But to me it’s mostly an American story. As a writer and as an observer of the culture, I think that calling this a Jewish book is proof of the answer to an old question: are Jews considered Americans? And the answer is no.” She threw in her characteristic meta analysis: “So now you have a very Jewish profile. How Jewish is that, Sarah?”
The self-aware comment is a good reminder that although her responses may be unguarded, she has not forgotten that she’s on the record. A name in New York media, Brodesser-Akner wrote for GQ and is now a staff writer for The New York Times Magazine, having profiled Gwyneth Paltrow, Ethan Hawke and Tom Hanks and written about the Joshua Cohen novel “The Netanyahus,” the television show “Thirtysomething” and much more. She inserts herself often into her writing, not to make it about herself, but to remind the reader that every profile is by nature filtered through the lens of the writer crafting it. Her writing is searing, self-deprecating — so raw it’s still bleeding and often quite funny.
“I wrote the book the way I would write a profile, just like I always do. But this man doesn’t exist,” she said.
RELATED: 5 Jewish places that inspired Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s ‘Fleishman Is in Trouble’
We had tried to meet in person near her home on the Upper West Side, but by the time she was available, I was in Tel Aviv, placing us along the Israel-New York axis on which “Fleishman” is set. When Toby suddenly calls Libby to tell her he’s getting divorced, he catapults her into memories of their early twenties in Jerusalem. Those thoughts make Libby miss the possibilities of her youth, the ones time has ruthlessly and inevitably extinguished. Eventually her longing for her past becomes so overwhelming that it threatens her marriage to her menschy and patient husband, played by Josh Radnor. (For more longing-for-younger-days while in Israel content, Brodesser-Akner wrote a Saveur essay about vegetable soup in Jerusalem — her Proustian madeleine. Interviewing Brodesser-Akner from my friend’s apartment in Tel Aviv, a city where I lived in my twenties, I found the theme of longing for the past hit almost too close to home.)
Part of the reason Brodesser-Akner doesn’t think the “Fleishman” story is all that Jewish is that she doesn’t feel all that Jewish — at least not relative to her mother and sisters, who are aligned with the Hasidic Chabad-Lubavitch movement and live within a few blocks of each other in Crown Heights, Brooklyn.
“I don’t think any writer has ever gotten it right,” she says of her Jewish background. “They say I was raised Orthodox. It’s interesting because it always makes me look like the black sheep in my family, when really they are. I’m exactly how I was raised to be until I was 12.”
After her mother, a secular Israeli, and her father, a Conservative Long Islander, divorced, her mother put Brodesser-Akner and her sisters in Jewish school. Some Jewish observance trickled back to her mother, who ended up going the Chabad route.
“My mom had never been inside a synagogue until the day she married my father. Now that is what we call ironic,” Brodesser-Akner said.
Brodesser-Akner’s two sisters followed, and her mother eventually remarried and had another child, the only sibling born into a religious household.
“The thing that made me a journalist was being raised in a home where, at age 12, I was relegated to observer. I had to learn how to understand other people’s points of view. And now that’s what I do,” she said.
Despite their religious differences — Brodesser-Akner attends an Orthodox synagogue but sends her children to an unaffiliated Jewish school and says she wakes up “every morning with new ideas” — the author is very close with her family, and her sisters were at the “Fleishman” premiere.
“They were at the premiere of my perverted sex show,” she joked with a laugh referring to the Hulu series, which features some sexual content as Toby explores the post-divorce New York dating scene. “They show up for me and I show up for them. I have my challenges with it, but I think their challenges must be greater. They never say this to me, but they must think that my life is comparatively…” She looked away thoughtfully, trying to find the right words. “They must think my lifestyle is comparatively less worthwhile. But we really love each other.”
To Brodesser-Akner, the most Jewish show on television is “The Patient,” which she calls “the best show I have seen in 100 years.” And that’s not because it (like “Fleishman”) is on FX. “I’m not that kind of interview!” she said.
