It has been a grand celebration! All year long, Janeites from around the world have been celebrating Jane Austen’s 250th birthday. Naturally, there have been events in Chawton, Hampshire where the author lived and wrote her novels. The city of Bath in Somerset, held a Yuletide Birthday Ball. A special church service was held in Steventon in Hampshire where Jane was born. The Jane Austen Society of North America (JASNA), with a membership exceeding 6,000, organized balls, brunches, and teas across the land. Beyond this, thousands more around the globe—from Argentina to Israel, Australia to the Czech Republic, and places far and wide—gathered to commemorate the occasion. 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒐-𝒅𝒐!
Professor Michael Kramp of Lehigh University in Pennsylvania invited me to participate in his ongoing public humanities research project entitled, “Jane Austen and the Future of the Humanities.” I’m still blushing…what an honor! We spoke of my passion of incorporating Jewish protagonists into Austen’s storylines and even explored the cultural and historical roots of Argentina’s vibrant Austen fandom. I will share that interview once the episode is ready to be released and aired on his podcast.
Soon after, I was contacted by Juana Libedinsky, journalist and novelist extraordinaire! She was conducting research for her (now released) book, Queremos tanto a Jane. The scope of that work speaks to the longevity of Austen’s popularity. One of my titles, The Meyersons of Meryton, had led Juana to me. She soon discovered that I had also written a JAFF with connections to colonial (or Regency) Argentina. We talked quite a bit about my immigrant experience and how I connected Austen with the Viceroyalty of Rio de la Plata in Celestial Persuasion.
Between the three of us, we covered Buenos Aires, New York, London, Las Vegas, Nevada and Bethlehem PA.!
Throughout this year, I have had the pleasure of attending Regency teas and was the guest speaker at various book clubs.
In May, I attended the annual Jewish Book Council’s Network Conference where I presented, The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary. We were each given two minutes to “pitch” our book. No pressure, right? In all honesty, it was a strange combination of anxiety and pride and fun!
The culmination of the year was two-fold. I attended JAFFCon 2025, where I met with other authors and readers of Jane’s fandom. Lively discussions and informative presentations were coupled with games, raffles, dancing, and the partaking of refreshments!
Lastly, I attended the Vegas PBS Annual Tea, where we celebrated Jane’s birthday and enjoyed a wonderful presentation by world renown historian, author, and curator, Lucy Worsley. I heartfelt ‘thank you’ to Cindy Jensen for the invitation!
Austen’s fandom is alive and well! I look forward to new experiences, new stories, and connecting with my fellow Janeites throughout the world!
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to a “Run 4 Their Lives” Hostage Awareness Walk. For those of you in this audience who are today-years-old, my opening statement alludes to an old vaudeville line—and a 1962 musical that is filled with humorous situations and mistaken identities. But I digress…
I wish with all my heart that I could have met today’s guest author under different circumstances; but, until our meshpucha (our family) are released from captivity, we will walk in our neighborhoods—across the country and around the world—to raise awareness that the hostages Are. Still. There.
On one such walk, after having walked together week after week, Lauren and I discovered that we both write historical fiction. Up until that moment, we saw each other as concerned Jews; two middle-aged women outraged at the lack of basic, human rights for innocent people held hostage for two years as of today.
Lauren Tallman, author
Needless to say, we were very excited to learn we had other—more pleasant—things in common. And before any of you “couch referees” or “armchair critics” judge my choice of adjective or lack of vocabulary, excited is absolutely apropos! As you will soon learn, Lauren is much accustomed, shall we say, to that particular sentiment.
According to her website, Lauren Tallman “is a fearless voice in modern erotica and candid conversation.” Yes, you read that correctly. Lauren, also known as Lady Tallman or Lady of Glencoe, founded the Erotic Writers Group of Las Vegas in 2014. She has been a member—and is the current vice president—of the Henderson Writers Group (HWG) since 2009, where her stories have been accepted into six HWG anthologies.
In addition, my lady, Lauren is a columnist for the Vegas Voice where she writes about Health & Wellness and informs us that, “Seniors Still Do It.”
After doing a little research of Lauren’s online presence, I learned my new friend was born in Lithuania. Her arrival to Nevada was quite the trajectory, as stated here: “Her journey spans six cities across four countries, with thirty unforgettable years spent in Israel before making Las Vegas her home in 2006. Her diverse life experiences fuel her writing — bold, raw, and unapologetically honest.”
Lauren’s books, How To Have An Affair And Not Get Caught, Harem of the Dragon, Taste the Kiss Feel the Fire, Anthology X, and Come Again? have received world-wide recognition.
Talk about spicy!
“How did you come to write these provocative narratives,” I asked.
Lauren didn’t miss a beat.
“Because I’m good at it,” she replied.
I wasn’t altogether sure if she meant if she was good at writing or, you know… Very well, I’ll say it: sex.
Naturally, I shared my—um—passion for Jane Austen Fan Fiction with Lauren. And, after giving it a bit of thought, she and I are not so far apart in our writing style. We both are fulfillers of fantasy, we both are devisers of dreams. Certainly Austen cannot be considered a purveyor of erotica, but her writings did contain sexual undertones and innuendo. Think of Northanger Abbey and Mansfield Park.
In this JSTOR post by Beth Lau, Catherine Moreland is shown to “be an astute sexual and social strategizer who ends up marrying the most eligible man in the novel.” And in this essay, author Avrom Fleishman urges caution in “simply assuming that Jane Austen came under Evangelical influence…in order to explain a presumed moralizing tone in the novel.”
“Sexuality is not a topic which springs immediately to mind on considering Jane Austen’s novel, “Mansfield Park,” but, in fact, much of the energy of the novel derives from the powerful machinations of sexual politics and much of the novel’s interest comes from the usually suppressed—though all the more fervid for that—love of Fanny for Edmund.” ~
Giulia Giuffre, “Sex, Self and Society in Mansfield Park”
No, Austen’s contemporaries were certainly not puritanical. Courtesans were prominent in London society. Sexual relationships were often discussed openly, and literature and art were often a celebration of sensuality. If we had a ha’penny every time we read about a couple “anticipating their vows”, we Regency fans would be set for life!
