![]() I’ve been asked to write about Kafka six times in my life. Kafka: “What have I in common with Jews? I have hardly anything in common with myself, and should stand very quietly in a corner, content that I can breathe.” Kafka’s work should be standard reading for a time that cannot define its standards: a time that treats all identities as spectrums but all judgment as binary (“like” or “dislike”) a time that insists on appropriate behavior but forbids appropriation (people should read more books from other cultures, but must never write a book set in a culture not their own) a time that has replaced literacy with numeracy, but then laments that its only common culture is political (“Remember 2017?” “Whose 2017?”). It is a job not for a fan, or even for a critic, but for a self-hating crazy person. ![]() ![]() One of the lighter varieties, to be sure, but torture nonetheless. Providing such an explanation is impossible and so, a variety of torture. Having to explain the meaning of something that to you is utterly plain and obvious is like having to explain the meaning of someone. And even then the Rabbi kept standing in silence, which was-abracadabra-the answer. The Rabbi stood and was silent and let the student talk until the student was all talked out. Once, a student approached Rabbi Shalom of Belz and asked, “What is required in order to live a decent life? How do I know what charity is? What lovingkindness is? How can I tell if I’ve ever been in the presence of God’s mercy?” And so on. In Kafka, no honor comes without suffering, and no suffering goes unhonored.īeing asked to write about Kafka is like being asked to describe the Great Wall of China by someone who’s standing just next to it. Reading the work of Franz Kafka is a pleasure, whose punishment is this: writing about it, too.
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