textfiles/sf/jewscifi.txt

JEWISH SCIENCE FICTION -- by Ilene Schneider

     When discussing Jewish science fiction, as with all Jewish
literature, there is one major question to be answered (and for which
there is usually no one answer): Is a story "Jewish" because of its
theme or because its author is Jewish by birth? For example, are the
works of a Philip Roth, the quintessential example of the "self-hating
Jew," any more "Jewish" than the works of a James Joyce, the
quintessential Irish Catholic who created Molly Bloom? In the area of
science fiction, how do we deal with an Isaac Asimov, who admits in his
introduction to _Wandering Stars_, an anthology of Jewish fantasy and
science fiction, that he is a Jew by accident of birth only (and was
asked to write the introduction to the book because he didn't change his
name to something that would have been more palatable to 1930s science
fiction readers)? His stories are not in the least "Jewish," at least on
the surface; yet he is identified often as a Jewish writer. In fact, his
contribution to _Wandering Stars_, "Unto the Fourth Generation," he
comments elsewhere, was the only Jewish story he'd ever thought to
write. And it is interesting that "Unto the Fourth Generation" is one of
his very few fantasy stories: (p. 4 ff). There are two anthologies of
Jewish science fiction of which I am aware: the aforementioned
_Wandering Stars_ and a second volume by the same name. _Wandering
Stars_ includes quite a bit of fantasy, as well as at least one story
which I feel should not have been included at all, as its theme is not
Jewish: in order to make "City of Dreams, Feet of Clay" into a Jewish
story, it is necessary to subscribe to the demeaning stereotypes of the
interferring, bossy Jewish mother. The story by itself may be amusing;
including it in an anthology of Jewish science fiction is an insult, as
is Jack Dann's introduction to it: (p. 185). There are also a category
of books, such as Isidore Haiblum's _The Tsaddik of the Seven Wonders_,
hyped on the cover as "The First Yiddish Science Fantasy Novel." The
book was written in 1971 in English. A smattering of Yiddish words does
not make a book Yiddish, nor does it make a book Jewish. It is an
amusing book, dealing with time travel in a way that combines fantasy
and science fiction; but it is not particularly Jewish in theme. Nor is
a book which, by its title, is assumed by the unsuspecting to be Jewish:
_A Canticle for Leibowitz_ is a wonderful novel, a classic in fact,
describing how the world puts itself together again following a nuclear
war. If anything, it is Catholic in theme, as the Church is the one
constant throughout. That the Church is question is founded upon a
fragment of a shopping list written by a scientist named Leibowitz is
purely coincidental. I do not plan to deal here with fantasy; first, it
is not a personal interest of mine; second, fantasy begins to get into
the realm of folk tales, mythology, superstitions, and mysticism. It is
easy to see how these lines are blurred when we consider the stories of
Isaac B. Singer, whom no one will deny is a Jewish writer. Whether he is
a writer of fantasy or a reteller of Jewish folk tales is open to
debate. What is particularly interesting to me are not the short stories
on Jewish themes, but the weaving of Jewish subplots into science
fiction novels. There are several recent examples: Gregory Benford and
David Brin in _Heart of the Comet_ describe a group of people who are
exploring Halley's Comet. One of their scientists is an exiled Israeli,
exiled because in their near-future world the State of Israel has been
taken over by a coalition of fundamentalists, including Jewish
fundamentalists who have returned to a strict Biblical interpretation.
In addition to rebuilding the Temple and reinstituting animal sacrifice,
they have destroyed the Kibbutzim and outlawed all forms of Judaism that
does not agree with theirs (p. 252). Mike Resnick, whom I have never met
in person but have chatted with electronically via modem, would deny
writing any books with Jewish themes (with the exception of _The
Branch_). In fact, his latest efforts center on Africa and traditional
Kenyan society. Yet, there is a thread running through most of his works
which could be called "Jewish": most of his protagonists, including an
alien whose society Mike modeled on the matriarchy of elephant herds,
have what could be called a "Messianic mission."  Perhaps, "prophetical"
would be a better description. Like the prophets of old, Mike's
protagonists are reluctant to assume their roles, yet they are also
compelled to find some meaning to life, to "save" humanity (or life
forms).  The only one of Mike's books with a Jewish theme, _The Branch_,
actually describes what would happen in the future if the Hebrew
Biblical Messiah (not the Christian Messiah of love and peace) were to
come back to earth. Mike's Messiah is greedy, egotistical, power hungry,
vindictive -- he seems to have been modeled after some of the
televangelists. He is opposed by most of those in power -- Wall Street,
the Israeli government, the Catholic Church, organized crime, but has a
popular following of millions. (p. 138 ff.) (I have threatened Mike that
I am going to write a scholarly analysis of the Messianic thread in his
works.) It is, of course, difficult to know when a writer is projecting
his own points of view and when he is creating a character that would be
antithetical to his own values. (I am saying "he" because I cannot, off
the top of my head, recall any women science fiction writers whom I
would classify as Jewish, whether by birth or by theme, except Marge
Piercy, who has written one science fiction novel that is mostly a
vision of the ideal feminist utopia. Many women -- although by no means
all -- write fantasy rather than science fiction.) Joel Rosenberg, for
example, another electronic acquaintance, has created extremely
misogynistic characters, yet his mother-in-law is a former state
president of NOW and he and his wife were married by a woman rabbi.
Joel's latest science fiction book (he writes mostly sword-and-sorcery
fantasy), _Not for Glory_, is a far-future tale of the Metzadah
Mercenary Corps, a group which has appeared in several of his other
science fiction novels (Joel is known primarily for his fantasy). The
Metzadah Mercenary Corps is the primary occupation of the remnant of
Israelis who have been relocated to a distant planet (front piece). Joel
takes the opposite tack of those who portray Jews as submissive,
helpless, and defenseless and instead portrays them as warriors who will
fight for anyone for a price. And yet, his Jews are still strangely
submissive, helpless, and defenseless, since they are at the mercy of
the ruling galactic government, their planet has no natural resources,
and the only thing they can do to support themselves is fight on the
behalf of others. An interesting side-light is that Joel's society is
also Biblically fundamentalist, and yet he has gotten many of his facts
confused, ignoring 1000s of years of Talmudic precedence. For example,
he quotes the entire Biblical passage about halitzah (the ruling that a
brother must marry his childless brother's widow), implying that it is
the law of the land, yet the woman in question has children from her
dead husband. It is unclear to me why he cited the Biblical law. I also
found very distasteful his depiction of the actions of the non-observant
when they are off-world and indulge in an orgy of tref gluttony: (p.
102). Although there are numerous examples of science fiction which have
Jewish themes and of Jewish authors who have written science fiction, I
have found most of it to be curiously unsatisfactory. Some of it plays
for laughs, relying on offensive stereotypes (such as the lead story in
_Wandering Stars_, "On Venus, Have We Got a Rabbi"); some of it is
inaccurate in its portrayals of what Judaism may become in the future,
based upon faulty or incomplete knowledge of Judaism; some of it is so
heavily fantasy that it is a separate subgenre of literature from
science fiction. On the other hand, what exists, deficient as it may be,
can be a useful educational tool. It is much more palatable to students
to learn something through an interesting story, especially one that
doesn't seem to be "educational" and may even have the cachet of being
slightly disreputable, than from any classroom lesson or discussion. And
finally, despite what critics (mostly parents of teens!) claim, science
fiction is not escapism. Good science fiction projects into the future
the logical consequences of our contemporary actions. Far from being
unrealistic, science fiction can help us confront what is wrong with our
society and can be a means of helping us to understand it.