I was looking for a book to bring with me on my rather long trip to America and settled on the first Greek historian, Herodotus, whom I had never read. We had an old Penguin Classics paperback edition in our library, translated by Aubrey de Selincourt. The book itself was more than fifty years old. My wife bought it in Athens when she was there on a Fulbright in 1968-69, and the translation probably dates to the 1930s.
I'm not quite sure why I chose to read Herodotus after all these years of ignorance, but it was the right choice: a long, slow, irrelevant, and fascinating read. In a rambling way, he tells the story of the Greeks' repulsion of the Persian invasion, led by Xerxes, in 480 BCE, with fascinating and lurid descriptions of the customs and beliefs of many of the peoples of the Ancient Near East.
I went to America primarily to receive a prize for translating Aharon Appelfeld's book for younger readers, published by 7 Stories Press under the title, "Adam and Thomas." As I have told people innumerable times by now, the main reason I decided to attend the American Jewish Libraries conference was its location: Charleston, where I have cousins. Indeed, as I have frequently boasted, my second cousin Billy Keyserling, is the mayor of Beaufort, a town on the coast south of Charleston.
Since the prize money covered half of my air-fare, and the publisher promised to cover the other half, I decided to go. I planned to start my trip with a visit to my son and his family in Washington, DC and then I would go down to Charleston, visit Billy and his brother and sister, and then return home. Then, serendipitously, when looking for more information about thmme New Century Saxophone Quartet, a fine ensemble, I discovered that, just a few days after the convention in Charleston, there would be a week-long "saxophone retreat" at Wildacres, in the improbably (to my ears, at any rate) named town of Little Switzerland, North Carolina, which didn't sound impossibly distant from Charleston. The retreat, an annual event, was to be led by a stellar tenor saxophone player, Jim Houlik. So I decided to extend my stay in the US by a week, which certainly ought to have given me time to finish Herodotus. But in fact I only finished yesterday evening, a week after my return to Israel.
If I had read Herodotus as a student, like most people who have read him, I would not have read him with the historical books of the Bible in the back of my mind. I also would not have read him with fifty years of intervening life experience. The stories of Saul, David, Solomon, and the various kings of Judah and Israel mainly concern sinning against God, being punished, obeying God, and being rewarded. The stories Herodotus tells have a lot to do with following the cryptic instructions of oracles, but almost nothing to do with right action in obedience to divine law.
Herotodus is curious about everybody in the world who comes to his attention (interestingly, we descendants of the ancient Israelites, who think we were so important, do not even rate a mention in his narrative). The Bible is narrowly focused on the Twelve Tribes descended from Jacob, and troubles to mention only their enemies. Herotodus displays a great deal of geographical knowledge (some of it quite fanciful). The Bible is barely interested in any place other than the Land of Israel. The Biblical narrator is anonymous and impersonal. Herotodus' personality comes out in his writing. In Book One, for example, he writes: "The customs which I know the Persians to observe are the following: they have no images of the gods, no temples nor altars, and consider the use of them a sign of folly. This comes, I think, from their not believing the gods to have the same nature with men, as the Greeks imagine." The Biblical narrator would never speak for himself that way, and he would never think to compare his religion with another, except to condemn idol worship.
I'm not quite sure why I chose to read Herodotus after all these years of ignorance, but it was the right choice: a long, slow, irrelevant, and fascinating read. In a rambling way, he tells the story of the Greeks' repulsion of the Persian invasion, led by Xerxes, in 480 BCE, with fascinating and lurid descriptions of the customs and beliefs of many of the peoples of the Ancient Near East.
I went to America primarily to receive a prize for translating Aharon Appelfeld's book for younger readers, published by 7 Stories Press under the title, "Adam and Thomas." As I have told people innumerable times by now, the main reason I decided to attend the American Jewish Libraries conference was its location: Charleston, where I have cousins. Indeed, as I have frequently boasted, my second cousin Billy Keyserling, is the mayor of Beaufort, a town on the coast south of Charleston.
Since the prize money covered half of my air-fare, and the publisher promised to cover the other half, I decided to go. I planned to start my trip with a visit to my son and his family in Washington, DC and then I would go down to Charleston, visit Billy and his brother and sister, and then return home. Then, serendipitously, when looking for more information about thmme New Century Saxophone Quartet, a fine ensemble, I discovered that, just a few days after the convention in Charleston, there would be a week-long "saxophone retreat" at Wildacres, in the improbably (to my ears, at any rate) named town of Little Switzerland, North Carolina, which didn't sound impossibly distant from Charleston. The retreat, an annual event, was to be led by a stellar tenor saxophone player, Jim Houlik. So I decided to extend my stay in the US by a week, which certainly ought to have given me time to finish Herodotus. But in fact I only finished yesterday evening, a week after my return to Israel.
If I had read Herodotus as a student, like most people who have read him, I would not have read him with the historical books of the Bible in the back of my mind. I also would not have read him with fifty years of intervening life experience. The stories of Saul, David, Solomon, and the various kings of Judah and Israel mainly concern sinning against God, being punished, obeying God, and being rewarded. The stories Herodotus tells have a lot to do with following the cryptic instructions of oracles, but almost nothing to do with right action in obedience to divine law.
Herotodus is curious about everybody in the world who comes to his attention (interestingly, we descendants of the ancient Israelites, who think we were so important, do not even rate a mention in his narrative). The Bible is narrowly focused on the Twelve Tribes descended from Jacob, and troubles to mention only their enemies. Herotodus displays a great deal of geographical knowledge (some of it quite fanciful). The Bible is barely interested in any place other than the Land of Israel. The Biblical narrator is anonymous and impersonal. Herotodus' personality comes out in his writing. In Book One, for example, he writes: "The customs which I know the Persians to observe are the following: they have no images of the gods, no temples nor altars, and consider the use of them a sign of folly. This comes, I think, from their not believing the gods to have the same nature with men, as the Greeks imagine." The Biblical narrator would never speak for himself that way, and he would never think to compare his religion with another, except to condemn idol worship.
Heredotus is mainly famous, or notorious, for his sensational accounts of the customs of various foreign peoples. Here is a typical example: "The Magi are a very peculiar race, different entirely from the Egyptian priests, and indeed from all other men whatsoever. The Egyptian priests make it a point of religion not to kill any live animals except those which they offer in sacrifice. The Magi, on the contrary, kill animals of all kinds with their own hands, excepting dogs and men. They even seem to take a delight in the employment, and kill, as readily as they do other animals, ants and snakes, and such like flying or creeping things. However, since this has always been their custom, let them keep to it. I return to my former narrative."
Perhaps, in imitation of Herodotus, I should describe the ways of the American South, the drawl, the friendliness, the slow pace, and the deeply contested history. In a way, the South begins in Washington, but it wasn't until I reached Charleston that I was truly immersed in the region. The immersion was slow, since I spent my first two days there in a Marriott hotel, which might have been almost anywhere, the way an airport is a neutral space.
I did, however, venture out of the Marriott for a couple of meals, since the American Jewish Libraries, an impecunious organization, were only treating me to one dinner: I had some flounder in a the Marina Variety Store, a fish restaurant, which proved to be farther from the hotel than I had been led to believe, and grits for lunch at the Hominy Grill the following day (the waitresses sported tee-shirts proclaiming, "Grits are Good for You"). Usually I feel odd eating alone in restaurants, but I rather enjoyed the experience this time.
This trip was taking me pretty far away from Israel and Judaism, but I decided to avoid meat and seafood, to keep an approximation of kashrut.
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