21st Century Bogatyr: November 2022

Saturday, November 26, 2022

Tamar's Mushrooms

by Zvi Baranoff

Carpenters were hired to build the mushroom growing facility, according to the specifications of Tamar's sketchbook. It was built at the airport, adjacent to Der Profesor's house, where Dovid and his ever expanding brood continued to live. Tamar supervised the construction. It was assuredly unusual to have a five year old girl overseeing a construction project.

Tamar sat above the workmen, clutching her favorite doll, while watching the work closely. She periodically marched in to assure the correction of the tiniest irregularities in alignment or any misplaced nails.

Tamar would approach with the rag doll in one hand, her sketchbook in the other and a very seriously pouting countenance. She would insist that the miscreant workman resolve the issue. Then, she would return to her perch with her doll.

After several days, the mushroom cultivation facility was completed, including Tamar's final inspection. The workmen went on to other jobs with less demanding taskmasters. Tamar went out to play.

And while playing, Tamar heard the voices calling to her and she followed the sound. When she came upon the bloom of mushrooms, she carefully harvested as many as would fit into her backpack in the precise way that she had been shown in her previous trance-like encounter with the fungi of Planet Birobidzhan. She returned to the newly constructed cultivation facility and successfully transplanted her find.

The design of the facility allowed for a perpetual growth cycle. Within a few weeks, the first harvest was made while other chambers were in various stages of growth. Tamar brought the first harvested fungi to her father and Dovid shared them with Der Profesor.

Der Profesor had been fascinated by Dovid's encounters with the fungi of Planet Birobidzhan from the first time he had learned of them. He scoured the library books and the computer databases to learn all that was available about the entheogenic plants and fungi of the Home Planet, although there was no way of knowing if the experiences of the Earth-bound were relevant.

It certainly seemed likely that the largely religious experiences of those that ate cactus flowers, the roots of shrubs, and various fungi on Planet Earth might be a guidepost for similar experiences on Planet Birobidzhan. Der Profesor was certainly willing to find out. However, considering his advanced age, he was not actively hiking through wilderness in a way that would likely lead to a personal encounter with a wild mushroom bloom.

No one had considered the possibility of the cultivation of such until the mushrooms themselves guided Tamar in that way. Cultivation opened up a whole new potential for Der Profesor and others to join in the experimental lessons being offered by the mushrooms of Planet Birobidzhan.

Der Profesor advocated a cautious approach to introducing new people to the experience. The practice of eating these unfamiliar substances and following advice from unknown sources held potentially dangerous and disruptive social consequences.

Tamar did not eat the fleshy mushrooms after the initial consumption for many years. She was transformed by them nonetheless.

Tamar would spend hours at a time maintaining the ideal conditions for the mushrooms. Mushrooms grow in dark damp places and thrive on decaying wood and excrement. Cart loads of such matter were delivered to the airport almost daily.

Tamar would fill her child-size wheelbarrow using her child-sized shovel and maneuver the poignant growing medium into the beds to feed her mushrooms.

Tamar assured that proper temperatures, darkness and humidity levels were maintained in each chamber. She would check gauges, adding water or adjusting the heat when needed. Sometimes, she would just sit, communing with the fungi.

When not directly involved with the mushrooms, Tamar appeared to be a fairly typical little girl, at least to begin with.

Living in a household with more than a dozen older siblings and a gaggle of younger ones, Tamar did not particularly stand out as unusual…at least at first. However, if anyone had taken a closer look, the signposts of disruption would have been evident. Over the following couple of years, however, her odd behavior became obvious to even a casual observer.

Tamar carried an odor of compost and manure with her at all times, even with frequent and assiduous bathing. This may not have been so unusual for a boy living in a small shtetl. It was certainly a bit more unusual for a small girl living in Planet Birobidzhan's third largest city.

Indeed, it could be said that Tamar had a relationship with the fungi. Tamar considered the mushrooms to be hers in the sense of her family rather than her property. She perceived the fungi to be like honored ancestors or perhaps even as her real mother. The mushrooms spoke to her in a tongue that she alone could hear and understand.

Tamar had always been a quiet child. As the daily meticulous communication with fungi continued, she began to speak less and less to people. Living in a large, noisy family, this change went largely unnoticed for a while. That is, until Tamar stopped speaking altogether.

That she stopped speaking altogether is not exactly true. On a rare occasion she could be heard, from a distance, holding a conversation with herself. And, sometimes, when on a long walk with her father, Tamar would climb into Dovid's lap and listen while he recited simple rhymes and Tamar would hum to herself.

It was on such an occasion, a long walk from home on a hot summer day, that they sat in the shade of a large tree. Dovid casually stroked the girl's hair while repeating a nonsense rhyme that he had learned from his mother, the Itsy Bitsy Spider. Tamar turned her head to face her father and spoke.

"Tate," she said, "What's a spider?"

Dovid was surprised to hear her words and hesitated briefly before answering. "A spider, I suppose, is some sort of tiny creature that lives on the Home Planet. We don't have spiders on Planet Birobidzhan," Dovid answered.