In fact, when comparing the Georgians, Victorians, and Edwardian eras, the Georgians (the era, not the country!) “were considered less prudish about sexual relations compared to the Victorians, who were often seen as more repressive due to strict moral codes. The Edwardians, while still influenced by Victorian values, began to show more openness towards sexuality and social norms.”
I have whet your appetite, I do believe, and expect that you are hungry for more. Do try to curb your frustration. Restrain your lust for the upcoming salacious dialogue because, without further ado, I’ll get on with the interview!
Host: You are very welcome, Lauren. Please tell us about your work.
Guest: As a writer of erotica, I say my genre is “historical fiction with sensual undertones.” It very well tells what I write: erotica. Several books were published after Harem of The Dragon. After many requests, the sequel is now in the works.
Host: That’s fascinating — “historical fiction with sensual undertones” really captures how you weave emotion and history together. Humanity’s struggles are naturally a combination of frenzied passions, often seen through a cultural or spiritual lens. With that in mind, what are your thoughts on Jewish Historical Fiction? Why is it an important, stand-alone, genre?
Guest: It’s imperative! Fiction always has a seed of truth, based on things we heard at family dinners or read in history class. Those seeds make the story line. Making the stories fiction allows us to read fascinating tales while unwittingly absorbing facts about our people. It’s difficult to read our history. It’s clever to blend it into fiction while still getting truths and facts across.
Host: That’s a wonderful point — by weaving truth into fiction, readers can connect emotionally to history they might otherwise find too painful or heavy to face directly. It’s such an effective way to preserve culture and pass on knowledge through story. Here in the United States, our exposure to Jewish narratives often centers on two main threads — the Holocaust and Fiddler on the Roof-type themes of shtetl life. But as you suggest, there’s so much more to explore, from different eras, places, and diverse perspectives. Could you share some titles of your favorite non-Holocaust Jewish fiction — stories that reveal other sides of Jewish experience and identity?
Guest: My Name Is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok – a Hasidic boy with artistic inclinations which almost destroys his family and life. A little heavy but very well done.
I felt I was hearing Flavius Josephus when I read The Wars of The Jews. I was there with him. I could see the battles and survival.
Exodus by Leon Uris – I literally took the book to the library (that’s how long ago I read it) and read what I could about the creation of Israel. I looked up the facts such as the name of the real Exodus captain and found where Moshe Dayan was jailed (as used in the book). Ben Gurion was quoted: “…as a piece of propaganda, it’s the greatest thing ever written about Israel.”
The Source by James Michener is a must— I read it while living in Israel. When I realized it was about Megiddo, I drove out there. I searched every inch of the tell. The story was etched in my brain. I studied the tunnel and saw how the rock had been chipped by hand to make way to the source/water, the bringer of life. Trust me, I just stood there and understood the need to live, to survive, for themselves and thousands of years later, for me.
Host: Those are such powerful selections, Lauren, each one not only captures a pivotal moment in Jewish history but also brings it to life through deeply personal storytelling. I love how you described standing at Megiddo after reading The Source — that image of tracing history with your own footsteps is incredibly moving. I appreciate authors who weave accurate history throughout the storyline. While completing research for your novels, did anything particularly affect or move you? Were there any discoveries or moments that truly took you by surprise?
Guest: In Harem, I had 125 pages of research, indicating what they ate, where they slept, their customs, and so much about the difference between Emperor and commoner. No matter what you write, you can’t help but be moved when reading history. How could you know that gold/yellow could only be worn by the Emperor during the Ming Dynasty, and anyone daring to wear it was executed. How could you know that the Star of David worn by Holocaust victims was yellow indicating the color of urine. Without a word, the star was made to be a symbol of the lowest of low. What comes as a surprise? The agility, the rage, and the ability of people to rise up, to become greater than before, yet not as great as they would be in the future.
Host: Lauren, that’s a powerful observation. The resilience of people to rise, transform, and keep striving for something greater is truly timeless. It’s that same human spirit that often defines the heart of historical fiction, even when the setting or circumstances change. As you know, Regency Romance is a favorite genre of mine; however, Jane Austen did not consider herself to be a romance author and she was not labeled as a “Regency” novelist during her time. That being said, Austen’s narratives did impart a sense of physical attraction, of longing. We “Janeites” are familiar with the social taboos of sexual conduct and the corresponding gossip that usually follows. Talk to us about the taboos of today—in a society where apparently “everything goes.”
Guest: It doesn’t go. America is straight-laced compared to most countries. As a writer of erotica, I see people show their disdain for written sensuality. They feel ashamed or, worse, embarrassed about desire. There are affairs – I know, I wrote the book, How to Have an Affair and Not Get Caught. In public, people walked past me at a book signing. But they bought the book online or through my website (laurentallman.com). They don’t talk the talk, but they certainly walk the walk. In short, ‘everything goes’ may happen behind closed doors but speaking to the average Joe about passion doesn’t fly. Taboo means ‘something that is not acceptable’. Passion, want, need, and pure desire have been labeled taboo. How sad.
Host: That’s an insightful statement, because those “unacceptable” feelings have driven some of the greatest stories ever told. Authors lend authenticity to their narratives by not shying away from natural emotions or diverse, complicated scenarios. Which leads me to my next question regarding walking the same ground, so to speak, as your characters. Have you visited any of the locations you’ve written about?
Guest: I try to. I write a monthly column in The Vegas Voice, regarding senior relationships. When I wrote about the hot springs in Cali, I spent the night there. Making love under the stars? I stayed out under the stars, to see if it was doable. (It is doable.) Actually, being at a location gives me far more information than just calling on the phone or looking up a place on the net. And people love to talk and share information that you would never have known otherwise.
Host: Lauren, you are an adventurer! How long have you been writing? When did you first consider yourself an author?
Guest: Oh, forever! Even as a child I could tell a good story. Not that I knew anything about the art but the stories weaved in the senses: rain dripping from tree leaves and hurling to the ground, ivory clouds, the sound of skates on ice. My first book, The Erotic Tales of Renni (not published, long story) was written 35 years ago. When I first published the affair book, I realized I was a true author. Since then I’ve written short stories, my forte, as well as books. At first it was difficult to say “I am an author.” Someone told me, “You worked hard on your book. You researched, edited, and marketed it. You deserve the title author.” They were right.
