The life of Dvora Baron (1887-1956) evokes both inspiration and mystery. She was born in a Russian shtetl, the precocious daughter of a rabbi. Her intellectual gifts garnered her an education usually reserved for boys, and she soon proved a brilliant writer, widely published while still in her teens. At age twenty-three she immigrated to Palestine, married a prominent Zionist journalist, and joined the literary intelligentsia of the emerging nation. Her writing showed startlingly modernist points of view (a day-old baby girl in "The First Day" and a female Jewish dog in "Liska," for example), and she took on such topics as divorce ("Fradl"), incest ("Grandma Henya"), and domestic violence ("A Quarreling Couple"). But when her beloved brother died in 1923, Baron retired to her apartment. There she spent the last thirty years of her life, in touch with the literary community but rejecting her early stories as "my rags." She never left her residence and spent most of her time in bed, tended by her daughter. Israeli writer and psychologist Amia Lieblich was seventeen when Dvora Baron died; the two women never met. But Lieblich has written this biography as a series of conversations taking place in Dvora's darkened room during the last year of her life. Lieblich's vividly realized portrait elicits Dvora's memories of childhood; the descriptions of traditional women's lives in her writing; a view of her eccentric marriage and odd relationship with her daughter; and her thoughts on work, life, and death. Dvora is a living presence in these conversations; Lieblich approaches her as one of the great creative spirits of Hebrew literature. Having undergone a crisis in her own life, Lieblich seeks out Baron as a source of wisdom and direction. The result is an unusual and moving literary-psychological adventure that merges Dvora Baron's world with that of an Israeli woman today. The life of Dvora Baron (1887-1956) evokes both inspiration and mystery. She was born in a Russian shtetl, the precocious daughter of a rabbi. Her intellectual gifts garnered her an education usually reserved for boys, and she soon proved a brilliant writer, widely published while still in her teens. At age twenty-three she immigrated to Palestine, married a prominent Zionist journalist, and joined the literary intelligentsia of the emerging nation. Her writing showed startlingly modernist points of view (a day-old baby girl in "The First Day" and a female Jewish dog in "Liska," for example), and she took on such topics as divorce ("Fradl"), incest ("Grandma Henya"), and domestic violence ("A Quarreling Couple"). But when her beloved brother died in 1923, Baron retired to her apartment. There she spent the last thirty years of her life, in touch with the literary community but rejecting her early stories as "my rags." She never left her residence and spent most of her time in bed, tended by her daughter. Israeli writer and psychologist Amia Lieblich was seventeen when Dvora Baron died; the two women never met. But Lieblich has written this biography as a series of conversations taking place in Dvora's darkened room during the last year of her life. Lieblich's vividly realized portrait elicits Dvora's memories of childhood; the descriptions of traditional women's lives in her writing; a view of her eccentric marriage and odd relationship with her daughter; and her thoughts on work, life, and death. Dvora is a living presence in these conversations; Lieblich approaches her as one of the great creative spirits of Hebrew literature. Having undergone a crisis in her own life, Lieblich seeks out Baron as a source of wisdom and direction. The result is an unusual and moving literary-psychological adventure that merges Dvora Baron's world with that of an Israeli woman today.
