Uncategorized
A Jewish expert on monuments on what Philly’s famous Rocky Balboa statue can teach us about memory
(JTA) — Paul Farber was shocked when he first watched “Rocky” and saw a Star of David on the grave of Rocky Balboa’s coach, Mickey Goldmill.
As a Jew and as the founder of the Philadelphia-based Monument Lab, which has explored collective memory through art installations across the country for over a decade, Farber was well positioned to think about the deeper meaning of that brief shot.
“Anytime I see a Jewish funeral in a film, there’s some kind of call to attention. And I always want to know what that means, especially for a Hollywood production, especially when it may not be branded as a Jewish story,” he told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
“We’re not there in a prolonged series of mourning, but in a split second, seeing a Jewish site of a memory is really fascinating,” he added.
That outlook lies behind Farber’s work as the host of the new NPR podcast “The Statue,” a deep dive into Philadelphia’s famed statue of Rocky Balboa, the fictional prizefighter at the center of “Rocky.” The series delves into what sports and society can convey about memory, and in his research, Farber discovered a few Jewish nuggets found in the film series — including the fact that Rocky’s love interest was originally supposed to be Jewish.
“They made an actual gravestone [for her character] and it’s in Philadelphia’s most famous cemetery, Laurel Hill. And you can go there and see this gravestone where a movie character is ‘buried,’” he said. “People leave offerings on the gravestone, including small pebbles as if it’s a Jewish site of memory.”
In an interview with JTA, Farber shared his inspiration for the series, how his Jewish upbringing informed his life’s work and the role statues — such as that of Jewish baseball legend Sandy Koufax — do, and should, play.
This interview was lightly edited for length and clarity.
Jewish Telegraphic Agency: To start off, I’d love to hear about how you first got interested in studying monuments.
Paul Farber: I’m really interested in the ways that, in cities, we innovate toward the future, and also come to terms with our past, and it happens often in the same exact places. That could be a statue, a street, a corner store. And so that’s a big part for me.
What really inspired this project is a conversation I had with my mother, quite a few years ago. My mother is a lifelong Philadelphian. Her parents were Jewish immigrants in South Philadelphia. And when I told her I was teaching a class at the University of Pennsylvania about Philly neighborhoods, she asked me if I was covering Rocky. When I said, “Oh, it’s not on the syllabus” — and I may have said it in a way that felt dismissive — she gave me this look that I think a lot of us know: “How could you.” So for her birthday, we watched “Rocky” and we went to see “Creed.” My grandfather went to South Philly High and was in the boxing club. He shared stories in our family about what it meant to have sport and culture and belonging go together in South Philly. I started to see that across generations, from long before “Rocky” to this moment now, almost 50 years after the release of the film, many people’s family stories could be channeled through this statue, including my own, and that was enough of a prompt to go dive in.
“Rocky” is obviously not a Jewish story, but there are some nuggets. There’s the funeral scene, and you mentioned something about Adrian almost being Jewish. I’m curious what you think about the little Jewish pieces you can pull out of this famous story, and what those mean to you as a Philly sports fan.
It blew me away that Rocky’s coach, Mick, passes away and the character Rocky goes to his funeral, and you see a Star of David. Anytime I see a Jewish funeral in a film, there’s some kind of call to attention. And I always want to know what that means, especially for a Hollywood production, especially when it may not be branded as a Jewish story. And it just opened up a whole set of questions for me that blurred between art and life, between the film series and the city of Philadelphia.
In episode two, we showcase this monumental art book that Sylvester Stallone [who played Rocky] created. There was this passage in it that just blew me away, about the first draft of “Rocky,” where he says, “As for Adrian, she was Jewish in the first draft.” And he got feedback and cut that character. We never hear about Mickey’s Judaism. We never hear about Rocky’s bond across culture. But the fact that the first scene in the “Rocky” series is in a place called Resurrection Gym — that is obvious Christian iconography — and to put Jewish characters in is really fascinating to me.
There is another famous grave that is involved in the series. The character Adrian eventually passes away, and like the statue, which was made as a bronze sculpture, for the “Rocky” film series they made an actual gravestone and it’s in Philadelphia’s most famous cemetery, Laurel Hill. And you can go there and see this gravestone where a movie character is “buried.” People leave offerings on the gravestone, including small pebbles as if it’s a Jewish site of memory.
