Two time Canadian Jewish Book Award-winning and best-selling author Dr. Nora Gold is the editor of 18: Jewish Stories Translated from 18 Languages—the first anthology of translated multilingual Jewish fiction in 25 years. Since its publication last October, 18 has shattered the narrow viewpoint many people have about Jewish fiction and voices. Through its transcendent, rangy, and unforgettable stories, Gold’s inclusion of a chorus of different voices and perspectives challenges the monolithic way people think about not just Jewish literature but Jewish people.
Iranian-Canadian author Hollay Ghadery reached out to Dr. Gold to talk about belonging in translated texts, and the controversial implications of this unprecedented level of inclusion in an often myopic range of Jewish literature. In this collection, Gold has included works not only by Ashkenazi Jews but by Sephardic Jews, too, as reflected in the stories that were translated from Ladino, Turkish, Italian, Albanian, and Greek.
18 was a pretty spectacular undertaking. What made you decide to try to pull it together? Why now?
This book developed organically from the literary journal I founded and edit, Jewish Fiction .net: a journal publishing Jewish-themed fiction that was either written in English or translated into English, but not previously published in English. I’ve always loved translated fiction, so from the outset of Jewish Fiction .net in 2010, I sought out Jewish-themed translated stories and novel excerpts. Our inaugural issue, for instance, contained fiction originally written in four languages, and 5 of the 13 stories in it were translations. To date, we’ve published 160 translated works that were originally written in 20 languages, and these constitute almost 30 per cent of Jewish Fiction .net.
I love all the stories we publish in this journal, including of course the ones written in English, but I’ve always felt the translated works provided a special spice to our cake. Still, it took me a few years to fully appreciate the treasure trove we had amassed, and to recognize that this was, in a way, the jewel in Jewish Fiction .net’s crown. Then, only several years later, did I realize that these translated works were not only a source of pride but something of real significance. By then I knew from many of our readers whose first language was English that until they’d started reading our journal, they had never encountered Jewish fiction in translation (aside, perhaps, from Hebrew, Yiddish, or Judaeo-Spanish); in fact, they hadn’t even known all this other literature existed. I discovered that, unfortunately, this was typical. When most people hear the phrase “Jewish fiction” they think mainly of American Jewish fiction, and have little awareness of the rest of what exists around the world, either in English or in other languages. This is not only sad but ironic because (related to Jews having lived for two thousand years among other nations and having written in virtually all the languages of the countries where they dwelled) one of the key features of Jewish fiction is its multilingualism.
Jewish Fiction .net has readers in 140 countries, and some of these readers, from dozens of locations, have urged me over the years to publish a collection of stories (including translated ones) from our journal. Until two years ago, I staunchly ignored these requests. I was busy with my own writing, and—like most writers—resisted undertaking any new project that would cut into my writing time. Then something changed. I suddenly felt that the ignorance about, and misconception of, Jewish fiction was a serious problem, and one I could help to address by sharing some of the amazing translated works from my online journal. This felt to me like an important, even an urgent, project. So I took it on.
This anthology was intended to be, in a sense—and in the best sense when it comes to powerful literature—disruptive in nature?
Yes, absolutely.
Disruptive not only in that the book challenges the notion that Jewish literature is a monolith but that Jewish life is monolithic. I’m thinking specifically of how the stories in this collection aren’t always religiously Jewish but culturally Jewish, which expands on the narrow perception of what it is to be Jewish. Is this range a decision you were conscious of making when you curated the book?
Your comment is perceptive, Hollay, about the often narrow (and distorted) perceptions some people have of Jews. For example, many people think of all Jews as white, when in fact this is true only of Jews from European backgrounds; Jews from North Africa and Arab countries generally have darker skin, and Ethiopian Jews, and some other Jews, are Black. Another common misconception about Jews is that they are all rich, or at least richer than other people—a belief that is untrue and also helps to fuel antisemitism.
