Allon. Gabriel Allon.

As the doggiest days of summer are upon us, I find myself savoring every moment of the season’s blessedly slow pace.  I think I cling to summer a little more desperately than most people, even more than the kids on my block who are celebrating its freedoms. And I treasure having the time to read, especially fiction.

One sure sign of summer for me is the arrival of a new Gabriel Allon novel. Gabriel Allon is sort of an Israeli James Bond; a globetrotting superspy working for the Jewish State against its many enemies whose evil, more often than not, threatens the world order beyond the Middle East.

Gabriel Allon is the creation of author Daniel Silva, a journalist-turned-novelist who earned his stripes by serving for many years as a Middle Eastern correspondent for United Press International. He’s created a series of novels that have certainly struck a chord with the public: Each summer’s new Gabriel Allon adventure rises to the top of the bestseller lists. As Israeli politics more and more elicit a sigh (and an oy), it’s a fun fantasy to step into this world.

“Gabriel Allon doesn’t want to carry the weight of the Jewish future—or the world’s—in his hands, but it is regularly thrust upon him: a theme which is very Jewish.”

Since it’s a literary conceit that superspies have superpowers, Gabriel has one too: he’s a master art-restorer. In these novels, before he’s called into to service, he’s often found in Italian cathedrals, a Jewish artist restoring Grand Masters’ church altarpieces with his meticulous paintbrush. (There’s an interesting metaphor at work there, but it’s summer and I don’t want to think about it too deeply.) Gabriel’s world inevitably brings together recurring characters such as London gallery owners, Corsican mafiosi, secretive Vatican officials, and world-famous classical musicians.

But Gabriel Allon is quite different from James Bond doing his duty for her majesty’s secret service. Gabriel doesn’t wear tuxedos or play cards with super-villains in Monte Carlo, nor is he a suave womanizer. He’s full of reticence and ambivalence, though when a mission arrives, he will ruthlessly see it through to a just conclusion.

Gabriel is no lone wolf like 007 either. Over the arc of the series, Gabriel has gone from being a master spy/assassin, to the ambivalent Head of the Mossad, to the now-retired figure who keeps getting sucked back in to saving the world. He works with a recurring team of Israeli Mossad agents, each one a distinctive Israeli character: a feral Russian, a passionate Yemenite, a woman damaged in her youth from a terrorist’s bomb, an aging scholar who worked in a Vienna office hunting Nazi war criminals before being recruited, and so on.

My favorite recurring character in these novels is the elderly and retired spymaster Ari Shamron, a fictional figure who is presented as the founder and shaper of Israel’s spy network, ruthlessly hunting down Israel’s enemies “by way of deception” (Proverbs 24:6, and the title of a famous expose of the Mossad). In the novels, Shamron earned his legendary status by engineering the capture Adolf Eichmann, which makes him an imaginative amalgam of Isser Harel and others. He’s a father figure to Gabriel, but also often gives voice to the coldblooded ruthlessness of the task at hand—a counterpoint to the moral ambivalence that Gabriel, or the reader, may feel.

What makes Daniel Silva stand out in the genre of spy fiction is the authority with which he writes about the world’s crises. Sure, the books are summer potboilers, and as such, they don’t qualify as great literature. But they seem rooted in very timely evils. The new novel The Collector was written in 2022-23, and the ongoing Russian assault on Ukraine provides the intrigue. While the book is populated by art thieves, corrupt energy officials, bloodthirsty Russian oligarchs, and amoral white collar criminals of all sorts, there is one archvillain behind it all: “Volodya,” as his nervous acquaintances know him. Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin.

Putin never actually appears in the novel, but the author makes clear that he is the mastermind of the Russian kleptocracy that inherited the Soviet Union’s morals and values—and its nukes. As such, this villain is significantly scarier than, say, Goldfinger or Dr. No or Ernst Stavro Blofeld, because Putin is all-too-real.  

The book elaborates on Putin’s viciousness. As the Russians plot a false-flag operation in Ukraine, we read this exchange among his subordinates:

“How many will die?
General Belinsky had shrugged. They were only human beings, after all.
“But they’re Russian citizens.”
“So were the people in those apartment buildings back in ninety-nine. Three hundred were killed, just to make certain that Volodya won that first election.” (The Collector, p.336)

 
The Gabriel Allon adventures provide several valuable gifts. For starters, they are “just” novels—their primary purpose is the pleasure of a good page-turner, perfectly timed for summer reading.

