Notes on 2nd reading
Herman Broder survives the Holocaust by hiding in a hayloft in Poland. When the war ends he marries the Polish peasant, Yadwiga, who hid him from the Nazis. Together they move to New York City, where the present action of the novel finds him suffering PTSD and thinking the Nazis are around every corner. Sex seems to be the only treatment for his death saturated soul. He is a hound, a chauvinist, and a bigamist.
He married Yadwiga after getting word that his wife, Tamara, had been murdered by the Nazis, along with their children. But then Tamara reappears in New York, without the children. The third wife, Masha, is the one he loves and who is furiously jealous of the peasant in Coney Island. All the main characters, not just Herman, have death saturated souls and are more or less demented by their violent experiences. Masha and Tamara — who unlike Herman both suffered in the death camps — upbraid Herman with a vitriol that must be read to be appreciated. The humor — to the extent a Holocaust survivor story can have one — is when the wives discover each other.
Here's another of Herman Broder's problems. He is stripped of all faith — for what God could have permitted the Holocaust — yet he is deeply marked by the traditions of Judaism.
"His pondering always brought him to the same conclusion: God (or whatever He may be) was certainly wise, but there was no sign of His mercy. If a God of mercy did exist in the heavenly hierarchy, then he was only a helpless godlet, a kind of heavenly Jew among the heavenly Nazis. As long as one does not have the courage to leave this world, one can only hide and try to get by...."(p. 123)
Singer was from a family of rabbis. An element of his writing is the literature and ritual of Judaism. In this book Herman is ghost writer (for an ambitious New York rabbi) with an on-again off-again relationship with the faith he had studied for so many years in Poland.
"At night he had taken stock of himself. He was deceiving Masha, Masha was deceiving him. Both had the same goal: to get as much pleasure as possible out of life in the few years left before darkness, the final end, an eternity without reward, without punishment, without will, would be upon them. Behind this Weltanschauung festered deception and the principle of "might is right." One could escape from this only by turning to God. And to what faith could he repair? Not to a faith which had, in the name of God, organized inquisitions, crusades, bloody wars. There was only one escape for him: to go back to the Torah, the Gemara, the Jewish books. What about his doubt? Even if one were to doubt the existence of oxygen, one would still have to breathe. One could deny gravity, but one would still have to walk on the ground. Since he was suffocating without God and the Torah, he must serve God and study the Torah. He rocked back and forth, intoning. . . . (p. 170)
Sad end.
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Notes on 1st reading
It's 1948 or so, soon after the birth of Israel. Herman Broder, who is Jewish, lives in New York with the shiksa who saved him from the Holocaust. This woman, Yadwiga, a Polish peasant with calloused hands, hid him in a hayloft for four years. She brought him food. She carried away his waste. Naturally, when the war ends and he hears the terrible news that his wife and children were gunned down in a trench, he acts upon his gratitude and marries Yadwiga. He brings her to New York City. They settle in Coney Island. Herman, who has never been at ease in this world, even before the Nazis, is death saturated. And the sex act may be the only thing that can convince him he actually exists, for he is delusion-ridden, expecting Nazi tanks to appear on Broadway at any moment.
Moreover, he has what the psychologists call survival guilt. He regrets that he did not die in the war. Why is he alive? He is extremely unhappy, anxiety-ridden, and given to PTSD delusions in which the Nazis have invaded or are about to invade New York. His response to this condition is sex, lots of it. He sleeps around as much as he can. In addition to Yadwiga, in Brooklyn, he has Masha, in the Bronx. Both Masha and her mother are survivors, too. Eventually, by the novel's end, Herman is sleeping with and married to three women. Wherever he goes he plans an escape route, just in case. His experience during the war has rendered him Godless, yet he finds work writing devotional books and sermons for a local Rabbi, his training in the Talmud being deep. Most of the time however he is going from one woman's bed to the next. Yet he refuses to have any more children. No one, he believes, should have children in a world which allows them to be gunned down in trenches. That frustrated or blocked fertility/virility is the book's central metaphor.
There's something a little old fashioned about the book which I liked. The narrative is straightforward chronology. Singer avoids the use of flashbacks for the most part. Too, the story is steeped in the old-world shtetl values in which, of course, marriage was a holy and sacred trust. So I think some of the book worked as comedy for a previous generation in a way it no longer works for most present-day readers. Herman's fervid polygamy is a sign of his despair. But even with that bit of cultural comedy neutralized, there is much to impress. Singer has a compressed style which (translated from the Yiddish) is charmingly sustained. His spot-on characterizations run very deep. Enemies: A Love Story is a superb novel.