2011

When I arrived at Concordia in 1999, the Institute for Canadian Jewish Studies was an open book -- resources were strong, department support solid and we simply needed to get new projects going. I had had in mind a publishing program, but might not have managed to pull off what I did if not for my relationship with Dennis Johnson, who ran Red Deer Press in Calgary. Dennis and I had worked together on my own books, but he always had an eye out for a good publishing idea, and it was he who suggested a series devoted to Canadian Jewish Studies, whether through literature, history or other cultural venues. He basically opened the door, waited for me to bring book ideas, and we became a very successful collaborative team. The outcome was four books: Not Quite Mainstream: Canadian Jewish Short Stories; Joel Yanofsky's Mordecai & Me: An Appreciation of a Kind; The Canadian Jewish Studies Reader, co-edited with Richard Menkis; and finally, in 2006, a reissue of an out of print early classic, Henry Kreisel's The Rich Man. Dennis' guidance was crucial throughout, as he directed me toward the idea of developing anthologies as groundwork publications, accepted the Richler book as a contribution to the contemporary journalistic discussion of an important writer, and then he sent me on a search for a forgotten classic, a neglected work that deserved another chance. I've argued in a number of contexts that The Rich Man is a worthy counter-text to Mordecai Richler's novels. It offers a different view of Canadian Jewish life and of Jewish identity more broadly. In his efforts on this series -- a tiny part of his overall publishing program -- Dennis helped us create much needed materials for both the popular and academic reader. As a generalist, a well-read appreciative Canadian book maker, he supported the development of Canadian Jewish Studies in remarkable ways.

Dennis died in January, suddenly, of a heart attack. He was a rare character -- the real thing is how I describe him -- in his mix of intelligence, graciousness, energy and humour. Our field lost a great supporter and I will miss him as a friend.

A few weeks after Dennis' death we have further bad news -- the death in Lethbridge of Chava Rosenfarb. With Chava's death we see the true end of an era of Yiddish writing and book culture in Canada. Though interest and active figures remain, Chava was a key link to the energetic Yiddish literary community of Montreal in the postwar era. With the support of her daughter, Goldie Morgentaler, who translated and co-translated Chava's work, there was an ongoing creative output from Chava into the late years of the last decade. She continued to travel and and give talks, and increasingly, English-language literary specialists wrote on Chava's oeuvre. One of her remarkable qualities was what I always thought of as her clear-sightedness, her lack of any stereotypic sentimentality regarding the Polish-Jewish past or the fate of Yiddish literature. She was a literary worker of the most honest kind; she kept at it with energy and enthusiasm. Her work is well worth a reread, or a new look for those who've not seen Goldie's excellent translations into English. My last contact with Chava was for an interview for which I drove from Calgary to her home in Lethbridge. The trip, the meeting, the outcome of the interview all require novelistic treatment, which I can't offer here. As I left, characteristically, she said something that I thought of many times afterward: "Norman," she insisted, "don't let them take away your time for creative work." Readers can see the published version of this interview in the June 2010 volume of the journal Literature and Theology, which is online. It captures Chava's voice and outlook and brings her to mind at a sad time.

Norman Ravvin
Chair, Canadian Jewish Studies
Institute for Canadian Jewish Studies