Close Encounter
(August 13, 1999)
by Naomi Ragen
The other day, instead of reaching for my contact lens conditioning
solution, I reached for my contact lense cleaning solution, thereby giving my eye a
walloping dose of akyl ether sulfate. My next stop after the emergency room of Hadassah
Hospital and the local pharmacy for a variety of expensive eye drops, was my local health
fund, where I attempted to at least get some relief for my pocketbook, if not for my
dignity. In order to get reimbursed for the drugs, I needed the medical secretary’s
stamp of approval.
I sat before a pleasant-looking religious matron in a flowing brown wig.
"Is that Reegan or Ragen ?" she asked with great interest.
"Ragen. Just like the former president of the United States," I
assured her.
"Why…it couldn’t be…might I ask…you’re not the
writer of all those books, are you?"
"Yes," I replied meekly, hoping this wasn’t going to cost me my
stamp of approval for all those expensive eye drops.
"Oh, I’ve really wanted to sit down and talk to you for quite some
time," she said emphatically, shaking her head. "I’ve wanted to ask
you….I’ve never read any of your books, but I’ve heard about them from
friends. They say they are very well written. But the subject…I mean, I’ve
wanted to ask you…if it’s not too persona.l ,I mean, this is your own spiritual
sphere, a very private place, I realize, but I’ve wanted in any case to ask you if
you didn’t think it might possibly be a desecration of G-d’s name?"
"I’d really love to talk to you about my books," I replied
sincerely. "I mean, I’m willing to spend a few hours with you. But I can’t
really discuss my books with you, if you haven’t read them….
"But…!" she interrupted.
"And it’s not enough to hear what your friends and neighbors
think…You’d have to read them yourself."
"But…can I just ask you something?"
"Sure," I said pleasantly, watching her roll that stamp between her
fingers.
"Doesn’t it bother you that people say those kinds of things about
your books?"
"Well, I’ll tell you. What bothers me is that people in the secular
world look at the haredi world and see all the bad things going on there. And let’s
face it, there are a lot if bad things…
She nodded thoughtfully, agreeing.
"To me, the real desecration of G-d’s name is that people are doing
these things, not that I’m writing about them. At least when people read my books,
they understand that there are some wonderful haredi families, along with all the bad
people that are there. I also make it clear that the problem isn’t our religion,
it’s the way people falsify it and trample it. And my last book, THE GHOST OF
HANNAH MENDES, is about secular Jews coming closer to their religion and their
history…You really should read one of my books."
"Maybe I will…but I wanted to ask you…a favor. I’ve written
a book. Would you read it?"
I looked at her again. A writer! How wonderful! I thought.
"I think that’s great. But you should never let another writer read
your work. Why not give it to a publisher?"
"I let Keter read it. They loved it, but they said it wasn’t personal enough.
But how can I write personal things, intimate things? "
"If you want your book to be worth anything, you have to! Write it under a
pen name. There’s a woman who’s the wife of an important haredi Rabbi that
writes under the name Chana Bat Shachar. She’s published a number of award-winning
books. Some of them quite erotic. Even her husband doesn’t know it’s
her…"
"What do you say!?"
"And even with publicity, she keeps her identity secret. She and I were
once interviewed with two other religious women writers and she insisted the newspaper not
take her picture or use her real name. And they honored that.."
"What do you say!" By this time she’d taken my papers and stamped
everything. "So you think I should be honest, tell everything…?"
"That’s what it means to be a writer. Also, it’s the only way to
cleanse the world. To correct it. Open it up. Let the light of truth shine in."
She beamed at me. I felt like hugging her.
"Good luck," I said.
"Good luck to you. You’re eye, I mean. And I’ll think about what
you said…I enjoyed our talk."
"I did too," I said, thinking about the strange ways G-d has in
getting people together. I hope she goes home to her typewriter and pulls out all the
stops. That’s a book I ‘d love to read!