Host: I wholeheartedly agree! Of late, the term “Historical Romance” seems to equate with a narrative containing sexual language or scenes ranging from “clean reads” to soft porn to something rated XXX. While some readers prefer “drawing room romance” to “bedroom romance” —where adult activities are carried out behind closed doors—there is a massive audience that wants the spice level turned up all the way. In your experience; and, speaking in general terms, how does an American audience differ to that of an Israeli audience?
Guest: Day and night. In Israel I can speak about Harem, which has ‘edgy’ erotica, or any of my many short stories, without missing a beat. They commend me for writing an interesting, and truly sensual, story. Here, I had to change the wording on Harem’s cover, from erotic to sensual. Israelis listened, sipped their coffee, and asked questions!
Americans would first say, “I don’t read porn.” And I’d answer, “Neither do I.” They’d stare are me. I often explain, “Erotica is a whisper. It is sensual. It is tender. It can be edgy because sensuality comes in different levels.”
By the way, my books don’t have one “dirty” word in them. A nice Jewish girl from Brooklyn doesn’t say those things. So I turned to erotica which shows you sensuality rather than tells you. I wouldn’t write, “He grabbed her (fill in the blank).” Rather, I write, “Her skin felt like silk under his fingers.”
Host: I love that you make it your own and have no need to apologize or explain your style.
“I could not sit seriously down to write a serious Romance under any other motive than to save my life, and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and never relax into laughing at myself or other people, I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter. No – I must keep my own style and go on in my own way; and though I may never succeed again in that, I am convinced that I should totally fail in any other.” ~ Jane Austen
Host: Lauren, thank you for participating on another fascinating, Author’s Interview! Before we end our chat, is there anything else you’d like to add?
Guest: Yes, thank you. My books can be found on my site laurentallman.com. My podcasts and columns are on The Vegas Voice site (thevegasvoice.net). Id like to share the last paragraph in Harem:
I jumped out and walked alone until I reached the edge of the mighty wall.
I breathed in the brisk air. My nostrils flared and my chest burned as a fire waited to burst forth.
The waves crashed but dared not splash onto me.
The wind swirled but did not have the courage to dry my eyes.
I raised my arms, clenched my fist, and shouted out to the ebb and flow of the water.
“I am Long, Chief Eunuch of the Emperor’s Harem. Hear me waters. Hear me wind. Scream my name to the sky and say, I am the dragon.”
Thanks, again, Lauren! And thank you, reading audience! I hope you’ve enjoyed the post and I look forward to hearing your thoughts in the comments below.
In The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary, I weave a unique backstory into Jane Austen’s novel and allow Miss Harriet Smith to come to the forefront. Austen gives us a glimpse at this secondary character, this “natural daughter of nobody knows whom.” Readers must form their own conclusions—until the very end, when Austen provides a sentence or two in an attempt to wrap things up. But does she attempt to satisfy our curiosity—or does she mean to tease? In the famous Grimm’s fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel drop crumbs along their trail, leaving a path for others to follow. Can you guess where I’m going with this? Naturally, I had to follow the crumbs Austen left behind. There was another story to tell—I was sure of it—one with new characters and a Jewish storyline.
Austen provides a scenario in “Emma” that set my creative wheels in motion. I don’t want to reveal too much; but, for those of you who have read the original novel, the chapter that sends Mr. Elton off to London with Miss Smith’s portrait in hand provided my first crumb. A plot unfolded easily enough in my mind. The challenge was to ensure that historical events matched Austen’s timeline. You see, in other novels, I’ve used my own family’s immigrant experience to authenticate my protagonist’s journey. However, the exodus from Imperial Russia did not coincide with the Jewish population in Regency England. I had to look elsewhere. The timeframe allowed for a population of a majority of Sephardic Jews and a smattering of Ashkenazim of German descent.
This second crumb sent me whirling further down the rabbit hole until the Weiss family was created and I placed them in London. They were an immigrant family; their original home, I decided, was in the Judengassin—the Jewish ghetto in Frankfurt. I had to find the impetus for their migration, something catastrophic that opened the ghetto gates and allowed for their freedom. And here is the conundrum that all authors face. A plot is conceived, the players are named, but the story cries out for historical accuracy. It may only be a few sentences; but, as any author will tell you, that sense of time and place requires hours and hours of research. And that was precisely what happened to me.
Without batting an eye, I could tell you about the Jewish Colonization Association and the immigration from Imperial Russia to Argentina. I could describe the lives of Jewish gauchos or the “cuentaniks” of Buenos Aires. What I can’t—or couldn’t—do is explain how immigrants fleeing Germany’s infamous Judengasse (Jewish Street) found their way into an Austenesque novel.
In Heinrich Heine’s book, “The Rabbi of Bacherach,” the narrative unfolds in the 15th century where Kaiser Friedrich III and Pope Pius II demand that twenty Jewish families be removed from their homes and resettled in the Judengasse. By the year 1500, approximately 100 people live in the area nicknamed, “The New Egypt.” One hundred people in 14 houses. By 1600, there were 3,000 people living in 197 houses, wooden structures that were crammed together, story upon story until they blocked out the sun, reduced air flow, and created hazards that resulted in massive fires—three of historic consequence in 1711, 1721, and 1774.
Rabbi Naphtali Cohen
Rabbi Naphtali Cohen was called to Frankfurt am Main after his house was destroyed on January 14, 1711. Summoned to testify before the court, it was noted that the fire consumed the entire Jewish ghetto, but the rabbi—known for his Kabbalistic practice—had had the audacity to survive. Not only did he survive, the kabbalist was accused of “preventing the extinguishing of the fire by ordinary means.” The rabbi was accused of witchcraft and summarily thrown into prison. He was set free by renouncing his title and practice.
Juda Low Baruch, otherwise known as the poet, Ludwig Borne, lived in the ghetto during the late 1700s. His memories are bleak, to say the least. “The highly celebrated light of the eighteenth century has not yet been able to penetrate [the Judengasse].” His writings expressed disgust, anger, despair—futility. “If one were to consider play in childhood as the model for the reality of life, then the cradle of these children must be the grave of every encouragement, every exuberance, every friendship, every joy in life. Are you afraid that these towering houses will collapse over us? O fear nothing! They are thoroughly reinforced, the cages of clipped birds, resting on the cornerstone of eternal ill-will, well walled up by the industrious hands of greed, and mortared with the sweat of tortured slaves. Do not hesitate. They stand firm and will never fall.”