Lizzy Caplan plays Toby’s friend Libby. (FX Networks)
“It’s the most Jewish show in all of the Jewish ways. It grapples with a Jewish prisoner; with the difference between a Conservative Jewish female cantor whose son becomes ultra-Orthodox — I’d never seen that on screen. It was kind of the only relatable Jewish matter I’ve ever seen. People ask me if I’ve watched ‘Shtisel.’ And I always say, I’m in the 47th season of an ultra-Orthodox family drama myself and not really interested!” She laughed. “But also I think of the other Jewish matters on television, which are adapted memoirs of people who were ultra-Orthodox and now aren’t. It’s like no one can imagine religious people being happy in their lives. And that’s really shocking to me. My family is very happy.”
Brodesser-Akner wound up with her dream cast: she had a list of five actors — Lizzy Caplan, Jesse Eisenberg, Claire Danes, Josh Radnor and Adam Brody — and no backup plan. She noted the fact that viewers have seen them grow up on screen as one reason they were right for the roles. For many, watching Caplan, Eisenberg and Brody sit across from each other in a diner will feel like a camp reunion, the fulfillment of a Jewish television fantasy they never knew they had.
“One thing that we were trying to get across is ‘how could it be that I am this old when I was once this young?’ And the fact that you have a memory of Claire from ‘My So-Called Life,’ or Jesse from ‘The Squid and the Whale’ — that does so much of the work of the show without writing a word,” Brodesser-Akner said.
Besides Danes (who plays the only main character with a non-Jewish parent, whom the book makes clear she resembles) the lead actors are all Jewish — a notable fact in a time when Jewish representation on screen, and who should be allowed to play Jewish characters, is the subject of continued debate.
Last month, New Yorker TV critic Emily Nussbaum, who is Jewish, tweeted, “There is a simple solution to the question of whether various non-Jewish actors are allowed to play Jews & that is to ask me.” Brodesser-Akner responded to the tweet, writing “[Non-Jew] Oscar Isaac in Scenes from a Marriage is the best ex-ortho I ever saw on screen!”
About casting Jewish actors, Brodesser-Akner noted a legal issue rarely mentioned in the representation debate: one can cast based on looks, but it’s illegal in the United States to cast based on religion. She took this very seriously.
“I spoke to [‘The Plot Against America’ director] David Simon about it and he said, ‘They’re actors. You let them act.’ And I agree with that. The question that I asked myself was who was perfect for it?” she said.
Even if Brodesser-Akner rejects the claim that “Fleishman” is a definitively Jewish story, wasn’t she consciously playing with some Philip Roth-inspired Jewish archetypes? Toby the nice Jewish doctor, the devoted, idealistic dad who’s also self-righteous, horny and insecure.
No, she insists she wasn’t. But also Philip Roth is so ingrained in her that who’s to say? And isn’t the question flawed in the first place?
“All I can say is that I am made out of Philip Roth. I’m so formed by his books. I actually would say that you have a bias in the asking of your question, in that you’re Jewish too. And you also are made out of Philip Roth books since you’re a writer. Again, that goes back to the same question as ‘are we American?’ To me, Toby is not ‘a Jewish guy.’ He’s just a guy! He’s the kind of guy I know! I was just trying to be myself.”
“Fleishman is in Trouble” premieres its first two episodes on Hulu on Nov. 17. It will release each of its six remaining episodes weekly on Thursdays.
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Research studies in Yiddish by noted historians, now in English
מיט װאָס זײַנען די היסטאָרישע פֿאָרשונגען אױף ייִדיש אַנדערש פֿון די, װאָס זײַנען אָנגעשריבן געװאָרן אױף אַנדערע שפּראַכן? ווי עס שרײַבט ד״ר מאַרק סמיט, דער רעדאַקטאָר פֿון דער אַנטאָלאָגיע „דאָס בּױען און טרייסטן אַ פֿאָלק: ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע היסטאָריקער אין זײערע אײגענע װערטער“, איז דער פֿאָקוס פֿון די ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע פֿאָרשונגען געװען אױף די אינערלעכע זײַטן פֿונעם ייִדישן לעבן.
דערצו נאָך, שרײַבט סמיט, איז זײער קוק אױף דער ייִדישער געשיכטע כּסדר געווען פּאָזיטיװ, „להיפּוך צו די אַנדערע היסטאָריקער, ייִדן און ניט־ייִדן, װאָס האָבן אין זײערע שטודיעס באַטאָנט יסורים און רדיפֿות פֿון ייִדן“.