Second, Daniel Silva’s writing has the scent of insider-truth. He not only has done his investigative homework, but he also seems to know things from the contacts he made through his years as a correspondent in Washington and the Middle East. I trust him, for instance, when he implies that Putin’s insidiousness and cruelty go far deeper than most of us realize. (I write this in the days after Yevgeny Prigozhin, the mercenary who led a rebellion against Putin’s military two months ago, was killed in a mysterious plane crash.) All of Silva’s books seem full of insider information—and all of them have an Author’s Note at the end that delineate which aspects of the book are fiction and which are rooted in reality.

Most importantly, there’s the question of whether or not the world needs an Israeli James Bond.

The key distinction between Gabriel Allon and James Bond is the most obvious: Allon is Jewish, working for the security of the Jewish state. As such, he doesn’t have the luxury of being an amoral, smirking playboy like Bond. Although the series almost never gets preachy about Zionism, there is always, beneath the surface, a sense of “we’re fighting for our lives, because we have to.” Gabriel Allon, a fictional creation, was recruited in the wake of the very real Munich Olympics Massacre, when Palestinian terrorists murdered 11 Israelis while the whole world was watching. As Gabriel sought out and assassinated the perpetrators, he paid a devastating price: a terrorist’s car bomb killed his son and maimed his first wife. That wife, Leah, recurs in the novels as a spectral presence living in a hospital in the Jerusalem hills, unable to make new memories, caught in an awful moment in time of Jewish victimhood and personal tragedy.

This darkness gives the books an edge, an awareness, that most potboilers lack. Gabriel Allon is a perpetually ambivalent figure. We sense that he’d prefer to be with his wife and kids, or with his paints and brushes. He doesn’t want to carry the weight of the Jewish future—or the world’s—in his hands, but it is regularly thrust upon him: a theme which is very Jewish.

Neither Allon nor Daniel Silva is prone to making long speeches about the justice of their cause. In fact, we sense that each of them is well aware of the moral imperfections of their case. Gabriel Allon’s Jewishness is not found in the Talmud or the synagogue. It’s found in a wearying view of Jewish history, especially in Europe, that led to tragedy and the absolute need for a Jewish homeland (and its defense forces). Here’s a brief exchange from The Collector, between Gabriel and his Danish intelligence counterpart:

“A promising beginning.”
“It’s early, Lars.”
“I’ve always believed in the power of positive thinking.”
“That’s because you’re Danish,” said Gabriel. “I find it comforting to prepare myself for a calamity and to be pleasantly surprised if it turns out to be a garden-variety disaster instead.” (p.268)

There’s also no small amount of fantasy-projection going on in these novels, too. Any Jewish reader of these stories will say, “If only we had a secret weapon like Gabriel Allon!”

Throughout this hot summer of 2023, Israel’s existential threats seem to be internal as much as external. No superspies will rescue us from the current crisis, which calls upon the Jewish people as a whole to take a stand.  In the meantime, I’m glad to know that Gabriel Allon is out there where he belongs, ready to set aside his paintbrushes and step into service when he’s needed. Just in time for summer.

Rags and Bones: Remembering Robbie Robertson

The death of Jaime Robbie Robertson this week had lots of baby-boomers-and-people-who-love-them returning to some of his classic songs with The Band: “The Weight,” “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” “Chest Fever,” and so on.

For me, I went back to a song of Robbie’s that appeared on one of The Band’s lesser-known, later efforts:  “Rags and Bones,” from their 1975 album Northern Lights—Southern Cross:

Catch a taxi to the fountainhead
Blinking neon penny arcade
A young Caruso on the fire escape
Painted face ladies on parade

The newsboy on the corner
Singing out headlines
And a fiddler selling pencils
The sign reads: Help the blind

Coming up the lane callin’;
Working while the rain’s falling
Ragman, your song of the street
Keeps haunting my memory…

“Rags and Bones” evokes an immigrant saga in the New World at the turn of the 20th century. It could be one of many North American cities, although in this case it happens to be Toronto. And it’s significant because it’s as close as Robbie Robertson ever got to really exploring his Jewish roots with The Band, a motley assemblage some of the most important musicians of the rock era.

