Breaking Anne--A Review

*Spoilers ahead!
One of my favorite book series growing up was Anne of Green Gables.  I loved the imaginative, ebullient, intelligent redhaired heroine and the other characters that populated her world: shy Matthew, practical Marilla, gossipy, generous Rachel Lynde, Anne's friends, including the loyal Diana Barry, and of course the cocksure Gilbert Blythe, enemy turned rival turned friend turned love interest (spoiler alert--she marries him.  They have six kids together.)  I read all the books and own the Kevin Sullivan miniseries.  So, naturally, when Anne with an E came to Netflix, I had to watch it.  Especially since it was created by Breaking Bad creator Moira Walley-Beckett.
BIIIIG mistake.  They took my favorite character and put her in Bizarro World.
Walley-Beckett wanted to focus on Anne (played by Amybeth McNulty) as the abused orphan, delving into her backstory to create trauma.  Fans of the book will know that Anne was orphaned in infancy and passed around to two different foster homes.  In the first, her foster father was a violent alcoholic.  In the second, her foster mother had twins three times in succession.  Both foster parents used Anne as childcare, even though she was a child herself.  After her second foster father died, Anne spent a few months in an orphanage until she was placed with the Cuthberts, who originally wanted a boy.  As a result of this level of neglect, Walley-Beckett wrote Anne as a broken character.  Rather than being the dreamer of dreams who must express ideas that are too big and beautiful to hold in, Anne talks and imagines to escape frequent flashbacks of abuse.  In this world, Mr. Hammond keels over from a heart attack while beating Anne.  In this world, the town of Avonlea shuns Anne for her orphan status.  Anne herself is no help in this regard.  Her energy is frenzied, as if she is afraid to stop talking or moving out of fear.  She comes off as less eccentric and more unhinged, collapsing to the ground in agony upon hearing that the Cuthberts wanted a boy.  While McNulty is a competent actress, she still struggles with the bad writing.
Aside from taking liberties with Anne's character, the writers also took many liberties with the story, making it as bleak as the iron-cold settings it was filmed against.  The main conflict of the novel was resolved within the first eight chapters, and the rest of the novel is a coming of age stories filled with many charming vignettes of Anne's growth.  Few of them survived the writing process of the series.  There was no playing the lily maid.  No walking the ridgepole of the roof.  No dive-bombing Aunt Josephine.  No liniment cake.  No accidentally dyeing hair green.  Instead, we are treated to the following:

• Anne begging pennies in a train station (just to drive home that she was unwanted--we got that!)
• Lifelong conservative Marilla Cuthbert attending a suffrage meeting (more up Rachel Lynde's alley)
• Anne antagonizing the Cuthbert's hired farmhand (great way to make a first impression on potential foster parents)
• Anne telling her classmates about Mrs. Hammond repeatedly trying to escape her husband's "pet mouse," who lived in his front pocket and got her pregnant with all those twins.  (Because what children's book is complete without marital rape?)
• Gilbert becoming an orphan (It wasn't bleak enough already?)
• Matthew attempting suicide (Completely out of character.  Matthew was not only a religious man, he was the sort of person who would work to his last breath.)
• Aunt Josephine going from acerbic-tongued spinster to lesbian in mourning (While I don't mind the representation, I rather like the acerbic-tongued old lady.  Besides, why can't we have asexual characters if we're going to represent?)
• Anne's first period.  (At least Marilla didn't go Margaret White on her.)

If Moira Walley-Beckett wanted to create a series highlighting the fate of orphans, home children and foster children in the late 19th century, fine.  I'm all for it.  Many of them did suffer abuse and neglect, and even under the best of circumstances were forced to be servants and farmhands while still children.  Just leave my favorite book out of it.