People talk about representation on screen, and I’m not sure a Jewish funeral necessarily does that, but I would imagine for some people, seeing Rocky Balboa say the “Mourner’s Kaddish“ was maybe their first interaction with Judaism in some way. What do you make of that?
Every shot is deliberate. And it’s actually that kind of attitude and outlook that created the Rocky statue, because Sylvester Stallone was the director of that film, and they could have made a styrofoam version or a temporary one, but they spent over a year making a bronze version so that when the camera faced it, it would make contact. I think very similarly, this is part of the artistry of Stallone that plays out in our podcast series. We’re not with him when he sits shiva. We’re not there in a prolonged series of mourning, but in a split second, seeing a Jewish site of a memory is really fascinating. And to see the coach Mickey, to have his Wikipedia page say he’s Jewish, all that we have is mourning.
I think about how for immigrant Jewish communities, there are gaps in our narratives. Throughout the series, and one of the reasons I wanted to share my perspective as a queer Jewish person who grew up loving sports in Philly, I’ve been informed by my own family’s history, and what we’re able to recall and what gaps there are. And I see that being echoed for so many people in the Rocky story.
It’s clearly a very personal story for you. Why did you think it was important to start the podcast with your own identity, and to include your Jewish mother?
I think it’s important that when we talk about sites of memory, we understand that there are shared and collective ways that we bring the past forward, and there are others that are incredibly personal. My hope was to find, in this case, to spotlight, a significant site of memory in the city, but ask questions about it. And I think it was important to note what position I would take, because I don’t believe there’s one story to the Rocky statue. To tell a biography of a statue, you actually have to tell it of the people who make meaning from it. So in the series, we do a lot of work where we want to know other people’s stories and backgrounds, whether they are refugees from Afghanistan, or community organizers in Kensington [a neighborhood of Philadelphia]. My hope was by positioning this from my perspective, almost as a memoir in a way, that it opened up space for others to have their experiences be valued and made meaning of.
The official artwork for Farber’s podcast. (Courtesy)
Both with the podcast and in your work with the Monument Lab, how do you feel that your Jewish identity informs what you do? Do you see overlap between your Jewish values and the values you work on in your organization?
I absolutely think so. I grew up in a Jewish community in Philadelphia, and tikkun olam was a constant refrain. The work of tikkun olam meant a worldview that necessitated building coalitions and understanding across divides, to not diminish or under-emphasize them, but to appreciate how we work in solidarity, whether that’s around racial justice, gender justice, in various struggles. I am a co-founder and director of an organization that focuses on memory, and that I really get from the stories of growing up in a Jewish household, in a Jewish community, where memory lived in different ways. We were always aware of the stories of trauma and loss, as well as reconciliation and transformation, and how you work with the gaps that you have, and you listen, and you learn and you carry the story with you. Because that is the way to bond generations. Jewish memory really grounds what I do, and I seek to use it as a tool to learn more and to feed connection across divides.
Rocky takes on this almost mythical, godlike status, and his statue in Philadelphia is a bit of a pilgrimage site. Do you see any tension there as a Jew, given the prohibition against idol worship?
I think about the importance of memory, against forces of violence and erasure. I also understand that, in a world that is full of pain and difficulty and loss, we seek places to release that. And so I understand the pull to monuments. What I would like to see, and what we try to do through this series, “The Statue,” and also with the work of Monument Lab, is to look on and off the pedestal, and really think about how history lives with us. As we say in the series and other places, history doesn’t live inside of statues, it lives with people who steward them, who create other kinds of sites of memory, who are vigilant in their modes of commemoration. What I try to do in this work is understand the ambivalence around monuments, the pull to try to remember and be enduring through time, and just that constant reminder that whenever you try to freeze the past, or freeze an image of power, you cut out the potential to find connection and empowerment, and thus forms of survival.
In sports, there are so many ways to honor people, especially different ways that, like a statue, take on the idea of permanence. When Bill Russell died, the NBA retired his number 6 across the league. On Jackie Robinson Day, every April 15, the whole MLB honors Jackie Robinson by wearing his uniform number. But statues just have a different level of oomph. Sandy Koufax has a new statue in Los Angeles that was unveiled last year; Hank Greenberg has one. What do you think it should take for an athlete to reach that status?