די אַנטאָלאָגיע נעמט אַרײַן 49 אױסצוגן פֿון ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע היסטאָרישע װערק. דאָס רובֿ פֿון זײ שטאַמען פֿון דער ערשטער העלפֿט פֿונעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט.
די טעקסטן זײַנען צעטײלט אין זיבן טעמאַטישע אָפּטײלן, װאָס שפּיגלען אָפּ די הױפּט־ריכטונגען פֿון פֿאָרשונגען: ייִדישע קהילה־אױטאָנאָמיע; קולטור, עקאָנאָמיק און געזעלשאַפֿט; באַציִונגען מיט די אַרומיקע אומות־העולם; ייִדישע ליטעראַטור; פּרעסע און קאָמוניקאַציעס; ייִדישע דערציִונג, און ביכער־רעצענזיעס.
יעדער אָפּטײל באַהאַנדלט די געהעריקע טעמע כראָנאָלאָגיש, פֿון פֿריִערע צײַטן ביזן חורבן. אַזױ באַקומט דער לײענער אַ ברײטן באַגריף פֿון דער היסטאָרישער אַנטװיקלונג פֿון יענעם אַסקעפּט פֿונעם ייִדישן לעבן.
דער ענין פֿון דער ייִדישער אױטאָנאָמיע האָט לעצטנס אַרויסגערופֿן אַ נײַעם אינטערעס מצד די קעגנערס פֿון מדינת־ישׂראל און איר פּאָליטיק. אַ סימן איז דער גרױסער דערפֿאָלג פֿון מאָלי קראַבעפּלס בוך װעגן דעם בונד, װאָס טענהט, אַז די פּראָגראַם פֿון דער נאַציאָנאַל־קולטורעלער אױטאָנאָמיע איז געװען בילכער פֿונעם ציוניסטישן פּראָיעקט פֿון ייִדישער מלוכישקײט.
דער גײַסטיקער פֿאָטער פֿון דער פּאָליטישער פּראָגראַם פֿון ייִדישער נאַציאָנאַל־קולטורעלער אױטאָנאָמיע אין גלות איז געװען דער היסטאָריקער שמעון דובנאָװ, וואָס איז, אַגבֿ, ניט געווען קײן בונדיסט, נאָר אַן אָנפֿירער פֿון דער ליבעראַל־דעמאָקראַטישער פֿאָלקספּאַרטײ.
די אַנטאָלאָגיע עפֿנט זיך מיט פֿראַגמענטן פֿון זײַן איבערזיכט „אױטאָנאָמיע אין דער ייִדישער געשיכטע“ אינעם ערשטן באַנד פֿון דער „אַלגעמײנער ענציקלאָפּעדיע“, װאָס איז אַרױס אין פּאַריז אין 1934.
װי אַ היסטאָריקער, האָט דובנאָװ געװאָלט אײַנװאָרצלען ייִדישע פּאָליטיק אינעם ייִדישן עבֿר. ער האָט געפֿונען אַ היסטאָרישן מוסטער פֿאַר דער מאָדערנער ייִדישער אױטאָנאָמיע אינעם „װעד ארבע אַרצות“ (ראַט פֿון די פֿיר לענדער), דעם הױפּט־אָרגאַן פֿונעם פּױלישן ייִדנטום אינעם 17טן און 18טן יאָרהונדערט.
אָבער װי עס האָבן דערװיזן אַנדערע היסטאָריקער, אַזעלכע װי ישׂראל סאָסיס, רפֿאל מאַלער און יצחק (איגנאַצי) שיפּער, האָט דובנאָװ שטאַרק אידעאַליזירט די ראָלע פֿונעם װעד.
דער װעד איז, דער עיקר, געװען פֿאַרטאָן אין זאַמלען געלט פֿון ייִדישע קהילות אױף צו שטיצן די אײגענע פֿירערשאַפֿט און צעטײלן כאַבאַר צו פּױלישע מאַגנאַטן. בלױז אַ פּאָר פּראָצענט פֿונעם בודזשעט האָט דער װעד אױסגעגעבן אױף די נױטן פֿונעם כּלל.