Adolf von Knigge, a German author, blamed the horrific living conditions on his Christian brethren. In his work entitled, “The Story of My Life”, he reminds his audience that these Jewish families were once “craftsmen, wine-growers and gardeners.” They once lived freely and contributed to society; however, “ecclesiastical ordinances” reduced them to peddling and to “practices of usury.” The very people who condemned this once-proud society to live in squalor, were the first to criticize and ridicule. For Knigge, these actions were the very antithesis of an enlightened society. His work was known to speak out against “aristocratic courtly culture as [being] superficial, immoderate, and wholly lacking in inner values.”
In his novel, “Labyrinth,” Jens Baggesen describes the inhuman living conditions he witnessed in the Judengassin of Frankfurt. This Danish-German author advocated for German Jews, locked behind ghetto gates night after night, not to mention Sundays and on all Christian holidays. How could an enlightened society allow such a thing? They were denied the pleasure of open air, of walks in the parks and plazas. They couldn’t patronize restaurants or coffee shops, or “walk more than two abreast in the street.” Baggesen leant his voice to the growing movement for civil rights and Jewish emancipation.
Many people have heard the name Rothschild. Mayer Amschel Rothschild and his descendants are very likely the most famous people to have lived in the Judengasse. Their surname evokes images of great wealth and power. For some, the name inspires thoughts of moxie and resourcefulness. For others, it inspires thoughts of greed and manipulation. What is the truth?
By 1560, Mayer’s ancestor, Isak, was confined to living in the ghetto. It was common for residents to be known by their address, so the family surname was most likely taken from the red shield (zum roten schild) that hung at their front door. Isak and his family were known to be pious and relatively successful cloth merchants. By the time Isak died in 1585, he had accumulated an income of 2,700 gulden. His great grandson, Kalman, had an income more than twice as large, and his son, Moses—Mayer Amschel’s grandfather—continued to prosper by not only dealing with silks and other costly materials, but with rare and foreign coins. This was not an unusual practice; Frankfurt was centrally located and was popular with businessmen from various neighboring towns and countries—not to mention noblemen and politicians.
Mayer’s father, successful merchant and patriarch, continued to live in a modest home with his family. It had been designed to suit their business needs, with an office on the ground floor, a kitchen on the first floor, and bedrooms on the top level. Mayer was allowed to attend rabbinical school at Furth, although he later was known to have said that he “only studied his religion in order to be a good Jew.” When both his parents succumbed to an unknown, but inevitable, epidemic that attacked ghetto inhabitants, Mayer’s studies came to end. He returned home for a brief time, before being sent to Hanover to apprentice with his father’s associate, Wolf Jakob Oppenheim.
Mayer was just twelve years of age when his journey into the privileged and elite world began. He learned what it meant to be a “court Jew,” garnering knowledge from Oppenheim’s family, court agents to the Austrian Emperor and the Bishop of Cologne. He learned how to work with aristocrats who were always in the business of buying and selling rare coins, jewels, and medals. In this manner, Mayer returned to Frankfurt, somewhere around 1764, a prosperous and renown businessman. In 1769, he was granted the title of court agent. In August of 1770, at the age of twenty-six, he married his beloved, Gutle, the sixteen-year-old daughter of Wolf Salomon Schnapper, court agent to the Prince of Saxe-Meiningen. All this success, and yet, he and his wife were confined to the ghetto.
Gutle Rothschild
Mayer and Gutle went on to have a large family; nineteen children were born, ten survived. While Gutle managed home and hearth, Mayer continued to grow more prosperous. By the mid-1780s, the Rothschilds had accumulated approximately 150,000 gulden and were able to move into a new home—substantially larger, yet still behind the ghetto gates. The new house, known as “the green shield” (zum grunen schild—they didn’t change their name at this point), was approximately fourteen feet wide. The rooms were narrow and cramped. The children all slept together in the attic. Still, it was considered to be a desirable residence. It had its own water pump! The lavatory was outside in a small courtyard. From these humble beginnings, a powerful and philanthropic family emerged.
Rothschild Coat of Arms 1817
To this day, the Rothschilds are criticized, judged, and maligned. Everyone has an opinion on their legacy. Perhaps, like Rabbi Naphtali Cohen, it would have been better if they had succumbed to their wretched circumstances. Perhaps they should have had the decency to fail miserably. Perhaps it is envy that is behind the contempt for the Jew.
The antisemitism we are living today does not differ much from what we have seen in the past. But that’s why understanding our own history, even in the form of “light” historical fiction or so-called, “Chick Lit” is vital. The past may reveal many injustices, but it also reveals our courage and our determination to survive—and to thrive.
Dignity is a powerful thing. We shall use it to break through the walls of the ghetto and set ourselves free.” – Sara Aharoni
I set out to show you how one simple thought can lead to hours and hours of research. And that, I have done.
I needed to piece together the whys and wherefores in order to bring my fictional Weiss family to London, England. And that, I have done.
I didn’t realize that this post was going to end up being some sort of call to arms. If I have encouraged you to be proud of your heritage, to advocate for justice, to look to your non-Jewish friends for support, to fulfill your dreams and destiny; then, I am glad to say: that I have done! I suppose that’s what happens when you follow one little crumb.
That being said, the original point of this post was to show how all. that. research. led to this short excerpt. I hope you enjoy!
It was September 1794. Hannah Weiss, a young woman who had not yet reached her majority and had no real knowledge of the world beyond the four corners that united her neighborhood, believed herself to be in love with Yaacov Kupperman.
Left quite unrestrained by parents who were otherwise engaged in rebuilding their lives in a foreign land, Hannah and Yaacov’s childhood friendship blossomed. They shared the love of the written word and the love of adventure. Stolen moments were spent sharing tidbits of knowledge, whether acquired from the streets teeming with intriguing activity or from passages within a tattered book. Whispered promises and fanciful dreams became woven into their very existence. It seemed so natural a thing. They spoke of their future lives with the same assurance that their mothers would bake sweet challah for the Sabbath and their fathers would sleep through the rabbi’s sermon the following day. It was inevitable. It was bashert—it was meant to be.
