I don’t know about you, but my Christmas wish list is jam-packed with books. What with a new Margaret Atwood, the Giller short list, and shelves of new and compelling non-fiction, I will have serious eye-strain come the end of January!

Mind you, I still haven’t gotten through the stack of hardcovers I got as gifts last year. It’s not like books go bad, so I will be able to read and re-read them over the decades, but I hate feeling like I’m missing something special.

Many years ago, I got a copy of A.S. Byatt’s Possession for Christmas. Reading that vast, glorious book changed the course of my academic career.

Although it wasn’t a gift, I was similarly entranced by Marion Zimmer Bradley’s The Mists of Avalon when I read it as an impressionable teen. To this day, I listen for women’s voices, or lack of them, when considering our culture’s canon.

Another of my favourites is Pamela Dean’s Tam Lin. That novel took me back to my days at Luther College in Regina, and made me believe that fairy-tale characters walk the corridors of all private schools. I try to read it every September.

What similarly life-changing book awaits me on my “to-read” shelf? Neil Gaiman’s Anansi Boys and Maria Snyder’s newest series could be contenders, along with the most recent P.D. James.

I had better get reading.

I’d love to hear about the books that changed your lives. Restless Writers, chime in!

Best wishes to everyone for a wonderful holiday and a productive new year.

Maria

So to sum up the fishing, well lets let the pictures do the talking. Oh and just like Sanford and Son, I have welcomed a new boat to my collection. I needed another raft for smallies, and those rivers that eat hard bottom boats for breakfast. So I had to break her in this past Sunday on the Watauga. Since the TVA has decided to spill the dam, we decided to do a upper river float to search for some hungry browns. The fishing was slow, but steady, and like usual we came through with one respectable fish. My amigo Frodo sealed the deal on a fine colored up female brown. Ok enough rambling, heres the porn!

My new ride! like I needed another!

Frodo with Mrs. Leroy. She is all colored up ready to tango!

Frodo saying his goodbye's with a tear in his eye!

Here is a nice wild brown that I picked up chunking streamers at dusk.

Murphy and Mr. Leroy ! Nothing like pre-spawn browns on your favorite wild stream!

Murph using an old trestle as a spotting platform.

Yet another victim of our exploits!

This guy looks like he could eat a small child! Small creek'n rocks!

Ahhhhh!

We rescued this dog during a recent float, she was trying to swim to my boat for some reason, but almost drowned in the swift current. She has done the boat thing before, she knew right where to sit.

Can you say BUTTER!

Well thats all for now. Heading to NY next week, so hopefully we will have a wild tale to share with you. 

Ryan

I’m reading Andrew Pyper’s The Killing Circle. In Part One, the reader is introduced to protagonist Patrick Rush, a “recently widowed journalist and failed novelist,” according to the blurb. 

In one of the best expressions of a writer’s envy I’ve ever read, Patrick explains why he got to hate reading the New York Times Review of Books:

“The reviews themselves rarely mattered. In fact, I usually couldn’t finish reading the remotely positive ones. As for the negative ones, they too often proved to be insufficient salves to my suffering. Even the snarkiest vandalism, the baldest runs at career enders, only acted as reminders that their victims had produced something worth pissing on. Oh, to awaken on a rainy Sunday and refuse to get out of bed on account of being savaged in the Times! What a sweet agony that would be, compared to the slow haemorrhaging in No Man’s Land it was to merely imagine creating words worthy of Newspaper of Record contempt.” (p. 20-21, Seal Books, August 2009).

Before his life goes to hell in a hand basket—as lives do in thrillers—Patrick joins a writing circle. Da da…DAA!

Perhaps my fellow Restless Writers would like to pick up a copy. I also recommend The Wildfire Season by the same author.

Maria

I recently read Brian Stanley’s new book “The World Missionary Conference, Edinburgh 1910 (Studies in the History of Christian Missions).”

I read this book wondering what may have been learned among Protestant church mission leaders during the 20th century. My biggest question as I read this book: DID THIS EVENT “ENLARGE THE STORY”? In other words, was the presence of “younger churches” heard? Brian Stanley has provided a thorough and useful study, a snap shot of the state of Christian Missions at the height of Western Christendom.

Probably the most important appeal made at the conference was that the “individualistic view of the missionary task must now be ‘entirely abandoned’.” (p.133)

I have selected some excerpts for those interested in what happened at that event.

p. 4 – “…however vibrant the state of missionary passion among the evangelical public may have been in 1910, the intended appeal of the conference was not to the popular Christian imagination so much as to the concentrated attention of serious Christian minds. “A Grand Council for the Advancement of Missionary Science.”

p. 16 – Two intermingled voices of the conference:

The first and most audible – boundless optimism and unsullied confidence in the ideological and financial powers of western Christendom.

The second – “the more muted and discerning voice, heard periodically throughout the text of the Commission reports, and deriving from the more astute serving missionaries whose questionnaire replies formed the raw material for the reports. The voice spoke of crisis and opportunity, of challenge and competition, and occasionally even of threat and danger.”

p. 25 – “emphasis was to be on study and consultation by the leaders of the foreign missionary forces of the world concerning the large and most vital questions of missionary opportunity and policy.” (Apparently following the template of the Shanghai conference in 1907)

p. 33 – Eight Commissions – reports allowed only 7 minutes.

p. 99 – If the African churches were deemed to be insufficiently ‘advanced’ to merit their own representatives, it was not simply because these churches were young in years, but also because their members were thought to be starting from much further back in the process of human development than were Christian converts in Asia. Africans were regarded as “primitive, childlike, and at the bottom of the evolutionary hierarchy, relatively unimportant in the future of the world church.”
There were no Africans present and no one noticed.

p. 108 – The young Chinese made a profound impact, even “disturbing” through two speeches. … urging … not to be afraid to allow Chinese Christians to assume the challenge of sustaining and managing its own life. Cheng’s second speech to the debate of the report of the Commission VIII on “cooperation and the promotion of unity” – “Without question, the best speech.” Cheng presented a vision of a church in China without the denominationalism of Europe. Was this the beginning of post-denominationalism?
Was Cheng correct saying denominationalism and nationalism limit apostolic missionary power? If so, how do we now respond 100 years later?

