Ah, the magnificence of not having to choose paths. For the last little while, I've been agonizing over two roads less taken: journalism and Jewish literature.
Today I attended the 2009 Harold U. Ribalow Prize ceremony at the UJA's Manhattan location. The book prize this year was awarded to Peter Manseau, a French-Canadian Catholic--whose parents met while his father was a Roman Catholic priest and his mother a nun--who became interested in Yiddish and even helped collect and preserve old Yiddish books of mameloshon speakers across America's East Coast.
I was invited to attend the Hadassah Magazine-sponsored event by the publication's editor in chief, Alan Tigay, a beloved professor of mine. The man understands his student, that's for sure.
The speeches sparkled with fascinating anecdotes--Prof. Tigay's trip to Israel 35 years ago, during which his elderly female relative, Yona, insisted on translating a Hebrew episode of The Defenders to him in Yiddish, despite there being English subtitles; the Forward Association Director Samuel Norwich's announcement that the first Yiddish-English dictionary since 1968 will be published in the next few years, complete with technological terms (did you know that email in Yiddish is "plitzpost"?); and, best of all, Meir Ribalow's description of growing up in his illustrious, talent-seeker father's house: "I grew up in a home where making a lot of money was perfectly respectable--if you didn't have any real talent."
In literature anthologies, Harold U. Ribalow liked to publish then-unknown authors such as Saul Bellow, Bernard Malamud, Cynthia Ozick and Henry Roth--in other words, the gems of Jewish creativity that have made the last year of my intellectual life worthwhile.
I can't wait to read Manceau's book, Songs for the Butcher's Daughter, a novel about a Boston Catholic student's friendship with an elderly Yiddish speaker, as well as fascination with the Yiddish language and a Yiddishe maidel.
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