The pinnacle in sports is to have a statue dedicated to you outside of the stadium. And I do believe the cultures of social media have amplified that, because we grew up with the story of Sandy Koufax not pitching in the World Series during the High Holy Days, and that wasn’t because we learned it from a statue or a plaque. We learned it because it was carried forward and put into different forms of remembering and recalling its importance. I went to several Maccabi Games in the U.S. — I used to be a sprinter. And the culture of memory and sport, they were one in the same.
In professional sports, the pinnacle is the statue, but I think you brought up other really important ways of remembering that operate in non-statue forms that feel like they are living memorials. The idea of retiring someone’s number, and keeping their number up, is a way to acknowledge, in this really public of all public spaces, an intimacy and a care, and especially when an athlete passes away, how that transcends the lines of city geography. Jackie Robinson Day is something that did not occur immediately after Jackie Robinson was the first Black player to play in the major leagues, but was a product of a later moment when people around Major League Baseball sought to activate his memory. So yes, a statue outside of a stadium is like a particular kind of professional accolade. But the other forms are really meaningful.
—
The post A Jewish expert on monuments on what Philly’s famous Rocky Balboa statue can teach us about memory appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Uncategorized
A town in the Alps that rescued Jews from the Nazis
Read the original Yiddish article here.
During a trip to the French Alps this year, I discovered a village with a fascinating Jewish history.
Saint-Martin-Vésubie sprawls across a mountain in southern France near the Italian border, its slopes dotted with colorful houses. A river runs through the center of town, lined with pine trees and ripening grapes.
On my first day there, the town’s tour guide, Anne Sivirine, told us that for a year during World War II, Saint-Martin-Vésubie actually served as a city of refuge for more than 1,200 Jews.
Among those refugees were Jews from Germany, Poland, Holland and Belgium, who had escaped to the zone libre, the French term referring to the territory in southern France, which, during the first two years of the war, was not yet occupied by the Nazis. My grandmother Feyge and her family had tried to flee Belgium for southern France, but due to various circumstances, didn’t manage and remained in the Belgian city of Antwerp.
In November 1942, the Nazis entered the zone libre, while their allies, the Italians, occupied the southeast region of France. Although the Italians administered their own “race laws,” the Jews in Italy, and for a while in southern France, weren’t in danger, and that was no small thing towards the end of 1942, when most Jews in Europe had already been murdered by the Germans.
Thanks to the efforts of Angelo Donati, an Italian Jew living in Nice at the time, the Italians agreed to establish a center for Jewish refugees in Saint-Martin-Vésubie where they could live a relatively normal life. Although prior to the war, only one Jewish family — the Levin-Drisdos — lived there, it soon became a fully Jewish shtetl.
At the beginning of 1943, in the middle of the war, Jews learned, prayed, worked, founded youth and sports organizations, and even married. The French residents, for the most part, were friendly to the Jews, and many provided food and other means of support. Such kindness towards Jewish refugees was rare then.
Those halcyon days ended in September when the Italians surrendered. The Germans occupied Italy, and within a few days — Saint-Martin-Vésubie too. When the Jews heard the news, local residents helped them escape to the mountains, where they aimed to sneak over the border into Italy. The days were cold and rainy, and the exodus from Saint-Martin-Vésubie became immeasurably difficult. (Even I, a tourist during peacetime, found climbing those hills very difficult.)
In Italy, hundreds of Jews found hiding places, but the Germans caught many of them. They, and those Jews who stayed in the village, especially the elderly and children, were deported to Drancy, the detention center near Paris, and from there to Auschwitz.
Even then, dozens of Jews remained in Saint-Martin-Vésubie, and local people continued to hide them. Not everyone in the village lent a hand, but most of them knew what was going on and kept silent. Only one Jew was actually handed over to the authorities: Gregoire Dridso, the patriarch of the Levin-Dridso family, who had lived there before the war began.
Years later, Yad VaShem designated 10 of the locals as Righteous Gentiles.
If you’ve never heard of this heroic, humble village, you aren’t alone. Even in Saint-Martin-Vésubie, the events of World War II weren’t publicly mentioned for years.
The reason for the silence was a practical one, Sivirine explained. “There were those who helped the Jews, and those who collaborated with the Nazis, and everyone needed to live together after the war. But one day a young woman overheard the old folks talking about ‘the hidden Jews’, and that opened up a Pandora’s box.”