צום סוף האָט דער װעד ן באַנקראָטירט צוליב די ריזיקע חובֿות צו קאַטױלישע קלױסטערס. אין 1764 האָט דער פּױלישער סײם (פּאַרלאַמענט) ליקװידירט דעם װעד און באַשלאָסן צו זאַמלען שטײַערן פֿון ייִדן אױפֿן מאָדערנעם שטײגער, פֿון יחידים אַנשטאָט קהילות.
דער ערשטער טײל פֿון בוך ענדיקט זיך מיטן קאַפּיטל, ייִדישע ׳אױטאָנאָמיע׳: די יודענראַטן אונטער דער נאַציסטישער אָקופּאַציע“. דאָס איז אַ קאָמפּילאַציע פֿון דרײַ אַרטיקלען פֿון ישעיהו טרונק, װאָס אַנטפּלעקט װי זײַן נעגאַטיװע אָפּשאַצונג פֿון יודענראַטן איז געװאָרן מילדער מיט דער צײַט. ער האָט דערזען אַז אײניקע אָנפֿירער פֿון יודענראַטן האָבן טאַקע געפּרוּװט העלפֿן ייִדן אין די געטאָס.
גענומען אין אײנעם, װײַזן די דאָזיקע קאַפּילטען, אַז ייִדן האָבן קײן מאָל ניט געהאַט קײן פֿולע פּאָליטישע אױטאָנאָמיע. די חױפּט־פֿונקציע פֿון דער ייִדישער קהילה־אױטאָנאָמיע איז געװען אונטערצושטיצן באַציִונגען מיט דער הערשנדיקער מאַכט.
דאָס רובֿ אױסגעקליבענע טעקסטן באַהאַנדלען טעמעס, װאָס האָבן צו טאָן מיטן ייִדישן כּלל אָבער ניט מיט חשובֿע יחידים. און װען עס גײט די רײד טאַקע יאָ װעגן יחידים, זײַנען דאָס כּסדר געװען כּלל־טוער. למשל פֿיליפּ פֿרידמאַנס אַרטיקל דערצײלט װעגן דעם גאַליציאַנער משׂכּיל יוסף פּערל (1773־1839), דעם גרינדער פֿון דער ערשטער מאָדערנער ייִדישער שול אין טאַרנעפּל (הײַנט אין אוקראַיִנע) אין 1813.
עס פֿעלן דאָ אָבער װיכטיקע היסטאָריש־ביאָגראַפֿישע פֿאָרשונגען װעגן אײנצלנע ייִדישע שרײַבער, דיכטער, אַקטיאָרן און קינסטלער. דער דאָזיקער בלױז שפּיגלט אָפּ דעם רעדאַקטאָרס קוק אױף ייִדן אין מיזרח־אײראָפּע װי אַ „נאַציאָנאַלער גרופּע, װאָס װערט באַשטימט דורך דער בשותּפֿותדיקער געשיכטע און קולטור“. אַזױ באַקומט זיך, אַז די היסטאָרישע ראָלע פֿון אַ יחיד, אַפֿילו אַזאַ גאון װי מענדעלע מוכר־ספֿרים, איז ניט זוכה אַ ספּעציעלן קאַפּיטל.
די צװײ צענטערס פֿון ייִדישער היסטאָרישער פֿאָרשונג צװישן די בײדע װעלט־מלחמות זײַנען געװען אין פּױלן און אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. אין די 1920ער יאָרן האָבן בײדע צענטערס נאָך געקענט אונטערהאַלטן קאָנטאַקטן. אין די 1930ער יאָרן איז דער אידעאָלאָגישער און פּאָליטישער דרוק מצד דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד געװאָרן אַ סך האַרבער, און מען האָט שױן מער ניט געקענט שאַפֿן װערטפֿולע און אָריגינעלע היסטאָרישע װערק. אַזױ איז געװען דער גורל פֿון סאָסיס, װעלכער איז אַרױסגעטריבן געװאָרן פֿון דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ אין 1931 און האָט פֿאַרלױרן זײַן שטעלע אין דער װיסנשאַפֿט־אַקאַדעמיע פֿון בעלאַרוס.