On a cool, temperate evening, unencumbered by chaperones or naysayers alike, the besotted pair anticipated their wedding vows. Yaacov murmured his pledge to be Hannah’s knight in shining armor, such as the men from days of yore. He vowed to protect her, to provide for her. There would be no more talk of the Judengasse, of poverty, or fear. They were English now, and their lives would be the stuff of fairytales.
“You will speak with my papa?” Hannah whispered. “You will come by us for Shabbes?”
Yaacov gently tugged on a golden curl. “Do not speak in that foreign manner, my sweet one. Instead, you should say: Will you come to our house for the Sabbath? We are native Londoners, even if our parents were born in Frankfurt. Let us not speak as if we were still in the ghetto.”
“You would admonish me now?” she bristled. “After we—after just—”
“You are such a little girl! See how you blush!” Bringing her closer, Yaacov whispered, “Never fear, my dear heart. I will speak with your papa and should be pleased to share the Sabbath meal with your family. How else will I earn my mother-in-law’s favor?”
Hannah smiled at his teasing but persisted with her train of thought. “What of your papa? Oughtn’t you speak with him first? Perhaps now, you may become his partner!”
“Perhaps,” he chuckled. “My father certainly has high hopes for the family business. I will speak with him on the morrow after he has broken his fast. Rest assured, my love. We shall be wed before Chanukah.”
Later that evening, Hannah peeked out her window and gazed into the heavens. She sent up a prayer asking for forgiveness. She was not so ill-bred that her earlier actions did not cause her some shame. Perhaps they ought to have waited until after the words had been spoken—after they had stood under the wedding canopy and the rituals had been commemorated.
I shall be married soon enough, and all will be well!
Hannah murmured another grateful prayer, for her dreams would soon be fulfilled. By December, she would recite the blessings over the chanukkiah, the precious heirloom that had been in the family for generations. It would soon be passed on to the newest bride.
September went by in a flurry. October and November, although bathed in vibrant hues of red and gold, foreshadowed the bitterness that was yet to come. Hannah could not take pleasure in the riot of colors that fell upon the city, not when her eyes were clouded with remorse. Yaacov had not come for Shabbes that Friday evening. Indeed, he had not been seen for many months past.
Hannah considered asking for him at synagogue after services or when she encountered Mrs. Kupperman at the butcher, but the unspoken words stayed upon her lips. How would she respond if they questioned her? It was not becoming for a young, unmarried girl to ask after a young man, even if they had been friends and neighbors throughout their youth. People were certain to talk. To be sure, in this matter, there was no distinction between the ghetto of Frankfurt and the streets of London.
Today’s the day! I had planned for a different release date, but KDP (the publishing house for Amazon) works in mysterious ways…who am I to argue with their algorithms and stratagems? I’m happy to release the book on a Tuesday. As I mentioned in a previous post, Tuesdays are special in Jewish tradition. I will take all the extra blessings and positive vibes I can get!
The Jews of Donwell Abbey is a retelling of Austen’s Emma. For those of you not familiar with the original text, allow me to fill in some of the blanks. The novel was first published in December 1815 and is set in the fictional country village of Highbury in England. Austen provided for two principal estates, namely Hartfield—where Emma Woodhouse resides with her father—and Donwell Abbey, the home of Mr. Knightley.
There are, of course, various friends and family members that enliven the story. The Westons, Mrs. and Miss Bates, Miss Fairfax, Mr. Churchill and Mr. Elton are members of the gentility and are all acquainted with Miss Emma Woodhouse, the main heroine of the story. Mrs. Goddard, the Cox family, and the Martins are not of the same social sphere, however they too are showcased in varying degrees. And then there is Miss Harriet Smith.
Harriet Smith is “the natural daughter of nobody knows whom”—a phrase that tells us instantly that this beautiful, yet unsophisticated girl, was born out of wedlock. She is raised in Mrs. Goddard’s school; and, when she completes her studies, Harriet becomes a parlor boarder. That is to say, she remains at the school and helps supervise and teach the younger pupils. Miss Emma Woodhouse takes notice of the charming young lady and takes Harriet under her wing—believing in her heart of hearts, that the girl must be the daughter of a gentleman; and therefore, in need of some guidance.
Which actress portrayed her best?
At the conclusion of her novel, Jane Austen reveals the truth about Harriet’s heritage, albeit the details are brief and wanting. However, in her usual— brilliant—style, the author gently nudges readers to address the many topics that concerned Georgian (Regency) society. Austen explores genteel poverty and elegant economy, such as what the Bates women must experience. The thin line of respectability and acceptance within the social spheres is showcased with the Cox, the Coles, and the Martins. The desperation to marry, and to marry well, is underscored by the ever-looming threat of becoming a governess or worse, yet, a spinster!
As in the past, Austen helped me spin a tale of my own. Harriet’s story, meant to be secondary in nature, moved to the forefront in my mind. The vague commentary about Harriet’s true parentage was thought-provoking to say the least! I couldn’t walk away from the opportunity! The end result is a novel that continues to address taboo subjects, such as the responsibility of caring and raising foster children, the enduring effects of post traumatic stress disorder, religious intolerance, spiritual growth…
Don’t worry! The story continues to be a light and entertaining read. I hope to have mimicked Austen’s touch—you will have to let me know. See what others have been saying here…
It all started—as these things often do—with a “what if…?” Over two years ago, a story plot came to mind for my least favorite Austen novel: Emma. I know I might ruffle some feathers, but I’m not alone in my feelings towards this novel.
I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like.” ~ Jane Austen
Miss Emma Woodhouse is said to be handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition. She is twenty-one years of age and has lived with very little to distress or vex her. In other words, she comes across as a spoiled brat. She is a snob.
Emma is used to getting her own way, in particular with her father, her governess—actually, with everyone who acknowledges her station in life. She has too much time on her hands and becomes quite a “yachne“—a meddlesome, gossiping busybody (I know you’re thinking of the word “yente,” but that’s a misnomer).
In any event, Austen provides sufficient fodder for her character to evolve and grow. Like other Austenesque protagonists, Emma becomes relatable and, yes, even inspiring. But one question remains: Is Emma Woodhouse the true heroine in this story?
The “what if…?” I contemplated was complicated and required too much thought at a time when I was still fully engaged at my “day job.” Like they say nowadays: I didn’t have the bandwidth to handle another project, so I tucked away my idea for another day. The mind is a funny thing, however—at least, mine is!
