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These NYC college students want to kickstart a Jewish arts renaissance
(New York Jewish Week) – On a mild Thursday evening in late March, some 100 people gathered at Kistuné, a hip café and bar in the West Village that’s associated with the French-Japanese “lifestyle brand” of the same name.
Sipping on custom-designed cocktails — like the Refusenik, a Moscow mule with a “resilient mix of vodka, ginger beer and lime” or the Tamar Collinsky, a Tom Collins reimagined and given “very possibly the name of someone you went to summer camp with” — guests mingled, discussing topics as varied as college classes, career choices and their favorite poetry.
Nearly everyone in the room was a Jewish artist or writer; the gathering was to celebrate the launch of “Verklempt!”, a new quarterly print magazine that bills itself as “The Magazine of Jewish Art and Literature.” The 75-page first issue is filled with paintings, photographs, drawings, poetry and fiction solicited from more than 30 Jewish artists around the country.
“We see the Jewish community as a place where people want to engage with fiction and poetry more seriously,” editor-in-chief Yoni Gutenmacher, a 24-year-old creative writing MFA candidate at Brooklyn College, told the crowd, which included two of his brothers and his parents. “This is a personal dream of mine so I’m very happy that it’s real.”
Specialty cocktails were on offer at the launch party of “Verklempt!” (David Gutenmacher)
The aim of “Verklempt!” (Yiddish-English slang for “overcome with emotion”) is to publish and amplify art and literature with a specifically Jewish lens — hopefully in a way that encourages pursuing art as part of a spiritual journey, Gutenmacher explained. A painting of a man praying with tefillin and tallit; a poem about Leopold Bloom, the Jewish anti-hero of James Joyce’s “Ulysses” and a collage of the Lubavitcher Rebbe and a drawing of a half-drunk bottle of Kedem grape juice all grace the pages of the first issue, whose theme is, fittingly, “On Creation.”
“I write fiction and I have a whole friend group and community in New York who aren’t Jewish, and if they are, they’re not really interested in religious or communal Jewish life,” Gutenmacher told the New York Jewish Week. “Then I have my Jewish life on the Upper West Side and all my friends from summer camp and school and everything else who are not really interested in engaging with high quality literature and art. At certain points in my life, I felt like I kind of have to choose.”
By working on “Verklempt!” he’s come to understand that those choices shouldn’t have to be so mutually exclusive, he said.
The journal is a project of Havurah (Hebrew for “fellowship”), an organization founded by two Modern Orthodox sophomores at NYU whose lofty but determined vision is to be the “bearer of a new Jewish renaissance” for young Jews in New York, according to their impressively designed website.
Founded by Daniella Messer and Eitan Gutenmacher (Yoni’s younger brother), Havurah aims to create a gathering place, a “kehila (community) of frum Jewish creatives” — both virtual and IRL — where Jewish artists can meet and mingle, make art, perform and share ideas about how all of those endeavors connect them to religious life. One of their goals, according to the “manifesto” on their website, is to “invigorate a generation of young Jews and restore the Jewish artistic impulse.”
While “Verklempt!” has wide-reaching aspirations — the artists they hope to publish can come from anywhere and be of any age — Havurah was founded to appeal to a hyper-specific community: young New York artists who are dedicated to being Jewish and Jews who are dedicated to being artists.
The idea arose during Gutenmacher and Messer’s freshman year of college in the winter of 2022. “I remember going to Israel over winter break, experiencing such an obvious realization that art and creativity is so integral to religious lifestyles,” Eitan Gutemacher, who is studying studio art at NYU’s Gallatin School of Individualized Study, told the New York Jewish Week. “But [at NYU] for example, in a lot of the artistic programs, if you’re a religious Jew, you are usually the only religious Jew in the classroom, and, more often than not, the only one in the department.”
“Daniella and I wanted to create a community of lively Judaism expressed in any artistic and creative way,” he added.