However, some commissioners, including Gairdiner, pushed back – claiming Cheng was “artless” and apparently naive of fundamental ecclesiology.

p. 111- Nationalism issue emerged with Japan’s delegates. “The spirit of nationalism, so deeply stirring in all lands, found utterance again and again at the conference. …China, Japan, India must bring their own traditions and their own passion of patriotism into a Church of Christ, truly become also the Church of China, Japan, India. Missions exist to make missions unnecessary.” Japan especially demanded autonomy.

p. 112 – Rev Dr. Harada Tasuku (studied at Chicago, Yale, with Ph.D in England and Germany.) Prof. Japanese History, Literature, Language – Dean of new dept. of Asian studies at U. Hawaii. Spoke three times at Edinburgh – Expressed his indebtedness to western theology, while arguing for uniquely Asian expressions of Christianity. He argued that “a church’s expression of faith should grow naturally out of the distinctive Christian life and spiritual experience of its adherents.” He urged that christianity’s should teach bible without too much of our interpretation, and then be patient as well as watchful to await the outcome of the Christian life in non-Christian lands.”

p. 113 – The heart of Harada’s paper was an exposition from an organic liberal Protestant perspective of the essential qualities of the three Asian nations could offer to the body of Christ.

p. 123 – Samuel Azariah – Anglican from S. India – very upset about his 3rd class treatment during his travels, later being told to dress in a turban, etc.

p. 124 – Made remarks with this backdrop “The problem of race relationships is one of the most serious confronting Christianity today.” He went on to complain of ‘a certain aloofness, a lack of mutual understanding and openness, a great lack of frank intercourse and friendliness’ between European missionaries and their national Christians.

p. 125 – He identified the problem as the “financial structures of mission movement.” Which he revealed was a “failure of basic Christian spirituality.”

p. 128 – This speech was the first shot in what became the campaign against missionary imperialism.

p. 130 – Speer’s review of these key Asian speakers was that “true listening to their message had been, at best, partial.” Speer had a “progressive enthusiasm” for “a substantial modification of our interpretation of Christianity.”

p. 133 – Important general conclusion – “individualistic view of the missionary task must now be ‘entirely abandoned’. The church on the mission field could no longer be regarded as a mere by-product of mission work, but the ‘most efficient element in Christian propaganda.” – The church was not simply the goal but also the instrument of mission.

p. 136 – church structures and emergence of new “overtly episcopal role of missionaries” among independent Baptist and Congregationalists guaranteeing voice for laity.

p. 145 – only one Indian church being wholly self-governing, self supporting, self propagating in Orrissa
Baptist do not have power over churches, so no transfer necessary

p. 160 – theology “must be written afresh for every fresh race” and “not misrepresented as if it were no more than a precipitation from the antiquated text-books of the West.”
“what was conspicuously lacking was a ‘living form of Christian knowledge’ …

p. 163 – “a vigorous theology..is likely to arise…”

p. 176 – “three aims of missionary education – evangelization, edification, and leavening”

p. 164 – “the churches of Europe & america should…give “full authority” to modify western forms…”

p. 195 – The vision of heaven is one where the cultural gifts of the nations are brought to the holy city

p. 198 – determined mission boards should not emphasize leavening function of christianity education

p. 216 – Howells saw no comparison between Christianity & Hinduism, rather approach should be the commendation of the person of Christ.

p. 222 – Hogg rejects view that Christianity is fulfillment of Hinduism.

p. 224 – The missionary should point out differences, to “upset the equilibrium of Hindu consciousness” -a dialectic approach offering Christ as Satisfier to those with a newfound sense of need.

p. 228 – Gaidner (Anglican expert on Islam) said it’s explicit attitude was to “supersede” the original Revelation of Jesus. Therefore, not compatible.

p. 229 – “Islam is the greatest direct contradiction of christianity.. (and) could not be said to be a preparation for christianity.”

p. 236 – The Commission found nothing in Africa “fetish belief” that was a help, consolation.

p. 238 – Most respondents saw no congruence with tribal high god and Christian deity.

With so much going on, I don’t even know where to begin. So I ‘ll give it a try. The past few weeks on my beloved Watauga river have been superb (ok that sounded ghey, shall I say kick ass). With the onset of fall, cooler temps, and excellent water levels I have bent, manipulated, and rearranged my work schedule to allow me to float at least twice a week. The fish were active, along with midges and craneflies. Over the past few weeks I have been fishing hard, sticking some nice fish and having the river to myself, not to mention I have become an unofficial guide! No, I ain’t guiding people illegally, I am just following up on promised trips to friends and family. This past Wednesday I took my wife and her friend Katie fishing on the Watauga. Picture this if you will, two women, dual nymph rigs, no experience to speak of, and you get my drift. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised.
Not to bore everyone with every detail, I will cut to it. The fishing was off the hook, the girls manned up and caught fish. Not to mention Katie is hooked for life thanks to yours truely. Although I do have to mention the funniest moment, well funniest moments of the trip. I was teaching Katie to dry fly fish and we were casting to risers just in front of the boat. We see this nice 16″ football of a bow just gorging himself on midges, so I have her cast to him. “Bam” he smashes the size 22 Griffith’s Gnat, Katie sets the hook and then begins to strong arm the trout as if she was marlin fishing. Knowing the attitude of the Watauga rainbows I start screaming let him run, let go of the line. Well it was to late. The fish made a quick turn and took off spitting the fly. That was some of the funniest stuff I have seen in a while. Now the second blooper was when Katie was trying to net a fish for me, she slipped, feet went flying and she landed on her rump in the 50 degree water. That is one of those moments where you ask if they are ok, and then bust out laughing.

Katie and Leroy

Now my wife Angela has fished with me before, but here lately she has chose to sun her self on the lake instead of fishing. So with the cooler temps on the way she opted to fish instead. Dry flies, streamers, forget about it. She is a nymph fishing junkie, not because it produces, but because you get to use a bobber! Angela rode the rear of the boat all day and played clean-up. She put on a clinic on how to hook and land a fish, and then promptly cast into a tree and lose my flies. I love you honey, but if you lose one more fly, I am going to self destruct.

Posing with Mr. Trucha.

Ok, the women are happy, its around lunch time, I anchor the boat for a little wade fishing. It just so happens to be in a spot where a nice slab-o-bow lives. I have fished this same fish for a month, and on our first meeting he broke me off. He resides in a little back eddy and can be found eating small morsels as they float by. It seems everytime I fish to him, he knows it and leaves the area. So this time I opt for a different approach. From past lessons learned, I scrapped the bobber, weight and any fly bigger than a 20. I extend my leader to 10 ft and 6x. I grab my midge box and proceed to tie on, fish to him, tie on, fish to him, tie on fish to him, you get my point. Finally after the gazillionth refusal I set back and watch him for a while. Now with my bag of tricks nearly exhausted, I opt for a small BWO split case (sz 22), and I begin to sight nymph with no indicator. He ignores the first drift, but on the second drift he moves over and inhales the fly. Game on, he instantly shakes his head and tears off up stream for the deeper water. So I follow, stumbling the whole way. Next he tries to take me under the rocks, but with a little side pressure and luck, I thwart off his attack. Soon he realizes this isn’t working, so he makes a blistering run down stream. I follow helplessly. Finally I coax him near shore, and this is where Katie(who has never netted a fish) tries to net him. Well like I mentioned earlier, she busted her arse while trying. Luckily a local guide was fishing on his day off (Your the man Evan Merril, Elk Creek outfitters) was just down river watching this fiasco in the making. He promptly grabs his net and runs up to assist. With a quick scoop the turmoil was over and one hell of a Rainbow was brought to hand. I was happy as a pig in crap! Now I have caught bigger fish, but this fish will always stick in my memory because of the for-mentioned events and the fact he was sight fished.

Slab-O-Bow, and yes I look like an idiot, but an idiot holding a nice fish!