I agree that the stories in 18 reflect that Jewishness can be experienced as both a religion and a culture. Yet neither Jewish religion nor Jewish culture are monolithic. Religiously, there are multiple, radically different streams of Judaism, each with its own set of practices, prayer books, and rabbinical organizations. And Jewish culture differs enormously from place to place, shaped by the surrounding culture of wherever Jews happen to live; so Jews from different places (think Yemen, Hungary, Argentina) have lived their lives in different languages, eating different foods, playing different music, and observing different customs. There is no one “Jewish culture.” Which is one of the points of my book. At the same time, there is a thread, a clear and undeniable thread, that runs through all this diversity of culture and religion, uniting Jews as a people. This thread, too, comes through in 18.
Now to your question: Is the range across Jewish religion and Jewish culture in 18 something I consciously decided on when curating this book? The answer is no. I was just applying the definition of Jewish fiction that I’d honed over the first 13 years of Jewish Fiction .net, the journal from which all these stories were taken. The question you touch on about what a Jew is, is closely related to the (hotly debated) question of what Jewish fiction is. There are many perspectives on how to define Jewish fiction, which I discuss in some depth in my introduction to 18. As I explain there, my favourite definition is Ruth Wisse’s, who sees Jewish literature as literature that is reflective in some way of Jewish experience, Jewish consciousness, or the Jewish condition. This definition, as you can see, encompasses both the religious and cultural components you alluded to—and more.
If you had to pick one story in this collection that you think would be the most likely to inspire discussion (or hot debate, even), which one do you think it would be, and why?
I think “The Guest” is likely to inspire discussion (maybe even hot debate!), because it is such a painful, brilliant, and intense evocation of how religious tradition when combined with patriarchy can have devastating effects on the lives of women and girls. I won’t say more than this because I don’t want to ruin the story for those who haven’t read it yet, but it is gorgeously written and packs a real punch. And even though it’s set in the past, it still (unfortunately) has resounding relevance today.
What would you say are some of the trends and challenges particular to Jewish fiction today or in the near future?
One trend and challenge in the near future that I hope 18 will help to provoke is a significant increase within the Jewish fiction “canon” of the number of works originally written in languages other than English. As I mentioned, most people think of “Jewish fiction” only in terms of English-language works (and usually just American ones, at that). This has to change. Jews and non-Jews alike have to understand that Jewish fiction is a truly multilingual body of literature, and that this multilingualism is part of what makes it such a treasure.
An additional challenge, and one that I hope will become a trend, is expanding the understanding of Jewish fiction to include Jewish-themed literature written by non-Jews. I know this position is a controversial one within the Jewish literary world, and—at this point, anyway—a minority view, but I stand by it. The whole question of what is and is not Jewish fiction is, as I’ve said, passionately debated; in my introduction to 18, I laid out my own perspective on this issue. But now I’ll add to what I wrote there, and say that in my view some brilliant Jewish-themed fiction has been written by non-Jews, and in fact an example of this appears in the story “Golem,” translated from Polish. So I hope in the not-too-distant future the field of Jewish fiction will expand its borders to include a broader range of languages and of writers, all to the benefit of this rich and splendid literature.
Speaking of rich and splendid literature, what’s next for you? What are you working on now?
On March 1 I had a book of two novellas come out with Guernica: In Sickness and In Health and Yom Kippur in a Gym. In Sickness and In Health is about a woman who had epilepsy as a child so her most cherished goal has always been to be “normal;” but just when things are going right for her (with her family, friends, and artistic career), some cartoons she drew threaten to reveal her secret medical past and destroy the life she’s worked so hard to build. In Yom Kippur in a Gym, five strangers at a Yom Kippur service in a gym are each struggling with an intense personal crisis when a medical emergency unexpectedly throws them together. In one hour all their lives are changed in ways they would never have believed possible.
In 2026, I have another novella coming out with Guernica. Doubles, set in 1968 in an institution for troubled youth in Montreal, is told from the perspective of a brilliant, spunky, 12-year-old girl who is obsessed with math.
What am I working on now? Another novella (of course)! I am on a novella roll. I love novellas. I just read a new translation, by Damion Searls, of a Thomas Mann novella called Chaotic World and Childhood Sorrow, and it reminded me why I love novellas so much: they have great power and range and at the same time great intimacy and concision. A novella embodies the best of a short story and the best of a novel.
