In a wide-ranging conversation, Israel’s greatest novelist talks about working the land, making art, and Natalie Portman
By Vox Tablet
There’s
no other living Israeli author who is as well known around the world as
Amos Oz. Inside Israel, he’s one of the country’s most respected
cultural figures. Oz has lived a tumultuous life. When he was 10 years
old, he witnessed the founding of the Jewish state. When he was 12 years
old, his mother committed suicide. When he was 15, he joined a kibbutz
and changed his last name to Oz, Hebrew for “strength.” He eventually
left the kibbutz for the desert because of his son’s asthma, but as he
tells Vox Tablet contributor Daniel Estrin, he still dreams of kibbutz
life at least once a week. In his newest short story collection, Between
Friends, he revisits the early years of the kibbutz, when the
collective farms were still a wild Israeli ideological experiment.
Estrin sat with Amos Oz in his home in Tel Aviv for a far-ranging
discussion about the new book, his love of Hebrew, his predictions for
Israel’s future, and a bit of celebrity gossip. [Running time: 27:45.]Click here to listen.
Before
we explain what the list is, we should tell you what it’s not: It’s not
a list of “The Greatest Jewish Books of All Time,” an undertaking that
would involve sifting through thousands of texts in dozens of languages
produced over the course of millennia and that could only result in
either a Cecil B. DeMille-like cast of thousands or a list with one
entry: the Bible. What we wanted to create was a library of works that
have actually moved us and shaped the way we understand ourselves as
Jewish human beings in the world. We read some of these books as
children; some we read under our covers as teenagers; some we got off
college syllabi; some we discovered, with wonder and awe and surprise,
as adults. But all are books of supreme importance in shaping our lives
and our understanding of the different ways one might be a Jew in the
world—whether the authors are religious Jews, or secular Jews, or not
Jewish by your definition or someone else’s definition, or by any
definition at all.
Dara
Horn’s home, like her life, has two levels. On the higher level are
rooms full of toy dinosaurs and Babar posters. On the lower one, shelves
full of Yiddish and Hebrew books and Zambian carvings and wooden panels
from China do battle with water guns and baby bottles. “I live a double
life,” she said as she provided me with the abbreviated grand tour of
her Essex County, N.J., home. “I think all parents have a double life.”
Horn’s double life is just a bit more double than most other parents’;
perhaps we can call it her quadruple life. The relevant statistics: age
36; four children; and, with the publication of her new book, A Guide
for the Perplexed, four novels.
Vienna,
1895. Minna Bernays, a laughably incompetent lady's companion, moves in
with her sister Martha and Martha's husband, Sigmund Freud. Freud, a
39-year-old struggling professor of the fledgling field of
psychotherapy, is charmed by the intellectually-minded Minna, who
attends to the Freuds' 6 children and, owing in part to her fascination
with her brother-in-law's work, begins enjoying his romantic attention
as well.