Thirteen Reasons Why--a review

Warning: Spoilers Ahead!
Last year, I read the young adult novel Thirteen Reasons Why.  Simple enough premise--Hannah Baker, a suicidal teenager, records a series of tapes before ending her life.  Her friend Clay Jensen receives the tapes, and some very simple instructions.  Listen to the tapes and then pass them on to the next person.  Stop passing them, and a third party will play the tapes for the entire school.  Oh, and if you received the tapes, you are one of the reasons that Hannah ended her life.  The recipients include the boy who was her first kiss (who spread rumors that they did so much more), catty girls who were "fake friends," a Peeping Tom photographer, the campus rapist, and a guidance counselor who didn't listen to her final cry for help, among other.  Clay?  Nice guy who had a crush on her, and who left her alone in a moment when she was in distress.
Netflix just turned it into a series.  Originally it was meant to be a movie, but instead, each of the tapes becomes its own episode.  The series begins after Hannah's suicide, and while the school puts on a public display of mourning, Hannah's parents are commencing a lawsuit against the school.  Clay receives the tapes, and is one of the last of the listed recipients, so most of the other people on the tapes have already heard them.  And here is where things get interesting.   Clay considered Hannah a close friend, and had a mild crush on her, so he wonders what he could have done to make her suicidal.  Instead, he goes after the other recipients.  Most of them are the "good" kids--athletes, student government leaders, cheerleaders, popular kids--and so they're more concerned about saving their own reputations than about considering the repercussions of their actions.  There is a hope that once someone is "gone," those who bullied and tormented that person, who made their lives a living hell, will feel remorse for what they did.  With few exceptions, none of them feel any remorse at all.  Instead, they try to paint Hannah as an unstable liar.  When that doesn't work, they go after Clay...
The moral is supposed to be that every action has consequences, and that what someone considers a "harmless" prank could inflict serious damage on another person.  However, this lesson seems lost on every recipient of the tapes, including Clay.  Many of them deny their involvement, and with good reason.  If those tapes come out, they could be in serious trouble.  Bryce committed two rapes.  Justin not only assisted Bryce with one (and of his girlfriend, no less), but spread a photo of Hannah with her skirt up.  Tyler stalked Hannah for weeks, and also spread a suggestive photograph.  Sherri knocked down a stop sign, causing an accident in which another student died.  Marcus felt her up against her will.  Ryan stole one of her poems and published it without her knowledge or consent.  So, just with a few people, we have rape, accomplice to rape, dissemination of child pornography (Hannah was a minor), leaving the scene of an accident, destruction of city property, sexual harassment, and theft of intellectual property.  And while the other people named on the tape may not have committed felonies, their actions do not place them in a very positive light either.  They bullied Hannah, spread rumors about her, hurt her as revenge on third parties, and played pranks.  And thought a few flowers and signs on her locker could make it all better.  (A rather amusing scene features Courtney, one of the recipients, and Hannah's mother.  Courtney tells Mrs. Baker that she and Hannah were good friends.  Mrs. Baker replies that if that were true, Courtney would never have used roses on Hannah's memorial, as Hannah hated roses.)  Meanwhile, few of them adjust their behavior after hearing the tapes.  The girl who knocked down the stop sign volunteered to help an old man injured in the accident, and eventually turned herself in.  Another boy eventually calls out all the recipients on the tape for caring more about their own skins.  But the others, including Clay, bully Tyler for being a Peeping Tom.  The athletes named on the tapes beat Clay up to keep him from talking, and Marcus plants drugs on Clay to discredit him.  Most of them throw Bryce and Justin under the bus.  And the sad part is, the school administration behaves no better than the kids, attempting to cover up their own involvement.  In the end, Clay reaches out to an unhappy classmate who has begun self-injury, and gives a digital copy of the tapes to Hannah's parents.
This series is a distressing look at the dynamics of human connections, or lack thereof.  It shows that, for all we think that we are "good" people, we have the capacity to do great harm.  That at our core, most of us are self-absorbed and cruel.

What did I sign up for--Hilchos Jail

Years ago, I remember Rebbetzin Jungreis saying over and over again, that Torah is like no other study.  Studying Torah will make one a better person, a more moral person.  A Torah person.  And the Torah has all those rules about how to behave.  Rules about not stealing.  Rules about honest business dealings.  Rules about how to treat people.  Rules about not hurting people.  The most famous Hillel story has him saying "That which is harmful to you, do not do to your neighbor.  That is the whole Torah--the rest is commentary.  Go and study!"  That, to me, is what Torah observance means.  However, I would guess not everyone agrees.
Last spring, Misaskim magazine had a whole article about how to conduct oneself if one should be unfortunate enough to get arrested.  Now I have read many service magazines in my time, and I find that most of their articles get a tad repetitive.  However, I have never seen a secular magazine carry an article about arrest.  Had they really become so commonplace in the Jewish world?  What about the Torah?  What about following all those rules on theft and honesty and moral behavior?  What about the Ten Commandments?  Sure, you can study the damages paid when your ox gores your neighbors' bull, but what about that strong moral code?  Shouldn't that be enough to keep pretty much any Torah-observant Jew out of legal trouble?
I didn't think it could get any worse.
It got worse.
Coming out of uber-frum Boro Park--an entire two-volume sefer devoted to the laws, prayers, and inspirational stories for the Orthodox Jew in jail.  I hate to imagine.  (Since the book was written entirely in Hebrew, I'm afraid that I CAN only imagine--can't read well enough for a sefer.)
The big issue is not that this book was written.  If someone can write a volume thicker than the Brooklyn Yellow Pages basically saying "cover up and avoid men," then anyone can write anything.  The issue is that publishers will only publish books when a market exists.  Is there really such a large number of Orthodox Jews in jail that this book needs to exist?  Is there enough of a market for a book geared to frum prison inmates?
What does that say about us?
Child molestation.  Tax evasion.  Insurance fraud.  Theft.  Domestic violence.  Being a slumlord.  Assault.  All of these are--or should be--off limits to anyone who calls himself frum.  And, hopefully, there will never be any more need for seforim like these.