Two time Canadian Jewish Book Award-winning and best-selling author Dr. Nora Gold is the editor of 18: Jewish Stories Translated from 18 Languages—the first anthology of translated multilingual Jewish fiction in 25 years. Since its publication last October, 18 has shattered the narrow viewpoint many people have about Jewish fiction and voices. Through its transcendent, rangy, and unforgettable stories, Gold’s inclusion of a chorus of different voices and perspectives challenges the monolithic way people think about not just Jewish literature but Jewish people.
Iranian-Canadian author Hollay Ghadery reached out to Dr. Gold to talk about belonging in translated texts, and the controversial implications of this unprecedented level of inclusion in an often myopic range of Jewish literature. In this collection, Gold has included works not only by Ashkenazi Jews but by Sephardic Jews, too, as reflected in the stories that were translated from Ladino, Turkish, Italian, Albanian, and Greek.
18 was a pretty spectacular undertaking. What made you decide to try to pull it together? Why now?
This book developed organically from the literary journal I founded and edit, Jewish Fiction .net: a journal publishing Jewish-themed fiction that was either written in English or translated into English, but not previously published in English. I’ve always loved translated fiction, so from the outset of Jewish Fiction .net in 2010, I sought out Jewish-themed translated stories and novel excerpts. Our inaugural issue, for instance, contained fiction originally written in four languages, and 5 of the 13 stories in it were translations. To date, we’ve published 160 translated works that were originally written in 20 languages, and these constitute almost 30 per cent of Jewish Fiction .net.
I love all the stories we publish in this journal, including of course the ones written in English, but I’ve always felt the translated works provided a special spice to our cake. Still, it took me a few years to fully appreciate the treasure trove we had amassed, and to recognize that this was, in a way, the jewel in Jewish Fiction .net’s crown. Then, only several years later, did I realize that these translated works were not only a source of pride but something of real significance. By then I knew from many of our readers whose first language was English that until they’d started reading our journal, they had never encountered Jewish fiction in translation (aside, perhaps, from Hebrew, Yiddish, or Judaeo-Spanish); in fact, they hadn’t even known all this other literature existed. I discovered that, unfortunately, this was typical. When most people hear the phrase “Jewish fiction” they think mainly of American Jewish fiction, and have little awareness of the rest of what exists around the world, either in English or in other languages. This is not only sad but ironic because (related to Jews having lived for two thousand years among other nations and having written in virtually all the languages of the countries where they dwelled) one of the key features of Jewish fiction is its multilingualism.
Jewish Fiction .net has readers in 140 countries, and some of these readers, from dozens of locations, have urged me over the years to publish a collection of stories (including translated ones) from our journal. Until two years ago, I staunchly ignored these requests. I was busy with my own writing, and—like most writers—resisted undertaking any new project that would cut into my writing time. Then something changed. I suddenly felt that the ignorance about, and misconception of, Jewish fiction was a serious problem, and one I could help to address by sharing some of the amazing translated works from my online journal. This felt to me like an important, even an urgent, project. So I took it on.
This anthology was intended to be, in a sense—and in the best sense when it comes to powerful literature—disruptive in nature?
Yes, absolutely.
Disruptive not only in that the book challenges the notion that Jewish literature is a monolith but that Jewish life is monolithic. I’m thinking specifically of how the stories in this collection aren’t always religiously Jewish but culturally Jewish, which expands on the narrow perception of what it is to be Jewish. Is this range a decision you were conscious of making when you curated the book?
Your comment is perceptive, Hollay, about the often narrow (and distorted) perceptions some people have of Jews. For example, many people think of all Jews as white, when in fact this is true only of Jews from European backgrounds; Jews from North Africa and Arab countries generally have darker skin, and Ethiopian Jews, and some other Jews, are Black. Another common misconception about Jews is that they are all rich, or at least richer than other people—a belief that is untrue and also helps to fuel antisemitism.