Now he only measured 20 inches, but I would estimate him in the 4 to 5 pound range. That fish has ate well, just look at his girth (no pun intended).

Lie Detector!

One more shot.

All in all it has been a great fall so far! I am going to post some pics from the previos trip, a trip where the bottom dropped out of the sky and the fishing was epic! Enjoy….

Ryan

This proves you can sleep in a drift boat!

The calm before the storm!

Angela showing off her skills (and small trout)!

First fish of the day, no more shunk!

The storm is about to hit!

Nothing like a rainy Saturday to curl up with a great book. Next on my reading list is The Children’s Book by A.S. Byatt. I, unfortunately, have not had the opportunity to enjoy it yet.

Here’s how the day has gone so far:

5:00 a.m. Woken up by the sound of our newest cat, Mary Piper, knocking over her water dish. Found and used the paper towels, sighed, and made some coffee. Read the Saturday Star.

6:00 a.m. Went for a long walk. Tried a bit of jogging to counteract the evil-but-delicious hunk of cake I had during a farewell party for a work colleague. Gave up and counted rabbits instead. Still felt virtuous. Early in the morning, watching the sun rise and breathing in the scent of grass and wild chives, it felt like anything could happen.

7:00 a.m. Walked to grocery store for more milk. Remembered to bring reusable bags for once. Had breakfast (fresh apple lattice tarts).

8:00 a.m. Showered. Watched infomercials while brushing my teeth.

9:00 a.m. Worked on my current indexing project for about an hour. Avoided getting distracted by laundry.

10:00 to 11:00 a.m. Continued to work on indexing. I now know a lot about glaciers and glacial landforms. Next chapter—soil erosion.

11:00 a.m. Jeremy wants an early lunch; I am persuaded. We have hot beef sandwiches on rye with gravy, potato salad and pickles. Nap is inevitable.

12:00 noon to 1:00 p.m. Yes, I napped. For a whole hour. Sue me.

1:00 p.m. Once again woken up by feline fumblings. This time it was Two-Wee, asking nicely but incessantly for food. I served my furry master and yawned my way downstairs for more coffee.

2:00 p.m. Drove out to my sister’s place for a quick visit with her and my new niece. Visit turned into a Doogal marathon (my other niece’s favourite movie). Finally said my farewells and headed back home. Rain started. While driving down Highway 6, I thought about stopping by at Beckie’s. I debated with myself: I can’t just show up without calling. Sure you can! Anyway, her phone number is in your cell. I left my cell at home. No, it’s right there, in your purse. I’m sure she’s visiting with her family—or even sleeping in. You’ll never know unless you call. But I have to go work on my index. Oh, you have all night. Live a little. Go, have a nice visit! Okay, I will. But it was too late—I’d already reached Brant Street. (Sorry Beckie! I’ll see you next week.)

Present time: I’m back at the computer, 400 pages of geomorphology waiting for my attention, and I decide to catalogue my day. I didn’t get to my novel, but there are still hours to go before I sleep. I actually feel productive.

Maybe I’ll have time to crack that new book after all.

What have my fellow Restless Writers been up to today?

Maria

So it seems the “Dog Days of Summer” have arrived, and most of the trout rivers we frequent are low, clear, and crowded. After a few ball buster days with the river crowds and snooty trout we decided to chase some “Bronze”. While Fall and Spring seem to be peak times for trout, the heat of summer is when the Smallies go banana’s.

Now it was decision time. Living in a smallmouth mecca, it was down to choosing the best river to float. Being that the New River is a world famous smallmouth factory, it was a no brainer. Since the Wookie lives in the upper reaches of WV, and the hobbit and I live in and around NC, we decided to meet in the middle. The decision was made to float two sections below Bluestone Lake near Hinton, WV.

The Hobbit and I met “The Wookie” aka Murphy on the river Saturday morning and we embarqued on our first trip down the New.

I will spare those with short attention spans with a long detailed report. Instead I will let my pretty little pictures tell the rest of the story, along with subcaptions, so you will get my drift. Oh, since the Hobbit is to lazy to send me pictures from his camera, I will have to post some more pics in a few days. That being said, there were an estimated 100 fish caught in a day and a half, to include a beast of a Carp that slapped Murphy in the face as it broke him off.

Ok, Ok, here are the pictures…

On the road to WV.

The New River

The Hobbit known as Frodo on stick duty.

The Bounty

Frodo slingin meat!

Yours truly with Mr. Redeye.

Lunch.......Yes I know what your thinking, but its really good!

My super sweet photography skills, or was the Rum and Coke induced tremors.

We had a visitor.

Bronze

Lodging

Oh so pretty !

Wookie and Mr. C-bass.

Those are some might big lips you have !

This is all I have until Frodo produces the rest of the pic’s. I will post a follow-up in a day or two.

Until then,

Ryan

I just inherited the full Encyclopaedia Britannica for 2002, and, I must say, the books look quite impressive, lined up neat and tidy across one shelf. The black binding looks official, an impression strengthened by the logo, an engraved gold thistle. The spines still bear orange “For Library Use Only” stickers, which I can’t remove without damaging the covers.

The books were an unexpected gift. An Oakville woman found my name on the Indexing Society of Canada’s website. She had bought the whole set for $15 from a book sale held by the Friends of the Oakville Public Library, thinking it would be helpful as she started an indexing career. At 80, perhaps she was being a bit optimistic. Her husband’s failing health led her to cast aside her indexing ambitions and to box up all 29 volumes (not counting the index and propaedia).

I’m happy to take books if they’re offered. I do have a frugal side, and the 2002 Encyclopaedia Britannica set was probably worth a few thousand when acquired by the library. At the same time, I was gifted with two newspaper style guides, Whitaker’s Almanac 2000, and The Unofficial Guide to Hockey’s Most Unusual Records.

Over the years, I’ve accepted carton after carton of old books. Friends and family know their old sci-fi novels and beach-read doorstops will find a good home with me. Why not? I’ll read anything.

I have also accepted slightly dated non-fiction books in the past. Just yesterday, I came across a third edition of Written Communication in Business, a 1971 college textbook. I can picture this book being carted from class to class by pony-tailed young women—women destined for careers as secretaries, women well positioned to find and wed promising businessmen. There is an entire chapter on dictation, and, of course, no mention of e-mail.

While I likely won’t use this textbook to improve my writing, I can get a better picture of the mechanics and context of business communication in the ‘70s. What would a student of business need to know before sitting down to write a report? How has resume writing changed in the past 35 years? (Would you believe readers were counseled to include their height and weight in a job application?) Was the semi-colon as detested as it is today?

While some second-hand pieces of my library find their way up to the cottage—Nora Roberts and Debbie Macomber being the most likely to be banished—books like the communication textbook will probably stay right where they are. The same goes for other found dated gems, like my second edition of Fowler’s Modern English Usage; a decade-old Canadian atlas; and a book on the best home-based businesses of the ‘90s.

