(no subject)

It's Friday morning*. I've been catching up on my review reading. I do this every couple of days, for academic reviews abound and there a bunch I need to know about. A series of them this morning, though, have left me rather sorry about life and needing to vent.

The sixteenth century keeps throwing itself at me, even though it's not my century at all. I studied it as an undergraduate, and now I keep getting depressing reviews of depressing books. It seems that sixteenth century anti-Semitism isn't that different from Medieval anti-Semitism. Scholars had to defend all Jewish books (defined in some places apparently as 'all books owned by Jews') from being burned because they corrupt. I look at my library and think "Yep, Andrew Lang's fairy books definitely corrupt. Especially the Crimson Fairy Book." I would be too sarcastic to make a good defence of my library. Thank goodness there were Christians who were good at defending Jewish books, for otherwise we'd be even shorter on written heritage than we are.

Also, the Papal Inquisition mainly wanted to harry Protestants, blasphemers and witches, but took care of Jews as well (very thorough in its nastiness, the sixteenth century Inquisition - much more so than the early Inquisition), for we were Infidels and appalling. I don't mind being an Infidel (since in that context it basically means someone who is not Christian, which fits) and I myself am capable of being quite appalling, but I do object to my ancestors being harried. Again. More.

I do wonder what happened when an Inquisition representative met a Jewish witch? Did it implode his sad persecutorial brain? Anyhow, the depressing insight was that the Inquisition and the development of ghettos are far more closely linked than I had realised.

The most common offence that Jews were guilty of was employing Christians as servants. Presumably it perverted the natural order? (I do need to read this book.) Also, the Inquisition made requisitions of Jewish books because, as we know, Bob, they corrupted. Hebrew might have been considered the language of Heaven, but those who read using Hebrew script on Earth were dangerous.

One thing that has struck me in other contexts and does again is that the Early Church's attempt to de-Judaicise Easter by changing the way its date is calculated has led to an awful lot of persecution of Jews. Without the clear link between the festivals, popular explanations for the festivals have replaced the real ones, even in some quite learned circles. The misinterpretation of Passover has led to blood libel, more than once.

I want to sing the worm song, but not everyone hates us, and besides, worms aren't kosher. My next lot of books reviewed will be more cheerful. I've already taken a quick look, and they're all about the Middle Ages in France and England and so will be full of simple joy.





*Today is a day for the obvious

(no subject)

Poor, poor charity caller. He asked for "Mrs Polack." When I said "There is no Mrs Polack here," he apologised and said he must have the wrong number.

"Wait," I said. "You might want a Mrs Polack who lives somewhere else, or you might want Dr Polack, who lives here. Who did you actually want to speak to?"

"G. Polack," he read.

"Then you want Dr Polack." This totally, totally dumbfounded him. He lost track of what he was doing. I explained about not liking being called Mrs when I was not married and that really didn't help him at all. His total confusion saved him from polemic.

The charity was one I've supported before and might be one I support again, but the title thing was very fresh in my mind and the implications of being asked for as "Mrs" for the purpose of charity were just a bit in-my-face. So, no money.

When we'd worked out that I wasn't going to donate to his charity, I suggested that if he hadn't asked for "Mrs Polack" we might have got off to a much better start. Poor guy sounded very distressed. When I feel that strongly about something I tend to railroad a bit.

Still, the timing was hilarious.

And now I have to return to the rather urgent work he interrupted.

(no subject)

I've been sarcastic and sad, in turns, all week. I think I might owe you all a picture, to make up.



A rural railway station (I love rural railway stations).

Not quite enough, is it? How about...



My moustache cup. I don't intend to develop a moustache in order to use it as it should be used. It's very cheering, however.