"Oh," replied Tamar. "Then, this rhyme is a simplified retelling of the Sisyphus myth," the child rejoined before sliding back into her own silence.

The spinning also was overlooked for a while. Spinning is a common activity for young children. However, the dreidel-like gyrations became pervasive for most of Tamar's waking hours outside of her time directly involved with the mushrooms.

The only other times that Tamar refrained from the odd cyclical behavior was while drawing and making music. Those activities were encouraged by her family. Everyone felt a sense of relief when the spinning subsided.

It was fortuitous that Dovid had an unlimited account at Moshe and Mendel's Jew Harp, Tsatske aun Muzik Krom. Tamar would enter the store in Downtown First Landing, pick up art supplies or a new instrument and exit without a word. The clerks all knew her and would simply make a notation of the "purchase" to be added to Dovid's tab.

Over the next few years, Tamar mastered one instrument after another on her own. She took no lessons. She studied no theory and didn't read music. She played unaccompanied and oblivious to others. She blended sounds that came from some deep internal reservoir or perhaps from the stars.

Sometime after Tamar's thirteenth birthday she once again ate some of the fleshy mushrooms. It was after sunset and Tamar laid in a field staring wordlessly at the star filled sky. The next day, Tamar entered the family home and began interacting with her siblings and their mothers as if there had been nothing unusual about the last eight years.

It was the summer following Tamar's thirteenth birthday that a traveling troupe of klezmorim encamped near the airport and their nightly concerts drew large audiences. Tamar attended every one of the performances. When the troupe moved on, Tamar, with her vast collection of instruments, left with them.

This is not a Jewish story. It is, however, a story about Jews. One does not need to be Jewish to read this tale any more than one needs to be a Hobbit or an Elf to read Lord of the Rings.

This story is a work of fiction. The setting for this tale is in the distant future, on the far away Planet Birobidzhan. This planet was settled by Jewish exiles from Planet Earth.

The population of Planet Birobidzhan has been cut off from the Home Planet for a long time. They have developed their own unique culture, traditions and linguistics.

The language spoken on Planet Birobidzhan is primarily Yiddish. I have sprinkled a significant number of Yiddish words and phrases throughout the telling of the tale. I also refer to various Jewish religious and cultural touchstones.

To make this story more accessible, I have included a glossary of words and phrases in Yiddish and Hebrew that are used as well as some explanations of religious terms and holidays.

I hope that readers find this to be useful.

The link to the Glossary is here:

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/a-useful-guide-glossary-to-planet.html?m=1

פּלאַנעט ביראָבידזשאַן

Do you want to read more about Planet Birobidzhan? Here are all the posted installments so far, in the order that they were posted. Just click your way through the story!

1 On A Planet Safe for Yidden

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/on-planet-safe-for-yidden.html

2 Yenne Velt: A History of Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/yenne-velt-history-of-planet-birobidzhan.html

3 Another Globe, Perhaps?

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/another-globe-perhaps.html

4 Bereshis: The Transport & Transformation of the Founders

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/03/bereshis-transport-transformation-of.html

5 The Town of First Landing

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/03/the-town-of-first-landing.html

6 A Personal History of an Early Settler on Planet Birobidzhan

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/05/a-personal-history-of-early-settler-on.html

7 Chickens, Jews Harps & Cronyism

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/07/cronyism.html

8 Dovid's Neshumeh

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/07/dovids-neshumeh.html

9 The Octogenarian and the Youngster

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/07/the-octogenarian-and-youngster.html

10 An Otherworldly Havdalah

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/08/an-otherworldly-havdalah.html

11 The Courtship & Marriage of Bathseba

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/08/the-courtship-marriage-of-bathseba.html

12 A Job, an Apartment & Two Honeymoons

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/08/a-job-apartment-two-honeymoons.html

13 The Pathway Into the Stars

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/08/the-pathway-into-stars.html

14 Abi Guzunt

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/08/abi-guzunt.html

15 A Dozen or So…

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/10/a-dozen-or-so.html

16 Tamar's Sketchbook

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/11/tamars-sketchbook.html?m=1

17 An Apologetic Interlude in the Galactic Tale

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/11/an-apologetic-interlude-in-galactic-tale.html?m=1

18 Tamar's Mushrooms

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/11/tamars-mushrooms.html?m=1

19 Intergalactic Travel Can Not Be Done on the Cheap

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/12/intergalactic-travel-can-not-be-done-on.html?m=1

20 Unauthorized Fire on Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/12/unauthorized-fire-on-planet-birobidzhan.html?m=1

21 Tamar and the Klezmorim of Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/12/tamar-and-klezmorim-of-planet.html

22 Heresy, Flimflam and Death

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/12/heresy-flimflam-and-death.html?m=1

23 On a Distant Planet, An Apartment in the City by the Sea

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/on-distant-planet-apartment-in-city-by.html?m=1

24 The Girl with a Fiddle on Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/the-girl-with-fiddle-on-planet.html

25 Tamar and the Scholars of Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/tamar-and-scholars-of-planet-birobidzhan.html

26 The Tropics of Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/the-tropics-of-planet-birobidzhan.html

27 The Beaches and Coastal Shtetls of Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/the-beaches-and-coastal-shtetls-of.html

28 A Pre-launch Reunion

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/a-pre-launch-reunion.html

29 The Launch Was Imminent

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/the-launch-was-imminent.html

30 Liftoff Into the Unknown

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/liftoff-into-unknown.html

31 Across the Void, Down a Wormhole & Into the Snow

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/across-void-down-wormhole-into-snow.html

32 Flourishing on Planet Shney

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/flourishing-on-planet-shney.html

Tuesday, November 22, 2022

An Apologetic Interlude in the Galactic Tale

by Zvi Baranoff

Perhaps this story deserves an introduction. However, by this point in the telling, we are quite late for that option. For now, we will call this an interlude.