With funding from the Next Gen Inc., “a start-up style incubator” that’s a project of the World Jewish Congress and World Union of Jewish Students, Havurah pursues their vision through a variety of avenues, including real-life events and performances, such as art fairs, concerts and Torah study conversations held at bars, cafés, apartments and synagogues.
In addition to the physical journal, the organization’s high-design web site publishes essays, interviews, criticism, reviews and Torah commentaries, as well as “Sessions” for musicians, which are professionally mixed video tapings of live music performances similar to NPR’s “Tiny Desk Concerts.”
“When Eitan and Daniella approached us and told us about Havurah, we knew instantly they would be a great fit for our incubator,” Yoni Hammerman, senior manager of the NextGen, told the New York Jewish Week via email. “Their work, to build a university student-run art community, perfectly aligns with NextGen’s mission of amplifying and supporting the voice and the work of Jewish student leaders.”
The Havurah staff — all eight of them are volunteers — believe that their offerings are the first time people who are both deeply involved in their Jewish communities and in their artistic pursuits have had a definable place to gather and collaborate that celebrate both.
“It’s so simple that you’d think it would already exist,” said Yosef Itzkowitz, a 24-year-old artist and poet who has three drawings in the first edition of “Verklempt!” “Jews love writing and art, and love talking about writing and art,” so why not make it happen?” Itzkowitz got involved, he said, after Eitan Gutenmacher reached out via Instagram.
Of course, similar initiatives have and do exist — for example, the fiction journal JewishFiction.net publishes original and in translation work from Jewish writers around the globe, while CANVAS matches emerging Jewish multimedia artists with funders and grants. The Jewish Book Council puts out their literary journal “Paper Brigade” with art, interviews, essays and fiction, once a year.
On Tuesday, the inaugural Jewish Writers’ Initiative Digital Storytellers Lab showcased works by creators taking part in an eight-month fellowship supported by the Maimonides Fund. The work shown at Manhattan’s Rubin Museum included animation for Jewish kids, pop songs about women in the Bible and a podcast about the gay Jewish dating scene in Los Angeles.
According to Yona Verwer, founder of the Jewish Arts Salon — “a global network for Jewish visual art” that does regular programming in New York — while what the group is doing may not be “new,” one of the most exciting things about Havurah is how young its members are and how dedicated they are to the cause.
“Being geared specifically towards people in their 20s” attracts people who have to be “very enthusiastic and very into it,” Verwer said.
“It’s interesting to see this immense interest in Jewish arts” from younger generations, added Verwer, who started the salon in 2008 and now serves as an advisor for Havurah. “When I started the salon, it was something that a lot of people were not interested in. Things have really changed over the years and it’s great to see people so dedicated.”
Yoni Gutenmacher reads a poem at the launch party of “Verklempt!”, March 30, 2023. (David Gutenmacher)
As of now, contributors are unpaid, though there are hopes that the cover price of “Verklempt!” ($10) may help change that. “There’s a lot of places I see where you submit completely unpaid and it is completely not worth my time,” said Kim Kyne, a 32-year-old painter and sculptor from Los Angeles whose painting was in the first edition of the journal.
“What felt different about this is it feels like everyone’s all in it together,” she added. “Yoni and his brother are super humble and super young. What was really attractive to me about it is being connected with all these other Jewish artists in a way that I haven’t been before.”
Messer and the Gutenmacher brothers understand that the media and literary magazine worlds are very crowded spaces, especially in New York. But for now, they are embracing the heimish vibe and say they’ve seen, first-hand, just how many Jewish artists were looking for a space exactly like this. Submissions are already arriving for the next edition of “Verklempt!”, which is set to be published this summer, and according to Gutenmacher, he doesn’t recognize any of the names — meaning no repeats of last time, and no friends submitting as a favor.
“Of course, there are Jewish artists all over the world. But it feels different because it has more of a modern take and the younger feel,” Kyne said. “It feels like the beginning of a movement.”