For those who don’t share my obsessions, here’s a quick background. In the late 1950s—really at the dawn of rock and roll—a teenage Robbie Robertson joined up with a Canadian rockabilly group called Ronnie Hawkins & the Hawks, where he quickly became not only a skilled lead guitarist, but also a prolific songwriter. The group traveled around North America, where they became intimately familiar with indigenous American music (including rock, country, and blues) and indigenous American dysfunction (racism).

But their immortality came from hooking up with Bob Dylan, providing the electric backing for him in 1965 and in his world-changing tour of 1966. After that, they moved to Woodstock and, under the very democratic moniker “The Band”, began producing some of the greatest music of the 1960s.

The rest of the story of The Band is important: Watkins Glen in 1973 with the Dead and the Allman Brothers, the largest rock concert of all time; the barnstorming 1974 tour with Dylan; the tragic self-induced chemical hell that consumed so many of the generation, including Band members Richard Manuel and Rick Danko. And of course the legendary “final show” on Thanksgiving Day 1976 that was filmed as The Last Waltz. But those are just the broad outlines.

Robbie Robertson is never included in those perennial lists of “Jews in Rock.” His songwriting, incredibly rich as it is, rarely has allusions to Judaism or the Bible beyond its mythic status. (There are exceptions, like “Daniel and the Sacred Harp.” Although I’ve read that Robertson insisted that the line “I pulled into Nazareth” in “The Weight” refers to Nazareth, Pennsylvania.) But it’s noteworthy just how many Jewish musicians were part of Dylan’s revolutionary mid-60s scene, including Mike Bloomfield, Al Kooper, and Harvey Brooks (who still advertises his services as a music teacher in Jerusalem).

As Robbie Robertson tells it, his mother Dolly was Mohawk, and he spent part of his Canadian childhood on the Six Nations Reservation where she had grown up. The man whom young Robbie was told was his father was named Jim Robertson, an alcoholic who abused Robbie and his mother. Eventually Dolly and Jim split up.

It was a few years later in late adolescence that Robbie discovered the identity of his real father: a man named Alexander David Klegerman, a Toronto hustler and gambler and the child of Jewish immigrants, who had fallen in love with Robbie’s mother. Alex was apparently a pretty sketchy figure. Long before Robbie’s maturation, he was killed in a hit-and-run, which was rumored on the streets not to have been an accident.

Robbie learned this from his uncles Morrie and Natie Klegerman, Jewish underworld figures who took a liking to the kid. In his 2016 autobiography Testimony, Robbie wrote about regular trips to the heart of Toronto’s Jewish neighborhood, and how even though it was completely different from his upbringing in the suburbs or on the reservation, it struck something deep in his soul.

The most Jewish event in Testimony occurs when Morrie and Natie take teenage Robbie to meet his paternal grandfather for the first time. Shmuel Chaim Klegerman was a devout Yiddish-speaking Jew. Robbie describes their introduction this way:

The old man trembled with emotion. He put his hand on his chest and lowered his head as if in prayer. Then slowly he raised his eyes to look at me, a combination of joy and sorrow on his face. I felt frozen in the moment as he studied me, searching, I’m sure, for traces of his departed son. He gave a nod of recognition and a tear rolled down his cheek.

Then he spoke in English. “Alex was my favorite. Your father was my favorite.” I managed a slight smile in acknowledgement before glancing at Natie with sympathy, concerned he’d be upset by his father’s stark favoritism, but he waved it off—as if it didn’t bother him in the least. He signaled for me to join them. I walked over and took both their outreached hands, profoundly moved by the whole experience. But though I knew Natie meant for it to bring me closer, in this strange new world I still couldn’t help feeling like an outsider. (Robbie Robertson, Testimony, p.66)

His Uncle Natie said, “Well, Jaime, how about that? I bet you didn’t know you were Jewish.”

Again, this background doesn’t make Robbie Robertson a “Jewish songwriter.” But it seems important to me that someone who spent so much time exploring the mythology of America in his writing has a strong fiber of Judaism running through his makeup.

In the liner notes to Northern Lights—Southern Cross, Robbie recalled Old Toronto (again, in language that could just as well describe Old Boston, or Newark, or Baltimore, or a dozen other places in the New World):

People would come from the old country that were intellectuals and scholars… I had a grandfather who was one of these people. He was an intellectual but he made his living in Toronto as a rag man. I remember as a little kid, there was a lane behind our home and I remember hearing this guy coming up the land singing this song ‘Rags and bones, old iron.”

