Literary works have their own way of describing who is truly worthy of love, and who is not. In folktales it usually ends with some prince. Or knight, which is pretty much the same. He's beautiful, oh well. But more importantly, it arrives just in time. He approaches a girl under a spell or coma, and sticks a kiss to her. And she, instead of filing a complaint, or slapping him twice, hurries to run with him to the chuppah, and to life happily ever after.
In more complex and mature books one can find, of course, slightly more developed descriptions, but in the end, the more personal the writing, the more it turns out that writers are human beings, and it is not very surprising to discover that the character of the beloved resembles, to a rather suspicious degree, the author himself. Who can't help but love? You are the figure of the writer.
When I think of Meir Shalev and the late Jonathan Geffen, and in recent days this is what we have done much of the time, it seems to me that the two have shaped for many Israelis the one we should all be. The one who has no choice but to fall under his spell. For Jonathan Geffen it was the eternal dreamy boy. A sensitive and wounded child who, in the name of pain, was granted an exemption from growing up.
Many of Geffen's brilliance is the kind of heart-melting "wisdom" that small children say. The parents rejoice, "Where does he get those words?" and a shower of kisses and compliments is showered on the child's head. I think "I love winter, and summer and autumn. And spring, and what's now" is just that, a kiss-sweeping exit. And there's a lot more like her. Not. No one really wanted to be Jonathan Geffen. It had to be too painful. But many of us wanted something of his literal charm.
With Meir Shalev, it's always a man who isn't tall and doesn't try to charm. A man of the land, and usually bespectacled. But what it has and that is absolutely irresistible is the ability to savor the simple things. On the salad of radishes. Newly harvested leaves. Homemade bread and wonderful olives from the tree in the yard, harvested by hand, banged on the board in the undecorated kitchen and occupied in a used jar. On them he delights and in them he delights his loved ones.
The man worthy of Meir Shalev's love must know how to install a shower in the yard, plant a tree and repair a bench. And no, he's not someone to charm them all. But the one who does, will follow him to the end of the world, and wait for him like Rachel, and some more.
With Geffen, we remembered during the years of religious boarding school that we were teenagers, and that our souls were free. But as the years go by, the world he wrote, his characters and his loves are much closer to my heart
Both, these two directors, were prolific and original creators. And even if I disapprove of the superlative - really big. Photos and words of both accompanied us for many years. In my youth in the yeshiva, I was part of a small group that recited non-rabbinical texts by heart. We simply sat in the evening on the roof of the boarding school building, or in a room in front of the radio tape, and after hours of Talmud and religious studies, we memorized all sorts of forbidden passages, including, of course, "Salon Talks," which for us were a kind of underground anti-prayer.
It was our way of remembering that we were teenagers and that our souls were free. This, for example, is something I will always remember for the vine. But personally, and as the years go by, the world Meir Shalev wrote, the characters, loves and words, are much closer to my heart.
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I am personally indebted to Meir Shalev. In the 90s, Ram Landes was looking for young writers for a supplement he was editing at the time in the competing newspaper, and it was Meir Shalev who recommended that he find out who the Jerusalem guy was who wrote reviews of synagogues. When I went to say thank you, he told me that he wasn't thinking about going into these synagogues, but quite enjoyed what I had written. I replied that I wasn't thinking of bringing in the rustic (and non-kosher) delicacies he described in his books, but I also quite enjoyed reading.
I was very flattered that Shalev believed in my writing, but I appreciated even more the fact that although he helped me transition from local media to national, he never patronized or patronized me. And I also loved the poster he pasted on the door of his study, with pictures of all kinds of cattle and their varieties, from the buyer bull to the bashan cows, all of whom he marveled at telling and describing their stories from the meadow to the table.
In almost every text he wrote, and certainly in every interview, Shalev took pains to mention his aversion to didactic and educational writing. He disliked twice. As a reader, he didn't like to be preached or educated, and even as a writer he disapproved of those who asked, "Okay, so what's the message?" and believed that stories should just be told. To his credit, he is also handsome. A rare feature in our provinces.
I don't know of a paragraph in one of his books where he fell into didactic places, and I admit that sometimes I actually tried to catch him "red-handed." Just for the sport. On the other hand, although he did not try to educate, it cannot be said that Meir's novels, nor his children's books, did not influence readers. Personally, I have to admit they did their thing. They designed walks, sharpened flavors, and especially defined for many Israelis the image of the not-so-tall Israeli, who knows how to hold a Jabka and cut a salad. The one who knows that there is nothing like fresh and springy garlic, and that whoever claims "stinks!" simply doesn't understand anything about his life, and he's the one who doesn't deserve a hug.
It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but those who took Shalev's books to heart slowly changed their outlook on basic questions such as: How do you make a sandwich? And is closing a kitchen cabinet door with a crooked nail an aesthetic disgrace, or is it the wonderful little thing that makes the place home?
Right. Shalev did not try to educate or preach, but he dealt with eternal questions such as: What is the exact measure? What is rooted authenticity? What really makes you fall in love? What are the limits of extravagance, and how should it be treated? And of course - how do you really make the perfect screwed olives?
Everyone who wrote about him mentioned the transition and struggle between Jerusalem and Nahalal, which were often described as two opposites. But I find something very, very Jerusalem in the managerial tendency to despise passing trends. Cranberries in vegetable salad. For fancy home décor. For people who plant fake things like petunias in their garden. The nasty use of casual American expressions, as if "Syrian" is more accurate than just "sorry."
And I admit that almost every time I walk through the nursery, go to prepare something in the kitchen, or open my toolbox, the image of a balding, not tall man in sandals and shorts may cross my mind, and just before I'm tempted to rant, God forbid, and do something trendy but shameful, he'll snipe at me with a bespectacled look and make fun of me.
shishabat@israelhayom.co.il
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