PEOPLE OF THE BOOK
A DECADE OF JEWISH SCIENCE FICTION & FANTASY
edited by
RACHEL SWIRSKY & SEAN WALLACE
To Sandy Swirsky and Lyle Merithew, the best parents ever to serve Chinese food on Christmas Eve.
To Cordelia and Natalie, and my wife: Ikh hob dikh tsufil lib.
Copyright © 2010 by Rachel Swirsky and Sean Wallace
Cover art by Liwei Wang.
Cover design by Stephen H. Segal.
Ebook design by Neil Clarke.
All stories are copyrighted to their respective authors, and used here with their permission.
ISBN: 978-1-60701-270-2 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-60701-238-2 (trade paperback)
Prime Books
www.prime-books.com
No portion of this book may be reproduced by any means, mechanical, electronic, or otherwise, without first obtaining the permission of the copyright holder.
For more information, contact Prime Books.
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION by Ann VanderMeer
BURNING BEARD: THE DREAMS AND VISIONS OF JOSEPH BEN JACOB, LORD VICEROY OF EGYPT by Rachel Pollack
HOW THE LITTLE RABBI GREW by Eliot Fintushel
GEDDARIEN by Rose Lemberg
THE WINGS OF MEISTER WILHELM by Theodora Goss
THE DYBBUK IN LOVE by Sonya Taaffe
FIDELITY: A PRIMER by Michael Blumlein
NIELS BOHR AND THE SLEEPING DANE by Jonathon Sullivan
THE TSAR’S DRAGONS by Jane Yolen
GOING EAST by Elana Gomel
DARK COFFEE, BRIGHT LIGHT AND THE PARADOXES OF OMNIPOTENCE by Ben Burgis
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES TO “A DISCOURSE ON THE NATURE OF CAUSALITY, WITH AIR-PLANES” BY BENJAMIN ROSENBAUM by Benjamin Rosenbaum
ALIENATION AND LOVE IN THE HEBREW ALPHABET by Lavie Tidhar
THE PROBLEM OF SUSAN by Neil Gaiman
UNCLE CHAIM AND AUNT RIFKE AND THE ANGEL by Peter S. Beagle
ELIYAHU HA-NAVI by Max Sparber
REUBEN by Tamar Yellin
THE MULDOON by Glen Hirshberg
SEMAPHORE by Alex Irvine
GOLEMS I HAVE KNOWN, OR, WHY MY ELDER SON’S MIDDLE NAME IS NAPOLEON: A TRICKSTER’S MEMOIR by Michael Chabon
THE HISTORY WITHIN US by Matthew Kressel
ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS
PUBLICATION HISTORY
ABOUT THE EDITORS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Introduction
Ann VanderMeer
In the beginning there was the story. And the story was without form or expression. Then the writer infused the story with life. The writer said, let there be a tale so wondrous that all will want to read it. The writer wrote the story and saw that it was good.
Okay, so I am taking liberties here with the book of Genesis. However without the story there would be no book, no People of the Book either. The Bible is often recognized as the story of the Jewish people. Throughout history we have used stories to educate, to amuse, to frighten and to soothe ourselves—to survive and to pass the words on to the next generation.
There is the Written Law (The Torah) and the Oral Law (The Talmud). But what are these ancient writings, really, except stories we tell ourselves?
The Oral Law is the commentary on the Written Law. It’s filled with tales to help illustrate and explain the laws in the Torah. In some cases it fills in the gaps and shows us how to live our lives. So the stories have a specific purpose—to enlighten. As the legend goes, the Torah was given to the Jewish people because they promised to pass it on to their children. And the Torah was to be accessible to scholar and layman alike.
At my synagogue in Tallahassee we have four Torah scrolls. On Erev Yom Kipper during the Kol Nidre service each one is held lovingly by a congregant who has been honored with this assignment. One year I was given this honor. As I stood on the bimah holding this Torah scroll that originated from Europe over one hundred years ago on this holiest of nights, I couldn’t help but feel all the souls that came before me. All the people who had held, read from and touched this scroll. The ones who listened as the Baal Torah chanted from it. I felt connected to all of them, and it was the words in the scroll that brought us together across all time and space.