אין פּױלן, להיפּוך, איז אױפֿגעקומען אַ נײַער דור ייִדישע היסטאָריקער, אַזעלכע װי רפֿאל מאַלער, עמנואל רינגלבלום און פֿיליפּ פֿרידמאַן, װאָס האָבן שטודירט געשיכטע אין פּױלישע אוניװערסיטעטן און האָבן געקענט דרוקן זײערע װערק אין אַקאַדעמישע זשורנאַלן אױף ייִדיש און פּױליש.
אינעם װאַרשעװער געטאָ האָט רינגלבלום אָרגאַניזירט דעם היסטאָרישן אַרכיװ „עונג־שבת“, װאָס האָט געזאַמלט מאַטעריאַלן װעגן דעם לעבן און טױט אינעם געטאָ. ער און כּמעט אַלע מיטאַרבעטער זײַנע זײַנען אומגעקומען אינעם חורבן.
די, װאָס האָבן איבערגעלעבט דעם חורבן – מאַלער, פֿרידמאַן, טרונק און אַנדערע — האָבן ממשיך געװען זײער אַרבעט, לכתּחילה אין פּױלן און שפּעטער אין אַמעריקע אָדער ישׂראל. דאָרט האָבן זײ געאַרבעט דער עיקר אין ייִװאָ און יד־ושם, און זײער פֿאָרשערישע טעמע איז געװאָרן דער חורבן.
מאַרק סמיט האָט אָנגעהױבן זאַמלען מאַטעריאַלן פֿאַר דער אַנטאָלאָגיע מיט צװאַנציק יאָר צוריק. די ייִדישע אָריגינאַלן פֿון װערטפֿולע היסטאָרישע װערק זײַנען צעזײט און צעשפּרײט איבער אַלטע צײַטשריפֿטן, װאָס לרובֿ זײַנען זײ ניט צוטריטלעך עלעקטראָניש. די אַנטאָלאָגיע אַנטפּלעקט די דאָזיקע רײַכע ירושה פֿאַרן ברײטערן עולם לײענער, און זי װעט זײַן ספּעציעל ניצלעך פֿאַר לערער און סטודענטן פֿון ייִדישער געשיכטע.
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In the course of his 104 years, he resisted the Nazis, fought against blood libel and became a towering Jewish intellectual
Today, in a public ceremony held at Les Invalides, President Emmanuel Morin led the French Fifth Republic in paying its last respects to one of the nation’s great public figures, Edgar Morin, whose 104 years spanned the Third and Fourth Republics as well. He was a sociologist, philosopher, writer, film director and screenwriter. But Morin’s real profession was as an intellectual.
There is a vast literature on the character and career of the French intellectual — much of it written by intellectuals — just as there is much disagreement on when this social type first appeared. Some historians reach back as far as the Enlightenment and the role played by les philosophes like Voltaire in their struggle for political liberty and religious toleration, while other historians argue that the modern intellectual burst onto the scene more than a century later with the Dreyfus Affair.
It was at that pivotal moment in late 19th century France that the word “intellectuel” gained currency. Used as a term of scorn by antisemites like Maurice Barrès, they believed Captain Alfred Dreyfus was guilty of treason precisely because he was Jewish. As for those “intellectuals” who defended Dreyfus, Barrès dismissed them as “aristocrats of thought who boasted they did not think like the vile crowd.” Yet those same intellectuals, led by the novelist Émile Zola, gladly embraced the description. Convinced that objective reason and truth made Dreyfus’ innocence clear, they believed, as Zola famously declared, that “truth is on the march.”
But, as Morin always insisted, truth is complex. So, too, was his career, which in many ways reflects the origin story of the French intellectual. Born as Edgar Nahoum in Paris in 1921, his parents were Jewish immigrants from Salonica, a city that had been home to Greece’s largest Jewish community until World War II. (Nearly 90% of the community, some 54,000 men, women, and children were eventually murdered in Nazi death camps.) A precocious student, Nahoum spent his days in libraries studying German philosophers like Hegel and his nights in cinemas studying French films directed by the likes of Marcel Pagnol.