Most stories that you will read have a beginning, a middle and an end, and perhaps even a moral.

It grieves me to say so, es tut mir layd,

it hurts me, but I am not really sure how, or exactly when, this tale begins. In the beginning there was the void and then there was form. It is described in Genesis.

I am quite uncertain about how it all ends. Our prophets offer some veiled illusions, but no conclusions. Some faiths of other peoples delve much more into such concepts of Apocalyptic End Times than our tradition.

The middle is quite garbled. Most of our tale here is likely closer to the end than the beginning, but who knows? Es tut mir layd for a lack of greater clarity.

Perhaps offering some context might be a soothing gesture. If I can actually provide context, perhaps that would prove to be useful to a reader.

Our story of the Yidden on Planet Birobidzhan seems to backtrack, ramble and twist in on itself. Our tale is full of doubt and uncertainty. That this is a very Jewish story might be the reason for the rambling, a continuation on a trajectory that reaches back to the very beginning of time itself . Maybe that explains it. Maybe it doesn't. Ikh vis nisht.

I suffer from a condition of nostalgia. I am dissatisfied with the present. I long for a better time. I have a nearly perpetual sense that my very existence is an anachronism. Maybe that explains it. Maybe it doesn't. Ikh vis nisht.

That certainly isn't an exclusively Jewish condition. I think it is a widespread human phenomenon. Other individuals from other cultures have suffered with such. However, a state of nostalgia and displacement does seem particularly pervasive amongst the Yidden.

Where did our People, our Blessed Ancestors, come from? The simple answer is Planet Earth, of course. But, that answer explains very little about our lineage.

All humanity derived from a common lineage, one mother, a single spark. We even all had a single shprakh. What that language was, we do not know.

Humanity dispersed globally. Each region, and all the peoples of each region, developed their own Mama Loshen, I suppose. Farsheteyt? I can't say that I really understand, but indeed the shprakh of each of us became babbling in each other's ears.

Our Father Abraham originated in Ur Kasdim, located in a land that was later known as Iraq. Abraham developed a personal and direct relationship with God and with that our fate, as a people, begins to be distinct from the rest of the mentshen of Planet Earth. That relationship with the Creator is the inheritance that his descendants receive, but not evenly distributed.

Father Abraham's wife had not been able to conceive. Mother Sarah, in her old age, offered her servant as a surrogate to bare children for her. The servant and Abraham's first son, however, are left to fend for themselves in the wilderness because Sarah's reasoning was displaced with jealousy.

What we know of Abraham's immediate family, and those that follow, we learn from the Tanakh, the assemblage of texts that others call the Old Testament. It serves as a history, a guidepost, a legal structure, a blueprint, a tool for divination and as a national saga.

As a people, we are very concerned about lineage. Our Tanakh is full of instances of displaced lines of inheritance, periods of exile, and separation trauma.

Brothers fought within wombs for dominance. Birthrights were traded for bowls of soup. Children were conceived through subterfuge and seduction. Moshe was raised by Pharaoh's daughter. Hadassah married the King of Persia.

These sorts of plot twists repeat throughout our Tanakh. The themes reappear amongst the Nations in barely camouflaged folk tales such as Hansel and Gretel, Snow White, and Cinderella. The Roma fortune tellers developed Tarot Cards for the retelling and retooling of the Tanakh for those lacking a capacity for literacy.

Perhaps our historical obsession with assurances of ethnicity derives from the obvious lack of lineage purity. We are, after all, of many hues and physical types.

We mirror this concern with our dietary laws that obsess on separations. It is true that we refrain, for instance, from mixing milk and meat.

Many of the meals that we perceive as Jewish food all seem to borrow heavily from the sorts of foods eaten by our Russian, Polish and Ukrainian Gentile neighbors.

We also tend to blend or mash our foods. Our kugel, gefilte fish, kneidelach, chopped liver, tzimmes and cholent all reflect our tendency to bring some order out of chaos, imitating, in a way, the act of Creation. Our foods are as mixed up as our bloodlines.

So, wherever we migrated, we carried our burdens and contradictions with us. We carried Eretz Yisrael with us into exile. We returned from exile with the habits, values and customs of the Diaspora. This was our fate on Planet Earth. This is true on Planet Birobidzhan. This is true as we transit across galaxies. Es tut mir layd.

Marc Chagall “Memory” 1914

The Guggenheim Museum, NY