The Lack and Abundance of ONIONS AND CUCUMBERS AND PLUMS

Onions and Cucumbers and Plums is one of those books that is like a one-in-a-million book. One of those books that so few people have read - my review on Goodreads is one of two - that there is no real scholarship on, and you just think, why have I been chosen by the Book Fates to read this? I say that because I loved this book, but in many ways, I am not the target audience for this book, there is nothing I can contribute to its legacy or subject matter, because its experiences are not mine, though I can relate here and there, and can touch the beauty of the poems. In something as intimate and personal as poetry, I want to find myself in them more so than novels, though that is not the ultimate aim of reading poetry. It is an experience, then, to read a collection like this and be so far removed from its origins and heartaches and dreams. All of this is especially important to recognize with this book, because it is partly about the loss of meaning, the loss of culture, the loss of language. Can we get to a point where something in inscrutable?

This book is a collection of poems by Jewish poets that have been translated from the original Yiddish. All of the poems were written in the twentieth century, and were translated by Sara Zweig Betsky for her Masters thesis that she was getting during WWII. She did it in reaction to the war, because she felt she could do nothing else but try and preserve something that was being destroyed. The Yiddish language, once spoken all over Eastern Europe, is a language largely lost - few speak it and study it. Partly lost because so many Jews killed in the Holocaust spoke Yiddish, and partly lost because of assimilation in the aftermath. The poems in this collection reflect the language and experiences that are largely gone. When we have books in translation, we know there is something missing. Not everything can be translated and saved, there is always a gap in understanding, but my profound misunderstanding contributed to my loving this book. There is a comfort in being the other, when it means that I can hear the stories of those I would not necessarily have ever heard before.

An example of a poem that I appreciated more because of the distance I felt from it is 'In Soft Moss, Muted Steps' by David Einhorn:

In soft moss, muted steps,
a whole week of Sabbath rest. 

You light candles every night --
your face in rosy light. 

Between the green pine tree boughs
the blue of God's blue roof top shows. 

There too someone lights Sabbath tapers --
on your face blue shadows vapor. 

So we sit, keeping watch,
waiting for a wonder night. 

Through the forest a rustle goes,
the sky splits apart and glows. 

In soft moss, muted steps,
a whole week of Sabbath rest. 

You light candles every night --
your face in rosy light.

With this poem, we see Einhorn applying the ritual of lighting candles on the Sabbath to the love he has for a woman, to her lighting candles everyday. Her daily candle-lighting is as the Sabbath rest to him. There is an intimacy and holiness to this love that is mirrored in the meaning of the Sabbath. As I'm not Jewish, I don't have this kind of connection to the idea of 'rest,' but this lack of understanding helps me feel the desire for connection in the poem, because I too have this desire to understand and connect as I read the poem.

There are a lot of gems in this collection. Since this collection is a bit hard to find, I would suggest seeking out some of these poets from the collection that were some of my favorites: J. Glatstein, Kadie Molodowsky, and Itzik Manger.