Yet everything changed, including his name, come France’s defeat and occupation by Nazi Germany in 1940. Making his way to the Unoccupied Zone, the 20-year-old Nahoum, who had been a pacifist before the war, soon joined both the banned Communist Party and the French Resistance. By 1944 and liberation, Nahoum had not only become a lieutenant in the Free French Forces, but due to a typo that turned his combat pseudonym “Manin” into “Morin,” the young man was renamed. In fact, he was remade. “What would we have been without the Resistance?” Morin later wondered. “It was thanks to the Resistance that we were given a life.”
And what a life it turned out to be. In 1951, the rebellious Morin, who was outraged by the Soviet show trials, was invited to leave the French Communist Party. At the same time, though he did not have a graduate degree, Morin was nevertheless invited — thanks to the recommendations of the philosophers Vladimir Jankéklévitch and Maurice Merleau-Ponty — to join the prestigious National Center for Scientific Research in Paris in 1950. It was there that he launched a career that fused his academic interests as a sociologist with journalism.
For the next three quarters of a century, Morin seemed to be everywhere all at once. (When I lived in France, I had the impression that, whether on the shelves of bookstores, pages of newspapers, or sets of television shows, I was always bumping into him.) When he was not being interviewed in documentaries, he was making them; when not publishing one of his more than 40 books, he was reviewing books written by others; when seismic events occurred, he was there before anyone else — and got a book out faster. And the books, the work of an intellectuel engagé, were often themselves events that left their mark on Morin’s contemporary audience and future scholars.
One of the most notable of these is La Rumeur d’Orléans, or Rumor in Orléans. In May, 1969 — just one year after the student rebellions that had swept across France (and about which Morin had already published a book) — a rumor started to sweep across the small city of Orléans, famous for being defended against the English by Joan of Arc in the 15th century. The rumor that took flight in Orléans in 1969 — a variation of the blood libel against Jews — was as old as Joan’s achievement. In the dressing rooms of several local clothing stores, so the rumor went, young women were being drugged and sex trafficked. Moreover, the owners of all these stores were, of course, Israëlites (the frequent moniker for French Jews since the 19th century.)
That there was not a single reported case of a missing, much less abducted, woman had little effect on the crowds that gathered outside these stores. As the crowds grew, along with the fear of the store owners and their staffs, the news media picked up on the event. Politicians and pundits expressed outrage and confusion over the rumor — how could this be possible just a quarter-century after Auschwitz, they asked — and the police began to investigate. They could not find a single culprit.
Within weeks of the news reaching Paris, Morin had collected a half-dozen colleagues and set up shop in Orléans to make sense of the rumor. The team, who described their work as la sociologie événementielle, or “event-based sociology,” interviewed locals, met with officials, and rifled through archival documents. Their conclusion reflected a truth dear to Morin: the complexity of any single event. By complexity, Morin did not mean “complicated,” a word we often use when we refuse to engage a subject. Instead, a complex event spans not only the many factors that made this event possible, but also encompasses the way in which our own theories and thoughts alter our understanding of the event. This complex event, Morin concluded, was partly the work of rapid modernization and the great changes it wrought: urbanization, consumerism, and sexual rebellion. It was as if, one historian remarked, “miniskirts were taking people back to the Middle Ages,” and back to the Jew as the traditional scapegoat for these vast social and economic disruptions.
But only partly. The man who described himself as “Judeo-Gentile” always insisted that events often take not just ordinary folk, but also specialists by surprise. Just as no one predicted France’s defeat in 1940, Morin never thought he had the courage to become a resistance fighter. Yet he did. This is a lesson in humility, of course, but also a lesson in humanity. “Let us make our way in uncertainty,” Morin always insisted, “but also in fraternity.” If only we could make this motto our own.
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That time Allen Ginsberg wrote a Socialist poem — about Bernie Sanders
Last June, while digging through 50 boxes of archival material about Bernie Sanders’s four terms as the mayor of Burlington, Vermont, a reporter for the British newspaper the Guardian found a poem by Allen Ginsberg. Written by hand on a 1986 visit to the city, “Burlington Snow” didn’t name Sanders, but he was clearly the populist muse that inspired it.
