Sara had come to understand that she was fated to be the author of their stories as she was to be the author of her own life. The women in her family had always written letters to their daughters, and the chronicle she was writing would eventually be her own letter to Dove.
At first Sara found herself wrenching the material this way and that, trying to make a story with a moral. She started with the
pogrom
in the Pale and the death of little Dovie (as if she were making a movie), and then she followed Sarah to America on the creaky old ship. She liked the transition from the sweatshop to the grand "cottage" in the Berkshires, and she liked the love triangle with Levitsky and Sim Coppley. She liked Salome in Paris during
les années folles
and Salome's Berkshire odyssey. But no matter what she did, she could not find a conventional moral in the story. It astonished her that she should have been seeing a man named David (also called Dovie when he was little) during the research for her family history. Synchronicity…but what did all these more-than-coincidences mean?
Again and again, Sara came back to the question of whether women were better off now than they had been a hundred years earlier. It just was not
clear
. She wondered about old Sarah. "If I let her speak, what would she say?" Sara asked herself; and then answered herself by letting old Sarah narrate the beginning of her tale.
She remembered that early notebook in which she had written down the quote about making magic by telling a story.
We cannot light the fire,
we cannot speak the prayers, we do not know the place, but we can tell the story
of how it was done….
Wasn't
that
what she was doing?
And sometimes she caught herself dreaming Sarah's dreams or Salome's or even Sally's. For in truth she was all these women. Each of them had a part in making her who she was. But she was also herself. Their blood ran in her veins. Their DNA spiraled in her cells. Their memories teemed in her brain. She was telling a story—
their
story—the story of how one generation gave way to the next, the story of how the strengths of one generation rescued the next generation even in its darkest moments.
When we dream, we invent our own memories, and this is also true when we write. The holy teachers were right: telling a story
is
a kind of prayer, a kind of meditation, a sacred act. It makes magic happen.
Or is the story
itself
the magic?
The exhibition was only a way of beginning. Sara used the exhibition as a means of getting into the story. But at the same time as she was being a good little girl with Lisette and the board members, she was telling the true, the secret history in her own way—whether or not the Council approved its contents. And as she wrote, she began to see that only by telling
this
particular story, by inventing memory itself, would she be free to go on with her life.
But who would be the heroine? Sarah Sophia, Salome, Sally—or Sara herself? Did it really matter? After all, wasn't
she
the portrait painter with the robber baron bleeding on her stoop, and the flapper in Paris who goes home to find her country sunk in Depression, and the singer of the sixties who throws away her talent and her life? She had to try on the souls of all these women in order to become herself.
And so she began with what she knew had to be the first line of her story.
Sometimes, in dreams, my firstborn son comes back to me….
A Note on
Inventing Memory
Inventing Memory—
the book was originally called
Of Blessed
Memory—
grows out of my fascination with Jewish families in America and how they have enriched our culture. Memory is at the center of my tale because memory is at the very heart of Jewishness. Jews are people who can't sleep until they have told their story. No wonder so many of us become writers.
Of course there were Jews in America before the Revolution, but the greatest migrations took place at the beginning of the twentieth century, before the First World War. The first generation of Eastern European Jewish novelists who came to America told stories about the rise out of the ghetto, like Michael Gold's
Jews Without Money
or Anzia Yezierska's
Bread Givers
. Later Jewish writers became more assimilated and more learned. Philip Roth and Cynthia Ozick were influenced not just by the ghetto but also by Henry James. It was only when Asian-American and African-American writers began to raise their voices in the seventies, eighties, and nineties that we were prompted to rediscover our ethnicity in a new way.
Often I've been inspired to write books that tell previously untold stories. In the case of
Inventing Memory
I wanted to focus on Jewish women, who had largely received a bum rap from male writers. I wanted to write about their tenacity and ferocity. I was aware of the leadership of Jewish women in the labor union movement, the settlement house movement, and the civil rights movement. I wanted to account for the fervor that drove them to change the world. It was their Jewishness and femaleness that led them to empathize with the oppressed. And their concern was not only with their own people but with all suffering humanity.
But the most important theme in this novel is the theme of memory. Memory and creativity cannot be divided. Jews believe that as long as the dead are remembered they aren't really dead. We believe in the immortality of the word. And we believe it is the word that makes us immortal.
After I published this book, it was my misfortune to have to sit on endless panels trying to define the Jewish-American writer. The more I talked about this subject the more I realized that a writer is a writer is a writer. It is our attempts to transcend our roots and find the universal in our stories that makes us writers, not wallowing in our ethnicity. Our ethnicity may provide us with rich compost out of which to grow, but unless we transcend the compost and make stories anyone can understand, we have not employed our sources well. This is the paradox of our fascination with ethnicity. We must move beyond it to full humanity to become useful to our readers.
