From the desk of David Shasha: «A Sephardic S.Y. Agnon» by Rabbi Daniel Bouskila

A Sephardic S.Y. Agnon
By: Rabbi Daniel Bouskila
From the Jewish Journal of Los Angeles, April 19, 2013

There was a point in Jewish history when Ashkenazi writers sought to emulate Sephardim.  Over the course of many centuries Jewish literature was mainly in the hands of Sephardim who composed poetry, philosophy, grammatical studies, and historical and scientific works.

We have seen a professor at Yeshiva University insist to one of his Sephardic students, when asked why there were no Sephardic authors in his Modern Hebrew Literature course, that Sephardim were too poor and ignorant to produce literature – a claim that is laughable on its face and imbued with a typical and widespread Ashkenazi racism: 

https://groups.google.com/forum/#!msg/davidshasha/a93EykBERUk/rA34Yg5U6oAJ

In this article we see how this prejudice plays out in the real world.

The idea is that Sephardim have fallen and must seek to achieve parity with the Ashkenazim.  In order to do this the idea is that Sephardim need to present themselves as unique in Israeli society as traditional Jews whose story is one of triumphant assimilation into Israeli society rather than being socially alienated and culturally oppressed by the Ashkenazi elites.

Haim Sabato is tied to the Religious Zionist community and his work is a bold attempt to find common ground – a shared religious language – with Ashkenazi Zionists.  Back in 2011, he published a book of discussions with the iconic Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein, the son-in-law of Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik:

http://www.kolhamevaser.com/2011/11/the-untraveled-road-from-ma%E2%80%99aleh-adumim-to-alon-shevut/

http://www.jewishideasdaily.com/1028/features/in-search-of-the-moderate-voice/

The book is a clear example of his assimilative tendencies and his desire to seek entente with the Ashkenazim.

His novels on Sephardic life in Israel are infused with this Modern Orthodox language that is bereft of the hard-hitting cultural critique of Ashkenazi racism that permeates the work of writers like Shimon Ballas, Sami Michael, Samir Naqqash, Eli Amir, and Albert Suissa to name but a few Israeli Mizrahim who actively promote socially conscious values in conflict with the racist Ashkenazi hegemony.

Rabbi Sabato is a completely different figure than such radical Mizrahi writers who is more easily compatible with assimilated Sephardim like Rabbi Bouskila. There is a strongly nostalgic twinge to Sabato’s novels and his rhetoric remains completely unthreatening to Ashkenazim and assimilated Sephardim.  His primary aim is to seek Sephardi inclusion in what is clearly an Ashkenazi world.  So it is that his writing highlights religio-conceptual values that would be easily processed by Orthodox Jews.

The comparison with Agnon is thus quite telling: Agnon is a “secular” writer who does in fact treat the religious tradition in certain ways.  But Agnon’s worldview is not “religious”; this is something that Sabato seeks to correct.  He is being embraced by a wide range of Orthodox Jews – fully within the Ashkenazi hegemonic system – for his love of tradition and his lightly applied Sephardic consciousness.

It is the perfect balance for those who do not wish to overturn the applecart: It is a Sephardic traditionalism that is quite benign and warmhearted and speaks in a language that is connected to that of the Religious Zionist/Modern Orthodox Yeshiva world.  Sabato is a proud Zionist and does not question Ashkenazi hegemony.  His writing does not challenge this hegemony; it merely seeks to add Sephardic voices to the Jewish tapestry.  It is all very easygoing and uncritical of the problems Sephardim actually face as their culture continues to erode.

The following article thus presents the Sephardi question in extremely narrow and circumscribed terms: It is mainly an affirmation of Israel and Zionism by a writer who does not wish to undermine the current status quo; he only wishes to have Sephardim included in that status quo.  This approach remains blind to the profound damage that Ashkenazim have inflicted on the Sephardic heritage and refuses to call Israel and Zionism to account for its brutal treatment of the Sephardic Jews who now remain locked in the vise of Ashkenazi domination.

My article “A Broken Frame: Sephardi Occlusion and the Repairing of Jewish Dysfunction” speaks to the matter in ways that make the assimilated Sephardim extremely uncomfortable:

https://groups.google.com/forum/#!msg/davidshasha/yj_4nB1nWTk/PSVcxzqBsKEJ

Seeking a “Sephardi Agnon” is an encoded way of seeking the approval of the Ashkenazim rather than trying to assert the independent integrity of Sephardic culture in the face of Ashkenazi rejectionism and its vile racism.  We continue to see example after example of this vile racism and nostalgic tales such as those of Rabbi Sabato will do little to stem the tide that has engulfed us.

Rabbi Sabato and Rabbi Bouskila would strongly reject any language critical of this Ashkenazi hegemony.  Their goal is to erase the differences between Ashkenazim and Sephardim and to affirm a single, unified Jewish community.  This community, sadly, will be one that is structured and informed by the Ashkenazi paradigms which serve as a model for all Sephardic discourse and self-representation.

DS

In current discourses on modern Israeli literature, the names Oz, Yehoshua and Grossman typically dominate the discussion. But how often do we hear the name Haim Sabato? Who is Sabato, and why is his writing often compared to Nobel Prize-winning Israeli author S.Y. Agnon?