A tale of four Saras

As I mentioned, my favorite children's book was Frances Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess.  I could relate to Sara--not classically pretty, really intelligent, introverted, bookish, and living in her own head.  And poor.
While there have been several movie versions of this story, the three most well-known are the 1939 version starring Shirley Temple, the 1986 LWT miniseries starring Amelia Shankley as Sara and Maureen Lippman as Miss Minchin, and the 1995 version starring Liesel Matthews.  I will be comparing all three versions.  Again, there is no scorekeeping; I am only weighing the merits of each.
Sara Crewe: Burnett's character, as I said earlier, is not classically pretty, being thin, dark, and having green-grey eyes.  She loves reading, is really intelligent, and spends her time pretending.  Most of her pretends center around being a princess and trying to act like one, and around her doll Emily, a parting gift from her father.  Sara's father, an army captain, sent her from India to London, where he enrolled her in Miss Minchin's Select Seminary for Young Ladies.  Since he is loaded, Sara gets her own suite, pony, carriage and maid.  However, after her father makes an ostensibly bad investment, loses all his money, and dies, leaving Sara broke, Miss Minchin demotes her from favorite student to scullery-maid.  She must live in the attic, wear old clothes that don't fit, and spend her day working instead of studying.  However, she is expected to keep up with her studies since Miss Minchin wants to use her as a teacher when she grows up.  However, through all of it, Sara tries to act like a princess and not sink to the level of the nasty people around her.
Temple's Sara is easily the weakest of the three.  When she's not mugging for the cameras, she's either relentlessly cheerful or bawling her eyes out.  (I should mention hear that since Sara's father in in the army, she's learned how not to complain--so I guess Temple just missed the memo that said that Sara was supposed to be STOIC?!)  I don't know how much of the the bright, bookish Sara is left in Temple--we never see her read or even attend class, and her favorite subject seems to be horseback riding.  Moreover, her fantasy life centers on her father still being alive--and for an overworked, half-starved maid, she sure has a lot of time and energy to keep checking the hospitals for him.  There's also a subplot where she helps play matchmaker for her teacher and a riding-master--but that was just weird and distracting.
Shankley's Sara is true to the novel, being, if anything, more self-pitying and angrier.  However, that serves to make her more human, since, after all, her world got turned upside-down.  We see more of Sara's character in her than in Temple, as she's constantly reading, speaks fluent French, makes up stories for her classmates, pretends to be in the Bastille, and tries her damndest not to cry in front of anyone.  I also thought the montages of her working until all hours while people laugh at her were really effective in showing how hard her new life was, as were the increasing shabbiness of her clothes, her greasy hair and impetigo. 
Matthews' Sara was stronger than Temple's, but only marginally.  Most of her strongest characteristics (her imaginings, her "princess" belief, and even the stories she told) were fed to her from other people. The only book she seems to like is "Ramayana," and, while we see her mouthing a right answer in class, it's to a multiplication problem--pretty basic knowledge for your average ten-year-old.  Most of the time, particularly in the early scenes, she just sort of wanders around looking blank--or crying.  She's also got a rebellious streak, where she questions Miss Minchin's rules and even plays pranks on her.  This is, again, in contract to Burnett's Sara, whose strong sense of ethics even kept her from telling white lies.  Finally, while Burnett's Sara believes herself to be obligated to act like a princess, Matthews' Sara believes that "all girls are princesses"--even the bullying Lavinia, the scullery-maid Becky, and the nasty Miss Minchin.  Speaking of, let's look at--
Miss Minchin's Seminary--Staff: Miss Minchin runs the Select Seminary for Young Ladies in a London square.  She cares most about money and social standing in her pupils, and sucks up to the wealthiest accordingly.  When Sara loses her fortune, she takes all her nice furnishings and clothes away, and banishes her to a tiny, cold room in the attic.  She then forces Sara to work as a scullery maid.  Both Mary Nash in the 1939 version, and Maureen Lippman in the 1986 version show this very well, with Nash being cold until she realizes how wealthy Captain Crewe is, and Lippman writing in a higher-than normal tuition in the blank check Crewe gives her.  Lippman's performance in particular was effectively understated, with her coming off as more indifferent to Sara's plight than actively abusive to her.  Eleanor Bron, in the 1995 version, took the character in a completely different direction.  A martinet who demanded instant obedience, she and Sara butt heads throughout the entire film.  Unlike the other versions, we never see the conversation between her and Captain Crewe's solicitor (and since the film was set in New York, why such an obvious Britishism?), so turning Sara into a maid may have been more about revenge and less about getting her money back.
