על ‘הלב החושב’/ נדב בושם

On The Thinking Heart / Nadav Bossem

In the Henry Crown Hall, onstage, there were four wonderful performers, each different from the others, two talented musicians, a conductor and a magical choir of women, and hovering above them all was one Etty Hillesum.

Before the audience, a kind of creative tapestry inspired by Hillesum was woven, speaking about her and with her through the experiences of our lives here today, and it was intelligent and delicate and moving and funny. And yet there was only one thing missing for me, one voice that was not heard or present onstage: the voice of the man, of the male performer. And I was very sorry about this gender separation. Yes, it is the diary of a sensitive and intelligent young woman, but I was interested in seeing a man respond to the diary as well. And I wondered to myself, will the audience at the next festival also be separated by gender? I hope not. And what would Etty have said about the absence of men, or of the male gaze, or of the male thinking heart, yes, it exists too, from the performance so skillfully woven in her honor and inspired by her?

So here is a monologue by the performer who wasn’t there:

Twenty years ago, or actually maybe a little less, because I remember that the prime minister was the same prime minister, as is the way of enlightened democracies, anyway, sometime back then I was invited to Beit Zioni America to see a production by graduates of Nissan Nativ Jerusalem, directed by someone named Baruch Brenner, called The Girl Who Did Not Know How to Kneel, an adaptation of the diary turned novel by Etty Hillesum. It was the first time I had heard of her and I was curious to know more, especially as a great lover of Holocaust films, plays and books. Probably because I’m not really third generation, or maybe just a little, I have a Holocaust deficiency, like some people have an iron deficiency, so I read, research, watch… wait for Holocaust Remembrance Day and the new documentaries… get excited! Seriously, what would we do without it? How many times can you watch The Band!? Life isn’t Independence Day, life is Holocaust Remembrance Day!

I came home and told my then partner about the craft of the performance, and in his great wisdom, and great it is, he knew who she was and even found the book among his books. Of course I started reading and, of course, stopped halfway through. Annoyed. That Etty irritated me. I distinctly remember how indignant I was with her, and how I shared this with my then partner, I will write “then” as many times as I want, I earned it fair and square! “Why doesn’t she leave Holland and escape and save herself? Why does she keep living her life and concerning herself with the trivialities of everyday life, love, sexuality and existential thoughts, as though nothing is happening around her?” I was losing my mind. But why, really? And about what?

Today, in retrospect, looking back and thinking about the Nadav I was then, I was a 34 year old man at precisely that moment before the great upheavals of life began to act upon me, and perhaps that was why I couldn’t understand her, Etty, or her way. Shortly after I abandoned the diary, my mother became ill and I began caring for her. Together with my then partner, I became a foster father to a wonderful boy, the son of an Eritrean refugee. My mother became ill again and died after tremendous suffering. I became my brother’s legal guardian. Our son was taken from us in a malicious ambush by a criminal welfare system, and the fight against it for his right to be a child and our right to raise him destroyed our relationship and shattered it into pieces. And in the midst of all this there were also the COVID lockdowns, unemployment, protests and, of course, October 7, Lebanon and Iran, and one prime minister.

Today I am Etty. Because isn’t that what I’m doing here? Trying, like Etty, to survive within the horrifying reality in which we live, in a country collapsing into itself, stripping itself of its moral values. An endless war, internal and external, atrocities committed against us by others and atrocities committed against others in our name, and in the midst of all this I keep going to therapy and strength training and yoga, topping up my Rav Kav, watching Netflix, searching for what and how to create and how and from whom to get funding, going to the Cinematheque and the theater, and never missing my morning double long espresso, while in Qusra and other places not particularly far away, blue and white Nukhbas roam freely and without interference. I am Etty. She would surely have written wonderful Facebook posts and sparked fascinating discussions on all sorts of subjects. And every now and then an opinion piece in Haaretz. I am Etty.

Watching The Thinking Heart made me want to return to the book, unfortunately I haven’t yet seen the series, but when I got home I remembered that, just as in the performance, I too had given the book to a woman who wanted to delve deeper into Etty and learn from her, which is really to delve deeper into herself and learn about herself.

Today, like Etty, I feel that my life here is not yet over, has not yet run its course. Like a book, and what a book, that I left halfway through reading. And I want to keep reading.

Thank you, Etty.