…As a kid, there was something a little scary about this. Then, years later finding out that it had a connection to my heritage inspired me to write this song.

The song was “Rags and Bones,” with its refrain:

Keep haunting my memory
Music in the air
I hear it everywhere
Rags, bones, and old city songs

One of Robbie Robertson’s gifts is to remind us that the collective culture we call “Americana” is a polyglot of immigrant stories—including the stories of transplanted Jews. Like Philip Roth—and, for that matter, Bob Dylan—Robbie Robertson’s legacy is much bigger than “Jewish writing.” But his (North) American writing includes Judaism in its DNA, an important acknowledgment that our presence here is as authentic and distinct as anyone else’s. And, for that matter, it reminds us that to begin to understand “America” includes understanding the story of the Jewish experience here.

That was one of his blessings to us—alongside some of the most immortal songs of the century.
!יהי זכרו ברוך

Image: Bob Dylan and Robbie Robertson, Forest Hills, New York, 1965 © Daniel Kramer

Against Defeatism

“Pessimism,” says my teacher Donniel Hartman, “is a luxury we cannot afford.” There is simply too much at stake at this political moment in Israel.

By now, regular readers of this blog know that I’m utterly preoccupied by the Israeli pro-democracy protests. It’s been two weeks since I’ve returned from Jerusalem, and I’m still processing all that I experienced. As the very fabric of Israeli society appears to be unraveling. I have no doubt that the righteous protesters in Israel are fighting for the nation’s soul.

“For me, Judaism is the antonym of defeatism and hopelessness. So, for that matter, is my Zionism.
”

As you know, Netanyahu’s coalition just struck down the Supreme Court’s ability to declare extreme legislation “unreasonable.” This is just the first salvo in an attack on one of the basic pillars of democracy: a system of checks and balances of the legislature by an independent judiciary. No wonder the despicable National Security Minister Itamar Ben Gvir—a racist thug with a terrorist background—tweeted that “the salad bar is open.” What he meant: This initial legislation is just the appetizer; a full entrée of laws castrating the court and dismantling democratic norms is now on its way to being served from the legislative kitchen.

This is what those demonstrations in the streets of Israel are fighting against.

I’ve written about this in previous posts over the past few months. But today I’m struck by what I’m hearing from some American Jews, and I’m distressed.

Since my return, I’ve heard from many acquaintances—in person, via email, and on social media:

Many are despondent about what’s taking place in Israel.

Some have suggested that they’ve lost hope in Israel’s future: the ultra-nationalist, theocratic takeover is nearly complete.

Some have said that, after a lifetime of supporting Israel, that they’re “out,” and can no longer pay lip service to a regime so antithetical to their democratic values.

Some are saying they will now refocus their identity as a “proud Diaspora Jew,” shaping a Jewish identity that excludes Zionism.

Some well-known Israeli pundits—and not necessarily those of the left—are grieving Israel’s future.

Some rabbis in prominent synagogues have announced that they can no longer recite Tefillat HaMedina / the Prayer for Israel at Shabbat services. Periodically we hear of rabbis (in non-prominent communities) declare that they are non-Zionist, if not outright anti-Israel.

And so on.

I don’t know how widespread those feelings of defeat are, but the sentiment is growing. And for every Jew who declares that they’re “out,” there will no doubt be a much larger number of silent resignations, of Jews who simply will construct their Jewish lives without Israel.  

I feel the pain that is inherent in every one of those exchanges. These are the heartfelt reflections of people who historically have acknowledged that Israel’s situation is different from ours: its battle against bloodthirsty enemies is existential. But many of these same individuals are now asking: How can I support a regime whose values have so profoundly diverged from my own?

But I can’t go there. And it’s desperately important that you don’t, either. We cannot afford pessimism—not when there is so much on the line.

This is my respectful response to all those friends and students who have shared their fears and concerns with me:

Our Israeli friends need our support, now more than ever. I’m quite clear that the battle that Israel is facing—from within this time—is as much an existential battle as it has ever faced from external enemies.