My family was both typical and atypical of American Jewish families. My maternal grandfather arrived in New York from England, and before that Russia, and established himself as a commercial artist and portrait painter. My father was a musician who became a businessman. My mother and aunt were both painters. In writing about the eldest Sarah in my story, I was trying to imagine my grandfather's life had he been born a woman. I was also trying to imagine the march of the generations in America—the naked hunger of the first generation, the rebellions of the second and third, and the search for identity of the fourth.
Often in American Jewish families, there is competition between those who go into the arts and those who choose business—the age old seesaw between "making a living" and making life count. The drive to commit life to memory through art is very strong. We are always looking for something more, something to prove our lives were meaningful, and something to prove we did not live only to acquire things and bear children. Perhaps it's that relentless need to make our lives count that stimulates the envy of other groups and nurtures anti-Semitism. We seem to set a very high bar for ourselves and we seem never to be satisfied. Perhaps people who can't sleep attract the hatred of those who would rather dream their way through life. Our inability to be easily satisfied roils us up and also inspires jealousy in the people around us. That is both our blessing and our curse.
—Erica Jong New York City, February 2007
Glossary of Yiddish Terms
alivai
I hope, I wish, if only I had
alter cocker
old fart
bar mitzvah/bat mitzvah
boy’s/girl’s coming-of-age cere
mony at age thirteen
beshert
destined
bissel
little
boychick
a kid
broykis
angry, resentful
brucha
a blessing
bubbameisehs
old wives’ tales
challah
Sabbath bread
chazerei
junk, worthless things (literally,
pork)
cheder
Hebrew elementary school
chuppah
wedding canopy
chutzpah
nerve, brass
das kind
the baby
der fremde
the foreign world (America)
doven
pray
dreyer
operator
du bist eine Yankee
you are a Yankee
dybbuk
spirit
emis
truth
eppis
thus
feh!
pooh!
fersteh?
understand?
feygele
male homosexual (literally, little
bird)
fussgeyers
those who go on foot (especially
across Europe)
ganaiven
thieves
ganse meshpocheh
the whole family
gay vais
go know (who could have known?)
gelt
money
gevalt
expression of astonishment
gonif
thief or chiseler
goy, goyim; goyishe
gentile, gentiles; gentile (adj.)
goykopf
gentile mind
greeneh, greener
newly arrived immigrant—a
greenhorn
gruber yung
upstart
kaddish
mourner’s prayer
kayne hore
may the evil eye be avoided
kiddush cup
ritual wine goblet
kishkes
guts
klezmer
musicians
kopeck
Russian currency
kreplach
dumpling
kum mit mir
come with me
kurveh
loose woman
kvell
swell with pride
kvetch
nag
landsman, landsleit
countryman, countrymen, particu
larly from the same town
luftmensch
a person with his feet firmly
planted in air
malech ha-movis
angel of death
mamichka, mamanyu, mamele
darling little mother
matzo
unleavened flat bread for Passover
mayne kind, mayne shayner kind
my child, my beautiful child
mayne leben, mayne neshoma, mayne libe
my life, my soul, my love
mayne schwester, mayne shayner schwester
my sister, my beautiful sister
menorah
candelabra for Chanukkah
meshuggeh, meshuggeneh
crazy
mikveh
ritual bath
minyan
quorum of ten men needed for a
religious service
mishegas
madness
mit geschmecht
with pleasure
naches
pride
narishkeit
nonsense
nebbish
weak, helpless person
nu
so?
nudnick
fool
oleha ha-sholom
rest in peace
pflommen
plums
pisher
jerk, squirt
pogrom
anti-Semitic raid
punim
face
pushke
collection box for charity
schlepper
one who drags, goes slow
schmearer
someone who bribes people/or a
bad painter
schmegegge
fool
schnorrer
leech, sponge, moocher (literally,
beggar)
schreiber
writer
schtupping
fucking
sechel
smarts, wisdom, common sense
shabbas goy
the gentile who lights candles on
the Sabbath when Jews are forbiden to work
shande
scandal, shame
shaygetz
gentile boy
sheitl
wig worn by Orthodox wives
shicker
drunk
shifskarte
ship’s ticket
shiksa
gentile woman
shoah
holocaust
shreiing
screaming
shtetl
village
shul
synagogue
sitsfleish
tenacity
starke
strong man, tough guy
street speilers
kids who dance in the street
takeh
so, thus
trayfe
unkosher food
tsuris
troubles
tush
behind, bottom
vantz
prick
veys nicht
I don’t know
yenta
busybody (female)
zaydeh
grandfather