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Ireland is Europe’s Most Anti-Israeli Country
By HENRY SREBRNIK Several protesters walked out during Irish President Michael Higgins’s speech at the Holocaust Memorial Day event in Dublin on Jan. 26. Representatives of the Jewish community had asked him not to give the keynote address because, they asserted, critical comments he has made about Israeli actions in Gaza made him an “inappropriate” pick for the event.
They referred to his “grave insensitivity to Irish Jews,” but the president insisted he has always stood up against anti-Semitism.
This was no surprise, because the Republic of Ireland has become Europe’s most merciless critic of Israel. Archbishop Eamon Martin, Ireland’s most senior Catholic figure, in his 2025 New Year’s message also criticized Israel’s military campaign in Gaza as “merciless” and a “disproportionate” response to Hamas’s invasion of the Jewish state.
Two weeks before that, Israel had already announced it was closing its embassy in Dublin in response to the Irish government’s repeated anti-Israel statements, its indifference to rising anti-Semitism, a great deal of it coming from its parliamentarians, and in particular its decision, formalized on Jan. 7, to join South Africa in accusing Israel of genocide at the International Court of Justice (ICJ).
Israel’s Foreign Minister, Gideon Sa’ar, explained the Dec. 15 decision, stating that Ireland had crossed “every red line” with its actions and rhetoric. He accused Ireland of “antisemitism based on the delegitimization and dehumanization of Israel.”
Israel’s ambassador to Ireland said closing the embassy was a “tough decision” for her country to take. Dana Erlich added that Ireland has taken “a more extreme stance than any other country” against Israel.
“This is an abuse of the international multilateral system by South Africa, we were sorry to see Ireland join it, but this joins an accumulation of steps, rhetoric and initiatives that we’ve seen Ireland trying to promote this past year,” she added. The Irish government said there were no plans to close its embassy in Israel.
Since Hamas’ attack on Israel, Ireland has emerged as one of the Jewish state’s fiercest critics and relations between the two countries have frayed. Its middle classes are among the most Israelophobic in all of Europe.
Posters of Israeli hostages are defaced in public spaces, while school textbooks disseminate narratives that demonize Israel and Judaism. Vehement opposition to Israel and Zionism has seen demonstrations in Dublin that include the flying of Hamas, Hezbollah, and Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine flags, with chants that hurl invective at all Jews.
Reports of targeted attacks against Jewish individuals, paired with the embassy closure, have left Jewish residents and visitors without the diplomatic support they need in an increasingly dangerous climate.
On the campus of University College Dublin, a sign read, “Zionist-Free Zone.” Trinity College Dublin was one of the first universities in the world to divest from Israeli companies and the campus is a veritable sea of keffiyehs. (Boycott as a concept and a tool of direct action has its roots in British-colonized Ireland.) The students’ union declared that Zionists were not welcome on campus. Jewish students were offered a safe room if they felt they were in danger.
Yet the republic’s rulers are in denial. “I utterly reject that Ireland is anti-Israel,” declared Prime Minister Simon Harris. We’re just “pro-peace, pro-human rights, and pro-international law,” he insisted.
Harris said his country would arrest Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu if he landed there, following the issuance of arrest warrants for both Netanyahu and former Defense Minister Yoav Gallant by the International Criminal Court.
Shortly after, Micheal Martin, the country’s minister of foreign affairs and defence, announced on Nov. 7 that Ireland would be backing South Africa’s genocide case against Israel at the ICJ, in a reflection of the country’s long-standing position of solidarity with the Palestinian cause. His comment came on the same day that the Irish parliament passed a motion saying that “genocide is being perpetrated before our eyes by Israel in Gaza.” Three days later, the Anglican Church of Ireland’s Canon David Oxley claimed that Israelis saw Jews as a “master race” — a term usually associated with Nazi ideology.
But Maurice Cohen, Ireland’s Jewish Representative Council chairperson, said the Irish intervention in the ICJ case risks “oversimplifying a highly complex and tragic conflict, unfairly isolating Israel, and undermining the integrity of the term ‘genocide.’”
Relations between the two countries have long been complex. Ireland only extended de jure recognition of Israel in 1963 and established diplomatic relations in 1975. Until recently, Ireland had refused to adopt the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance’s working definition of antisemitism, unlike most European countries.
Sa’ar alluded to Ireland’s neutrality during World War II, when anti-British Irish nationalists cooperated against Britain with the Nazis. Indeed, on May 2, 1945, then-Prime Minister Eamon de Valera visited the Nazi ministry in Dublin and sent his condolences to the German people over Hitler’s death. A woefully poor decision, his gesture was nonetheless motivated by the overzealous need to demonstrate Ireland’s anti-British, pro-neutrality position.
The island was under English and then British rule for more than 800 years (and Northern Ireland remains part of the United Kingdom). That “has undoubtedly shaped how people from Ireland engage with post-colonial conflicts,” asserted Jane Ohlmeyer, a history professor at Trinity College.
So clearly, some of the Irish hostility to Israel derives from the anti-British, anti-imperialist perspective of Irish history: the idea that the Palestinian experience at the hands of Israel is similar to that of the Irish with the British.
“Leaders often ask me why the Irish have such empathy for the Palestinian people. And the answer is simple: We see our history in their eyes,” former prime minister Leo Varadkar explained. “A story of displacement, of dispossession, national identity questioned or denied, forced emigration, discrimination, and now, hunger.” Not surprisingly, Jilan Wahba Abdalmajid, the Palestinian ambassador to Ireland, agreed, maintaining that Irish support comes from a history of shared experiences.
Henry Srebrnik is a professor of political science at the University of Prince Eddward Island.
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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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