For so many years the Jew has traditionally felt like an outsider and has striven to belong. We try to take on the culture of the people around us, try to assimilate; however, we can’t help but feel pride and belonging with the all the generations that came before us. We seek to blend in, and yet still wanting to stand out. And as much as we try to escape ourselves and our history, we’re drawn back to it—by the stories.
At the same time as we want to acknowledge the stories we grew up with, we also want to create our own, and thus add to our history. We strive to re-imagine ourselves. In these pages you will find fantastical realms that are not that much different in type from the ones we grew up with in the Torah or Talmud.
In the Torah you will find giants who mate with human women. A sea monster, an enormous bird and a huge mammal that will become our feast in the World to Come. A man with a speech impediment turns a staff into a snake and later parts the Red Sea after he has brought ten plagues onto the Egyptians. Manna falls from heaven, tasting exactly like whatever food you desire. And how about a burning bush that is never consumed?
There are angels and demons, their existence made more believable by the details of their written lives. Almost every book of the Torah contains references to angels and they are mentioned all through the Jewish prayer book. And the most important prayer of all, the Amidah (also known as the Shmoneh Esreh—the eighteen blessings, because there is magic in numbers), portrays bringing the dead back to life. The prophets—seeing into the future and foreseeing all kinds of doom and gloom for the Israelites. And just take a glance at the writings of Ezekiel, where he describes the Divine Chariot and a creature with four faces. If that’s not fantastical, then I don’t know what is.
By comparison, The People of the Book features transformation, from an angel to a demon, from a statue to a weapon. Redemption, as a boy comes to terms with the death of his older brother and his brother’s ghost. Guilt, when a young man cannot carry the burden his forefathers place on him as he is called upon to protect our legacy to ensure our future. Yearning, as a family in war-torn Europe dreams of a better future. Desire, as a wife figures out how she really sees herself and what she really wants. Fear, as we hide from who we are and the true nature of golems. Wonder, when a young boy finds magic in his family’s belongings. Relief, when we finally know we’re safe.
These stories allow us to identify with, although briefly, so many different characters and places, they entertain us and they give us comfort.
And yet, the tales in this anthology often have a melancholic tinge, similar in tone to the minor keys of our musical liturgy. We don’t want to be too comfortable, too happy. Because that might bring some bad luck onto us, might tempt the evil eye.
As I read these tales I can almost hear the cantor singing Kol Nidre. And I am drawn to the words (and worlds) written here. I feel a connection to these fictional souls just as I did that night in the synagogue, holding the Torah scroll. We’re not the only people of the Book, but we are a people of the book. I hope you enjoy these stories chosen by Rachel Swirsky and Sean Wallace as much as I did. Perhaps you’ll hear your own music. L’chaim!
Burning Beard: The
Dreams and Visions of Joseph ben Jacob, Lord Viceroy of Egypt
Rachel Pollack
“There was a young Hebrew in the prison, a slave of the captain of the guard. We told him our dreams and he interpreted them.”
Genesis, 41,12
“Why did you repay good with evil? This is the cup from which my lord drinks, and which he uses for divination.”
Genesis, 44,5
“If A Man Sees Himself In A Dream
—killing an ox.
Good. It means the removal of the dreamer’s enemies.
—writing on a palette.
Good. It means the establishment of the dreamer’s office.
—uncovering his backside.
Bad. It means the dreamer will become an orphan.
Excerpts from Egyptian Dream Book
(found on recto, or back side of a papyrus
from the Nineteenth Dynasty.