When I first met Sabato, the setting was not the typical book-lined study or corner table at the literary cafe. Instead, it was the beit midrash of Yeshivat Birkat Moshe in Ma’aleh Adumim, where he lives, studies, teaches Talmud — and writes novels.

Born in Egypt and descended from a long line of rabbis from Aleppo, Syria, Sabato is one of the most unique voices in modern Israeli literature. His writing is inspired by Agnon, whose stories he read as a child, and the similarities between the two are striking: Both are religiously observant, both employ a linguistic style that draws heavily from biblical and rabbinic Hebrew, and both tell their stories through a narrator who has a striking resemblance to the author.

But there are major differences, and Sabato pointed them out in — of all places — Beit Agnon (Agnon’s House), where he delivered the annual “Agnon Memorial Lecture” a few years ago.

“I followed in Agnon’s footsteps in immersing my stories in the traditional sources … but I felt a few layers were completely missing from his language. I wondered, where are the wordplays of the Sephardic kabbalists, what about the homiletics of the Aleppo scholars, the halachic terminology of Moroccan rabbis, the Aramaic translations of Yemenite Jews, and the Ladino scholars of Jerusalem who mix Midrash and Bible, dip it in Rashi, and create Ladino idioms? I was zealous for them, so their language not be forsaken and lost. Who will sketch their profiles, in their language?”

Sabato’s literary journey began with “Aleppo Tales” and, most recently, “From the Four Winds.”

But his second and third books are what distinguish Sabato as a great novelist. In these novels, he writes from a uniquely Sephardic perspective. He tells Israel’s Sephardic story, of immigrants and of scholars. He seeks to demonstrate how Sephardic Jews interacted with and ultimately integrated into the predominant Ashkenazic culture of Israeli society, all the while struggling to maintain their distinct culture and heritage.

“Adjusting Sights” is a classic Yom Kippur War novel; based on Sabato’s own experiences, the narrator — Haim — tells the story of what happened to him and his childhood friend, Dov (a real childhood friend of Sabato’s), during that war. But beyond the powerful narrative of friendship, faith and the turmoil of the Yom Kippur War, Sabato’s story has a deeper message. In the beginning, Haim recounts his childhood as an immigrant from Egypt who now lives in the impoverished neighborhood of Beit Mazmil, just outside of Jerusalem (true to Sabato’s own story — which he returns to and expands in his fourth novel, “From the Four Winds”). Haim’s cousin, Shabtai, takes him out to play, and as the two sit on the side of the soccer field talking, they are suddenly surrounded by a group of boys from the neighborhood who shout, “Arabs! Arabs!” Haim bursts into tears, and it is a tough Sephardic boy — Momo and his “gang” — who rescues Haim and Shabtai.

“These kids aren’t Arabs. They’re talking Arabic because they’re new … no one touches them.”  But as much as Momo is Haim’s protector and he felt a kinship toward him, their life journeys are different. Momo, a Moroccan “tough guy” who knows how to pray and recites Psalms by heart, is thrown out of school for misconduct and resorts to the streets, the fate of many Sephardic immigrants in Israel. Haim is a young Torah scholar who befriends Dov, an Ashkenazi immigrant from Romania. The two go on to yeshiva high school and hesder yeshiva together. Although Haim bumps into Momo (now an officer) during the Yom Kippur War, it is with Dov that Haim shares a tank and fights the war. “Adjusting Sights” is a Yom Kippur War story, but beneath its layers lies the story of a Sephardic immigrant whose blending into mainstream Israeli society came during one of Israel’s most defining moments.

“The Dawning of the Day: A Jerusalem Tale” is Sabato’s ode to Sephardic rabbis and poets (something he began in “Aleppo Tales”). Set in the heavily Sephardic Jerusalem neighborhoods of Nahalaot and Mahane Yehuda, this novel features rabbis named Pinto, Hadad and Ventura, and characters named Tawil, Antebi and Mizrahi. But the novel’s main character is a laundry presser named Ezra Siman Tov, whose initials  —  E.S.T.  —  “could also be read as Ezra Sephardi Tahor —Ezra, a pure Sephardi.” Ezra is a Sephardic storyteller who becomes Sabato’s voice to the Ashkenazi world, including to Agnon: “There was once a great writer in Jerusalem. All Jerusalem took pride in him, both during his life and after his death. His fame extended throughout the world. At times, on his walks … he noticed a man with a shining face in the alley near the entrance to the synagogue. The man stood encircled by a group of people who were listening to him and were rapt with attention. The writer too began to listen and his eyes lit up … that storyteller was Ezra Siman Tov.” The irony is that in this scene, Siman Tov tells a Chasidic tale! This is Sabato’s brilliant way of telling Agnon, “I know your stories, but do you know mine?” Siman Tov and “the great writer” ultimately develop a relationship, a reflection of Sabato’s interaction with Agnon’s writings, or of the Sephardic writer who seeks to interface with Israel’s continuously Ashkenazic narrative.

The greatest difference between Agnon and Sabato is not only their ethnic backgrounds, but also their strikingly different outlook on life. Agnon’s novels are filled with cynicism and bitterness. Sabato’s novels are — in his own words — “filled with sparks of light, and instead of the bitter drop of fate [in Agnon’s stories], a hopeful dose of faith.”

Perhaps it’s time for Israeli society to re-evaluate its narrative … and its narrator.