Since then, the residents of Saint-Martin-Vésubie openly acknowledge what their town did to save the Jews. Aside from the main memorial in Saint-Martin-Vésubie, the village now has three others: one for the Jews who perished; a second one in honor of the Righteous Gentiles, and a third that describes how the townspeople risked their lives to help the Jews under the Nazis.
Since Saint-Martin-Vésubie began sharing this chapter of its history, several books have been published on the subject. The town itself released a book in French, called The Jews and the Righteous Ones of Saint-Martin-Vésubie. Later, historian Susan Ziccotti penned a book in English, Holocaust Odysseys: The Jews of Saint-Martin-Vésubie and their Flight through France and Italy. There were also three novels inspired by this chapter in the town’s history, including Wandering Star by French Nobel laureate writer J. M. G. Le Clézio.
Saint-Martin-Vésubie takes pride in something else, too. The town’s main church has a wooden statue of the Madonna that dates back to the Middle Ages, and is revered by its residents. Each year the townspeople carry it in a procession into the mountains, believing that the statue was created there.
About 10 years ago, the residents of Saint-Martin-Vésubie established a new tradition: Each year on Sept. 3, in memory of the Jews who escaped to the mountains, they march to the mountain pass at the border with Italy. There, at a marker honoring the Jews, they memorialize those who died and those who survived, thanks to the Saint-Martin-Vésubie residents at the time. Occasionally, the children or grandchildren of the rescued Jews participate.
In Italian and in French, the inscription says: “Through this mountain pass, in September 1943, hundreds of Jews from all over Europe passed through, seeking ways to save themselves from antisemitic predators.”
Then, movingly, the text adopts a different tone: “You, who’ve arrived here as a free person, need to remember that this is what could happen when equal rights aren’t extended to all.”
The post A town in the Alps that rescued Jews from the Nazis appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Trump may endorse Netanyahu. But loving Israel is not the same as loving Bibi.
President Donald Trump has raised the possibility of endorsing a candidate in Israel’s Oct. 27 election.
“I may be doing something,” he said when asked about it this week.
He did not say whom he might support, although his history with Benjamin Netanyahu makes the prime minister seemingly the likely possibility. I am here to urge him to think again, because the distinction between supporting Netanyahu and supporting Israel is no longer possible to ignore.
Trump is remarkably popular in Israel, where many believe he genuinely loves their country and its people. His recognition of Jerusalem as Israel’s capital, his support for Israeli security, his willingness to go to war against Iran and his manifest indifference to the global Palestinian propaganda machine have persuaded many that he is personally invested in Israel’s future. Netanyahu has turned that into a political asset, encouraging the impression that his personal relationship with Trump is the reason.
And it works. Some Israelis see Netanyahu more favorably because they believe Trump does. An endorsement would matter, and so would its absence. On March 25, 2019, Trump recognized Israeli sovereignty over the Golan Heights, two weeks before an Israeli election. Widely interpreted as a political gift, it reinforced Netanyahu’s claim that he alone could deliver extraordinary concessions from Washington. It helped Netanyahu cling to power (barely), and he returned the favor, all-but-directly endorsing Trump’s reelection a year later.
In principle, American presidents should stay out of other democracies’ elections. But such niceties, alas, belong to another era. Trump has interfered openly in elections in Hungary and Poland, attempting to elevate local right-wing populists. Expecting diplomatic restraint now is absurd. So a better question is simply whether he can be pried loose of Netanyahu, for the sake of Israel.
The election could hardly be more crucial. I believe it will determine whether Israel remains a prosperous, functioning democracy or continues down a path of institutional deterioration, international isolation and economic decline.
Netanyahu’s supporters credit him with confronting Iran’s Islamic Republic regime, Hezbollah and Hamas. But he has eliminated none of them, and his record includes the catastrophic security failure of Oct. 7, years of political polarization, attempts to weaken judicial independence and a coalition elevating some of the country’s most extreme political forces.
Netanyahu remains on trial for corruption, charges he denies. Critics point also to extravagant public spending associated with his personal lifestyle. The larger indictment, however, is not personal: his dependence on narrow coalition interests has made essential national reforms virtually impossible.
Any Netanyahu-led coalition – unless the opposition joins him – would depend again on far-right parties insisting on settlement activity deep in the West Bank – an issue causing considerable agitation in the United States — and protecting Jewish radicals who terrorize Palestinians there. That already led to deaths and risks sparking a third Palestinian intifada, according to Israel security officials. Trump, who prides himself on supposedly having ended eight wars, cannot be very happy with that.
