ONLY YESTERDAY: A novel
By S.Y.Agnon
ISBN 13: 978-0-691-18100-4
Princeton
Shmuel Yosef Agnon was born in Ukraine in 1881 and died in
Jerusalem in 1970. He was joint winner of the Nobel Prize for
Literature with Nelly Sachs in 1966. He is regarded as one of the
masters of modern Hebrew fiction.
Only Yesterday, which
might be thought of as his greatest work, was written in the 1930s
and published in 1945. Agnon lived for some time in Germany and was
influenced by German literature. He settled in Israel.
Only Yesterday is
a six-hundred page-novel written in a naïve, biblical, parable-like
style which tells the story of Isaac Kumer who leaves Galicia for
the Land of Israel. He is part of the second
Aliyah (ascent) which
took place from 1904-1914. His native Galicia was within the
Austro-Hungarian Empire, ruled from 1848 to 1916 by Emperor Franz
Joseph I who in 1867 granted full, equal rights to Jews. Despite the
election on three occasions of an antisemitic mayor, the Jews of the
Empire flourished during this period and made a contribution to
culture in many spheres beyond their numerical size.
At the start of the book, then, the question arises: why
would Isaac want to leave? “ A blessed dwelling place was his image
of the whole Land of Israel and its inhabitants blessed by God”
Agnon writes on the first page. He calls Isaac “ a man of
imagination”. By this he doesn’t mean the sophisticated imagination
of the artist, but rather the fantasies of a simple mind. Isaac is a
simple man. “The days of his youth departed in his yearning for the
Land of Israel.” His friends have married, started enterprises, are
getting on with their lives; but Isaac is stalled. He sells Shekels
for Zionism. His father thinks he is foolish and disdains his
longing for Israel: “..he’ll see with his own eyes that whole
business of the Land of Israel is a fiction the Zionists made up.”
The novel begins, therefore, in doubt about Isaac’s
conception of Israel and about the wisdom of his wish to live there.
Agnon suggests there is an element of fantasy about the Zionist
conception. Later, he will refer to Franz Joseph and the equal
rights Jews enjoyed and observe that in spite of this young people
were attracted to what they thought of as their land.
The novel is divided into four books. They tell, slowly, and
with much digression, the story of Issac’s life in Israel, but also,
from the second book, the story of the dog Balak, who can think,
reason and whose adventures parallel those of the protagonist. This
flight away from the essential realism of Isaac’s story into
something more surrealistic is difficult to interpret. Only at the
very end of the book does the relation between the two become clear.
Balak is a discontented dog and Isaac is a man whose life doesn’t go
easily. Israel turns out to be much less than he anticipated. He
faces economic struggles and finally works as a painter. His
emotional-erotic life doesn’t proceed easily either. Sonya flirts
with him, he falls for her but she dismisses him capriciously. At
length he finds a wife Shifra. Their wedding is attended by few
guests. They are a loving, happy couple. But Isaac’s path has been
stony.
There is a rich array of characters who fade in and out.
Agnons’s technique is not to explore his character’s psychology. The
narration works in the biblical fashion: “It wasn’t long before his
name became known in the city, and on every single issue, the rabbis
asked Reb Fayesh’s opinion. Envy entered the heart of his
colleagues. They began worrying that power would pass into his
hands….” It is a form of narration consonant with received truth.
What lurks behind every verse of the Bible, after all, is that it is
truth beyond challenge. Traditionally, novels have been much more
about provisionality and doubt. How to explain Emma Bovary’s
tragedy? Why is Almayer such a fool ? Who is responsible for the
death of Joseph K? What dooms April Wheeler? Agnon’s naïve narration
carries an absolute perspective. While the novel does embrace doubt
– the whole notion that the ascent to Israel is the best course of
action for a Jew is subjected to scepticism – the narratorial voice
is that of a prophet. Over six hundred pages, this gets somewhat
wearisome. In addition, the slow pace of the story, buried as it is
in a welter of detail and the emergence of characters whose
psychology is only faintly painted in, means the book loses momentum
after about four hundred pages. It picks up once more as Isaac’s
fate moves towards its finality, but at points the apparently
innocent, word-of-god narration jars.