Miss Michin's partner is her sibling, usually portrayed as the overweight, hapless Amelia Minchin.  Miss Amelia is in awe of the younger sister, but has good intentions.  By the end of the book, she finally tells her big sister off about mistreating Sara.  The 1986 version has this conversation, as well as other scenes where Miss Amelia questions her sister's enslavement of Sara (and Miss Minchin usually shuts her up with a reference to Sara's debts.)  In the 1995 version, Miss Amelia is more playful, joining Ermengarde in a ragtime duet on the piano.  She really doesn't deal with Sara very much personally, except for pulling her away from her work during one of Lottie's tantrums (and we'll get to that scene in a minute.)  She is also played more for laughs, with a scene of her eloping with a milkman (and falling on top of him.)  However, we lose the big confrontation scene.  The 1939 film goes in an entirely different direction, with Miss Amelia being replaced by two characters--Bertie, Miss Minchin's brother, who used to work in music halls and openly sides with Sara over his own sister (including leaving the school over Miss Minchin's treatment of her, and disbelieving an accusation of theft--again, we'll get to that later.), and Miss Rose, a teacher who was once a charity case and now teaches for free.  She never stands up to Miss Minchin, but defies her in secret by marrying the riding master.
In three of the media (the book, 1939 movie, and 1986 movie), the servants are openly hostile to Sara, order her around, and punish her by denying her meals.  In the 1995 version, the servants do not interact with Sara at all, so we never really get the sense that her life is horrible beyond endurance.
Miss Minchin's Seminary--Students: Ermengarde is Sara's best friend.  She's overweight, a slow learner, and hates reading, but loves Sara because of Sara's intelligence and imagination.  After Sara's downfall, she routinely sneaks upstairs to visit, including bringing up a hamper full of food once.  The 1995 version shows some of the "slow learner" aspects by having her miss a multiplication question in class, but it's Ermengarde who creates an elaborate plan to get Sara's locket out of Miss Minchin's office.  The 1939 version makes Ermengarde almost a throwaway character who only has a few lines.
Lottie, Sara's adopted "daughter" is the youngest pupil in the school.  Although she adores Sara, she is really too young to understand all of the changes in Sara's life.  Her childishness is expressed in everything from her frequent tantrums to ratting out Ermengarde's plans to sneak a feast up to Sara.  However, in the movies, this role is considerably lessened.  In the 1995 movie, Lottie is "in" on a plot to steal back Sara's locket, by having a tantrum that distracts Miss Amelia (this is where Sara gets pulled away from her work).  In the 1939 movie, she is absent.
Which brings us to Lavinia, and her evil sidekick, Jessie.  Lavinia is a nasty bully.  This is shown in about a hundred ways, such as teasing Sara about her princess status, (and in the 1986 film, she continues to do so after Sara loses her wealth), to making petty requests of Sara and teasing her about her poverty (in the 1939 movie), to walking across a freshly mopped floor and dipping Ermengarde's hair in an inkwell (the 1995 movie.)  However, the 1995 movie shows her and Sara embracing, which kind of came out of nowhere.  Also, the 1995 movie all but eliminates Lavinia's foil, Jessie.  Jessie is described as "not as ill-natured as she is silly."  The 1986 movie shows Jessie trying to stop Lavinia from ratting Ermengarde out about the hamper--so I guess they agreed.  (Although she wasn't the nicest person--Jessie, after all, said about Sara's father in the 1986 version, "He may be rich, but he's still, only, a captain.")  However, the 1939 version shows her joining in the bullying of Sara to the point where Sara (Shirley Temple) just gets fed up and dumps a scuttle full of ashes on them.
And then, there's Becky.  Although technically staff, not student (she's the scullery-maid), Becky's youth and relationship to Sara put her more in this category.  She's an uneducated cockney who is petrified of Miss Minchin and adores Sara.  She is also overworked, working not only as the scullery maid, but as everything else besides.  She "blackened boots, and grates, and carried heavy coal-scuttles up and down stairs, and cleaned windows, and scrubbed floors, and was ordered about by everybody."  In all versions, she is helped by Sara when she is wealthy--Sara gives her cake in the book, meat-pies in the 1986 movie, satin slippers in the 1995 movie, and an Egyptian scarab in the 1939 movie.  After Sara loses her wealth, Becky is her friend and fellow-sufferer, keeping her from getting lonely in the attic and helping her with the work downstairs.  The 1995 movie, however, shows her help Sara dump ashes on Miss Minchin's head and distracting Miss Minchin before she can discover the Locket Subplot--so how scared could she have been?