Ginsberg wrote, “Socialist snow on the streets / Socialist talk in the Maverick Bookstore / Socialist kids sucking socialist lollipops.” Then he turned outward, questioning with almost Elizabethan wit: “—aren’t the birds frozen socialists? / Aren’t the snowclouds blocking the airfield Social Democratic appearances?”
After Ginsberg shares the city’s governing idea, the poem itself is shared: “Isn’t this poem socialist? It doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
The iconic Jewish-American poet was writing about the Jewish-American socialist almost exactly 30 years ago, on a February day in snow-covered New England like the one on which Sanders won in New Hampshire. Spreading online, the poem has delighted both poetry people and Sanders loyalists. No one combines those two groups like Eliot Katz; a leading “post-Beat” poet and Ginsberg protégé, Katz has spent 20 years, on and off, working on a book caled “The Poetry and Politics of Allen Ginsberg.” Published by the independent Beatdom Books in December 2015, it addresses both Ginsberg’s career as a poet and life as an activist.
Absurdly, the unearthing of the Sanders poem from an overlooked archive came after Katz’s manuscript was ready for print, too late for him to write about it. But it reflects his thesis about Ginsberg and his pleasure in Sanders’s success. Katz has written seven books of poetry, including “Space and Other Poems for Love, Laughs and Social Transformation” (1990) and “Unlocking the Exits” (1999), but I hadn’t heard of him in 2005, when an editor at the San Francisco Chronicle asked me to review a collection of essays about “Howl.” I pretty much panned it, saying too many pieces presented facile claims by Ginsberg admirers about his relevance in the 21st century.
Katz, whose readable book expands on his insightful essay, says Ginsberg’s forward looking focus defines how he “challenged the boundaries” of poetry’s political potential. After years of digging into “Howl,” “Kaddish” and “Wichita Vortex Sutra, he was startled a few weeks ago when he found “Burlington Snow” online, recognizing a vivid example of how a Ginsberg poem could illuminate political changes long before they happen.
“Ginsberg told me that prophetic poetry doesn’t work like someone making a prediction,” Katz said when I visited him in his Hoboken apartment. “Instead, he would say that political poetry ‘touches a common key,’ allowing the reader to feel something that somebody will feel in a hundred years. Here, he wrote a poem that praised the democratic-left tradition we’re seeing in Bernie Sanders. No one could have predicted that Sanders would be waging such an effective campaign to move the Democratic Party in more progressive directions.”
A frequently smiling man with shaggy, graying hair, the 59-year-old Katz lives amid countless books on Ginsberg and progressive politics. Taped to one wall is a newspaper clipping about his late mother, Toby Katz, an Auschwitz survivor who went on to hold elected office for 12 years as a councilwoman in West Orange, New Jersey, where Katz grew up. She helped to inspire his work as an activist, including jobs with organizations for the homeless in New Jersey and Washington, DC. He displays posters of readings he gave with Ginsberg, and his book combines his personal feeling for the poet with critical analysis of his work.
Of a poem called “Why I Sit,” Katz writes that Ginsberg used a technique learned from Greek poetry called anaphoric repetition, the rhythmic echoing of a word to “sew together” his personal and political concerns. He quotes from the poem:
“I sit because the Dadaists screamed on Mirror Street / I sit because the Surrealists ate angry pillows… / I sit because Lunacharsky got fired & Stalin / gave Zhdanov a special tennis court I became a / rootless cosmopolitan / I sit inside the shell of the old Me / I sit for world revolution.”
“Why I Sit,” Katz writes, highlights how “Stalin’s deplorable actions caused [Ginsberg] to become a citizen without solidly existing roots.” Katz said the poet’s attraction to socialism transcended his disillusionment with Soviet communism, and that ”Burlington Snow” reflects his lifelong contemplation of counter-pulling influences of his youth, his troubled communist mother and his socialist poet father. “Allen appreciated democratic socialism,” Katz told me, when we spoke. “But he opposed the kind of authoritarianism of the Soviet Bloc. Czechoslovakia is a country he got kicked out of.”
“I don’t call Allen a democratic socialist in the book,” he added. “I think he believed more in being politically pragmatic than in holding any specific ideology — so that he supported anarchist movements when they were doing positive things, and trade union movements when he agreed with them. He remained a progressive his whole life, and he defied the conservative myth that radicals from the 1960s era all became conservative in their old age.”
