• • • • 4To SATIRE Jewish, They Wrote W ith Jewish Book Month upon us once more, we are again faced with that ageless — and, possibly, that answer- less — question: Just what is a Jewish book? Is a Jewish book a text written by a Jew? If so, must it address only Jewish issues? Or does a book qualify as "Jewish" if it is written by a person of any faith but is of specific interest to Jews? Perversely using this last criteria, would Mein Kampf qualify as a "Jewish" book because its message was ultimately so essential to the fate of many millions of Jews? Would a cookbook of Italian dishes written by a Jew be a "Jewish" book, an "Italian" book, or just a plain old "cookbook." Maybe only Julia Child knows the answer. ❑ What follows is Arthur Magida's satirical look at how four famous authors could write Jewish. • • most elusive of genres THE JEWISH BOOK THE ACCIDENTAL TSURIS • BY PHILIP ROTH • . acon walked into the deli de- termined only to get a pa- strami on rye. Nothing more and nothing less, although his mother had always told him, "Eat, eat, mein kind, my son, my light of my life, my f uture, my Mr. Know-It-All-Because-You- Were-Always-The-Smartest-Kid-On-The- Block. Fill yourself up until you need to take your belt out one notch. No, two not- ches. You were always too thin, anyway. Always the kid who got the A's on every test, but were so thin your biology teacher had you stand in front of your en- tire class because all the other students could clearly see your bone structure. For that, I cooked for you every night? For that, I knew by heart every recipe in Joy of Cooking?" That even the wanting of anything as simple as a sandwich could unleash this torrent of a maternal monologue made Macon cringe and he swore to spend at least the next 15 years in therapy, just like his brother, Alexander, who despite having catharsis after catharsis on the couch, still did a lot of complaining. "Will that be with or without mustard?" asked the woman behind the counter. Macon flustered, always bashful when confronted with personal questions. "Hi, my name's Muriel," said the blonde who smelled of corn beef and tongue and brisket. Macon decided to change the order to roast beef, and when he looked into ▪ • . • • • • ▪ • . • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • ▪ 78 FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1991 A satirical look at that Muriel's blue eyes, he knew that he was a goner; and they would be sharing a Dr. Pepper before the sun went down. ❑ GENESIS BY ERNEST HEMINGWAY T he old man stood up straight in the boat and said to the boy, "Light, Give me light." The boy was small and dark and fine. He handed the torch to the old man. They both peeked into the blackness of the water. It was painful, but they looked. There was still no fish. They had been on the seas for three days. No fish had come to them. The old man rowed slowly and steadi- ly. He spoke firmly to no one in par- ticular, not to himself, not to the boy. "Let there be fish. Let there be wind to carry us home. Let there be Dansk silverware on our table so we can have a fine meal. Let there be a Frank Capra film on cable tonight so I can have some jollies while I drink my wine and tell my friends of the great fish that I will share with them." The old man felt the pull of a fish on his fishing line and he knew that his heart was pure and that the heart of the boy was pure and that he would not have to put tonight's supper on his Diner's Club card. He also knew this was one hell of a way to get fresh lox. ❑