Story--I've laid out the story in the previous headings, so this section will be used to compare various plot points.  The main difference between the three stories is the way that Sara's fortune is lost and her way out.  In the book and the 1986 movie, Sara's father invests his fortune in a diamond mine scheme with his old school buddy, loses his money, and dies of shock.  The old school buddy gets a case of the guilties and scours Europe looking for Captain Crewe's daughter, not realizing that she is next door.  Meanwhile, his Indian servant fixes up Sara's room out of a combination of pity and awe.  Miss Minchin never finds out about the changed room.  Sara meets the old school buddy, Mr. Carrisford, when she tries to return his pet monkey, and they discover that he has been looking of her.
Both American film versions change three major plot points--Captain Crewe does not die, he is reported killed in whatever war is going on (Boer war in 1939, and WWI in 1995) and Miss Minchin finds out about the changed room, which leads to chase scenes that lead Sara back to her father.  I think the 1939 version has a stronger "loss of fortune" backstory.  In this movie, Captain Crewe goes off to fight in the Boer War in South Africa.  Because his fortune is tied up in South African diamond mines, his investments are seized by the enemy, thus impoverishing him.  The 1995 loss of fortune is weaker.  We never see the conversation regarding the lost fortune, and all we hear is that Captain Crewe's assets were seized by the British government.  Really?  Now there's a plot hole you could drive a truck through.  The British government is going to confiscate the assets of a career military officer who died fighting for his country?  I could just see the recruitment posters for that one.  "Join the Royal Army!  Impoverish your heirs!"  I don't think they'd get a lot of takers if that was their policy.
However, the 1995 version had a better ending--slightly.  While the 1939 movie ends with Sara finding her father (and they're still broke and heavily in debt, so little is resolved), the 1995 version has a little epilogue where it is explained that the next door neighbor helps Captain Crewe get his property back (I don't know why he LOST his property, but OK).  However, the whole Miss Minchin as chimney sweep scene bothers me, as does the Sara and Lavinia hug--a little too contrived. 
Both movies have one similar plot device--Miss Minchin discovers the changed attic, accuse Sara of theft, and calls the cops on her.  In both cases Sara slips next door through the attic (with the cops on her tail in 1995), and in her being chased, stumbles across her father (at the army hospital in 1939, and in the neighbor's house in 1995).  Unfortunately, Daddy's got amnesia, and it takes him a while to realize the little girl screaming at him and crying on his shoulder is his daughter.
However, each of the two movies had its share of subplots.  In 1939, there was some story about how the riding master was the grandson of the wealthy man next door, but he'd fallen in love with and secretly married one of the teachers, and they used Sara to give them excuses to meet--didn't make much sense.  There were also some throwaway lines about Mr. Bertie and his acting career.  In 1995, there was a contrived romance and elopement between Miss Amelia and the milkman.  And then there was the Locket Subplot.  One of Captain Crewe's parting gifts to Sara was a gold locket with Sara's parents' pictures in it.  Miss Minchin tries to confiscate the locket upon Sara's arrival, saying that jewelry is not allowed, but Sara promises to only wear it in her room.  Later, Miss Minchin takes the locket from Sara when Sara goes broke, supposedly because it was valuable.  However, Miss Minchin then...hoards it in her desk.  That makes no sense.  That thing is gold!  Sell it and apply the proceeds against Sara's debt.  Later, some of Sara's friends steal the locket back out of Miss Minchin's office in an elaborately contrived fashion that looks like it came out of a Hanna-Barbera cartoon.  Basically, three of the girls search the office, led by Ermengarde, while one looks out for Miss Minchin, who is our running an errand..  Lottie sits on the steps and has a tantrum to distract Miss Amelia.  When Miss Minchin returns early and is about to catch the girls in her office with the locket, Becky screams, distracting Miss Minchin and giving them a chance to get away.  When Miss Minchin storms into Sara's attic to retrieve the locket, she finds the changed room.  This leads to the chase scene...you know the rest.
Closing Remarks--Frances Hodgson Burnett has created one of the most memorable stories of triumph over adversity, and a memorable character in Sara Crewe.  The films lose a great deal in the translation, and the bright, eccentric Sara is only truly discoverable between the covers of the original book.

