Enough counting.
You have no home
except this breeze.
-from "Breeze" by Najwan Darwish
Translated from Arabic by Kareem James Abu-Zeid
You look at the tree which grows,
without stopping, in the warmth
of your gaze
-from "Four Poems" by Israel Eliraz
Translated from Hebrew by Liat Simon
The books in translation discussion group at the Gardiner Library was tackling Orhan Pamuk's Istanbul; Memories of a City when I realized that I could not completely visualize the geography of the city despite Pamuk's vivid descriptions, nor could I grasp the cultural references or the particular familial traditions on a first reading. It was like roaming through a fun house, the mirrors distorted and the entrances and exits hidden. By all accounts the book is well translated by Maureen Freely who spent some of her childhood in Istanbul, has worked closely with Orhan over the years, and was supportive of him when he was persecuted and then put on trial for daring to suggest that the Turks committed genocide in Armenia. He was acquitted, but the experience unmoored his emotional connection to Istanbul; all the photos in the book are in black and white, bleached of color. Indeed, many translators remind us that translation is not only a matter of words, or even sentences, but of understanding a whole culture—its politics and history—and immersing the reader in that culture, thus enlarging the concentric circles of our identity and encouraging curiosity of a larger world.
I first learned the theory of concentric circles in college when I read Gordon Allport's classic study in social psychology, The Nature of Prejudice. The outermost rim of the circle is "mankind," the smallest dot in the center is our solipsistic world. Beyond the domain of that comforting, small self-contained world, everyone is a foreigner or stranger. The challenge of education, its moral imperative, is to enlarge the concentric circles of our students. With book bans disrupting libraries and schools, and angry school board meetings, this is a formidable challenge. So, too, the proliferation of social media, tropes and bullying of school-aged children and beyond. It is one thing to encounter a stereotype in a Wharton or a Hemingway novel—the authors long dead and from a less self-aware era—quite another to see sometimes nuanced statements, or blatant stereotypes about Jews, Blacks and LGBTQ people on Facebook in 2024, or to hear "From the River to the Sea," from the Palestinians, the Israelis, the demonstrators—and their supporters—who, I would posit, barely understand its underlying crass hostility and ultimate uselessness. This is a nuclear-armed world where we must all live together in peace or self-destruct. The same holds true for Palestinians and Israelis; they must find a way to survive and thrive side by side.
As an academic by inclination and training, my heart swells with anticipation at the beginning of every school year. I am hopeful that the November 5th election will both energize and calm our college campuses, our schools, our boards of education, the wars overseas, and ourselves. But we must continue to speak out when it is appropriate, or necessary, and not fear ignorant defamatory smears, tropes, or threats of violence.
This post is dedicated to the innocent citizens of Israel and Palestine who have worked hand-in-hand for peace over the years. May all those who have been killed in the October 7 massacre and the genocidal bombing in Gaza RIP, and the peacemakers continue their efforts with even deeper intention.