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The post These NYC college students want to kickstart a Jewish arts renaissance appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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The Antisemitism Mainstreaming Pipeline — and Why Ben Shapiro Drives It Crazy
Tucker Carlson speaks on first day of AmericaFest 2025 at the Phoenix Convention Center in Phoenix, Arizona, Dec. 18, 2025. Photo: Charles-McClintock Wilson/ZUMA Press Wire via Reuters Connect
Antisemitism rarely introduces itself honestly. For much of its history, it has tried to initially arrive in disguise — entering public life not as overt Jew-hatred, but as something designed to appear as a concern about public welfare, power, influence, corruption, or social decay.
In medieval Europe, it appeared through the blood libel — the accusation that Jews murdered Christian children for ritual purposes. During the Bubonic Plague pandemic, it surfaced in charges that Jews poisoned wells. By the 19th century, the accusation adopted a modern vocabulary: hostility toward “cosmopolitan financiers” or shadowy bankers manipulating nations. The 20th century refined the charge further, replacing superstition with ideology — Jews recast as “rootless elites,” global conspirators supposedly undermining civilization.
In the 21st century, the costume has changed again. Antisemitism now frequently arrives wrapped in language generally treated as respectable: “only criticizing” Israel, denunciations of globalization, or warnings about corrupt “elites” controlling Western institutions.
The rhetoric evolves. The structure does not. Ideas that begin on the fringe migrate into respectable conversation until what once sounded extreme begins to feel familiar.
What has changed is the speed — and the machinery.
In earlier centuries antisemitic conspiracies spread through pamphlets and fringe publications. Today they move through podcasts, YouTube channels, and broadcast platforms hosted by personalities who insist they are merely facilitating debate or “just asking questions.”
The result is the antisemitism mainstreaming pipeline: a system through which fringe ideas gain legitimacy simply by appearing on platforms with massive audiences and ostensibly respectable hosts.
Few figures illustrate this more clearly than Piers Morgan, Megyn Kelly, and Tucker Carlson.
Each presents himself or herself as a champion of open discourse. Each insists controversial guests deserve a hearing and that viewers can judge for themselves. In theory, that sounds like a commitment to free speech. In practice, it functions as a laundering mechanism — moving conspiratorial narratives rooted in Jew-hatred into mainstream discussion.
The pattern is now familiar. A guest known for trafficking in conspiracy theories appears on a widely viewed show. The host frames the claims as legitimate debate. Clips spread to millions. Later the host insists that interviewing someone does not imply endorsement.
By then the damage is done. The narrative has already escaped the fringe ecosystem that produced it.
Consider Piers Morgan’s program. Morgan insists he is moderating debate. Yet his guest list regularly includes figures whose currency is outrage and antisemitic tropes.
Dan Bilzerian has claimed that Israel controls American politics and global media while warning of “Jewish supremacy” as the world’s “greatest danger.” Nick Fuentes traffics openly in conspiracies about Jewish power and Western decline. On the far-left, commentators such as Cenk Uygur and Ana Kasparian have repeatedly echoed barely updated versions of Henry Ford’s “Jews control America” trope.
On Morgan’s stage these claims sit beside legitimate commentary as though they deserve equal footing.
The result is not scrutiny. It is normalization.
Megyn Kelly’s approach is subtler, but no less revealing. Her program often frames controversial ideas within broader critiques of elite hypocrisy and institutional decay. Within that frame, conspiracy theories about hidden networks slip into discussion disguised as cultural criticism.
Kelly has even suggested that figures such as avowed Hitler-fan Nick Fuentes raise “good points,” illustrating how fringe rhetoric — and the people advancing it — enter mainstream discourse.
She has also portrayed criticism from Ben Shapiro as evidence that he only criticizes her because he objects to her willingness to criticize Israel.
Yet when Shapiro criticized Kelly, Israel was never mentioned.
His objection concerned her embrace of figures such as Candace Owens, who has promoted grotesque conspiracy theories — including the claim that Erika Kirk was complicit in her husband’s murder.
Rather than address that criticism, Kelly reframed the dispute as one about her being “critical of Israel.”
The maneuver is telling. When antisemitic narratives are challenged in this pipeline, those in the pipeline seek to shift focus away from the claim and toward the motives of the person objecting to it. The implication becomes that the Jewish critic is acting out of tribal loyalty — shielding Israel rather than confronting falsehood.