No less consequential is Netanyahu’s dependence on ultra-Orthodox, or Haredi, parties.
Israel has long tolerated an arrangement under which the vast majority of Haredi men avoid military service, while many receive state support for religious study and emerge from schools that do not teach the mathematics, English and science required for a modern economy. This is unsustainable in a country whose security depends on a heavily burdened military and whose prosperity depends on a highly educated workforce.
The demographic implications are staggering. Haredim already constitute roughly one-sixth of Israel’s population, and their share is projected to grow dramatically, with birthrates approaching six children per family and sustained heavily by welfare. Unless employment, education and military-service patterns change, a shrinking proportion of Israelis will shoulder an ever-growing share of the tax burden, military service and economic productivity.
Even during three years of war – as other Israeli reservists served hundreds of days a year in Gaza and Lebanon – Haredi youth demonstrated with signs declaring: “We’d rather die than serve.” Outrage over this arrangement is boiling over across Israel and badly hurting Netanyahu, who is far behind in the polls.
Netanyahu cannot seriously reform the system because his survival depends on Haredi parties that make military exemptions, religious-school funding and sectarian privileges conditions of coalition participation.
The explosive growth of this community, absent reforms, will turn Israel into a hyper-religious country, risking the departure of the educated, modern and secular classes that account, overwhelmingly, for its prosperity. Internationally mobile, many are already disillusioned by the country’s political direction, repeated military service and an ever-heavier economic burden. It is a national emergency.
Israel must restore confidence in democratic institutions, address the consequences of the Gaza war, confront violent extremism in the West Bank, repair international relationships and establish a sustainable regional strategy. Another Netanyahu government would deepen the crisis in all of them.
Trump, if he loves Israel, cannot possibly love this direction of travel. His son-in-law Jared Kushner most assuredly would not.
There is a serious alternative. Gadi Eisenkot, a former chief of staff of the Israel Defense Forces, has emerged as a leading opposition figure. He lost his son Gal in combat in Gaza in December 2023 and has a reputation for personal integrity, seriousness and directness. His party is called Yashar, meaning straight or upright, a pointed contrast with the political culture of Netanyahu’s rule.
Sure, replacing Netanyahu would not automatically solve Israel’s problems. But an opposition government not dependent on Haredi parties could introduce universal service obligations, require a genuine core curriculum in publicly funded schools, restructure subsidies and redirect resources toward education, infrastructure and economic participation.
There is a chance that Netanyahu’s opponents may win more seats collectively without a comfortable governing majority. A narrow coalition could depend on parties with conflicting positions; Arab parties are legitimate democratic participants, but agreement on security and national policy would be challenging.
A Trump assist that enables Bibi to cut into his opponents’ lead would make that scenario more likely and diminish the chances for a more stable majority that could act decisively to save the country.
Trump likes to point to everything he has done for Israel: Jerusalem, the Golan Heights, the Abraham Accords and regional diplomacy. Many Israelis appreciate those achievements. But the country’s greatest danger may lie not only in the enemies surrounding it, but in the structural weaknesses accumulating within.
The question is whether Trump can distinguish the country’s long-term interests from the fortunes of a man he has repeatedly supported.
And there is one more thing. Trump likes winners. So much so that he once impugned Sen. John McCain’s Vietnam-era record of heroics, by actually saying: “I like people that weren’t captured.” Well, Netanyahu is so far behind in the polls, and with such overpoweringly good reason, that he is looking like a loser.
Continued association will not help the brand.
The post Trump may endorse Netanyahu. But loving Israel is not the same as loving Bibi. appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
‘Sefer Elijah’ — probably the oldest proto-Ashkenazi text
ס׳איז מעגלעך, אַז מיר האָט זיך אײַנגעגעבן צו אַנטדעקן דעם עלטסטן פּראָטאָ־אַשכּנזישן טעקסט, אָנגעשריבן אינעם פֿריִיִקן 9טן יאָרהונדערט. דאָס איז דער אוראַלטער אַפּאָקאַליפּטישער מדרש „ספֿר אליהו‟, אַ ספֿר וואָס איז מיר שוין לאַנג גוט באַקאַנט.