As a writer living in and observing the world, I know the books I purchase will fade away, lose their immediacy, become old-fashioned, quaint, archaic. Yet those same resources are the ones that remind me that all I can do is record my own brief moment in time. The instant I write one word, the world has already changed. I am a new person by the time I finish a sentence. Yet that moment of change is what gives each piece its own luminous, eternal significance.

I’m sure I’ll cherish my new/old set of encyclopaedias. The Internet can take me only so far, and I don’t completely trust the communal and changeable nature of Wikipedia. While the encyclopaedias won’t help me if I want to read up on current events, I still value their physical heft and their thoughtful essays. I am left gaping in wonder that all those volumes still only manage to capture just one brief, bright perspective of a vast and varied humanity.

So, a question for my fellow Restless Writers: what resource in your library gives you a nostalgic thrill?

Maria McDonald

It seems that we have been blessed with an infinite amount of rain, which has reeked havoc on our local waters. This includes our tail-waters. So, in a desperate attempt to find floatable water I looked South to the great state of Georgia for some relief.

I knew they had been pounded by rain, but the TVA wasn’t flooding the Georgia rivers as bad as they were those of East Tenn. So after a phone call to the crew at Unicoi Outfitters to check river conditions and shuttle options, Chris and I were headin’  South by Southwest bound for Georgia. That was after I slept off the hangover from the King George concert the night before.

We  showed up around noonish Sat, skiff in tow and gathered the remaining info needed to launch our assault on the Toccoa River.

Several attempts were made to locate a shuttle, but it seemed no one wanted to answer the phone. So we said F’it, lets float and hitch hike back. So off to the Blue Ridge Dam to launch the X-13 off one of the sketchiest launches I have used yet.

After dragging the skiff across rocks and mud, she was in the water, and we quickly set out to get ahead of the impending generation.

The water was clear and cold. Chris, my fishing amigo, and relative of the Hobbit, began sticking fish immediately on streamers. Now they were on the small side, but they were wild trout. The day progressed nicely, with fish being picked up in every run and riffle. As we approached the trestle I was lucky enough to tangle with a nice 18 inch piece of chrome that put on a acrobatic display for all to see. Shortly after she was caught and released, I hooked the SS Fat Chick, but after two aerial assaults the behemoth spit my fly and left me with the fishing version of “blue balls”.


OK back to the story, so we floated through the sketchiest trestle I have ever seen. Not to mention I had to pull the oars in completely. So here is my quote for the day, “Never Says I, will I float this section on generation”.

I would sink the skiff for sure. So once we slid through the pylons, we met a feeder creek dumping tons of chocolate milk into the river. Needless to say fishing slowed for the day. We eventually made the take out and was happy to find some locals loading their canoes. After a bribe and some beers they offered me a ride to the dam, which was what I was hoping for. Although I kept hearing banjo music and the one guy kept referring to a pig squealing, I made it to the truck in one piece.

Day two came early, and after locating a shuttle the Hobbit and I were off down the river. The fishing was slow that morning and the fish seemed lethargic. We made our way to the trestle with just a few fish to boat. I was kinda bummed, knowing the rest of the river would be mucked up. But to my surprise, it wasn’t. now it wasn’t gin clear like the upper section, but it was clear enough to see the bottom.

So like usual, Chris slammed the banks and cuts with a streamer as I rowed the river. At one point Chris began screaming that he just missed a pig, so naturally I start cursing him for his premature Bill Dance style hook set. Then he says the fish never took, so again I start screaming throw it back, quick quick, throw it back! He did, and “bam”, a slab of a bow inhaled the bugger. This fish was so fat that it could hardly make it out of the water. So after a match of “tug-a-war”, and “lets dodge the net”, she was brought to hand. She was estimated to be around 21 inches and 5 lbs. Not exact, but a close guess. Thats my story and I am sticking to it !

Ok, so like I mentioned before the fishing had been slow. It was cold, windy, and raining. We made it to an area similar to the ledges on the Watauga. Low and behold an epic Sulphur hatch was taking place. The wind was blowing them everywhere, it looked like thousands of little sailboats. Fish were rising as I sat there with my mouth open. I mean this is BWO weather, this isn’t suppose to happen on days like today. But it was, and it looked like snout soup in the riffles and runs.

So, the dries came out and the rest of the day was spent racking up double digit fish counts. It was the day of days. Even though we made it to the take out 45 minutes late, where “Gunny” was waiting. Gunny is an older fellow who provides shuttles to us river bums.


Now a tid bit about my skiff. This some of the shallowest water I have ever run it in, and man did she perform. I was expecting to have to drag her over numerous shoals. Only once did I have to set foot out of the boat to drag. We were drafting in 3 inches of water loaded, and 2 inches with our fat arses out of the boat. I watched canoes get hung in areas we breezed through. So, my hat is off to Royce at Premier for a “Super Bad Azz Skiff”.

Ryan

This verse by Lewis Carroll is remarkable for more than its’ somber tone.

It can be read both down and across.

Well three days off turned into one, and that will probably turn into none by the end of the day.  I ain’t complaining though,  I need the loot.  After I found out I was working today I threw my crap in the truck and headed to the closest DH stream to molest some fresh stockers for an hour, and molest them I did.  That will probably be the last time I have a rod in my hand till Friday. (That’s what she said.)  With Ryan and Murphy dicking around in Florida I have decided to enlighten all of you savages with a literary review.

A couple of months ago, I entered Departure Publishing’s contest to win a copy of the new book, The Alaska Chronicles by Miles Nolte (a.k.a Gaper from Buster Wants to Fish).  Strangely enough I won and my autographed copy arrived in the mail a few weeks ago.

The book is based off of Gaper’s blog, on the Drake Forum in 2007, on the trials, tribulations, and just plain awesomeness that goes along with being a guide at a remote Alaska Lodge.  I am a guide as well, but rarely do I have to worry about clients being eaten by bears, jet motors breaking down, or dealing with camp feces.  Alaska guides are pretty hardcore compared to us fat lazy shop guides in the lower 48.  With my Bacchus-like appetite for booze, female companionship, and porcelain thrones, I am not sure how I would do up there.  Although, having shots at 30″ rainbows would definitely make me reconsider my attachment to indoor plumbing…maybe, I really LOVE the sound of toilets flushing my waste away.

The Chronicles does strike a common chord with me as far as the demands of guiding.  I know some of you out there are saying to yourselves, “What an asshole.  Demands of guiding? You get to be on a river all day and get paid for it.”  While there are a lot of upsides to guiding, there is also a big potential for burnout.  There are only so many days in a row you can smile and tell your clients that it is no big deal that they just yanked the fly out of a twenty incher’s mouth, or that you really don’t mind untangling the 50th bird’s nest they created because they will not listen to a word you say about the importance of the pause in the  back cast.  There are days that  all you want to do is go home and beat the shit out of the dog because you just got stiffed on a tip because the clients didn’t know they were supposed to tip.  I am now working myself into a frenzy and will require an IV of thorazine stat.