In other words, the argument moves from “is this conspiracy true?” to “why is this Jew objecting?”
That shift is not incidental. It is the point.
Tucker Carlson represents the most advanced stage of the pipeline.
During his time at Fox, Carlson cultivated a narrative in which Western civilization faces existential danger from shadowy elites and corrupt institutions. Earlier versions avoided explicit references to Jews, relying instead on the language of globalism and hidden influence.
Once he left Fox, the euphemisms started to disappear.
His guest list expanded to include figures who openly promote antisemitic conspiracies or offer revisionist interpretations of 20th-century history designed to soften — or outright invert — the moral verdict on Nazi Germany.
Each appearance serves the same purpose: the guest gains legitimacy simply by sharing a stage with a host whose audience numbers in the millions.
None of these hosts need to identify as antisemites for the pipeline to function. The mechanism is normalization. Morgan does not need to repeat Bilzerian’s rhetoric, and Carlson does not need to echo his guests’ most grotesque claims. Ideas once confined to the fringe become more mainstream because they are repeated in supposedly respectable settings.
The host maintains plausible deniability. The guest gains reach, credibility, and a larger audience.
This helps explain why Ben Shapiro has become such a lightning rod.
Shapiro occupies a rare position in American public life: openly Jewish, unapologetically pro-Israel, firmly rooted in conservative politics, and consistently condemning antisemitism from both the far right and the far left.
That combination disrupts several narratives at once.
For elements of the populist right, his prominence challenges the notion that conservatism must purge Jewish influence. For the radical left, he is not a complication but a confirmation — evidence used to reinforce their claims about Zionism, power, and Western alignment. What unsettles both sides, however, is not his identity but his refusal to indulge their premises.
He does not debate conspiracy. He rejects it.
When Shapiro criticizes media figures for platforming such narratives, the response follows a predictable script. Rather than address his argument — or confront the conspiracy itself — critics claim he is reacting to their “criticism of Israel.”
The maneuver is clever. It is also pure deflection.
The facts do not cooperate. In these exchanges Shapiro almost never mentions Israel. His criticism targets the decision to give enormous platforms to voices promoting dangerous and false conspiracies, including those about Jewish power or hidden networks controlling world events.
Within hours, that accurate criticism is reframed as an attempt to silence dissent.
Shapiro’s conduct, however, is far less dramatic. He criticizes hosts he believes are behaving irresponsibly and declines invitations to appear on their shows. That is not censorship. It is editorial judgment.
And that is where the conflict sharpens. Because the pipeline depends on participation. It requires credible voices to sit across from conspiracists, to treat the exchange as meaningful debate, and to lend legitimacy through proximity.
Shapiro refuses.
That refusal is not incidental to the feud with Morgan, Kelly, and Carlson — it is the feud.
It exposes the gap between what these platforms claim to be doing and what they are really doing. If this were simply open inquiry, the absence of one guest would not matter. But when the model depends on staging spectacle between credibility and conspiracy, refusal becomes disruption.
And that leads us to the real question at the center of this fight: will platforms that profit from outrage, clicks, and the steady elevation of the worst ideas continue to drag the public square downward — or will enough people will simply stop showing up for the performance?
Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish history. He serves on the board of Herut North America.
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Five facts about Passover you may not know
אַ טייל פֿון די בעסטע באַשרײַבונגען פֿונעם אַמאָליקן שטעטל געפֿינט מען בײַ די ווערק פֿון ב. גאָרין (1868 ־ 1925). באַקאַנט ווי דער מחבר פֿון דער ערשטער געשיכטע פֿונעם ייִדישן טעאַטער, איז גאָרין אַבער אויך געווען אַ פֿײַנער שרײַבער מיט אַ ספּעציעלן אויג פֿאַרן שטייגער לעבן, סײַ אין אייראָפּע, סײַ אין אַמעריקע. איין באַנד דערציילונגען, „פֿאַרגעסענע ניגונים” (1919), האָט ער אָפּגעגעבן ימים־טובֿים און די קאַפּיטלעך וועגן פּסח זענען אָנגעפּיקעוועט מיט אינטערעסאַנטע פּרטים וועגן די אַמאָליקע פּסח־טראַדיציעס.