In the last month of his life, when his runaway liver has all but eaten his body, Lord Joseph orders his slave to set his flimsy frame upright, like the sacred pillar of the God Osiris in the annual festival of rebirth. Joseph has other things on his mind, however, than his journey to the next world. He has his servant dress him as a Phoenician trader, and then two bearers carry him alone to the dream house behind the temple of Thoth, God of magic, science, writing, celestial navigation, swindlers, gamblers, and dreams. Joseph braces himself against the red column on the outside of the building, then enters with as firm a step as he can. The two interpreters who come to him strike him as hacks, their beards unkempt, their hair dirty, their makeup cracked and sloppy, and their long coats—
It hardly matters that the coats are torn in places, bare in others. Just the sight of those swirls of color floods Joseph’s heart with memory. He sees his childhood dream as if he has just woken up from it. The court magicians in their magnificent coats lined up before Pharaoh. The Burning Beard and his brother shouting their demands. The sticks that changed into snakes. And he remembers the coat his mother made for him, the start of all his troubles. And the way he screamed when Judah and Gad tore it off him and drenched it in the blood of some poor ibex they’d caught in one of their traps.
Startled, Joseph realizes the interpreters are speaking to him. “Sir,” they say, “how may we serve you?”
“As you see,” Joseph says, “I am an old man, on the edge of death. Lately my dreams have troubled me. And where better to seek answers than in Luxor, so renowned for dreamers?” The two smile. Joseph says, “Of course, I would have preferred the interpretations of your famous Joseph—” He watches them wince. “—but I am only a merchant, and I am sure Lord Joseph speaks only to princes.”
The younger of the two, a man about thirty with slicked down hair says, “Well, he’s sick, you know. And there are those who say the Pharaoh’s publicity people exaggerate his powers.” He adds, with a wave of his hand, “One lucky guess, years ago...”
“Tell me,” Joseph says, his voice lower, “is he really a Hebrew? I’ve heard that, but I find it hard to believe.”
In a voice even lower, the young one says “Not only a Hebrew, but a slave. It’s true. They plucked him out of prison.”
Joseph feigns shock and a slight disgust. “Egypt is certainly more sophisticated than Phoenicia,” he says. “In Tyre our slaves sweat for us, not the other way around.”
The other stares at the stone cut floor. “Yes,” he says. “Well, the Viceroy is old, and things change.”
Quickly, the older one says “Why don’t you tell us your dreams?”
“Lately, they’ve been very—I guess vivid is the best word. Just last night I dreamed I was sailing all alone down a river.”
“Ah, good,” the older one says. “A sign of wealth to come.”
“It had better come soon, or I won’t have much use for it. But to continue—I climbed the mast—”
“Wonderful. Your God will bear you aloft with renewed health and good fortune.”
Joseph notices their eyes on the purse he carries on his belt. He goes on, “When I came down I became very hungry and ate the first thing I saw, which only afterwards I realized was the offal of animals. I haven’t dared to tell anyone of this. Surely this is some omen of destruction.”
“Oh no,” the younger one jumps in. “In fact, it ensures prosperity.”
“Really?” Joseph says. “Then what a lucky dream. Every turn a good omen.” He smiles, remembering the fun he had making up the silly dream out of their lists. But the smile fades. He says, “Maybe you can do another one. Actually, this dream has come to me several times in my life.” They nod. Joseph knows that the dream books place great emphasis on recurrence. After all, he thinks, if a dream is important enough to come back, maybe the interpreters can charge double.
He closes his eyes for a moment, sighs. When he looks at them again he sees them through a yellow haze of sickness. He begins, “I dream of a man. Very large and frightening. Strangely, his beard appears all on fire.”
He can see them race through their catalogues in their minds. Finally the old one says “Umm, good. It means you will achieve authority in your home.”
Joseph says “But the man is not me.”
The young one says “That doesn’t matter.”
“I see. Then I’ll continue. This man, who dresses as a shepherd but was once a prince, appears before Pharaoh. He demands that Pharaoh surrender to him a vast horde of Pharaoh’s subjects.” He pauses, but now there is no answer. They look confused. Joseph continues “When the mob follow the man he promises them paradise, but instead leads them into the desert.”
“A bad sign?” the old one says tentatively.
Joseph says “They clamor for food, of course, but instead he leaves them to climb a mountain. And there, in the clouds, he writes a book. He writes it on stone and sheepskin. The history of the world, he calls it. The history and all its laws.”
Now there is silence. “Can you help me?” Joseph says. “Should I fear or hope?” The two just stand there. Finally, so tired he can hardly move, Joseph drops the purse on a painted stone table and leaves the temple.