געשען איז עס אַזוי: ווען איך בין ערשט אָנגעקומען קיין אַמעריקע אין 1998 — אין וויליאַמסבורג — האָב איך זיך אַ דריי געטאָן אין די אָרטיקע ביכער־קראָמען און געקויפֿט די גאָר אינטערעסאַנטע מדרש־זאַמלונג „ילקוט הרועים‟, באַגלייט מיט גלענצנדיקע הסכּמות (רבנישע באַשטעטיקונגען), אַז דער ספֿר איז אָנגענומען ווי אַ הייליקער, אַרײַנגערעכנט אַ רעקאָמענדאַציע פֿון דעם דעמאָלטיקן סאַטמאַרער רבין משה טייטלבוים זצ״ל.
די זאַמלונג באַשטייט על־פּי־רובֿ פֿון טיפֿע קבלה־טעקסטן און עטלעכע אַפּאָקאַליפּטישע מדרשים וועגן דעם קץ־הימים — דעם סוף פֿון די טעג, די צײַט וואָס משיח דאַרף קומען — בתוכם דעם „ספֿר אליהו‟. אָט דער ספֿר און נאָך עטלעכע אין דער דאָזיקער זאַמלונג שילדערן די ביאת־המשיח נישט ווי אַ פּלוצעמדיקן גליקלעכן סוף פֿון אַלע ליידן אין דער וועלט, נאָר ווי אַ שרעקלעכן פּראָצעס, באַגלייט מיט חורבֿות און שוידערס. נישט נאָר בײַ די קריסטן איז פֿאַראַן אַזאַ מין ליטעראַטור. בקיצור, שטייט אינעם „ספֿר אליהו‟ געשריבן, אַז ווען משיח וועט קומען, וועט ער צונויפֿברענגען אַלע צדיקים — בסך־הכּל 30 טויזנט — אין אַ הימליש אָרט ווײַט פֿון אונדזער ערד, וועלכע וועט פֿאַרברענט ווערן מיט אַלע אירע איבעריקע זינדיקע תּושבֿים.
די אמונה, אַז דער נײַער משיחישער צוקונפֿטיקער ירושלים וועט אַראָפּקומען פֿונעם הימל און אַז די שטאָט האָט ווייניק צו טאָן מיט דער הײַנטיקער ירשולים, איז אַמאָל געווען אַבסאָלוט נאָרמאַל בײַ ייִדן, בפֿרט אין דער אַשכּנזישער וועלט. רש״י האָט, למשל, אויך אַזוי געגלייבט. אין דער שפּעטערדיקער צײַט האָט הרבֿ צבֿי־הירש קײַדאַנאָווער, דער מחבר פֿונעם פּאָפּולערן מוסר־ספֿר „קבֿ הישר‟, וועלכן ער האָט אַליין איבערגעזעצט פֿון לשון־קודש אויף ייִדיש, אַזוי געשריבן אינעם פֿריִיִקן 18טן יאָרהונדערט.
דער „ספֿר אליהו‟ בלײַבט כּמעט אומגעפֿאָרשט. הלל ניומאַן, אַ היסטאָריקער פֿונעם חיפֿהר אוניווערסיטעט, האָט באַמערקט, אַז דער דאָזיקער מדרש קלינגט ענלעך אויף דער קריסטלעכער אַפּאָקאַליפּטישער ליטעראַטור. עטלעכע אַנדערע פֿאָרשער האַלטן, אַז ס׳איז אָנגעשריבן געוואָרן בײַם אָנהייב פֿון דער איסלאַמישער תּקופֿה. לאָמיר זיך אָבער אַרײַנקוקן אין געוויסע פּרטים, וואָס די פֿאָרשער האָבן פֿאַרקוקט — און וואָס איך האָב אַליין ערשט באַמערקט נישט לאַנג צוריק.
אין אַ סך מדרשים ווערט דערמאָנט דער אַנטי־משיח מיטן נאָמען אַרמילוס. אין „ספֿר אליהו‟ ווערט אָבער זײַן נאָמען אויסגעלייגט ווי „הרמלת‟. ווײַזט אויס, אַז בײַ דעם מחבר האָט אַ תוו געקלונגען ווי אַ סמך, און דער הא איז בײַ אים געווען שטום. דעם נאָמען פֿונעם פּערסישן מלך אַרתּחשסתּא שרײַבט ער אויך ווי „הרתּחשסתּא‟. עס ווערט דערמאָנט עפּעס אַ ים־מאָנסטער — „גיגית‟; ווײַזט אויס, מיינט עס gigas אויף לאַטײַניש, אַ ריז. אַזאַ אַרויסרייד האָט געקאָנט נאָר זײַן בײַ פּראָטאָ־אַשכּנזים, וועלכע האָבן גערעדט אויף אַלט־פֿראַנצויזיש (צי, מעגלעך, אויף עפּעס אַ געמישטן דיאַלעקט, וווּ קיין הא־קלאַנג איז נישט געווען).