1. בײַ די שנײַדערס, שוסטערס און קירזשנערס זענען די וואָכן פֿאַר פּסח געווען די סאַמע בעסטע צײַט צו פֿאַרדינען
פּסח איז דאָך אַ פֿרילינג־יום־טובֿ און צוזאַמען מיטן ווידער געבוירן ווערן פֿון דער ערד, ווערט דער מענטש אויף ס’נײַ געבוירן. מע קויפֿט זיך נײַע קליידער וואָס מע באַשטעלט בײַם שנײַדער מיט וואָכן פֿריִער און ערבֿ־פּסח טוט מען אָן די נײַע מלבושים צום ערשטן מאָל. ווען אַ קינד האָט געטראָגן אַ נײַ גאַרניטערל האָט מען דאָס באַמערקט און אים געוווּנטשן „תּתחדש!‟ — טראָג געזונטערהייט! לויט גאָרין האָבן די עלטערע ווײַבער אויך געזאָגט „פֿאַרניץ געזונט!‟ און „געזונט זאָלסטו טראָגן!‟. אַגבֿ, דער מינהג פֿון טראָגן נײַע פּסח־קליידער האָט זײַן עקוויוועלענט בײַ די קריסטן, וואָס פּראַווען זייער חגא פּאַסכע אויך מיט נײַע היט און קליידער.
אַזוי ווי נישט אַלע יאָר האָט מען זיך געקענט פֿאַרגינען צו באַשטעלן אַ נײַ גאַרניטערל, האָבן די קליידער געדאַרפֿט זײַן אַ ביסל גרויס, כּדי דאָס קינד זאָל קענען אין זיי אַרײַנוואַקסן און מע זאָל זיי נאָך קענען טראָגן דרײַ־פֿיר יאָר. דעריבער באַקומט זיך אַ קאָמעדיע דאָס ערשטע יאָר ווען דאָס קינד גייט אָנגעטאָן אין אַ רעקל וואָס איז גענייט געוואָרן אַ סך צו גרויס פֿאַר אים.
2. דאָס רייכערן פּאַפּיראָסן יום־טובֿ האָט צונויפֿגעבראַכט מענטשן
אַן אינטערעסאַנטע סצענע מאָלט אויס גאָרין וועגן רייכערן פּסח. רייכערן מעג מען, אָבער אָנצינדן אַ שוועבעלע און מאַכן אַ פֿײַערל — נישט. נו, אויב אַזוי, האָט מען געזען אַזאַ סצענע אין שטעטל — אַז מען האָט געזען אַ מאַן גייט פֿאַרבײַ רייכערנדיק אַ פּאַפּיראָס אָדער אַ ליולקע, האָט מען אים אָפּגעשטעלט און בײַ אים דאָס געליִען און אָנגעצונדן דעם אייגענעם פּאַפּיראָס. דערנאָך האָבן אַנדערע אָפּגעשטעלט דעם צווייטן ייִד מיטן נײַ־אָנגעצונדענעם פּאַפּיראָס און אַזוי ווײַטער און ווײַטער. איינער האָט געהאָלפֿן דעם אַנדערן רייכערן.
3. קינד און קייט האָבן געשפּילט אין ניס
דאָס שפּילן ניס איז, ווי באַקאַנט, אַ פּסחדיקע פֿאַרווײַלונג. אין גאָרינס שטעטל האָט מען געשפּילט אַזוי: צו ערשט אַראָפּגעקײַקלט איין ניס (אַ וועלשענער נוס). דעם נוס האָט מען גערופֿן דעם ראָש. דערנאָך האָבן די אַנדערע געקײַקלט זייערע ניס, און וועמענס נוס איז געקײַקלט געוואָרן צום נאָענטסטן צום ראָש האָט געוווּנען אַלע ניס. עס דערמאָנט אין דער איטאַליענישער שפּיל „באַטשע‟, וואָס ווערט אָבער געשפּילט אָן אַ ברעט.