Back to the book, the chapters are pretty much organized as blog entries and cover all the highs and lows of Gaper’s season.  In all seriousness Gaper can turn a phrase with the best of them and I really appreciated his writing style.  This book will make some of you want to leave the wife and kids and head out for the wilds of Alaska.  While others will be inspired to do nothing more than read it while on the crapper and laugh.  Either way, the book  is worth a read, and a hearty round of Internet cat calls should go to Tosh Brown at Departure Publishing, and Miles Nolte (Gaper) for putting out a book that doesn’t suck.

Till next time,

Nymph-o

I’ve always been an advocate of the benefits of reading. It increases your vocabulary, exposes you to strange syntax and the Methods of Metaphor, fuels your imagination, and banishes bus stop boredom without fail (unless you finish your book and don’t have a spare). I also encourage reading because I like to write, and I ain’t writing to the wall, damnit.

I’m also, now, an advocate of reading the news. Because there are only so many books in the world, but newspapers are constant, and frequently amusing – especially if you read The “Bunch Of Filthy Liberal Tree-Hugging Hippies” Grauniad (Disclaimer: I am a Filthy Liberal Tree-Hugging Hippy. I read The Grauniad.).

The topics of my book reading and those of my newspaper reading, though, tend to be significantly different. I read mostly read fantasy, some sci-fi thrown in – but my staples are Trudi Canavan and Terry Pratchett. However, I recently found myself reading A Thousand Splendid Suns, and then Khaled Hosseini’s other novel, The Kite Runner. I won’t review them; they’re both excellent books, and there is surely a plethora of reviews already available. I thoroughly enjoyed them both.

They do bring with them, though, a somewhat uncomfortable home truth. I, and probably most of their other western readers, am utterly ignorant. Afghanistan has never been a topic I’ve professed to know much about, but I did think I knew the basics of its history and some of the cause of its ongoing wars. Reading these two books has proven otherwise in a rather stark manner.

Of course, the sequence of events hasn’t changed from what I knew – the succession of kings, presidents, and a coalitions which are largely to blame for the violence in Afghanistan are as I had remembered them. But the less easily quantified differences; relationships between the different regions, the conditions under each of these governments and the experience of the population during transitions between them; are all worryingly new to me.

Since reading Hosseini’s books, I’ve also read a few journalistic articles about Afghanistan – it makes me somewhat uncomfortable to read them and realise that, were it not for two works of realistically-set fiction that I happened upon by chance, I wouldn’t understand them nearly as well. The difference between reading “she is from Hazarajat” and thinking “Oh, right then.”; and reading it and thinking “That’s interesting, until not too long ago she would have been considered a second-class citizen, even more so because she’s a woman. She probably also comes from a family whose version of Islam conflicts with that of many of the people she’s now living with, and certainly with that of the government…” is worryingly immense. It puts the information in a whole new light.

And yet, knowledge of differences like these is common knowledge in Afghanistan and in neighbouring countries – not knowing these things would be like a Westerner not knowing that Switzerland has banks, or that French culture involves lots and lots of wine, or that the US has a problem with racism and homophobia.

It makes me feel stupid, to be honest. I’ve been forming opinions based on knowledge that I knew was basic, but that I considered reasonably sufficient for the kind of general questions I’d considered – turns out, it was nothing of the sort. It makes me inclined to read more, before I make myself look like a complete twazzock to someone more informed than I am.

That wasn’t a very geeky post, was it?

I’ve recently been eating my way through every one of Terry Pratchett’s amazing Discworld novels – and by recently, I mean since last June; Discworld books are the sort of thing which you feel guilty for speed-reading. Unsurprisingly, I have not been disappointed with the brilliant wit, irony and sarcasm Pratchett uses – I’m absolutely loving every word.

As such, you can imagine that when I saw this, while sitting in a corridor reading Interesting Times, my first thought was not “printing error”… but “Holy crap, Terry Pratchett is fantastic!”

You see, on page 47, Pratchett is describing the exceedingly eccentric workings of an ant-powered computer, built by a group of exceedingly neurotic wizards. The ants are aided by a mouse, thus when, as is inevitable, the whole thing breaks, it throws up this error message:

Don't mention it. ++?????++ Out of Cheese Error. Redo From Start.

It feels like a setup for what is to come. I did spend several minutes wondering whether it might be deliberate. It was certainly… not hilarious; but just perfect. In the same way that any person with a sense of humour will, upon first realising that the acronym for the British teachers’ trade union is “NUT”, sit in awed silence for a moment at the perfect aptitude of this beautiful coincidence; I was sitting there gaping, turning the pages, and thinking “But… it… what…” for quite some time.

You see, in what I consider to be a very good argument in favour of using robotics to do hard labour, it just so happened that the next section of the book was in fact the wrong section; but at the same time, so very much the right section.

Yup, back to page 1. Redo from start.
I want Terry Pratchett’s babies anyway; but if this had been deliberate, I might have even wanted them not for BBQing!

C. S. Lewis is clearly my favorite modern theologian, even if he wouldn’t call himself a theologian. I just listened to Great Divorce and Abolition of Man again over the holidays. I also re-read Mere Christianity recently. I’m anxious to see the play, Screwtape Letters, which was the first C. S. Lewis book I read before I had any notion of truly following Christ. Before I made that personal surrender to Christ’s lordship over my life in 1982, I read the above and Four Loves, Problem of Pain, Weight of Glory, A Grief Observed, and Surprised by Joy. Mere Christianity is what most impacted me. Knowing Christ is not irrational, not for the weak of mind. Acknowledging Jesus Christ as God in flesh is the greatest weight of glory, the greatest surprise of joy, the fullest understanding of love, the simplest and the most profound truth in all the universe. C.S. Lewis is an evangelist story teller. He crafts his truly brilliant words with an elegant brokenness.

What I most appreciate about Lewis is that he articulated a shared vision of Christianity. He didn’t present a  fundamentalist vs. a pentecostal vision. He didn’t set up Pharisaic fences and boundaries to exclude anyone. He didn’t argue over the small stuff. Rather, he did articulate the weight of God’s glory to people of the 20th Century, people like me. I’m glad so many, including my children, have come to love C.S. Lewis through his Narnia Chronicles. Clearly Lewis pushed through the Wardrobe and knew Aslan the Lion personally.

• Y. Yacoel – Memories 1941-1943; ed.Paratiritis 1993

• Γ.Γιακοέλ – Απομνημονεύματα 1941-1943; εκδ.Παρατηρητής 1993

Συγγρ. : Γιακοέλ, Γιομτώβ
Επιμελ. : Αμπατζοπούλου, Φραγκίσκη
123Σελ. Μαλακό εξώφυλλο 21χ14
ISBN : 960-260-757-2
1993-1 Θεσσαλονίκη
Γλώσσα : Ελληνικά,

Ελληνικά:

Εξέχον μέλος της Ισραηλιτικής Κοινότητας Θεσσαλονίκης, ο Γιομτώβ Γιακοέλ υπήρξε για 20 χρόνια νομικός της σύμβουλος και ασχολήθηκε με την πολιτική σε κοινοτικό και εθνικό επίπεδο. Επιπλέον υπήρξε από τους πιο σημαντικούς εντεταλμένους της Κοινότητας στις σχέσεις της με το Ελληνικό Κράτος και έτσι υπήρξε παρόν σε όλα τα σημαντικά γεγονότα της εποχής.