Who knew? That a Jewish village in Eastern Europe was observed by a skeptical, feminist eye, transformed into agile, delicate, earthy stories, written in Hebrew, a language never learned by most women? That a world of men and of women, deserted, divorced, unloved--later decimated by the Nazis--could spring to life again, in stunning translations that expose the stories' biblical moves and modernist countermoves? Now we know: Hebrew fiction and English fiction just gained an astonishing foremother. Sit, take a bite, read."—Mary Felstiner, Professor of History at San Francisco State University, author of To Paint Her Life: Charlotte Salomon in the Nazi Era "We know the voice of the shtetl through Shomlom Aleichem, I. B. Singer, and others; now we have a woman's perspective in the work of Dvora Baron. This mysterious, eccentric author is wonderfully translated for the first time in English, just as Israelis are beginning to treasure her. It is a triumph for literature, for women, and for readers that she is now available to us."—E. M. Broner, author of A Weave of Women, The Telling, and Bringing Home the Light
The life of Dvora Baron (1887-1956) evokes both inspiration and mystery. She was born in a Russian shtetl, the precocious daughter of a rabbi. Her intellectual gifts garnered her an education usually reserved for boys, and she soon proved a brilliant writer, widely published while still in her teens. At age twenty-three she immigrated to Palestine, married a prominent Zionist journalist, and joined the literary intelligentsia of the emerging nation. Her writing showed startlingly modernist points of view (a day-old baby girl in "The First Day" and a female Jewish dog in "Liska," for example), and she took on such topics as divorce ("Fradl"), incest ("Grandma Henya"), and domestic violence ("A Quarreling Couple"). But when her beloved brother died in 1923, Baron retired to her apartment. There she spent the last thirty years of her life, in touch with the literary community but rejecting her early stories as "my rags." She never left her residence and spent most of her time in bed, tended by her daughter. Israeli writer and psychologist Amia Lieblich was seventeen when Dvora Baron died; the two women never met. But Lieblich has written this biography as a series of conversations taking place in Dvora's darkened room during the last year of her life. Lieblich's vividly realized portrait elicits Dvora's memories of childhood; the descriptions of traditional women's lives in her writing; a view of her eccentric marriage and odd relationship with her daughter; and her thoughts on work, life, and death. Dvora is a living presence in these conversations; Lieblich approaches her as one of the great creative spirits of Hebrew literature. Having undergone a crisis in her own life, Lieblich seeks out Baron as a source of wisdom and direction. The result is an unusual and moving literary-psychological adventure that merges Dvora Baron's world with that of an Israeli woman today. The life of Dvora Baron (1887-1956) evokes both inspiration and mystery. She was born in a Russian shtetl, the precocious daughter of a rabbi. Her intellectual gifts garnered her an education usually reserved for boys, and she soon proved a brilliant writer, widely published while still in her teens. At age twenty-three she immigrated to Palestine, married a prominent Zionist journalist, and joined the literary intelligentsia of the emerging nation. Her writing showed startlingly modernist points of view (a day-old baby girl in "The First Day" and a female Jewish dog in "Liska," for example), and she took on such topics as divorce ("Fradl"), incest ("Grandma Henya"), and domestic violence ("A Quarreling Couple"). But when her beloved brother died in 1923, Baron retired to her apartment. There she spent the last thirty years of her life, in touch with the literary community but rejecting her early stories as "my rags." She never left her residence and spent most of her time in bed, tended by her daughter. Israeli writer and psychologist Amia Lieblich was seventeen when Dvora Baron died; the two women never met. But Lieblich has written this biography as a series of conversations taking place in Dvora's darkened room during the last year of her life. Lieblich's vividly realized portrait elicits Dvora's memories of childhood; the descriptions of traditional women's lives in her writing; a view of her eccentric marriage and odd relationship with her daughter; and her thoughts on work, life, and death. Dvora is a living presence in these conversations; Lieblich approaches her as one of the great creative spirits of Hebrew literature. Having undergone a crisis in her own life, Lieblich seeks out Baron as a source of wisdom and direction. The result is an unusual and moving literary-psychological adventure that merges Dvora Baron's world with that of an Israeli woman today.
Comedy is full of famously funny Jews, from Groucho Marx to Larry David to Sarah Silverman. This smart and funny book includes tales from many of these much-loved comics, and will appeal to their broad audience, while revealing the history, context, and wider culture of Jewish joking. The Jewish joke is as old as Abraham, and like the Jews themselves it has wandered over the world, learned countless new languages, worked with a range of different materials, been performed in front of some pretty hostile crowds, and yet still retained its own distinctive identity. So what is it that animates the Jewish joke? Why are Jews so often thought of as “funny”? And how old can a joke get? With jokes from Lena Dunham to Woody Allen, as well as Freud and Marx (Groucho, mostly), Baum balances serious research with light-hearted humor and provides fascinating insight into this wellknown and much loved cultural phenomenon.
