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Irena Klepfisz
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Dreams
of an Insomniac : Jewish Feminist Essay, Speeches and Diatribes
by
Irena Klepfisz, Evelyn Torton Beck (Illustrator)
Irena Klepfisz was fourteen when
she and her mother escaped from Poland to America during World War
II, the only members of their family to survive the Holocaust.
Among the twelve essays in this collection is "Resisting and
Surviving America," in which she recalls that her "first
conscious feeling about being Jewish was that it was dangerous,
something to be hidden." Now, decades later, she questions
how to comprehend what is meant when she hears academics and
intellectuals speak of being "turned off by the
Holocaust." In "Women Without Children/Women without
Families/Women Alone," she examines the social and cultural
meanings, messages, interpretations, and results of her decision
to forgo motherhood. "The Distance Between Us: Feminism,
Consciousness and the Girls at the Office" analyzes both the
work and the relationships at work in an office. She notes how she
has learned to stop admitting she has a PhD in order to be hired
after a prospective employer worries she will get bored:
"What deliberate ignorance and callousness to people - high
school drop-out and Ph.D.... - would allow for the conclusion that
anyone would find this work anything but boring?" In
"Jewish Lesbians, the Jewish Community, Jewish
Survival," she writes about the high costs of
"passing" for what you think or worry others want you to
be. Irene Klepfisz draws on her history of artistic and political
commitment that has long informed her precise and well-loved
poetry, and her words have the power to penetrate and awaken. --
From 500
Great Books by Women; review by Jesse Larsen
Also Available:
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By Irena Klepfisz
Excerpt:
The Instructions:
Crush them with your heels or between two rocks. If that's not
appealing, use the powder--it doesn't kill--just keeps them away
(this has to be a lie--anyone indifferent to mashing them
beneath their shoes is not about to go humane). I'm half asleep
when I hear these options. Barely take them in--though clearly
they register because my first morning alone I will recall the
calm voice.
But now it's dusk. The back garden: red and pink
roses firmly rooted and pink and red geraniums in steel boxes
hanging against the prefab fence. Everything vies for turf. What's
new? Under my negligence by summer's end red geraniums will
flourish in the ground, challenging the supremacy of the rose.
Unfamiliar blue flowers will threaten the geraniums. A garden in
which I can do the impossible: sleep and dream in peace while
around me: war.
A pretty house . . . with mixed messages. The
surrounding condominiums: mortar and cement. Each garden the same:
less foliage, more hexagonal bricks supporting the iron-wrought
furniture and methodically boxed soil. "You'll need to weed
it," I'm told during training. Translation: maintain
control--which, after all, is all this life is ever about...
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Names Index:
A B
C D
E F
G H
I J
K L
M N
O P
Q R
S T
U V
W X
Y Z
| Authors
Index | Scholars
Index |
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