Bird in a Gilded Cage--When Ever After isn't Happy

She's only a bird in a gilded cage,

A beautiful sight to see,

You may think she's happy and free from care,

She's not, though she seems to be,

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the nature of marriage.  Specifically, the part where the Happily Ever wears off and you're just left with the "after."  Or, in some cases, the aftermath.  Literary tropes are not kind to women whose assertion of self involves leaving an already broken marriage.
Let's begin, of course, with one of the most famous plays of love, deception, and the woman's role--Ibsen's A Doll's House.  Nora Helmer, fed up with being treated like an imbecile and angry that her husband Torvald cares more about his image than he does about her, walks out.  One might applaud her belated showing of spine--except that in doing so, she had to give up her children.  (I first encountered this play in the tenth grade.  Interesting side note--even at that tender age, I thought that Nora was significantly younger than Torvald.  No man would ever treat his wife that way if her considered her to be his equal.)
Or, we can look at the feminist classic The Yellow Wallpaper.  Great example.  Gilman's character finds herself--but in the process loses her grip on reality, as displayed by her frenzied destruction of the wallpaper.  But then, I guess it's not an unsurprising outcome--she was locked in an attic with barred windows, battered floorboards, and scarred walls and floors, and ordered to rest completely to save her nerves.  Guess that one backfired.
For those who prefer trading in the staid older husband for the dashing younger lover, we have Anna Karenina.  Both her husband and her lover even have the same first name.  However, in trading up (in her eyes) she loses not only her position in society, but also her child.  In the end, she throws herself under a train.
And let's not forget what happened to our bird in the gilded cage!

A tall marble monument marked the grave,

Of one who'd been fashion's queen,

And I thought she is happier here at rest,

Than to have people say when seen.

She's only a bird in a gilded cage,

A beautiful sight to see,

You may think she's happy and free from care,

She's not, though she seems to be,

'Tis sad when you think of her wasted life,

For youth cannot mate with age,

And her beauty was sold,

For an old man's gold,

She's a bird in a gilded cage.

The legacy of debates in a Facebook world

According to the newspapers, Romney won the debates.  According to my Facebook wall, Romney lied 27 times and declared war on Big Bird.
Which is it?  Both?
But which will be remembered on Election Day?
We live in a world dominated by social media, and this has skewed the news more than either Fox or MSNBC could ever do.  Don't like the headlines?  Find the ones you do like, either on a blog or someone's websites.  Also, because of social media, we now know about a Missouri Senate candidate's thoughts on rape and pregnancy (even if we don't live in Missouri).  This also means that within 24 hours of the debates, everyone went straight to FactCheck.org and Snopes to debunk both sides.  And, while the televised debate will be forgotten, the spin will live on right up until Election Day.
In a way, we've created our own Orwellian hell.  With Facebook, Twitter, and blogs, actual events are long forgotten.  As Squealer said, "Have you any record of such a resolution?  It is written down anywhere?"  And, like the changing text of the Seven Commandments, actual events go down the memory hole while the Ministry of Our Truth creates new history before our eyes.

