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PARTISAN REVIEW
usurpations which are no less ambiguous than the desire to reincarnate
the Nazi "Satanic violence."
In what plot should the Holocaust be told, be remembered? And how
can its narrative be freed from its imposed, pre-written, obscene plot?
And as for the Jewish Bio-Graphy, can it integrate this trauma without
exploding? Can it re-articulate a mythical-theological story capable of
addressing this event, of portraying its protagonists (including God)?
The last case from the Jewish Biography I discuss with trepidation,
because of the recent political events in the Middle East. When I pre–
pared this talk, I thought it would be just a thought-provoking exam–
ple, but, in our region, the thin veil between the "bio" and the "graph"
often disappears, and the events are quicker than their writing. The case
is Jerusalem, a city that has been personified, and was given a biogra–
phy-with a beginning, middle, and an aspired end. The problem is that
the three monotheistic rei igions ha ve articu lated con fl icting biogra ph ies
of the same city, and that these disputing narratives are not confined to
the fictional-mythical realm, but burst out into reality.
In
1990,
Edith Kurzweil called me in Jerusalem and said, "Why don't
you write for
Partisan Review
about the first international poetry festi–
val held in Jerusalem." "Okay," I said, and went out to the landscape,
to see whether the place and the poetry can work off each other, decon–
struct each other, give some breath to each other. I went with my own
preconceived Jerusalem, like Paul Celan, like all of those pilgrims–
Flaubert, Chateau briand, Twain. Everyone comes to Jerusalem with a
preconceived story of the city, which is a part of his or her cultural biog–
raphy. Flaubert came to fuck Jerusalem, with a transgressional rage.
Paul Celan experienced one of his only instants of erotic plenitude, just
to lose it a moment later, falling into deception and tragic despair.
Jerusalem, God's bride, His place of desire, is always an erotic place, the
place of masculine desire. Jerusalem is the biggest harlot of all places.
The world's cunt exposed on all the television screens, in an ongoing
peep show, day and night. And yet, in the classical paradox of desire,
everyone has his own Jerusalem, virginal and pure, defiled only by the
others' abusive and defamatory biographies of her.
I walked around the walls, climbing the Mount of Olives, where my
great-grandfather is buried. According to my father, at my great-grand–
father's funeral my grandfather debated with the Chevra Kadisha, the
mortuary people, until they reached an agreement and the funeral went
on. Later my father asked him, "What were you arguing about?" His
father said,
