It's probably programmed into our genes, the gift of gab, of
expression, of emotion, that extra-sensory sensitivity that
the Torah calls bina yeseira and we call feminine
intuition. With many of us women, it takes the form of
written expression.
There were several dozens of us who attended this first
formal writers' workshop held this month in Hotel Reich,
Jerusalem. They even came from Kiryat Sefer and as far as
Tzefas, both nests of creativity that have boasted their own
creative writers circle. Tzefas runs an e-mail writers
exchange through Soferet, coordinated by Susan Esther
Heller. YATED has proudly had the privilege of tapping
into the Tzefas treasury in the past and Presenting for the
First Time in Print one of our favorite authors, Rifca
Goldberg.
Wish she'd been there... but there were so many authors whom
I had met previously only on paper, and many whom I am proud
to say were launched in their writing careers through
YATED! These included Devora Shapiro, now a writer for
the American Yated -- no relation to the Yated
published in Israel; Leah Subar, now working on her own book;
Mikimi, Tzefas author of two past articles; Sheila Seigel and
her twin writer sister, Tova Pollack, both already published
elsewhere. And for the first time, I met a favorite of us
all, Ruth Lewis, under her real name (I'm not sure she wants
it publicized), also widely published.
So what was this all about? There are several nuclei writers'
groups that share the excitement of expression on paper. They
get together on a regular basis and write about anything
under the sun and over the rainbow. Oh, and there are lots of
mother-earth in their writing too, mother and earth. They
exercise their cerebral muscles and come up with the most
fantastic creations, literally right from under their
sleeves, as they say in Hebrew. And these products are often
far better than something they would have toiled over on
their own, because of the spur provided by the moment and the
company. It is highly stimulating.
Meeting these pen friends was NOTHING compared to the actual
exercise we got. As an editor, I am often approached by
women who wish to write for us, but don't know what to write
about. Some people call it `writers' block,' but at this
workshop, they pooh-poohed the very idea. They sat you down,
gave you a line, and made you PRODUCE. Varda Bronfman (you
know her!) and Judy Belsky, both master craftswomen of the
flowing word, coaxed us along, especially the newcomers,
promising that criticism was taboo. Then, providing pen and
paper, and introduced us to
Challah Baking on Paper
This exercise had women working in pairs. We were given a
line, a theme, and told to just write whatever came to us.
After a few minutes, we were to read our products to our
partner and BORROW a phrase that appealed to us and just keep
on going till the next pause. The `bread' we `baked' was
yeasty, feisty, crunchy stuff, something like onion-raisin
bread, an intertwining of different styles, but so
fascinating.
It was incredible, the quality of work and the spectrum of
emotion that were evoked impromptu, just to show that if you
had it in you, you had it in you. Most fascinating was the
`you,' women from widely diverse backgrounds, come together
to make some kind of statement about life, goals, feelings,
hopes, struggles, victories, personal slants.
Here, have a taste. Just to show you what I mean, unlikely
braid, but bread. For thought. Our theme:
"Who Trains My Hands for Battle, My Fingers for
War"
Long ago in America
My hands scrubbed the pots
No kosher soap available
My fingers numb from pain
But Oh, how they did shine
Those old aluminum pots
And it was Saturday night
And everybody was out on a date
And there I was scrubbing and scrubbing
And dreaming and dreaming...
*
"Who trains my hands for battle, my fingers for war..."
Hands for battle?
Women's hands -- battleax hands?
G-d forbid! If war --
Then our war is war against war
Love from the cradle
From the heart
Love from hands that give
Touch, stroke, cup a tiny face
Give to live.
*
Love from the cradle
Love from the heart...
A mother's unconditional
love remains forever.
Oh I wish I had a date
I have so much to give
And dreaming and dreaming...
*
Fingers numb from pain...
Some fingers are arthritic
Atrophied, numb from lack of giving,
Fingers disjointed, instead of jointed,
Fingers were made to bend
Even over double, triple-jointed
Or to stretch out.
Fingers stretch out in prayer
When no one's looking
Only One looking
That's when you extend in prayer.
*
Fingers stretched out in prayer...
Eyes lifted up to You
Eyes, my eyes, they are blue-
green with envy
Mine should be green
I'm the one with envy now
I'm still scrubbing
I'm prepared for battle...
*
Dreaming and dreaming?
Fingers don't dream!
Like lips moving in one's sleep
Fingers were meant to move,
Knead, weed and seed, feed,
To bend, lend, extend without end.
Fingers -- the ten minions of our hands
Obey our heart's impulses and commands
Doing, rarely at rest,
Holding a book, perhaps,
A siddur or Tehillim at best.
*
Only our heart's impulses and commands...
Your head says GO
Your heart says NO
But He Who trains my hands
For battle, my fingers for war
Will train my head to say YES
And my heart to say GO
*
Eyes are blue, eyes are green...
Can fingers have personality?
Green fingers -- helping things
and little beings, grow
Blue fingers -- tracing delicate
patterns of the mind's eye
The mind's blue sea and blue sky,
Tying bows, folding rows
of colored napkins on a Shabbos table
Beautiful `blue' hands, enhancing
Walls, platters, salads, cakes and icing,
Clothing children look nice in.
*
Eyes are blue
Eyes are green...
Blue skies
Green plants
Soon there will be delicious roses
Watch out for the thorns
Who trains my hands for battle
My fingers for war...
The choices we make are ours
For now and forever
But there's still time to regret,
Because Time is all we've got
*
He trains my hands for battle...
Of the everyday
For without His locomotion
There is no inspiration, no motion
No emotion, no notion.
He trains my hands
To train the hands down the line
To aim straight and shoot true
In the woman's battle
On the home front.
*
Dizzy? Here is another excerpt. What was produced by some 3
dozen women in half an hour could make a whole beautiful
book. But Yated is only a newspaper, and all we have
is the small family section... Too bad.
"Who trains" etc.
What war?
The big war, war with a capital W
The war against the Yetzer
that is always here, and always there.
The Yetzer Hora that tempts us
and convinces us that we are on the right path
All the while that we are sinking
Into the quicksand
below our rapidly moving feet.
*
The quicksand below our rapidly moving feet...
As a moment of reality
Oozing into a moment of eternity --
Nothingness forever.
O Yetzer painting pictures
on the empty screen of mind
Let go -- turn off -- give me chance to escape.
*
We can go on and on. And we shall, next week, with an
explanatory piece by Judy Belsky who so skillfully guides --
in tandem with Varda Bronfman -- an exciting writing group
which I had the pleasure of attending this week. Judy
deserves our paper platform all for herself. Next week...
(Next pen-session scheduled for Monday, 30 Sivan, June 10 at
Pri Chadash 68, Geula. 17:30 - 19:30. Come and join.
Discover that you have it in you, but better confirm:
5711895.)
We hope to present many new writers from this group. Note:
Soferet in Tzefas will welcome your e-mail
acquaintance. Soferet@kinneret.co.il or call 04- 6972234.
Bye for now...