Yentl vs. Yentl

When I was about eight years old, my grandmother gave me her copy of Isaac Bashevis Singer's "Yentl the Yeshiva Boy."  Being a prolific little reader, I read it with interest, although many of the references to Judaism, and all the references to "the marital relationship" flew right over my little head.  I also saw part of the movie, but fell asleep before the ending.  For some reason, I liked the short story, but could not stand the movie.  So, a little comparison.  For the record, the categories are for analytic purposes only, no score will be attached.
Yentl/Anshel:  Singer describes Yentl as having the "soul of a woman in the body of a man."  She has a prodigious talent for learning Talmud, but cannot handle basic domestic duties.  Even her appearance is masculine, such that she looks like a handsome young man in her father's clothes.  She is "tall, thin, bony, with small breasts and narrow hips."  Yentl wants as much as possible to be a man.  After her father's death, she cuts off her hair, dons her father's clothes, and leaves town secretly, going to the next town to find a yeshiva.  She (now styling herself as the male Anshel), meets Avigdor at the inn, and travels with him to the yeshiva at Bechev.
Yentl's inner conflict stems from her own quest for self-actualization.  Her father taught her in secret, and now she must disguise herself as a man to continue learning.  However, the deception takes its toll.  She has nightmares about being in both a man's body and a woman's body at the same time.  As she tells Avigdor, "I'm neither one nor the other."  She is in love with Avigdor, but married to his former fiancee, Hadass (the book implies that she finds other means to perform her duties as a husband.)  Although she is a woman, she finds Hadass desirable, at one point, thinking, "A pity I'm not a man."
Singer plays up Yentl's gender ambiguity, often using the feminine "she" when referring to the identity of Anshel.  Additionally, her behaviors towards Avigdor are described in very feminine terms before she reveals her identity (she buys him buckwheat cakes and sews buttons back on his coat), but very masculine afterwards (she uses the hand gestures associated with male yeshiva students, plucks at her missing beard, and even "seized Avigdor by the lapel and called him stupid")
Streisand's Yentl, however, is an active feminist.  Her conflict is not "Why was I born in a woman's body when I have the soul of a man?" but rather, "Why can't women learn the way men do?"  Unlike Singer's character, she is far less secretive with her activities.  She buys seforim from a vendor, and recites a passuk in the Mishnah while her father studies with a young boy.  After she's married, she teaches Hadass the Talmud, but avoids her advances.  At no time does Streisand feel any inner conflict over her identity.  In fact she sings about how she is a woman just before she reveals herself to Avigdor.  While Singer's Yentl is very masculine physically, the buxom Babs must work harder to downplay her femininity. 
Avigdor: Anshel's chavrusa and love interest, he was a promising Torah scholar with a melancholy streak.  He was engaged to Hadass before the news came out that his brother had committed suicide.  Afterwards, he was married off to the wealthy but mean-spirited widow Peshe.
Singer wrote Avigdor as Anshel's friend and mentor.  He respects Anshel's scholastic abilities, and the two begin spending all their time together.  At one point, Avigdor states that "my life is bound up in your life."    Avigdor compares favorably with the other men in yeshiva, to the point that after he left to get married, Anshel did not find a new chavrusa.  Avigdor is also the only person to whom Anshel revealed his (her) true identity.  However Avigdor's life is an unhappy one.  Peshe, his wife, was unattractive and neglected him.  She wanted him to give up his studies and go to work with her.  She would not feed him or give him clean clothing.
Mandy Patinkin's Avigdor came off as a chauvinist pig.  He frequently made comments about women's lack of ability to think, and, when the engagement was broken, cared more about not having sons than he did about losing Hadass.  While Singer's Avigdor truly loved Hadass, and would press Anshel for information about how she was doing, Patinkin's Avigdor really only thought of her in terms of function.  (Patinkin's character did not marry in the movie.)  Also, Singer's Avigdor reacted to Anshel's reveal with shock and disbelief, but continued to learn with him even afterwards.  Patinkin reacted with undisguised rage, then proposed marriage.  However, he made it clear that Yentl would have to give up learning to be with him.  (As he said, "I'll do the thinking for both of us!")
Hadass: A foil to Yentl, Hadass is the perfect woman--wealthy and beautiful.  Singer reports that she "ordered the servant girl around, was forever engrossed in storybooks, and changed her hairdo every week."  She is also in love with Avigdor, despite the broken engagement.  However, once she marries Anshel, she transfers all her affection to him.  Throughout the book, she only speaks twice--both times to Anshel.  Both times, she discusses Avigdor.  However, after the marriage, she clearly loves Anshel, and weeps when he divorces her.
Amy Irving's character of Hadass is far more involved.  She actively pursues a physical relationship with Anshel once they're married, despite Anshel trying to put her off.  She also studies Talmud under Anshel's guidance; although she chews him out for trying to teach her after she slaved over Shabbos preparations.  However, when it comes to romance, she seems content with either husband--at least we are not presented with her reaction to Anshel's departure and their subsequent divorce.
Themes: Each book approaches a different theme.  For Singer, the main theme seems to be the need for truth.  Yentl told a seemingly small lie for a noble purpose--to learn the Torah she loved.  As a result, she ended up losing Avigdor, and eventually losing herself.  Once she revealed herself to Avigdor, she sent Hadass a divorce and vanished.  Additionally, because of her subterfuge, she had to resort to some pretty conspicuous behavior (avoiding the mikveh and the river, leaving town and divorcing Hadass) which generated gossip about Anshel.  Some of the townspeople said that Anshel was a demon, or that he had gambled Hadass away to Avigdor on a spin of the dreidel.  Singer writes "when the grain of truth cannot be found, people will swallow great heaps of falsehood."  Singer also explores the effects of Yentl's lie on both Avigdor and Hadass.  True, after their respective divorces were finalized, they married each other.  However, Avigdor looked despondent at the wedding, and Hadass wept.  Anshel was never seen or heard from again.
In the Streisand movie, the theme was feminism and the woman's role in society.  Streisand's Yentl chafed at a world where she had to study in secret.  She was contemptuous of Hadass (the song "No Wonder He Loves Her" describes her obsequious fluttering to fulfill Avigdor's every whim), then taught her Talmud after they were married.  Although Singer mentions Yentl's study with her father behind closed curtains, he only does so once.  The Streisand movie mentions it three times--when Yentl studies with her father, when Anshel studies with Hadass, and when Avigdor proposes marriage (Anshel sarcastically asks if Avigdor will allow them to study with the curtains closed.)  In the movie, Hadass uses her Talmud study as a means to lure the recalcitrant Anshel to her bed, while the Singer book really avoids the subject of their marital relationship other than saying that the sheet was bloody.  Finally, Streisand's Yentl leaves for America, and corresponds with the happily married Avigdor and Hadass.  Her leaving is seen as a means to open every door which has previously been closed to her.
Final Thoughts: So, how do you turn a 58-page novella into a movie that runs over two hours long?  The same way Disney expands fairy tales--add music.  However, with the exception of "Papa Can You Hear Me," most of the songs are forgettable and do nothing to advance the plot.
I have to agree with Singer that the movie failed to capture the true spirit of Yentl.  I"ll close with Singer's own words from an interview about the movie:
"Was going to America Miss Streisand's idea of a happy ending for Yentl? What would Yentl have done in America? Worked in a sweatshop 12 hours a day where there is no time for learning? Would she try to marry a salesman in New York, move to the Bronx or to Brooklyn and rent an apartment with an ice box and a dumbwaiter? This kitsch ending summarizes all the faults of the adaptation. It was done without any kinship to Yentl's character, her ideals, her sacrifice, her great passion for spiritual achievement."

