My reaction: that makes sense. Since I was a kid I have ended up with Jewish friends.
My ex-wife and oldest son are Jewish. I’ve always loved modern Jewish
literature and Yiddish writing in translation (I’m reading Shadows on the Hudson by Isaac Bashevis Singer.) In junior high
school I read Martin Buber and Max I. Dimont’s Jews, God, and History (1962), looked into Spinoza for the first time and
rooted for Israel during the Six-Day War. To this day, defending the U.S. and
Israel are self-evident necessities. In 1967, after the Six-Day War, Jorge Luis
Borges wrote “To Israel” (trans. Stephen Kessler, The Sonnets, 2010), and contemplated his own possible Jewish
ancestry:
“Who’ll tell
me whether you are in the lost
labyrinth of
secular rivers in
my blood,
Israel? Who can tell me where
my blood and
your blood have flowed together?
It doesn’t
matter. I know you are in a sacred
book that
contains time and that rescues
red Adam’s
story and the memory
and the agony
of the Crucified.
You are in
that book, which is the mirror
of every
face that looks into its pages,
and of God’s
face, who in his intricate
harsh
crystal can be terribly divined.
Be safe,
Israel, as you guard the wall
Of God in
all the passion of your fight.”
Borges also devoted two poems to Spinoza and announced his intention to write a book titled Key to Spinoza. In a 1974 interview he
said, “I am preparing a book on Spinoza's philosophy, because I have never
understood him. He has always attracted me, less than Berkeley, less than
Schopenhauer, but I cannot understand Spinoza.” Even so, when asked in 1979 to
name his favorite historical character, Borges answered, “Spinoza, who
committed his life to abstract thought.”
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