Once the idea presents itself, I start visualizing how the story will unfold. I hear the dialogue, I imagine scenes and settings. Of course, this usually takes place at 3:00 in the morning when I’m trying to sleep. It’s exhausting. It’s unrelenting. It doesn’t stop until I start putting my thoughts down on paper.
And so began this latest novel: The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An “Emma” Vagary.
Editorial reviews are hard to come by, especially for an indie author who self-publishes. I have been blessed by an army of beta-readers and volunteers, and by a few generous professionals who provided the following testimonials:
“A creative, heartwarming take on a beloved story, The Jews of Donwell finally gives Harriet Smith her due.” ~ Caroline Warfield, author of An Open Heart, The Entitled Gentlemen series, The Ashmead Heirs series, Children of the Empire series, et cetera
“Trupp has written a charming and entertaining novel with The Jews of Donwell Abbey. A captivating read!” ~ Meryl Ain, author of Shadows We Carry and The Takeaway Men
“Blending Emma with a Jewish story line is an ingenious idea! Fans of Austen, and those who crave Jewish Regency stories rich in Jewish content, will find The Jews of Donwell Abbey an extremely satisfying read. L’ chaim!” ~ Rabbi Jo David (aka Nola Saint James, author of Regency Romances)
“The Jews of Donwell Abbey introduces a colorful dimension of minority identities in Jane Austen’s Emma. Trupp’s orchestration of history and mystery enriches the ongoing collection of stimulating rewrites of classical novels. A gift to Austen fans, it will interest all readers curious about the hidden facets of “proper” social intercourse in Georgian England.” ~ Yael Halevi-Wise, author of Interactive Fictions: Scenes of Storytelling in the Novel, Professor ofJewish Studies and English Literature
“Who could have guessed that under the genteel veneer of Jane Austen’s Regency England lurked secrets beyond what could have been openly addressed at the time? In The Jews of Donwell Abbey, Trupp brings sidekick Harriet Smith to the forefront, her mysterious origins are explained, and her ultimate happy ending turned into a lesson about tolerance, acceptance, and the miracles hidden within mundane lives. The perfect companion piece!” ~ Alina Adams, author of The Fictitious Marquis, Romance Writers of America’s first #OwnVoices Jewish Regency Romance
The book is scheduled to be released on Tuesday, November 5, 2024. Look for it on Amazon! I look forward to hearing (or reading) your thoughts!
Harriet Smith looked around the room she had shared with Miss Martin for these months past. She had been invited to spend the summer holiday with her schoolmates and was made to feel quite at home. Such a simple, yet evocative word. Home. It was the one thing she truly did not have of her own. It affected her keenly to leave just now, especially after the warm reception she had received; however, the circumstances surrounding her abrupt leave-taking were not of her doing. Harriet would have given anything to have remained for the three months complete, but it was a sorrowful event that had brought the visit to an end. The Martins had been thrown into a period of mourning.
Harriet had been roused from her slumber by foreign sounds, having grown accustomed to the natural cacophony of Abbey-Mill Farm. A messenger from the abbey had knocked upon the door, even before the family’s favorite rooster crowed his first morning’s call.
Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Harriet sat up and turned to her bedmate who had been awoken by the persistent rapping as well. Elizabeth bade her to be silent as they heard her brother’s footsteps pass their chamber and down the stairs. The youngest family member, Judith, thankfully remained asleep. She would have caused a great commotion, as was her wont, and they would have been unable to keep their awakened state—and curiosity—unknown.
As it happened, the girls were unable to make out anything of interest, for only a mumbled exchange could be perceived. Elizabeth removed the counterpane and edged her way to the door, placing her ear against the thick wood in the attempt to hear below. Harriet waited abed, holding little hope that her friend’s action would provide any clues. It was only when the messenger took his leave, and the front door was shut closed, that Mr. Robert Martin made his way back up the stairs.
Elizabeth scurried back to Harriet’s side, and pulling the bedlinens back into place, the girls awaited for news of what was amiss. They shared a moment of disappointment when they heard Mr. Martin knock upon his mother’s door. In truth, Harriet was more relieved than disappointed. She would have burned with embarrassment had Mr. Martin seen her in such a state—in her night rail and her hair rolled up in curling paper.
Elizabeth crept up against the door once again. The ploy proved more successful this time as her mother’s chamber was down the hall, and the voices were easily discerned.
“Baruch Dayan Emet,” Elizabeth heard her mother utter.
“Blessed is the Judge of Truth,” Elizabeth and her sister repeated quietly.
“What is it?” Harriet whispered. “What has happened?”
Elizabeth brought her finger to her lips as she pried opened the door, and motioned for the girls to come forward. Huddled together, they peered through the opening and watched Mrs. Martin reach for a sewing kit that had been thoughtlessly discarded atop a chest of drawers.
Withdrawing a pair of scissors from its cover, Mrs. Martin took hold of her son’s shirt collar and made a deep cut. Taking hold of the fabric, Robert deepened the cut with his own hands.
“A time to rend and a time to sew…do you know the verse, Harriet?”
“Yes, of course, I know it. It is from Ecclesiastes, but what does it signify?”
“Someone has died,” cried Judith.
“It could only be one person for Robert to perform such an act,” Elizabeth offered. “Grandpapa…”
Touched by this pronouncement, Harriet moved to embrace her friends, but Mrs. Martin caught sight of her daughters and called them hither.
“Mr. Knightley has sent word this morning,” she began. “Your grandpapa, peace be upon him, is no longer with us—now, now girls—” Mrs. Martin tightened her embrace, “we have been prepared for this eventuality. I beg you, be calm. Grandpapa, no doubt, has been reunited with his son, your own dear father, and your grandmama.”
Mrs. Martin brought a handkerchief to her lips and paused but for a moment. “We must dress and prepare the house. The rabbi will, no doubt, be visiting shortly.”
The family dispersed, each quietly seeing to their morning ablutions. Once dressed, the girls made their way downstairs and looked to their mother for direction. Harriet wished to be of service, though she knew her best efforts would only cause her friends additional work.
During her six-week visit, Harriet had learned that the Martin household was like no other of her acquaintance. The pantry and cupboards, indeed, all kitchen matters, were governed by a particular set of rules. Food preparation was of the utmost importance, as was the observance of the Sabbath, which began on Friday evenings and lasted through dusk the following day.