Τα απομνημονεύματα του καλύπτουν την περίοδο μεταξύ Απριλίου 1941, όταν η γερμανική Κατοχή μόλις είχε ξεκινήσει και τελειώνουν την πρώτη εβδομάδα του Μαρτίου του 1943 όταν το πρώτο βαγόνι μεταφοράς ζώων που περιείχε 2800 θεσσαλονικείς εβραίους ξεκίνησε για το Άουσβιτς. Και ο ίδιος εκτοπίσθηκε και δούλεψε στα ζοντερκομάντο, (την μεταφορά των πτωμάτων από τους θαλάμους αερίων στα κρεματόρια) – εκτελέσθηκε τον Απρίλιο του 1944.

Τα απομνημονεύματα του καλύπτουν όλες τις φάσεις της γερμανικής Κατοχής: τους ανθρώπους που τοποθέτησαν οι γερμανοί ως επικεφαλείς της Κοινότητας και τις αποτυχίες τους, τον αμφιλεγόμενο ρόλο του Αρχιραβίνου Κόρετζ, τους χιλιάδες εβραίους που είχαν επιταχθεί για καταναγκαστική εργασία στις ελληνική επαρχία και πέθαναν από ελονοσία, τα λύτρα που ζήτησαν οι γερμανοί για να τους απελευθερώσουν, τον ρόλο των ελληνικών Αρχών στην καταστροφή του νεκροταφείου, τα αντιεβραϊκά μέτρα των γερμανών και την ανάμεικτη αντίδραση του χριστιανικού πληθυσμού.

Το εξαιρετικό προσόν αυτού του βιβλίου είναι οτι δεν είναι επηρεασμένο από την μετέπειτα γνώση των γεγονότων. Αποτυπώνει με ακρίβεια και νηφαλιότητα τις σκέψεις, φόβους, ελπίδες και το κλίμα της εποχής χωρίς την πλήρη γνώση της γενοκτονίας που συνέβαινε εκείνη την στιγμή. Κατά την γνώμη μου είναι μια από τις πιο σημαντικές μαρτυρίες για την εξόντωση της εβραϊκής κοινότητας στην Θεσσαλονίκη και πραγματικά ανοίγει τα μάτια για το κλίμα της εποχής. Να σημειωθεί επίσης η εξαιρετική εισαγωγή της Φραγκίσκης Αμπατζοπούλου που συνοπτικά καταφέρει να παρουσιάσει τα κομβικά σημεία του ελληνικού Ολοκαυτώματος στα ιστορικά πλαίσια της εποχής,

English:

A prominent member of the Jewish Community of Thessaloniki, Yomtov Yacoel was for 20 years its legal adviser and involved in communal and national politics. He was one of the most important emissaries of the Community when dealing with the Greek State and thus he was involved first hand in all the major events of the era.

His memoirs cover the period between the April of 1941,when the german occupation of Greece had just began, and the first week of March of 1943, just a week before the first cattle train containing 2.800 Salonica Jews parted for Auschwitz. He himself was deported there, where he worked at the sonderkomando (the jews who transported the dead from the gas chambers to the crematoriums); he was shot on April 1944.

In his memoirs he deals with all the phases of the german occupation: the men that the germans put in charge of the Community and their failures, the role of the archirabbi Koretz, the thousands of jews who were commandeered into forced labor in the greek provinces and died of malaria, the ransom that the germans demanded to set them free, the anti-jewish attitude of the greek General Governor, the role of the greek authorities in the destruction of the jewish cemetery of Thessaloniki, the antisemitic measures of the germans and the mixed reaction of the christian population.

The extreme value of the book lies in the fact that it is untouched by a later knowledge of the events. It portrays accurately and with sobriety the thoughts, fears, hopes and the climate of the period without the complete knowledge of the genocide that was in act. In my eyes it is one of the most important testimonies on the extermination of the Jewish Community of Thessaloniki and a true eye-opener on the climate of that time. To be noted Fragiskis Abatzopoulou’s excelent introduction which succeeds in presenting concisely the key points of the greek Shoah/Holocaust in the historic context of the era.

Το ελληνικό εθνικό μας φαγητό παραδοσιακά έχει υπάρξει η φασολάδα. Το βιβλίο του Ηλία Πετρόπουλου “η Εθνική Φασουλάδα” ασχολείται με αυτό το πιάτο και μας δίνει την ευκαιρία να ρίξουμε μια ματιά στην εβραϊκή ζωή στην Θεσσαλονίκη πριν τον πόλεμο – μιλάει για μια εβραϊκή συνταγή που είμαι σίγουρος οτι λίγοι ξέρουν: την εβρέικη φασουλάδα, (κρατώ τον όρο του Πετρόπουλου γιατί αυτός είναι ο πρωταγωνιστής στην ιστορία μας σήμερα):

“Στο βιβλίο του Ι.Μ.Ματαράσσο Κι ομως όλοι τους δεν πέθαναν (1948) κάποιος όμηρος, ενώ αφηγείτο την τραγωδία του στα χιτλερικά στρατόπεδα θανάτου, αναφέρθηκε στο φαγητό φασόλια αλά-εβραϊκά. Ο Ματαράσσο δεν εξήγησε περί τίνος πρόκειται. Ο γιατρός Ματαράσσο ήτο μπουρζουάς και την εβρέικη φασουλάδα την έτρωγε μόνο η πλεμπάγια. Για αυτό δεν βρίσκεις αυτό το φαγητό και στο μεγάλο λεξικό του Νεχαμά. Είμαι αναγκασμένος να πληροφορήσω σχετικώς τον αναγνώστη μου…

Στην Θεσσαλονίκη υπήρχαν (ίσως και να υπάρχουν ακόμη) κάτι μεγάλα σφαγεία. Έχω πλήρη γνώση της λειτουργίας αυτών των σφαγείων (- όπου, συχνά, οδηγούσα εκεί τον περιδεή Γιώργο Ιωάννου, που, τελικώς έγραψε κι ένα κείμενο για τα χασαπάκια και τους ταμπάκηδες).
…
Επακολουθεί το σχίσιμο του τεράστιου ζώου στα δύο. Το σχίσιμο γίνεται με τσεκουριές. Ετσι, γύρο στο αιωρούμενο βόδι πετάγονται κοματάκια κρέας.
…