4. אָרעמע־לײַט האָבן פֿאַרדינט פֿון באַקן מצות
איינע פֿון די שענסטע פֿאַר־פּסחדיקע טראַדיציעס איז דאָס באַטייליקן זיך אין אַ פּאָדראַד (בײַ גאָרינען אַ „פּאָדראַט”), אַ קאָלעקטיוו צו באַקן מצה, די אָרעמע־לײַט זאָלן קענען פֿאַרדינען עטלעכע רובל און דערבײַ טאָן אַ מיצווה. די טראַדיציע לעבט נאָך הײַנט אין חסידישע קרײַזן. גאָרין דערמאָנט זיבן פֿונקציעס בײַם פּאָדראַד — אַ וואַסער־גיסער, אַ מעל־שיטערקע, אַ וועלגערקע, די קנעטערקע, אַ רעדלער, אַ זעצער (זעצט אַרײַן די מצות אין אויוון) און דער „מענטש‟ וועלכער „קלײַבט אויס די מצות פֿונעם שלאָפֿבאַנק‟.
געוויינטלעך לייענט מען וועגן פּאָדראַד אין דער ייִדישער ליטעראַטור ווי אַ לעבעדיקע, פֿריילעכע אַרבעט. אָבער גאָרין שרײַבט אַנדערש. די פּאָדראַד־אַרבעטער האָבן געוואָלט כאַפּן אַ דרעמל ווען נאָר מעגלעך:
קיין לײַכטע אַרבעט איז דאָס נישט געווען. מע דאַרף שטיין פֿערצן שעה אין מעת־לעת אויף די פֿיס און וועלגערין און וועלגערין ביז די הענט ווערן געשוואָלן און אַלע גלידער ברעכן.
5. די באָבעס, נישט די עלטערן, האָבן פֿאַרזיכערט אַז די קינדער און אייניקלעך זאָלן פּראַווען פּסח
גאָרין באַשרײַבט אויך פּסח אין דער „נײַער היים‟, אויף דער איסט־סײַד פֿון ניו־יאָרק. אין עטלעכע דערציילונגען לייענט מען וועגן דעם דורות־ריס בײַ די ערשטע אימיגראַנטן און זייערע קינדער. אָפֿט האָבן די אימיגראַנטן פֿאַרגעסן וועגן זייערע ייִדישע טראַדיציעס, אָבער די אַלט־מאָדישע באָבעס האָבן פֿאַרזיכערט, אַז זייערע קינדער און אייניקלעך זאָלן זיך צוגרייטן אויף פּסח און אָפּריכטן די סדרים.
די קינדער זענען פֿאַרכאַפּט געוואָרן מיט דער לעגענדע פֿון אליהו־הנבֿיא, זײַנע מעשׂים און זײַן כּוס בײַם סדר. וואַרטנדיק אויף אליהו־הנבֿיא האָט זיי געהאַלטן וואַך בײַם סדר. אָבער אויך די באָבע, וואָס האָט זיך באַקלאָגט פֿאַר איר טאָכטער און איידעם וואָס פֿאַר אַ גוייִש לאַנד ס’איז אַמעריקע, האָט במשך פֿונעם סדר פאַרשטאַנען, אַז אין רוסלאַנד זענען די ייִדן טאַקע געווען ווי שקלאַפֿן. קיין ייִד האָט נישט געוווּסט וואָס דער מאָרגן וועט ברענגען. אָבער אין אַמעריקע קען מען טאַקע רויִקער שלאָפֿן. מען האָט אפֿשר אַנדערע צרות, אָבער, רעלאַטיוו גערעדט, קלענערע. איין מעשׂה ענדיקט זיך אזוי:
שוין אַ צײַט מיט יאָרן ווי זיי אַלע האָבן ניט געהאַט אַזאַ פֿריילעכן און באַהאַרצטן יום־טובֿ ווי דעם איצטיקן. נאָר די זכרונות פֿון דער היים זײַנען ווי אַ שאָטן געהאָנגען איבער זייער שׂימחה.