Unable to control herself, Harriet had asked the girls to explain this strange practice. She smiled now, recalling how Judy had rolled her eyes upon hearing yet another question, but it could not be helped. Harriet had always been a curious creature.
“Mysteries are the bane of my existence!” she had declared on more than one occasion. How she came to live at Mrs. Goddard’s school, she understood, was a mystery that could never be resolved. Therefore, at a very young age, Harriet determined that asking questions was her right—even if impertinent Miss! was often applied to her name.
Today, however, was another matter entirely. The household was in an uproar; the Martins were clearly distressed. Harriet would not add to their discomfort for the world, and so she sat quietly with her cup of tea and waited to be of service, and not a hinderance.
The cottage was not a grand home, not by any means, but Mrs. Martin had made it comfortable and had added feminine touches throughout. A framed mirror of respectable size had been placed by the front door where one could adjust one’s wrap or bonnet. Nonetheless, this instrument of vanity was the first to be draped with linen. The girls covered their hand-held mirrors and placed them face down upon their dressing tables. One’s toilette was not of importance on this sad day.
Mrs. Martin directed her son to gather as many small stools from around the farm that could be found while she swept the better of her two parlors. As mourners, the family would be seated low to the ground; those coming to condole would be offered the finer furniture—the upholstered chairs usually reserved to receive honored guests such as Mr. Knightley or his steward.
At length, Elizabeth put her friend to work, handing over a basket full of fresh eggs.
“Pray, set these to boil in the appropriate pot,” she instructed. “You know which one by now, dear Harriet.”
Before quitting the room, Elizabeth grabbed hold of her friend’s hand. “I know you are bursting with the need to ask your questions, but now is not the time. I promise I will explain it all—perhaps you will not find it that much different from your own family’s mourning rituals.”
These words, no doubt, were kindly meant; nonetheless, Harriet could not help but feel her shame even more profoundly. Whatever was Elizabeth thinking?
Family rituals? She did not have a family—other than Mrs. Goddard and the girls at school. In truth, she was all alone in the world. But it was not her custom to be petulant or dreary, and certainly not when her friends were in crisis.
Harriet gently placed the eggs to boil and was quite pleased, knowing she had chosen the proper pot. Indeed, Mrs. Martin had instructed her upon her first day at Abbey-Mill. The kitchen had been carefully prepared to house two separate sections: one for dairy products and preparation, and another for meat. Explanations as to why had not followed, and Harriet had to tuck her questions away for another time. She had collected a great list of questions during her visit, and it would take another six weeks to address each and every one!
Harriet overheard voices from the parlor as Mrs. Martin sent Judith to find a small table to set outside the door. Elizabeth was to follow with a bowl and pitcher of water. The girls were heard scurrying about, when Harriet heard yet another knock upon the front door. Checking on her pot of boiling water, she wiped her hands on a borrowed apron and peered into the foyer as Mrs. Martin welcomed the visitor.
The gentleman was unknown to Harriet, having never made his acquaintance in Highbury. In truth, upon further inspection, she found him to be oddly fascinating.
Dressed in unrelieved black, his long coat reached down to his calves. His pointed beard, peppered with gray, reminded Harriet of the Martin’s billy goat, and she nearly embarrassed herself by laughing aloud at the thought. She was unable to see the color of his hair, or if he had any at all, for he would not remove his hat—though he was in the presence of ladies. It was altogether strange to note that the man appeared to have ringlets on either side of his face!
Whatever could he be about?
Elizabeth and her sister had taken a seat by their mother’s side and signaled Harriet to join them in the parlor. While Mr. Martin offered the guest their most comfortable chair, Harriet quietly crept in, standing behind the girls in silent solidarity. The man opened a book he had withdrawn from his coat pocket and, speaking in the language that Harriet had grown accustomed to hearing in weeks past, began chanting a mournful prayer.
“Thank you for coming to us so quickly, Rabbi Kolman,” said Mrs. Martin after the family pronounced their amens. “We only just learned the news—you find us in quite a state.”
“One is never sufficiently prepared for these events, Mrs. Martin. Pray, do not make yourself anxious. Doctor Martsinkovsky, of blessed memory, would not burden his family and friends by being ill-prepared—even for his own funeral.” The rabbi allowed himself a slight chortle at his attempt at levity.
“My grandfather was known for his meticulous attention to detail,” said Mr. Martin. “He was the best of men.”
“Indeed. You will find that everything is in order, Mrs. Martin. The burial will take place this afternoon at three o’clock; our small congregation will accompany you during your seven days of mourning.”
“What?” gasped Harriet. “So soon?”
Elizabeth glared at her friend, who immediately understood her blunder. Bowing her head, Harriet silently vowed to say no more.
“Robert,” the rabbi continued, “you will want to unbolt the front door. It will be incommodious to be interrupted by visitors while at evening prayers. Whoever wishes to condole with the family will wash their hands before entering and come in quietly thereafter.”
“Yes, Rabbi Kolman,” replied Robert Martin. “I will see to it.”
“And girls,” the man said, addressing the Martin daughters, “make sure your dear mama does not tire herself with cooking and baking. The women of our congregation will fill the house with enough food to feed an army—certainly enough to last the week of mourning.”
The rabbi rose and shook hands with the man of the house and made for the door. “Remember to exchange your leather boots for other footwear. The weather has been relatively pleasant of late. I doubt you will be plagued with mud or muck. And one more thing! There is to be no shaving nor hair cutting—you young men today seem to have a penchant for fashion rather than following our traditions—for the whole of the week, mind!”
He gave a short bow to one and all before declaring: “May the Almighty comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.”
Taking to her feet upon the rabbi’s departure, Mrs. Martin clapped her hands to rouse the party from their melancholy. “That’s it, then,” said she. “Let us finish preparing ourselves…”
Another knock upon the door, however, interrupted Mrs. Martin’s directive. Harriet hoped whomever it was came bearing good news. She watched as Mr. Martin made for the door once again and was astonished to see Miss Emily Bickerton, her classmate, standing there. Sitting atop the pony trap was Peter, Mrs. Goddard’s manservant.
“Why, Emily!” cried Harriet. “Whatever do you do here?’