That Israel is not the fantasy land Isaac imagines it to be
in his adolescence, that his life there is a struggle, doesn’t
undermine a potentially Zionist interpretation of the book. It could
be argued that Agnon challenges the fantasy the better to defend the
reality; that the struggle is worthwhile. Although, the
circumstances of Isaac’s death could put that in question. What is
noticeable, however, is that references to the Arab population are
passing. The novel doesn’t touch on the matter of what kind of
relations will prevail between the Jewish settlers and the
indigenous population. In his Nobel acceptance speech, Agnon said:
“As a result of the historic catastrophe in which Titus of Rome
destroyed Jerusalem and Israel was exiled from its land, I was born
in one of the cities of the Exile. But always I regarded myself as
one who was born in Jerusalem.”
What is curious here is the formulation “Israel was exiled
from its land”. Across the globe, for millennia, there have been
conquest and displacement. If Agnon’s conception were applied to
North America, for example, wouldn’t it belong to the Red Skins?
Wouldn’t Australia belong to the Aborigines? The genocide of the
native Americans was appalling, but we can’t pretend it didn’t
happen. Agnon’s position seems to be that this particular part of
the world belongs to the Jews despite all historical events. This
might be called the diaspora mentality and perhaps it explains
partly the fantasised view of Israel Isaac entertains when the novel
opens.
The virtual absence of the Arab population from the novel
might suggest their presence wasn’t considered important. At the
time of Isaac’s settlement in Israel, the Jewish population must
have been small. It’s peculiar that the novel seems to treat the
larger, indigenous population as if it doesn’t exist. This connects
to the form of narration, which is characteristic of received,
immutable wisdom; somewhat hard to take in an age in which science
has proved itself. It’s hard not to feel there’s an assumed truth
behind the novel: finally, Isaac was right to go to Israel because,
indefeasibly, the land belongs to the Jews. The problem with this is
that novels, like science, should be a search for truth and that
excludes assumed truths which precede the writing.
The novel appeared before the modern State of Israel was
established. Agnon was lauded and honoured in modern Israel. This
novel doesn’t seem to have disturbed the leaders of the Israeli
State, a State guilty of atrocious violence and breaches of
international law.
There is an inherent quirk
in the human brain revealed in the famous of experiments of Stanley
Milgram and others: grant some advantage, power or superiority to
one group over another and in no time they will begin to abuse and
humiliate them. Only tell the blue-eyed children in a school class
they are superior to the brown or green eyed, and they will
denigrate and do harm to their erstwhile friends. What might explain
this?
Without falling into the trap of evolutionary psychology
reductionism, it may be that in the conditions in which our
biological ancestors evolved, any perceived advantage could have
been the difference between survival and disappearance. Maybe
natural selection wired in an exorbitant response to any perceived
advantage to grant greater survival capacity. Perhaps if we are
given some advantage over others, it triggers a cascade of neurons
which results in a sense of entitlement and the right to do others
damage if we think we need to. Of course, this must be surrounded by
caveats: it’s always possible, for example, to think through our
reactions, to employ moral discrimination to resist our worst
impulses. Yet if there is some validity to the speculation, then
might not a belief that a deity has given you a piece of the earth
for your exclusive use in perpetuity, be a very potent trigger?
Might seeing yourself as part of a Chosen People set in train that
neurological reaction which provides the illusion of entitlement?
It’s hard not to conclude that illusion lurks behind this novel.
Isaac is a character it’s impossible not to like. He’s simple,
modest, honest, grateful. Yet the Israel to which he moved has
become a monstrous tyranny, an apartheid State, a travesty of
democracy and a vicious abuser of the Palestinians whose land it
shares. It’s worth asking what Isaac Kumer would have made of that.
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