All around the country, hundreds of thousands of Israelis have been demonstrating for more than half a year, every Saturday night. (Israel’s population is approximately 9.7 million people. Do the math and be amazed by the breathtaking, massive proportion of the country that has taken to the streets in the name of democracy!)

Here are three more points I’d ask every person who is wavering to keep in mind:

(1)   The protests have been going on for 30 weeks!, and show no sign of weakening.

(2)   The patriotism of the demonstrators. The rallies are oceans of blue-and-white, with flags everywhere. Most rallies open or close with “Hatikvah.” In a world where the right wing tends to co-opt patriotic symbols, this is remarkable.

Consider this, by way of contrast. During the Trump years, I and many of you went to our share of political rallies: the Women’s Marches and Black Lives Matter. We believed in those causes. But what would it have taken for us to go and demonstrate every single Saturday night for months on end? That’s the depth of the commitment Israel’s pro-democracy camp has made.

And for that matter: Imagine showing up at a Women’s March or BLM rally with an American flag and singing the national anthem. It would have been more than strange—it would have been completely tone-deaf and out of place. By contrast, the rallies in Israel are a united call of the authentic voice of Zionism: democratic, patriotic, and inclusive.

(3)   What about the “insurmountable demographics” that we keep hearing about? Some of the defeatism has stemmed from a great resignation that these battles will never end, as birthrates among the religious right soar.

But that misses the point of what these demonstrations are all about. Because the revolt against Netanyahu’s coalition is not primarily a leftist revolt. It is a great upheaval by the broad democratic MAJORITY of the country: the center-left, center, and center-right. They may disagree on a wide variety of public policies, but who completely agree about the heart of the matter: That Zionism and Judaism are inherently democratic, and that an assault on Israel’s basic democratic institutions endangers everyone.

For me, Judaism is the antonym of defeatism and hopelessness. So, for that matter, is my Zionism.

For those with long memories, there have been dark times before. Israel emerged from the ashes of the Shoah—when 1/3 of the Jews in the world were murdered and the very question of any Jewish future at all was worth considering. There was June 1967—and a news blackout when it wasn’t clear for several days whether or not Israel had been wiped off the map. There was October 1973, when Jews ran from their synagogues on Yom Kippur to fight off a multilateral sneak attack by there enemies. There was, and remains, the threat of a nuclear Iran.

In none of these moments did we concede defeat or abandon our vision of the future. 

Diaspora voices in this struggle are crucial. Israelis are telling us that we are desperately needed for this battle. If you’ve ever been inspired by Israel’s seemingly endless reserves of innovation and perseverance in the face of implacable enemies… well, this is the moment when that inspiration and fortitude is needed more than ever.

Reliable polls show that this government has lost the backing of its supporters and a significant majority of Israelis—left, center, and the democratic right. A line has been crossed by the empowerment of theocratic fascists: that’s what those demonstrations are about.

There are no guarantees. Who knows how much damage this regime can wreak before it collapses or is voted out? But I do know this: If America’s liberal Jews sit this one out, or if we renege on the seventy-five-year commitment to the State of Israel, we will be complicit in empowering the forces of an anti-democratic theocracy in the Jewish state.

I’m writing these words on Tu B’Av, a date in the Jewish calendar devoted to love. “Love” is the way I was raised to describe our relationship to Israel. Love, of course, demands conviction and dedication over the long haul. We say to people whom we love: “My love for you is not conditional. We will, on occasion, disappoint one another. I will challenge you and criticize you when you let me down. But my commitment to you is undying.”

If you share similar sentiments, please: Do not submit to defeat. Recall the words of the Talmud, written in tears at another time of Jewish anguish:

,כּל הַמִּתְאַבֵּל עַל יְרוּשָׁלַיִם — זוֹכֶה וְרוֹאֶה בְּשִׂמְחָתָהּ
.וְשֶׁאֵינוֹ מִתְאַבֵּל עַל יְרוּשָׁלַיִם — אֵינוֹ רוֹאֶה בְּשִׂמְחָתָהּ

Whoever mourns for Jerusalem will merit to see her future joy,
and whoever does not mourn for Jerusalem will not see her future joy. (Ta’anit 30b)

Those words tell me that we will win this struggle, too. But we must not surrender to despair. To be part of the grand wonder of Israel means we must share in her battles, and not give up on the vision of what the state could and should be.