Ginsberg’s “open support of Sanders,” Katz said, prompted him to give a reading to raise money for one of the Vermont politician’s congressional races in 1992. In fact, in a lengthy footnote, Katz says he helped to organize it. “It was at a restaurant called Nadine’s,” Katz told me. “I always thought I introduced them for the first time. Allen and Bernie talked, but I don’t know what they said, because I was too busy helping to coordinate things.”
Bob Rosenthal, longtime manager of Ginsberg’s office, says Ginsberg had Bernie Sanders on his radar through the years. “I always knew who Bernie Sanders was, and I had to know that through Allen, because Allen was where I got all my news,” Rosenthal told me. “I don’t think they hung out together, but Allen always had an awareness of him.”
The Allen Ginsberg archive at Stanford University holds a letter Sanders sent Ginsberg in 1989, thanking him for the “time, energy and creativity” Ginsberg gave “to me and the City of Burlington throughout my administration,” citing an art auction with which Ginsberg helped in some unspecified way.
With the resurrection of “Burlington Snow,” Ginsberg’s friends wonder if the poet and the politician actually met for the first time when Ginsberg visited Burlington in 1986.
Huck Gutman is pretty sure that didn’t happen, and he should know. Gutman is one of Bernie Sanders’s closest friends, serving for years as his chief of staff in Washington. He’s also a professor of English at the University of Vermont, where he often teaches “Howl,” and he spent recent days getting ready to give a class on how the Russian poet Vladimir Mayakovsky influenced Ginsberg.
Asked about “Burlington Snow,” he replied in an email: “Ginsberg, as you know, grew up in a socialist milieu (I guess I am clear about this mostly from his poem, ‘America.’) and would have been interested in, even entranced by, the fact that Burlington had a socialist as its mayor.”
Still, he wrote, “I do not think Allen and Bernie met at that time. That they might have met at a NYC fundraiser years later — in 1992 he was running for his second term in the US Congress — could certainly be possible.”
In a telephone interview, Gutman said he himself spent memorable time at the university talking with Ginsberg about poetry during the 1986 visit. Gutman didn’t attend the bookstore reading but heard that the poet wrote the poem (with 14 lines, it is an informal sonnet) “quickly,” and immediately read it to an audience. Did Sanders ever see it? Gutman didn’t know, but said Bernie Sanders generally doesn’t read poetry: “He reads biography, history, novels — not poetry.”
Based on his observations of Ginsberg and Sanders, though, he says they share a lot.
“Ginsberg was writing in a way that a lot of people were not writing, and he had to believe in his own vision and his own voice,” he said. “I think Bernie has that. He understands that the test of what one says is not the political pundits and the political base — not what the critics and professors said, in Ginsberg’s case — but whether one speaks one’s own way and in a language that reaches people.”
Recently, Grove Press published “Wait Till I’m Dead,” a new gathering of Ginsberg’s uncollected poems. It doesn’t include “Burlington Snow.” Bill Morgan, a Ginsberg biographer and archivist of his papers, edited the volume and says the poem “came too late,” explaining that “Grove had the (finished) book for about a year.” Morgan, who lives in Vermont and “would vote for Sanders for anything,” says he believes the poem “wasn’t strong enough” to make it into the book.
Morgan worries that the poem’s visibility could hurt Sanders, though he said that isn’t why it got left out. “I worry that people will see that line — ‘It doesn’t belong to me anymore’ — and will read that to mean, ‘I have to give up something,’ the second car or something, that Bernie wants to take their possessions away.”
Eliot Katz believes that the way Ginsberg animates socialism as a form of sharing in “Burlington Snow” could have a positive effect. “I think it can help educate younger voters that democratic socialism, as Sanders practices it, is a form of inclusiveness, of expanding democratic rights, not taking them away, which would be the view of an older generation raised in the Cold War. Everything in the poem is shared — even the environment, something Sanders talks about a lot — and that message can only be helpful.”
Allan M. Jalon won two 2015 Simon Rockower Awards for his Forward feature stories, “My Opa’s Story of World War One’s Other Fight” and “A New Jersey Tale of Two Alfred Doblins.”
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