News

Fania Oz-Salzberger

Historian and author of Jews and Words

'Ours is not a bloodline, but a textline'

Is­raeli writer and his­to­rian Fania Oz-Salzberger was in Girona last month to give the lec­ture, La iden­ti­tat jueva més enllà de la re­ligió (Jew­ish Iden­tity be­yond Re­li­gion), bring­ing to a close the se­ries of talks, La iden­ti­tat des de l’absència (Iden­tity from Ab­sence), from the Nah­manides In­sti­tute for Jew­ish Stud­ies at the Mu­seum of Jew­ish His­tory.

This is your sec­ond visit to Girona. In your talk you said your re­la­tion­ship with the city is al­most mys­ti­cal. Why?
The mys­ti­cal el­e­ment has to do with the fact that I first heard of Cat­alo­nia as a teenager, through a trans­la­tion of one of my fa­ther’s books, in the kib­butz I went to until I was 18. There was some­thing about Cata­lan that I found in­trigu­ing, but I didn’t know why. I thought maybe it was be­cause Cata­lans and Jews had crossed paths in his­tory, and also be­cause they are com­pa­ra­ble na­tions: small groups with a very in­tense sense of cul­ture and be­long­ing, try­ing to sur­vive in largely hos­tile en­vi­ron­ments that have al­ways tried to swal­low them, but with­out suc­ceed­ing. So I thought it was just this in­tel­lec­tual com­par­i­son. Then, some mys­ti­cal power brought me to Cat­alo­nia in 1989 for my hon­ey­moon, which we de­cided to spend here, I don’t know why. We came to Girona and I felt a lit­tle sad and ex­cited at the same time, be­cause the old quar­ter was heavy with Jew­ish mem­ory, but largely va­cant and soli­tary. This mu­seum was al­ready here, only two years old at the time, very tiny and with very few vis­i­tors, so we felt like the last Jews on Earth. It all seemed a bit ar­ti­fi­cial to us, and it felt like a ghost city.
And now that you’re back?
It is re­fresh­ing to see how this mu­seum has flour­ished and grown, the splen­did me­dieval city, and that there is a com­mu­nity and in­ter­est in re­cov­er­ing the his­tor­i­cal mem­ory.
And the mys­ti­cal el­e­ment? You are not re­li­gious...
The final piece of mys­ti­cism I just found out only a few weeks be­fore com­ing to Girona, that through the Horowitz branch of my fam­ily, I am Giro­nan, through my fore­bear Rabbi Isa­iah Halevi Horowitz. This made me shud­der a lit­tle bit, but I still don’t be­lieve in God. I don’t think it’s a co­in­ci­dence; I think it has to do with the sec­u­lar move­ment of Jew­ish con­ti­nu­ity.
You come from a fam­ily with roots in Ukraine and Bessara­bia [a his­tor­i­cal re­gion in pre­sent-day Mol­davia]. Have you been back?
My fa­ther still re­fuses to go. I did go three years ago for an Is­raeli tele­vi­sion pro­gramme, all the way to Rivne in north­ern Ukraine, the town of my fa­ther’s mother, Fania, who died trag­i­cally when my fa­ther was a child. She missed her birth­place a lot, but couldn’t ever go back. For years, my fa­ther didn’t tell me her story, and then when he wrote his au­to­bi­og­ra­phy, A Tale of Love and Dark­ness [2002], I found out her real story, and that I am named after her. My ex­pe­ri­ence there was a bit sad, be­cause I found the place empty of mem­ory. Then they made a film about the book, which was Na­talie Port­man’s debut in film di­rect­ing.
In your book, Jews and Words, which you co-wrote with your fa­ther, you say that one of the se­cret mech­a­nisms of Jew­ish sur­vival has been tex­tu­al­ity, words and de­bate. Has this ad­her­ence to the word saved the con­ti­nu­ity of Jew­ish cul­ture?
I don’t like the word “iden­tity” very much, I con­sider it a bit fa­tal­is­tic. Faith was re­ally im­por­tant, but words have been more im­por­tant than rit­u­als. Ours is not a blood­line, but a textline. This is the most im­por­tant sen­tence in the book. It is about trans­mit­ting knowl­edge to the young gen­er­a­tions, not through oblig­a­tion or sub­mis­sion, but through con­ver­sa­tion and de­bate. A mod­ern metaphor is the mem­ory stick, which by the way is a Jew­ish in­ven­tion. The his­toric Jew­ish her­itage has al­ways been like this: we have trav­elled the world with all our bag­gage on a mem­ory stick.
Hu­mour is also a key in the con­ti­nu­ity of Jew­ish cul­ture.
Yes, it is very im­por­tant for my fa­ther, and for my­self as well. It is quite self-ironic, even ab­surd, which is why we love Woody Allen and Monty Python so much. It is also dead­pan, like talk­ing straight but being funny at the same time, being ir­rev­er­ent and also twist­ing re­al­ity. Hu­mour is part of the ar­gu­ment: sur­prise the other and your­self, en­gage de­bate and ques­tion every­thing. De­bate has been cru­cial in our cul­ture.
In the book, you ex­plain how when con­fronted with dan­ger, Jews grabbed two things: books and chil­dren.
Yes, they are the joint pil­lars of our cul­ture and con­ti­nu­ity. An­other cru­cial thing is the com­bi­na­tion be­tween food and books. Not just those of tra­di­tion and folk­lore, but so­phis­ti­cated books that were left on our table even as very young kids, as food for thought, for de­bate.
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