by Jan Chaffin November 12, 2019

Urged by a friend, I read a book of true stories by Israeli author Etgar Keret called the Seven Good Years. It was unavailable as an e-book but I was able to secure a hard copy from my local library.

It had been many years since I’d visited the library. In Library Book, Susan Orlean beautifully describes the childhood wonderment associated with a parent  bringing us to the library, letting us pick any books we wanted and the joy of getting to do this every two weeks.

Now, I remembered some of the reasons I was so averse to handling library books (or sleeping in hotel sheets). Crusty tan specks of stubborn food items were randomly stuck to some of the pages. I confirmed they didn’t originate from my own almond butter sandwich and that I hadn’t inadvertently contributed to the smorgasbord.

About halfway through the book, I discovered a white index card, the classic kind you never see any more- one side lined, the other blank. On the blank side were items in black ink listed longways down the page- a To Do list.

With a certain voyeuristic enjoyment, I read the list and tried to imagine who had written it. In the old days, when there seemed to be more trust, or we were more naive, I could have flipped the book to it’s inside rear cover and seen the signatures of the readers before me, listed in order of  due dates on a two-sided library card inside a  glued-on paper pocket.

The list seemed concerned with food and its procurement, storage and preparation. Similar in some ways to my own lists, explicitly yet needlessly reminding me to read, write, rest… and there was that last dash waiting for a task to be assigned. 

Who else had wanted to read true stories by the son of Holocaust survivors? A young housewife? A lonely heart? A professional chef? What was the big event on Thursday that required Wed eve prep? Did it go well? Were the souvenir food specs theirs?

I enjoyed the book of stories about Israeli life. It was from a perspective I knew little about and was emotionally rich with structural economy. Daily life consisted of dropping to the ground at a moment’s warning to duck terrorist bombs, and remembering to stay put after the first round in case there were more. I found it telling that the author’s most significant breakdown occurred in the U.S. not Israel, just after 9/11. His one wish that day, like mine, was to return home. I hadn’t realized how that day had lifted an illusory veil of safety for not only me and most Americans, but the rest of the world also.

I started mulling the commonalities between our cultures- family, honor, camaraderie, a history of prejudice and the dissimilarities- constant threats of military and terrorist attacks, a feeling of dispossessment. The threads that blend us together are those of communitas, a need to connect, a wish to belong.

I kept returning to that list on the index card and my curiosity; could be it concern? The same interest that led me to the library to read this particular book? The same hope I have that the author Etgar and his wife and son will be safe from more bomb attacks?

Here’s to Etgar Keret, the anonymous list writer and the public library. Thank you for this shared solitary experience among a collective of readers who, despite our differences, are all curious and concerned.