אינעם דאָזיקן מדרש שטייט געשריבן, אין געוויסע ווערסיעס, אַז די מלחמות פֿאַר דער ביאת־המשיח וועלן אָנהייבן די מלכים קוסטנטנוס און קרטילוס. אַזוי שטייט אין יהודה אבֿן־שמואלס (יהודה קויפֿמאַנס) זאַמלונג „מדרשי גאולה‟. אינעם חסידישן ספֿר, וואָס איך האָב, ווערט דערמאָנט נאָר „קירטלוס‟. ס׳איז קלאָר, מיין איך, אַז דאָ גייט די רייד וועגן דעם ביזאַנטישן מלך קאָנסטאַנטין דעם זעקסטן, מיט וועלכן קאַרל דער גרויסער האָט געוואָלט זיך מזווג זײַן, כּדי צו שאַפֿן אַ פֿאַראייניקט וועלט־מלכות, דורכן זיווג מיט קאָנסטאַנטיס מאַמע אירענע. קאָנסטאַנטינען האָט מען געשדכנט מיט קאַרלס טאָכטער ראָטרודע. אויב די דאָזיקע שידוכים וואָלטן געלונגען, וואָלט דעמאָלט אויפֿגעשטאַנען אַ נײַע גלאָבאַלע רוימישע אימפּעריע. קאַרל דער גרויסער האָט זיך אָבער סײַ־ווי־סײַ געהאַלטן פֿאַר אַ נײַעם רוימישן אימפּעראַטאָר. דער פּויפּסט לעאָן דער דריטער האָט אים געקרוינט מיט אַזאַ טיטל אין יאָר 800.
הגם קאַרל דער גרויסער האָט דערלויבט ייִדן צו וווינען אין זײַן קיניגרײַך און פֿאַרפֿלאַנצט דערמיט דאָס קערנדל פֿון דער אַשכּנזישער ציוויליזאַציע, ווערט אין אַ סך אַלטע מדרשים פֿאָרויסגעזאָגט, אַז די חבֿלי־המשיח, די צרות פֿאַר משיחס קומען, וועלן זײַן פֿאַרבונדן מיט רוים; דערפֿאַר האָבן ייִדן אויפֿגענומען זײַן אימפּעריע ווי אַ סימן פֿון אַפּאָקאַליפּטיש־משיחישע געשעענישן.
קאָנסטאַנטין דער זעקסטער איז געשטאָרבן בערך אין 805 (לויט אַנדערע קוואַלן אין 797) און קאַרל דער גרויסער — אין 814. באַקומט זיך, אַז דער „ספֿר־אליהו‟ מוז געהערן צו דער תּקופֿה, ווען זיי האָבן ביידע נאָך געלעבט.
וואָס עפּעס „קרטילוס‟? פֿאַרוואָס איז קאַרלס נאָמען אין אונדזער ספֿר אַזוי פֿאַרקריפּלט געוואָרן? ס׳קען זײַן, אַז אין זײַן אייגן לאַנד וואָלט געווען וויכטיק אויסצובאַהאַלטן זײַן נאָמען, די קריסטן זאָלן נישט וויסן, אַז בײַ ייִדן גייט אַרום אַזאַ געהיימער קלאַנג, אַז דער קיניג וועט מיט זײַנע מלחמות גורם זײַן די ייִדישע גאולה. מע קען זיך אַפֿילו משער זײַן, פֿאַרוואָס מע האָט אויסגענוצט אַזאַ שיפֿער: די אותיות טית און יוד קאָנען זײַן ראָשי־תּיבֿות פֿון זײַן טיטל imperator terrae.