Welcome to the Republic of Gilead!

Recently, a senior rabbi ruled that a man can take a "pilegesh," a concubine, if the couple is barren and the wife refuses to accept a divorce.
When did we turn into the Republic of Gilead?
For those who missed the reference, I was alluding to Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale.  The story takes place in the Republic of Gilead, a future society run according to a strictly fundamentalist interpretation of the Bible.  (Sort of the like the X-tian version of sharia law, complete with public stonings.)  In this society, women are under complete control of the male-dominated society.  They are not allowed to vote, work, have access to money, speak publicly or read even so much as a street sign.  Needless to say, "be fruitful and multiply" is a big deal.  However, because of ecological blight and nuclear war, there are copious quantities of radioactive waste on the outskirts of the Republic of Gilead.  As a result of all this pollution, most people are sterile.  Most of the babies that are born are deformed, and destroyed at birth.  However, a few women are still able to bear healthy children.  These women, dubbed "Handmaids," are expected to mate with the husbands in a bizarre coupling ritual that involves the Handmaid literally lying between the Wife's legs while the husband (dubbed a "Commander") attempts to impregnate her.  Needless to say, the Handmaids are thought of as little better than whores.
Look at the similarities.  A pilegesh is a woman dependent on the man she's with.  Her job is to be available for s*x and bear children.  Her presence may be both tolerated and resented by the man's wife.  Also, it's up for debate who would be considered the child's actual mother.  (In Atwood's tale, a Handmaid who successfully bore a child would nurse the child for three months, and then be sent to another family.  She would never see the child again.)  If it's the pilegesh, would the child have the same rights as a child born of marriage?  And if not--what then?

The new siddur--a milestone!

As Thing 1 finishes up her Purple Aleph book, I have to wonder what the next step is.  Because Thing 1 does not learn well in a vacuum, she can never become fluent in reading a language she doesn't understand.  This, of course, turns Kriah into the equivalent of Chinese water torture--for both of us. 
So, I started cheating a little bit.  I taught her what a few of the words mean (I would teach her more, but I can barely speak Hebrew either), and how to look for word roots in what she reads.  By doing so, Thing 1 has turned reading into a game.  And we avoid the wailing and gnashing of teeth on everyone's end.
The next book in the Aleph Champ series is the Brown Aleph.  This one, like the Purple Aleph she's finishing up, uses tefillos as reading practice.  (Which makes sense, because kids are usually somewhat familiar with what they hear in shul.)  However, with few exceptions, most of them are completely foreign to Thing 1, and we're back to torture time.  (In all honesty, I can't even read one of them.).  So, while we'll still use the book for practice, Builder and I decided that Thing 1 was ready for her first non-illustrated siddur.  I, of course, had picked out the one I wanted months ago, the Artscroll Chaim Shlomo Chinuch Siddur (Nusach Sefard, of course.)  Builder went and picked it up today.  (Builder prefers buying sefarim at Berman's Bookstore--or as I call--men's territory.  That place scares me!  But it's cheaper than Eichlers.)  Builder thought it was beautiful, but was surprised that I would choose one without English.  But, if Builder can daven in a Hebrew-only siddur, why not his children?

If Anne Frank had a grave, she'd be spinning in it.

Recently, someone emailed me the Torah U'Mesorah list of approved secular literature.  While I was not surprised that certain books failed to make the cut, such as Anne of Green Gables (Lucy Maud Montgomery was a minister's daughter, and a lot of the book focuses on the church), Little House in the Big Woods (dancing, hog-killing and Christmas), and Harry Potter ('nuff said), one entry made my eyebrows leap a mile.
Frank, Anne: The Diary of a Young Girl.  Rated N for Not Acceptable.  Huh?
According to the notes, the book failed to make the cut because Anne Frank, like most teenagers, talked back to her mother, and had a schoolgirl romance with fellow teenaged refugee Peter Van Daan.
So, let me get this straight.  The most famous book, by a Jewish author, on a Jewish subject, is not acceptable for Jewish children to read?   Because Anne was honest?  What does THAT teach our children?