The young lady, known to Elizabeth and Judith Martin, for the foursome were at school together, was asked to enter and offered a glass of cool lemonade. This she was tempted to accept—the morning sun had taken its toll, even on the short ride—however, Emily Bickerton had been given a task, and she meant to discharge it with alacrity.
“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Martin,” she began and offered a quick bob of a curtsey. “I should be happy to take refreshment with you and my friends some other time. Mrs. Goddard has sent this note for you, ma’am.”
Having made her little speech, and handing over the missive, Emily turned to her classmates and took hold of their hands. “Harriet is to return with me,” said she. “Word was received that the doctor had passed—Oh! Please accept my condolences—Mrs. G. thought it best that Harriet return home.”
“Oh, no!” cried Elizabeth, her sister joining in unison. Even Mr. Martin seemed disappointed as his shoulders drooped even further, though he did not give voice to his objection.
Harriet felt herself blush. How kind they were to make such a fuss on her behalf. But she felt it only right to pack her things and return to school. Surely, she would only be in the way, and the family ought to have some privacy at such a time.
“Miss Smith,” said Mrs. Martin, as Harriet made for the staircase, “our present circumstances must draw your visit to a close, but you are such a sweet, unassuming girl, I know you will understand.”
“Pray, ma’am, be at ease. Naturally, I understand and should not wish to inconvenience you at such a time.”
“Our tradition requires us to observe certain practices, my dear, beginning with the full state of mourning for a week complete. Perhaps, after the following thirty-day period, when our restrictions are lessened, you girls may make arrangements to meet—certainly, you shall see each on Market Day or a visit to Ford’s.”
“Robert, now you must say something,” Judith decreed. “Lest Harriet feel she is not welcome by the whole family!”
Mr. Martin, it seemed, had no notion that he, too, was expected to add his farewell remarks. Caught unaware, he mumbled, “Miss Smith is always welcome at Abbey-Mill.”
As a woman, an immigrant, and a Jew, I found that following in Jane Austen’s footsteps helped me find my voice. I have written several novels that try to emulate Austen’s tone and that reflect her era, all while incorporating my heritage and Judaic storylines.
I choose to incorporate Jewish protagonists into these beloved classics not to try to change Austen’s characters—or to change the happily-ever-after events we Janeites have grown to love—but to emphasize the fact that we. were. there. Whether in the upper echelons or as entrepreneurs, manufacturers, tradesmen, or farmers, Jews were intertwined in the English tapestry.
I read Austen and many of her contemporaries—as well as many J.A.F.F. (Jane Austen fanfiction) authors—for entertainment, for escape, for inspiration. I know some readers may feel that including Jews in J.A.F.F. is beyond the scope of what Austen intended. There is no reason to believe that she had ever met a Jew or knowingly interacted with one. My novels hope to show how natural a thing it might have been by incorporating Jewish storylines and showing different characterizations of a culture so often maligned.
If readers search for Jewish historical fiction on Amazon, they will be inundated with Holocaust or WWII novels. They will find novels set during the Spanish Inquisition or from the biblical era. There are classics written by Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Dickens that include Jews characters. There are Regency novels written by modern-day authors such as Georgette Heyer that do the same; however, these books are disappointing to say the least—insulting and hurtful would be more to the point. The bigotry and intolerance of yesteryear has no place in today’s society; and yet, it still exists.
In the aftermath of the horrific events of 2023-2024, we Jews are preparing for the High Holy Days or the Days of Awe—Yamim Noraim. Though our hearts are broken, we prepare for a new year. Though we are grief stricken, we prepare for a new beginning. You may ask: How can you think of promoting a book at a time like this? Why even bother writing Jewish Austen Fan Fiction? The answer to that question can be found on my bookshelves and on my reading tablet.
Austen wrote with humor and sarcasm, but she didn’t shy away from powerful subjects. She touched upon hard-hitting societal issues such as the inequality between the have and have-nots; the dangers of childbirth and other health concerns that are treatable today; mental health, premarital sex and unwanted pregnancies, alcohol abuse and debauchery, the lack of opportunities and/or choices for women; the devastation of the Napoleonic Wars, etc.
Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”
We are shaped by our history, the good times and the bad. What has been done can’t be undone; however, with this quote, Austen encourages to be deliberate in our recollection. She reminds us to look back on the “good ol’ days” with nostalgia, choosing to recall only those memories that inspire hope. It is this attribute to focus on joyous occasions, on achieved dreams and accomplishments, that propels us forward and motivates us to persevere.
I write Jewish Austen Fan Fiction because that’s what I like to read. I write it for other Jewish women to provide them with a choice—to read something joyful, something light and entertaining. I write it for non-Jews too! I write it because we do not exist in a vacuum, all of our collective experiences matter.
In Judaism, Tuesday (Yom Shelishi) is a special day of the week. It is not uncommon to see weddings held on Tuesdays. Grand Openings are often scheduled for this day, as are the first day of school or summer camp, etc.
What other event may be scheduled for a Tuesday?
Hmm? How about a cover reveal? What about a book release? Yes, and yes! Like the double portion in the Torah…ki tov (for it is good)! Look for the cover reveal of my new book on Tuesday, October 1, 2024 and, with God’s help, the book release on Tuesday, November 5, 2024 (yes, that Tuesday).
Here is a little snippet to entice you:
Prior to beginning a new year at Mrs. Goddard’s School for Girls, Miss Harriet Smith spends the summer months with the Martin family at Abbey-Mill Farm—a house of Israelites, or is it Hebrews? Would it be impolitic to call them Jews? It matters not, for Harriet finds contentment there. And, if her heart betrays her with stronger feelings for Mr. Martin than she ought to have, they are hers alone.
Alone… a common enough phrase for the natural daughter of nobody knows whom. But when Miss Emma Woodhouse requires a new friend to guide and mold, Harriet suddenly finds herself in the midst of one imbroglio after another. Forbidden assignations, sentimental blunders, and questions abound!
Be it through gossip or vengeance—or small-minded people, “the instruments of darkness tell us truths.” Will Harriet remain encumbered to her mysterious past, or will astonishing discoveries provide the fulfillment she long desired?
I hope you’ll help me spread the word!
I wish all who celebrate: Shana Tova Umetuka (A sweet and happy new year)! May God hear our prayer! May the hostages be released and may we all be blessed with peace.
Mirta Ines Trupp~ Author 