What explains differences in soldier participation in violence during irregular war? How do ordinary men become professional wielders of force, and when does this transformation falter or fail? Regular Soldiers, Irregular War presents a theoretical framework for understanding the various forms of behavior in which soldiers engage during counterinsurgency campaigns—compliance and shirking, abuse and restraint, as well as the creation of new violent practices. Through an in-depth study of the Israeli Defense Forces' repression of the Second Palestinian Intifada of 2000–2005, including in-depth interviews with and a survey of former combatants, Devorah Manekin examines how soldiers come both to unleash and to curb violence against civilians in a counterinsurgency campaign. Manekin argues that variation in soldiers' behavior is best explained by the effectiveness of the control mechanisms put in place to ensure combatant violence reflects the strategies and preferences of military elites, primarily at the small-unit level. Furthermore, she develops and analyzes soldier participation in three categories of violence: strategic violence authorized by military elites; opportunistic or unauthorized violence; and "entrepreneurial violence"—violence initiated from below to advance organizational aims when leaders are ambiguous about what will best serve those aims. By going inside military field units and exploring their patterns of command and control, Regular Soldiers, Irregular War, sheds new light on the dynamics of violence and restraint in counterinsurgency.
Guest-edited by Devorah Baum and Josh Appignanesi We're living through hysterical times. Rage, resentment, shame, guilt and paranoia are everywhere surfacing, as is the intemperate adoration or hatred of popular but divisive public figures. Political discourse suffers when people seem to trust only what they feel and can no longer be swayed by reason or facts. If extreme feelings are a contagion within the political cultures of today, so too is the spread of a kind of affectlessness, as if we're starting to resemble the very technologies that threaten to replace us. Featuring vital new fiction, non-fiction, photography and poetry from across the globe, this issue is all about how our feelings make our politics, and how our politics make us feel. Adam Phillips, in conversation, analyses politics in the consulting room David Baddiel probes the outrage of life online Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor witnesses devastation Anouchka Grose on becoming a social justice warrior Peter Pomerantsev unearths his data profile to conduct sentiment analysis Poppy Sebag-Montefiore on China's public sense of touch Fabin Martnez Siccardi on growing up in Patagonia Margie Orford explores shame in South Africa Josh Cohen inspects his own apathy Hisham Matar reflects on Joseph Conrad and Edward Said Hanif Kureishi on Keith Johnstone and Keith Jarrett William Davies on affective politics Chloe Aridjis revisits the wild nights of her teenage years in Mexico City PLUS FICTION: Benjamin Markovits, Olga Tokarczuk and Joff Winterhart POETRY: Alissa Quart and Nick Laird PHOTOGRAPHY: Diana Matar, introduced by Max Houghton Devorah Baum is associate professor in English literature at the University of Southampton. She is the author of Feeling Jewish (A Book for Just About Anyone) and The Jewish Joke, and co-director of the documentary feature film The New Man. Josh Appignanesi is a film-maker whose directing credits include the feature films Female Human Animal, The Infidel, The New Man and Song Of Songs. He is a lecturer in Film at Roehampton University, and teaches at the London Film School and other institutions.
Rashi's commentary and the Glossa Ordinaria both developed in the late eleventh and early twelfth century with no known contact between them. Nevertheless, they shared a way of reading text that shaped their interpretations of the near-sacrifice of Isaac. This work compares them both with each other and their respective sources to show their similarity.
Systems of state education are a crucial means for realizing the state’s focal aspiration of guaranteeing solidarity and civil loyalty (Van Kemenade, 1985 pp. 854ff. ). The means at hand include the state’s structuring and organization of schooling, determination of what education is compulsory, examinations that decide admittance to institutions of secondary and tertiary education, the design of educational aids, curricula, textbooks, didactic methods, and the general distribution of resources to schools. A further apparatus is that of teacher education and the regulations for appointment to the schools and remuneration (van Kemenade, 1985, p. 850). There are indications that the issue of equality and equity for all in education is a dilemma prevalent in systems of state education, among others, because the advancement of equity is liable to interfere with the state’s main goal. It is highly likely that the failing does not derive from contingent misund- standings, but rather from systemic contradictions. With this in mind, this book suggests a broad-spectrum approach to understanding how state education gets done, so to speak, and what in the process seems to obstruct impartiality. The case that I will examine is that of the state system of education in Israel. Underlying the study is the sociological assumption that an analysis of how one state system works is likely to bear a message that can be generalized.
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