Η φτώχια των εβραίων της Σαλονίκης άφησε εποχή. Οι πεινασμένοι εβραίοι έφταναν στο Μπεχ-τσινάρ (όπου τα σφαγεία) είτε με τα πόδια, είτε σκαλωμαρία με το τράμ της γραμμής Βαρδάρι-Κήπος Πριγκήπων. Οι εβραίοι έκαναν αυτό το αληθινό ταξίδι, τα χαράματα, με την κρυφήν ελπίδα πως θα τους αφήσουν να μπουν στα σφαγεία, για να μάσουν από χάμω λίγα ξεσκλίδια από τα πελεκημένα κρέατα. Τα χασαπάκια (είναι όλοι τους λεβεντόπαιδα και κιμπάρηδες) τους λυπόσαντε τους φουκαράδες τους εβραίους και, όχι μόνο τους επέτρεπαν να ξεδιαλέξουν, μέσα στην ματωμένη λάσπη των τσιμεντένιων αυλακιών, τα τιποτένια κρεατάκια, αλλά τους εχάριζαν και καμιά άκρη ουράς, ή λίγα κόκαλα, ή κανά ζευγάρι αυτιά. Οι εβραίοι, οι εβραιοπούλες, μάζεβαν οτι ήταν να μάσουν και τραβάγανε για την παράγκα τους. Εκεί, όλο και θα βρισκότανε καμμιά χούφτα φασόλια, που θα είχαν κλέψει τα εβραιάκια από κάποιο μπακάλικο. Αυτό το πλιάτσικο ήταν εύκολο, γιατί οι μπακάληδες αράδιαζαν στο πεζοδρόμιο τσουβάλια με όσπρια, ή πατάτες. Η εβρέισα νοικοκυρά έβραζε τα φασόλια μαζί με τα κόκολα, τα ξεσκλίδια, τις ουρές και τα αφτιά. Αυτή, και μόνο αυτή, είναι η (απαισίας μνήμης) εβρέικη φασουλάδα. Ωστόσο, θα προσθέσω όμως οτι η εβρέικη φασουλάδα, χάρη στα μεδούλια και τα φασόλια (60% άμυλο), θα πρέπει να ήτανε δυναμωτική για τα δυστυχισμένα παιδάκια.”

Ηλίας Πετρόπουλος, “η εθνική Φασουλάδα”

Μιλώντας με θεσσαλονικιούς ανακάλυψα οτι η συγκεκριμένη ιστορία του Πετρόπουλου είναι εντυπωσιακά σωστή και όχι κάποια δική του εξήγηση. Μόνη διαφορά είναι οτι επέμεναν οτι από τα σφαγεία έπαιρναν κομματάκια από κρέας που πετάγονταν και, κυρίως, τα κόκαλα – όχι τα αυτιά ή την ουρά. Αν δεν έλιωνε το μεδούλι με το βράσιμο, χτυπούσαν το κόκαλο με το ψωμί (sic) ώστε να ανοίξει για να το βγάλουν και το έτρωγαν πάνω στο ψωμί. Επίσης χαρακτηριστικό ήταν οτι τσιγάριζαν στην αρχή τα φασόλια σχεδόν μέχρι να μαυρίσουν, (σε μερικά νοικοκυριά μετά τον πόλεμο μαζί με κρεμμύδι) – αυτά ήταν τα πραγματικά fijon ala djudia/ φιζόν αλά τζουδία που αναφέρει ο Πετρόπουλος. Πάντως λαογραφικά ενδιαφέρον βρήκα οτι όντως υπάρχουν δυο διαφορετικές συνταγές στους εβραίους που ρώτησα, μια με κρέας και λαχανικά και μια μόνο με κόκαλα – κατ’εμέ αυτό επιβεβαιώνει την ταξική διαφοροποίηση που αναφέρει ο Πετρόπουλος. Μια παρατήρηση ακόμα: η τυπική εικόνα ενός εβραίου είναι αυτή του εμπόρου και ως ένα σημείο δικαιολογημένα – ιστορίες όμως σαν και αυτή μας βοηθούν να θυμόμαστε οτι πέρα από τους Αλατίνι και Μοδιάνο η συντριπτική πλειοψηφία των εβραίων της Θεσσαλονίκης ήταν απιστευτα φτωχοί και οτι το πιο συχνό επάγγελμα ηταν αυτό του χαμάλη στο λιμάνι και του ψαρά.

Bon appetit!

Το κλειδί στην Θεσσαλονίκη…

Μου ζητήθηκε κάτι πιο ρομαντικό…

Λίγο πρίν ξεκινήσει το Γιομ Κιππούρ, η πιο ιερή εορτή του Ιουδαϊσμού που συνοδεύεται από μια 24ωρη αποχή από φαΐ και νερό, ορίστε ένα ποίημα του Χόρχε Λουίς Μπόρχες. Θα τα ξαναπούμε από μεθαύριο με μερικές (πιστεύω) ενδιαφέρουσες αναρτήσεις – καλά να περνάτε.

//

The key in Salonica…

I was asked for something a bit more romantic…

Just before Yom Kippur begins, the holiest Jewish holiday accompanied by a 24 hour abstinence from food and water, here’s a poem by Jorge Luis Borges. I’ll be seeing you again in two days time with some (I hope) interesting posts – enjoy until then.

http://www.vivir-poesia.com/2004/06/la-llave-en-salonica/

…just to get you eager for more.

(Excerpt from Starfire - The Novel, Book 1: The Awakening, Chapter 1: In Congress By Toasteddoughboy. This work is copyright, and any reproductions in any form without my express permission are illegal and the person(s) responsible will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.)

                   Lieutenant Colonel James Ramirez could not help but observe this fact. After all, it was designed to be that way. The simplicity of design to discourage the representatives who convened within from becoming too proud, the holographic displays to remind them of the great power that they controlled, the equity of design to symbolize complete equality – and the immense windows to allow them to remember their own insignificance among those myriad stars. For they held great power, and that power could not be taken lightly.

                   Ramirez stood in the small, sparsely-furnished antechamber, right next to the door leading into the Council Chamber. The door was made of tinted glass, so he could peer through and see what was going on within. All seven of the representatives of the Alliance were seated. Such a gathering of these men and women was not often seen, as they usually met only two or three at a time. Above each place around the table hung a holographic symbol, seemingly floating, each the tricolor badge of the representative below’s home planet. A simple blue, green, and white oval drew the colonel’s attention. It was positioned near the door, opposite the main window. He looked down – a smaller version of the same badge was pinned to the breast of his own class-A uniform.

                   A receptionist behind a long desk across from Ramirez looked down at his screen and pressed several buttons. The colonel had done this before, so he automatically walked over to the desk, placed his hand on a touchscreen embedded in the metal of the desk, and peered into a lens mounted on a stand at eye level. The security scan was quick: The receptionist did not have to confiscate his weapons due to his high security clearance. The computer took a moment, then displayed a pair of images on a screen behind the receptionist.

                   The left-hand picture was a full frontal representation of the colonel, a tall, older-looking man, probably in his forties, with a full tan and dark hair flecked with gray. The picture showed him wearing the exact same uniform as he now wore, a dark olive drab class-A jacket, complete with a braided blue and white shoulder cord, with matching pants and black hi-gloss shoes. A polished sabre hung by his left side, balanced by a pistol at his right. Some people had described the ribbons that he wore as “up his shoulder and down his back”, and he did wear a large number, but those people had never seen him wearing all of his awards. Only the most prestigious merited the extra weight.