ס’איז וויכטיק צוצוגעבן, אַז געוויסע קריסטלעכע שרײַבער האָבן געגלייבט, אַז קאַרל דער גרויסער וועט זיך אומקערן איידער יעזוס וועט זיך באַווײַזן צום צווייטן מאָל. אַזוי האָט געשריבן אינעם 11טן יאָרהונדערט דער מאָנאַך אַדעמאַר פֿון לימאָזש, פֿראַנקרײַך. אויב אַ טייל ייִדן האָבן געגלייבט אין עפּעס ענלעכס, וואָלט מען געקאָנט פֿאַרשרײַבן דעם „ספֿר אליהו‟ נאָכן טויט פֿון קאַרל דעם גרויסן.
ואַחרון אַחרון חבֿיבֿ, דער סטיל פֿונעם „ספֿר אליהו‟ איז וווּנדערלעך ענלעך אויף דער אַלט־בײַערישער אַפּאָקאַליפּטישער פּאָעמע Muspilli, פֿונעם 9טן יאָרהונדערט, וווּ דער הויפּטהעלד איז אויך אליהו הנבֿיא. עטלעכע שטיקלעך פֿון ביידע טעקסטן קלינגען כּמעט אידענטיש. ווײַזט אויס, אַז אונדזער מדרש געהערט טאַקע צו דער תּקופֿה פֿון קאַרל דעם גרויסן — צי, אפֿשר, מיט אַ דור־צוויי שפּעטער — ווען אַפּאָקאַליפּטישע געדאַנקען זענען געווען פֿאַרשפּרייט אויך בײַ די קריסטן.
דער אימאַזש, אַז דער אייבערשטער וועט אַוועקטראָגן די צדיקים אין עפּעס אַ הימלישער וועלט, ווען די גאַנצע ערד וועט ברענען, קלינגט ממש ווי דער גערמאַנישער מיטאָס וועגן דעם ראַגנאַריאָק, דעם סוף פֿון דער וועלט, אָפּגעשפּיגלט אויך אין Muspilli.
באַקומט זיך, אַז ייִדן אין דײַטשלאַנד האָבן נאָך מיט 1200 יאָר צוריק אַרויסגערעדט דעם תוו ווי „ס‟. צי האָבן אַ טייל פֿון זיי דעמאָלט שוין גערעדט אויף דײַטשיש, נישט אַלט־פֿראַנצויזיש? אין 838 האָט דער פֿראַנקישער גלח באָדאָ זיך מגייר געווען; זײַן ייִדישער נאָמען איז געווען אליעזר. ער האָט געדינט אינעם הויף פֿון קאַרלס זון לויִס דעם ערלעכן. ווײַזט אויס, אַז אַרום יענעם דײַטשיש־רעדנדיקן גלח איז שוין געווען בנימצא אַ גענוג גרויסע ייִדישע סבֿיבֿה, וועלכע האָט משפּיע געווען אויף זײַן באַשלוס צו ווערן אַ ייִד. אויף וועלכער שפּראַך זיי האָבן גערעדט, ווייסן מיר נישט גענוי, צום באַדויערן.
דער „ספֿר אליהו‟ איז, ווײַזט אויס, דער עלטסטער אָפּגעהיטער פּראָטאָ־אַשכּנזישער קוואַל. ביזן 11טן יאָרהונדערט איז אין ארץ־אַשכּנז בכלל נישט געווען באַקאַנט די גמרא. ווי מע זעט פֿון די אַשכּנזישע ספֿרים, אַז אַפֿילו שפּעטער זענען בײַ מיסטיש־געשטימטע דײַטשישע ייִדן געווען גאָר וויכטיק — אפֿשר, נאָך וויכטיקער ווי די גמרא — פֿאָלק־מעשׂיות, שפּרוכן און סגולות, וכּדומה. אַז זיי האָבן געשילדערט די ביאת־המשיח ווי אַ כּמו־קריסטלעך אַפּאָקאַליפּטיש געשעעניש, אויסגעמישט מיט אימאַזשן פֿון גערמאַנישער מיטאָלאָגיע, איז נישט קיין גרויסער חידוש. דער דײַטשישער פֿאָלקלאָר פֿאַרנעמט אַ גרויס אָרט אין דער אַלט־ייִדישער ליטעראַטור, ווי אויך, ווייניקער, אין ערנסטע ספֿרים. אַז אַזאַ קולטור־סינטעז האָט זיך שוין אָנגעהויבן אינעם 9טן יאָרהונדערט איז אָבער יאָ אַ חידוש.
The post ‘Sefer Elijah’ — probably the oldest proto-Ashkenazi text appeared first on The Forward.