Ten-year-old Joseph wants to open a school for diviners. “Prophecy, dreams interpreted, plan for the future,” his announcements will say. And under a portrait of him, “Lord Joseph, Reader and Advisor.” Reuben, his oldest brother, shakes his head in disgust. Small flecks of mud fly out of his beard and into Poppa Jacob’s lentils. Reuben says, “What does that mean, reader and advisor? Since when do you know how to read?”
Joseph blushes. “I’m going to learn,” he says. Over Reuben’s laugh he adds quickly “Anyway, when I see the future, that’s a kind of reading. The dreams and the pictures I see in the wine. That’s just like reading.”
Reuben snorts his disgust. To their father he says “If you’d make him do some decent work he wouldn’t act this way.”
Rachel is about to say something but Joseph looks at her with his please-mother-I-can-handle-this-myself look. He says, “Divining is work. Didn’t that Phoenician woman give me a basket of pomegranates for finding her cat?”
Under his breath, Reuben mutters “Rotten pomegranates. And why would anyone want a cat, for Yah’s sake?”
But Joseph ignores him. He can see he’s got the old man’s attention. “And we can sell things,” he adds. “Open a shop.”
“A shop?” Jacob says. His nostrils flare slightly in alarm.
“Sure,” Joseph says, not noticing his mother’s signal to stop. “When people study with me they’ll need equipment. Colored coats, cups to pour the wine, even books. I can write instruction books. ‘The Interpretation of Dreams.’ That’s when I learn to read, of course.”
Jacob spits on the rug, an act that makes Rachel turn her face. “We are not merchants,” he says. “Damnit, maybe your brothers are right.” He ignores his wife’s stagy whisper “Half brothers,” and goes on, “Maybe you need to get your fingers in some sheep, slap some mud on that pretty face of yours.”
&
nbsp; Before Joseph can make it worse Rachel covers his mouth and pulls him outside.
Over the laughter of the brothers, Judah yells “Goodbye, Lord Joseph. See you in the sheep dung!”
Rachel makes sure Joseph wraps his coat around him against the desert’s bite. Even under the thin light of the stars, the waves of color flicker as if alive. What wonderful dreams this boy has, she thinks. She remembers the morning he demanded the coat. Needed it for his work, he said. Leah’s brats tried to stop it being made, of course, but Rachel won. Just like always. She says, “Those loudmouths. How dare they laugh at you? You are a lord. A true prince compared to them.”
But Joseph pays her no attention. Instead, he stares at the planets, Venus and Jupiter, as bright as fire, hanging from the skin of a half-dead Moon. Images fall from them, as if from holes in the storage house of night.
He sees a lion, a great beast, except it changes, becomes a cub, its fur a wave of light. Seraphs come down, those fake men with the leathery wings that Joseph’s father saw in his dream climbing up and down that ladder to heaven and never thought to shout at them “Why don’t you just fly?” The seraphs place a crown like a baby sun on the lion’s head. And then they just fly away, as if they have done their job. No, Joseph wants to scream at them, don’t leave me. For already he can see them. The wild dogs. They climb up from holes in the Earth, they cover the lion, tear holes in his skin, spit into his eyes.
Joseph slams his own eyes with the heels of his hands. The trick works, for suddenly he becomes aware of his mother beside him, her worry a bright mark on her face as she wipes a drop of spit from his open mouth. Vaguely, he pushes her hand away. Now the tail comes, he thinks. The bit of clean information after the torrent of pictures. Just as his brothers begin to leave their father’s grand tent, it hits Joseph, so hard he staggers backward. They want to kill him. If they could, they would tie him to a rock and slit him open, the way his great-grandfather Abraham tried to kill Grandpa Isaac, and even struggled against the—seraph?—that held his hand and shouted in his ear to stop, stop, it was over, Yah had changed His mind. And yet, in all the terror, Joseph can’t help but smirk, for he realizes something further. Reuben, Reuben, will stop them.
People of the Book: A Decade of Jewish Science Fiction & Fantasy Page 1