בײַ גאָרינען איז פּסח נישט בלויז אַ יום־טובֿ וואָס פֿאַרבינדט אונדז מיט דער אַלטער געשיכטע פֿון די ייִדן אין מצרים, נאָר אויך מיט דער נײַערער געשיכטע פֿון די ייִדן אין שטעטל און ניו־יאָרק.
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A brilliant Jewish storyteller may be gone, but her characters are ‘still talking’
Still Talking
By Lore Segal
Melville House, 128 pages, $19
In one of the stories in Lore Segal’s posthumous collection, Still Talking, a group of women in their 80s and 90s agree without the need for discussion “that they were not going to pass, pass away, and under no circumstances on. They were going to die.”
It is characteristic of these tough-minded women, who have graced the pages of the New Yorker and taken a star turn in Segal’s 2023 collection Ladies’ Lunch, to renounce one of the most annoying euphemisms of modern life.
Like the stories in the earlier collection, this book also features the “Ladies Lunch,” a literary device that Segal’s longtime friend Vivian Gornick describes as “a group of very intelligent Upper West Side women (Lore and her friends)” who get together regularly to talk.
“Aging is the condition at the heart of all their musings, a development that has not made them any less interesting than at any other stage of their lives,” Gornick says in a warm introduction, calling Segal’s writing “one of the small glories of American literature.”
At one such meeting, a character named Farah suggests a discussion topic: “forgetting as an Olympic sport” because names, dates, events — almost everything — won’t stick in their minds. At another get-together, Ruth, the “bona-fide retired activist” of the group, regrets not going to a dinner she was invited to, not because she missed the food or conversation, but because “it makes it easier to not go the next time.” And in “Left Shoulders,” a character wonders if she is losing the very capacity for speech. “There’s something I want to say, but my mouth doesn’t open to say it, or not in the moment when there is a gap in the conversation.”
Segal’s life and work are now the focus of a new exhibit at the Center for Jewish History’s Leo Baeck Institute, an archive and research library for the history and culture of German-speaking Jews. The show, which opened in January and closes April 15, features photographs, documents and artifacts that trace Segal’s personal and literary journey from prewar Vienna to New York.
Born into a Jewish family in Vienna in 1928, Segal escaped Nazi-occupied Austria on the Kindertransport when she was 10. She grew up in England in a series of foster homes, material that she mined for her first autobiographical novel, Other People’s Houses. Eventually she was reunited with her parents in Britain, then emigrated to New York with her mother in 1951. Her father died in the final days of the war.
Some of this historical trauma in reflected in the story “Ilka,” in which the eponymous character tells her friends that her daughter applied for and received her Austrian citizenship. When they ask whether she considered doing the same, she says, “I did not. I was remembering my parents’ desperation assembling the papers that were required for our emigration.”
At first, the story has a light-hearted tone as Ilka describes going back to Vienna for visits when she was younger, dropping her bags at the hotel and racing off in search of a remembered tower or palace. Then it takes a darker turn as she reports on her daughter’s efforts to find out what happened to relatives who didn’t manage to escape, including a beloved, “immensely overweight” aunt who was killed at Auschwitz.
“Ilka tries not to imagine Tante Mali, who needs help getting up from her chair, forced to run to the right, turn and run left. To imagine the men? Not Dante, not Milton, not Shakespeare has anatomized their human hearts, and about what she cannot imagine she cannot think and I cannot write,” Segal says in a metafictional twist at the end that shifts from the third to the first person, shedding light on Segal’s distinctive storytelling method.
Segal elaborates on that technique in another story, “In the Mail,” in which a writer character named Bridget compares the act of writing fiction to the transporter in “Star Trek,” a device that dematerializes people into energy so they can be reassembled elsewhere. “I turn us into the words that would allow [others] to imagine us,” she says.
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