Dave Eggers and the Shofar Factory
I went to see Dave Eggers read on Sunday night and I've been thinking about it ever since.
Or at least, I've been thinking about it a lot. Because it bothered me.
I found the reading highly entertaining. I thought Mr. Eggers was incredibly confident, and he seemed to enjoy his audience. No small feat. I thought he was funny and witty and clever, and I laughed out loud.
But I feel that way about Seinfeld too, and Seinfeld is not the voice of my generation.
And while it's true that Mr. Eggers never asked to be the voice of my generation, and it's also true that I have not read AHWOSG, which is supposed to be both heartbreaking and staggering(I will start it tomorrow... I promise).
And it is further true that Mr. Eggers does all kinds of important things for the children of San Francisco (Don't worry, Mr. Eggers, I think you are neat and will get into heaven), in the end, I was really sad.
Because it was only witty and clever and funny. And I only laughed. Nothing else. I didn't get it in the gut. Not even once. It felt empty. I wanted Salinger, Steinback and Stegner. I wanted to be stunned by the voice of my generation, and I wasn't. Sigh...
Next day.
In a related story, we made shofars at Hillel last night. And the Chabad rabbi who had come all the way from Postville (you should probably google that!) to show us how to carve ram's horns (and sand them, drill them, shellac them, blow on them) gave a little talk beforehand.
He told us about how the soul seeks nourishment. He made it sound like the soul is living in your belly, nestled up against all the other major organs. And the soul needs nourishment just like all the other parts of you. "It gets thirsty," he said, "It thirsts."
He told us that spiritual nourishment is just like any other nutrient.
Like this: Maybe on a Tuesday you feel melancholy, weak, tired, sad, frenzied, or confused. And the solution to your problem happens to be a shot of Iron, or Protein, or Vitamin C. The problem is, you can't tell what your body wants. You don't necessarily know how to listen to your body.
But once you drink some orange juice, or chew on a turkey sandwich, you feel better. Right?
The rabbi said spiritual thirst is like that, and that people keep trying to feed their souls, but they don't get better, only smarter or stronger, or more popular. Nothing important.
In the rabbi's version, spiritual nourishment was about opening a siddur and praying. And while I'm sure that siddur-moments ease his particular spiritual maladies, they aren't the answer to my particular deficiency. Not right now, in this particular (chapter of my)life.
But sometimes Leonard Cohen songs, or re-reading Angle of Repose is what my soul wants. And sometimes I talk with Susan about something really "feeling" and she tells me what I need to hear. And once in awhile, it ACTUALLY IS prayer, however loosely I define the word.
I remember ducking into St. Mary's one evening to avoid finishing my MFA exam a few years ago, and they were doing the stations of the cross, and I listened. When I came out I felt better, and I wrote the whole damn essay.
So... was it soul-thirst I was feeling at the Eggers reading, without knowing it? I was feeling something, and coincidentally, I went home and read a little book called Twinkle Twinkle... and it made me not-so-thirsty.
And then the next day, the rabbi told me about my soul, living somewhere near my kidneys I think. And I felt good.
Although my shofar doesn't work.
Or at least, I've been thinking about it a lot. Because it bothered me.
I found the reading highly entertaining. I thought Mr. Eggers was incredibly confident, and he seemed to enjoy his audience. No small feat. I thought he was funny and witty and clever, and I laughed out loud.
But I feel that way about Seinfeld too, and Seinfeld is not the voice of my generation.
And while it's true that Mr. Eggers never asked to be the voice of my generation, and it's also true that I have not read AHWOSG, which is supposed to be both heartbreaking and staggering(I will start it tomorrow... I promise).
And it is further true that Mr. Eggers does all kinds of important things for the children of San Francisco (Don't worry, Mr. Eggers, I think you are neat and will get into heaven), in the end, I was really sad.
Because it was only witty and clever and funny. And I only laughed. Nothing else. I didn't get it in the gut. Not even once. It felt empty. I wanted Salinger, Steinback and Stegner. I wanted to be stunned by the voice of my generation, and I wasn't. Sigh...
Next day.
In a related story, we made shofars at Hillel last night. And the Chabad rabbi who had come all the way from Postville (you should probably google that!) to show us how to carve ram's horns (and sand them, drill them, shellac them, blow on them) gave a little talk beforehand.
He told us about how the soul seeks nourishment. He made it sound like the soul is living in your belly, nestled up against all the other major organs. And the soul needs nourishment just like all the other parts of you. "It gets thirsty," he said, "It thirsts."
He told us that spiritual nourishment is just like any other nutrient.
Like this: Maybe on a Tuesday you feel melancholy, weak, tired, sad, frenzied, or confused. And the solution to your problem happens to be a shot of Iron, or Protein, or Vitamin C. The problem is, you can't tell what your body wants. You don't necessarily know how to listen to your body.
But once you drink some orange juice, or chew on a turkey sandwich, you feel better. Right?
The rabbi said spiritual thirst is like that, and that people keep trying to feed their souls, but they don't get better, only smarter or stronger, or more popular. Nothing important.
In the rabbi's version, spiritual nourishment was about opening a siddur and praying. And while I'm sure that siddur-moments ease his particular spiritual maladies, they aren't the answer to my particular deficiency. Not right now, in this particular (chapter of my)life.
But sometimes Leonard Cohen songs, or re-reading Angle of Repose is what my soul wants. And sometimes I talk with Susan about something really "feeling" and she tells me what I need to hear. And once in awhile, it ACTUALLY IS prayer, however loosely I define the word.
I remember ducking into St. Mary's one evening to avoid finishing my MFA exam a few years ago, and they were doing the stations of the cross, and I listened. When I came out I felt better, and I wrote the whole damn essay.
So... was it soul-thirst I was feeling at the Eggers reading, without knowing it? I was feeling something, and coincidentally, I went home and read a little book called Twinkle Twinkle... and it made me not-so-thirsty.
And then the next day, the rabbi told me about my soul, living somewhere near my kidneys I think. And I felt good.
Although my shofar doesn't work.
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