                   The other side of his chest failed to balance his awards. A simple nametag, command badge, pilot wings, and the Alliance tricolor – Blue, green, and white to represent Earth – were pinned on there. He wasn’t complaining, though, as he had designed the uniform himself over twenty years ago. “Good times,” he said to himself.

                   The right-hand picture showed Ramirez’s face. It was a picture on file from over three years earlier. Not that it mattered, though. The colonel had another scar and a few more grey hairs, but looked almost the same as he did when the picture was taken. He had a heavy-set jaw, a widow’s peak, and deep blue eyes. An air of strength and experience seemed to emanate even from the image on the screen. He was an officer who had seen some action, not just stacks of paper.

                   The images were replaced abruptly by an “Identity Confirmed” message, and the officer behind the desk said, “You’re good to go, sir.” Ramirez nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. The young lieutenant acting as a receptionist had an agonizingly boring job. The colonel respected him highly, and, in some ways, envied him.

                   Ramirez turned and walked to the door, steeling himself. He knew that the “spirit of unity” had been neglected for far too long. There was a small touchscreen next to the entrance; he typed a ten-digit password and activated the “door open” button. There was a small whining and a hiss as the lethal energy shield blocking the door deactivated. The glass doors parted silently, retracting into the walls on either side of the doorpost. The colonel stepped forward.

Today at sunset we are going to celebrate Pessach and on this occasion I’m republishing a folk song that I sang and continue to sing today during the Sheder, the name for the jewish easter table. It’s “Un cavretico”, (ie “a small lamb”). Take a look at the photos with the lyrics and the melody since to my knowledge this doesn’t exist anywhere on the web.

Hag Shameach και Καλό Πέσσαχ σε όλους μας!

ps. My compliments to the Jewish Community of Athens for producing a new Haggada this year in greek, ladino and hebrew (in greek and hebrew characters). Much more appealing than the old one and a beautiful job overall.

Un Cavretico…

Pessach is coming along and jews are preparing for the Seder, the traditional Pessach table where they read the Haggada, the story of the exit from Egypt. One of the songs that accompanied my childhood’s Seders was a child song which all of the family sang and was called un cavretico, a small kiddy (κατσικάκι)* in djudeoespanol the language used by jews in Salonika before WW2. In fact I remember it so fondly that I tag all my djudeoespanol/ladino posts as “un cavretico”.

It’s original name was Hagadia and it is unknown when it was first included in the Agada, though surely after the 15th century. In Thessaloniki it arrived rather late, probably in the mid 19th century and appears almost as an established novelty in the Etz Haim’s edition of 1904 where the typographer states:

“Printed (the Agada) with nice characters and translations in djudeoespanol according to the traditions of our city, with a full Seder. We’ve also included the Hagadia poem”.

The origin of the poem is probably a western one since it resembles german folk songs but similar songs have appeared in the folkloric traditions in West and East alike. The whole idea around which evolves the song is that there is a judge and a judged one with the ultimate judge being God. Though many Christians and Jews have tried giving a historical, philosophical or even metaphysical meanings to this song, most probably it’s intents were far less presumptuous; seen it’s utter lack of connection with the Pessach theme was probably inserted to help kids stay awake with something interesting during the whole Seder!

The images that follow derive from the 1970 edition of Agada produced by the Jewish Comunity of Thessaloniki and include the notes, the lyrics in djudeoespanol and in greek. The brief historical data derive also from there .

*thanks to angelos for the translation, (see comments below)!

(Click the images to see their larger versions & since I don’t know how the copyright works I kindly ask not to re-distributate them ).

This, relatively small, book of Y.Margaritis deals with the fates of two communities which were present in the greek territory and perished in WW2, jews and chams (τσάμηδες). Both subjects remain hugely a taboo for Greece and books on these subjects are scarce and usually limited to the academic community.

The book, practically the collection of Y.Margaritis previous works is divided into two distinct parts, dealing with chami and jews. The first part is divided into 4 chapters:

The second part is divided into 2 chapters:

The book definitely does not try to take a complete overview on the matters dealt with, after all these are articles from conventions whose participants usually had a minimum knowledge on these matters. Still it tries to highlight specific episodes and enrich them with details, which I wasn’t always aware of. For example it deals with the only jewish community which escaped the massacres during the period of the Greek Independance War in 1821, Chalkida; it states that this city was handed to Greece after the establishment of the new state and that was the reason of the community’s survival. Therefore it’s misleading to claim the town as an example of the lack of animosity towards jews by the rebels, when discussing the massacres of jews during the War of Independence of 1821 as often happens.

Same goes for the other matters it deals with and in my opinion here lays the strength of this book. Also another aspect which I personally enjoyed was the handsome amount of footnotes; these weren’t simply limited to bibliographic references but also highlighted folklorist aspects or talked about how society perceived various episodes then.

The author of course has an opinion and does not try to hide it; on the other hand the mild tone of the book does not colour events and allows the reader reach also his own conclusions. This book definitely enriches the reader interested in the matters of how the young greek state dealt with a religious and an ethnic minority which didn’t fit the ideal of a greek Greece and how WW2 helped in shaping fates and futures.

Thoroughly recommended for those interested.

ps. This review deals with the jewish part of the book. For the part regarding the τσάμηδες/ chams you can visit a great post by the doctor.

Νέοι Φάκελοι/New Folders is a television program in Greece which presents various documentaries on current and past issues pertaining greek interest. On Jan 29 they broadcasted a 16min documentary on the destiny of the Jews of Ioannina during the Holocaust/Shoah. It hosted testimonies of survivors of the camps, interviews of christian and jewish greeks, photos of the actual deportation as it was immortalised by the Propaganda Office of the German Army and included the prickly issue of the post war problems that Ioanniote jews faced after the return from the camps.

The documentary was exquisite and is now available in viewing on the internet – I warmly recommend you to see it even if you don’t understand greek!

The site of Νέοι Φάκελοι/New Folders. (greek)

The actual video of the documentary. (greek)

The greek transcript.

Among the things I have in my drafts is a small presentation of the jewish community of Ioannina – one of the best sources for more extensive information can be found by visiting the site of Kehila Kedosha Jannina. It was built by jewish greeks of romaniote descent in 1927 and hosts extensive information the history of the Community and it’s fate during the Holocaust – it also has a selection of the photos of the actual deportation as mentioned on the documentary.

Something big is coming!

Empire da primele informatii(http://www.empireonline.com/news/story.asp?nid=20848) si  JJA tocmai ce a iesit la rampa: “Regarding the online stuff you posted: yeah, we’re doing some fun stuff on the web. But, obviously, if the movie doesn’t kick some massive ASS, who gives a rat’s about what’s online? So as you can imagine, we’re focusing mostly on THAT. For what it’s worth, the only site of ours that people have even FOUND is the 1-18-08.com site”                                         Pentru ethanhaaswasright.com, oamenii au inceput sa sparga si sa decripteze codurile ca sa descopere adevaratele “mesaje”. Se pare ca, dupa Alias, Lost si MI3 JJA va da, din nou, lovitura….