I agree that the stories in 18 reflect that Jewishness can be experienced as both a religion and a culture. Yet neither Jewish religion nor Jewish culture are monolithic. Religiously, there are multiple, radically different streams of Judaism, each with its own set of practices, prayer books, and rabbinical organizations. And Jewish culture differs enormously from place to place, shaped by the surrounding culture of wherever Jews happen to live; so Jews from different places (think Yemen, Hungary, Argentina) have lived their lives in different languages, eating different foods, playing different music, and observing different customs. There is no one “Jewish culture.” Which is one of the points of my book. At the same time, there is a thread, a clear and undeniable thread, that runs through all this diversity of culture and religion, uniting Jews as a people. This thread, too, comes through in 18.
Now to your question: Is the range across Jewish religion and Jewish culture in 18 something I consciously decided on when curating this book? The answer is no. I was just applying the definition of Jewish fiction that I’d honed over the first 13 years of Jewish Fiction .net, the journal from which all these stories were taken. The question you touch on about what a Jew is, is closely related to the (hotly debated) question of what Jewish fiction is. There are many perspectives on how to define Jewish fiction, which I discuss in some depth in my introduction to 18. As I explain there, my favourite definition is Ruth Wisse’s, who sees Jewish literature as literature that is reflective in some way of Jewish experience, Jewish consciousness, or the Jewish condition. This definition, as you can see, encompasses both the religious and cultural components you alluded to—and more.
If you had to pick one story in this collection that you think would be the most likely to inspire discussion (or hot debate, even), which one do you think it would be, and why?
I think “The Guest” is likely to inspire discussion (maybe even hot debate!), because it is such a painful, brilliant, and intense evocation of how religious tradition when combined with patriarchy can have devastating effects on the lives of women and girls. I won’t say more than this because I don’t want to ruin the story for those who haven’t read it yet, but it is gorgeously written and packs a real punch. And even though it’s set in the past, it still (unfortunately) has resounding relevance today.
What would you say are some of the trends and challenges particular to Jewish fiction today or in the near future?
One trend and challenge in the near future that I hope 18 will help to provoke is a significant increase within the Jewish fiction “canon” of the number of works originally written in languages other than English. As I mentioned, most people think of “Jewish fiction” only in terms of English-language works (and usually just American ones, at that). This has to change. Jews and non-Jews alike have to understand that Jewish fiction is a truly multilingual body of literature, and that this multilingualism is part of what makes it such a treasure.
An additional challenge, and one that I hope will become a trend, is expanding the understanding of Jewish fiction to include Jewish-themed literature written by non-Jews. I know this position is a controversial one within the Jewish literary world, and—at this point, anyway—a minority view, but I stand by it. The whole question of what is and is not Jewish fiction is, as I’ve said, passionately debated; in my introduction to 18, I laid out my own perspective on this issue. But now I’ll add to what I wrote there, and say that in my view some brilliant Jewish-themed fiction has been written by non-Jews, and in fact an example of this appears in the story “Golem,” translated from Polish. So I hope in the not-too-distant future the field of Jewish fiction will expand its borders to include a broader range of languages and of writers, all to the benefit of this rich and splendid literature.
Speaking of rich and splendid literature, what’s next for you? What are you working on now?
On March 1 I had a book of two novellas come out with Guernica: In Sickness and In Health and Yom Kippur in a Gym. In Sickness and In Health is about a woman who had epilepsy as a child so her most cherished goal has always been to be “normal;” but just when things are going right for her (with her family, friends, and artistic career), some cartoons she drew threaten to reveal her secret medical past and destroy the life she’s worked so hard to build. In Yom Kippur in a Gym, five strangers at a Yom Kippur service in a gym are each struggling with an intense personal crisis when a medical emergency unexpectedly throws them together. In one hour all their lives are changed in ways they would never have believed possible.
In 2026, I have another novella coming out with Guernica. Doubles, set in 1968 in an institution for troubled youth in Montreal, is told from the perspective of a brilliant, spunky, 12-year-old girl who is obsessed with math.
What am I working on now? Another novella (of course)! I am on a novella roll. I love novellas. I just read a new translation, by Damion Searls, of a Thomas Mann novella called Chaotic World and Childhood Sorrow, and it reminded me why I love novellas so much: they have great power and range and at the same time great intimacy and concision. A novella embodies the best of a short story and the best of a novel.