Jane Austen – Mirta Ines Trupp~ Author

English poet, Lord Byron and Jane Austen lived through the Napoleonic Wars and the Regency era. Austen was twelve years his senior; her family moved in different social circles. It is very likely the pair never met. They were, however, distantly related by marriage…distantly, being the key word. Bryon’s great-aunt Isabella married William Musgrave. Williams’s great-uncle, the Reverend James Musgrave, was the husband of Catherine Perrot, Jane Austen’s mother’s great-aunt. Yes, the kinship was remarkedly distant; yet, interestingly enough, Austen did find a place for the Musgra(o)ve name in “Persuasion” and “The Watsons.” And, in a letter penned on Monday, September 5, 1796, Jane Austen wrote the following to her sister, Cassandra: Mr. Richard Harvey is going to be married; but as it is a great secret, and only known to half the neighborhood, you must not mention it. The lady’s name is Musgrave.

Austen was certainly familiar with Byron’s titles, such as “Oriental Tales,” “The Giaour,” and “The Corsair.” We can safely assume this is an accurate statement because Miss Anne Elliot and Captain Benwick discuss his work in “Persuasion.” And as for Byron’s recognition of Austen’s work; a recent study of Byron’s book collection revealed the poet owned first editions of “Sense and Sensibility,” “Pride and Prejudice,” and “Emma.”

Austen and Byron were the two great Romantic writers with a sense of humour.” ~Peter W Graham, Professor of English

It is interesting to note that both, Austen and Byron, worked with publisher, John Murray. In a letter to Cassandra, written on Sunday, November 26, 1815, Austen stated: “I did mention the P. R. in my note to Mr. Murray; it brought me a fine compliment in return. Whether it has done any other good I do not know, but Henry thought it worth trying.”

According to the audit of Byron’s library, it was John Murray himself who provided the copy of “Emma”—complete with its dedication to the Prince Regent.

Austen’s work was published while the Romantic movement was still in its infancy. Romanticism was, partly, in response to the previous Age of Reason—the Enlightenment—and had nothing to do with romantic love. It was meant to address our “greatest mental faculty”—our imagination. It was meant to make us think about the world in its entirety, the physical and spiritual realm, and humanity’s relationship with nature. I’m not the first one to say that Austen’s Realism encompasses some of these attributes, or that her insight into human nature overlaps with Byron or Keats. In “Persuasion,” we follow Captain Wentworth’s metamorphic growth as he comes to terms with his faults and convoluted feelings. We rejoice in Captain Benwick’s transformation from a widower, wallowing in grief, to a man who rallies and loves again. We admire Miss Anne Elliot’s impassioned, internal dialogues; we understand her musings of nature and her longing for time alone to ponder and reconcile her thoughts. All attributes of Romanticism…

He is a rogue of course, but a civil one.” ~ Jane Austen

One could speculate, and rightly so, that Jane was referring to Byron in the above-mentioned quote. He was thought to be a degenerate. His own mother thought him to be a wastrel, with no care of money or duty. But Austen was not speaking of Byron. She was referring to her publisher, John Murray. “He offers £450 [for Emma]—but wants to have the copyright of M. P. & S&S included. It will end in my publishing for myself I dare say,” Austen told Cassandra in one of her many letters home.

As an independent author myself, I see that Austen shared something else with Byron. She despaired to see her work in print, but she knew her worth. In a letter dated November 30, 1815, the author wrote her niece, Fanny Knight, saying, “People are more ready to borrow & praise, than to buy—which I cannot wonder at;—but tho’ I like praise as well as anybody, I like what Edward calls pewter too.”

Byron’s association with Murray earned him nearly £20,000 over ten years, in comparison to the approximate £668 that Austen earned during her lifetime. That being said, Byron began to feel exploited by his publisher and confronted him on more than one occasion. Murray was first, and foremost, an astute businessman. Naturally, he was concerned about his customers’ tastes and opinions, especially when his famed poet attracted increasingly negative attention, both in his personal life and with his controversial causes.

I am worth any ‘forty on fair ground’ of the wretched stilted pretenders and parsons of your advertisements.” ~ Lord Byron

Portrait by Philips, supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

George Gordon Byron (1788–1824) was known for his passionate and flamboyant nature. He was a man given to romantic liaisons and extensive traveling. Sometimes, his travel plans were not of his own volition. Facing threats of personal violence—even hanging—Byron was forced to flee England on several occasions. His friendship with the Shelleys is well known, as is his love for supporting the underdog, lending his voice—and his pen—to the Greeks in their fight for freedom from the Ottoman Empire.

In May of 1813, Isaac Nathan, the son of Polish immigrants, placed an advertisement in the London Gentleman’s Magazine regarding a new project entitled, Hebrew Melodies—a collection of music well over one thousand years old. Nathan was not a newcomer to London society. He had been working as a music historian at St James’s Palace and was a singing master to Charlotte, Princess of Wales. It may have been due to this royal connection that Byron’s friend, the Honourable Douglas Kinnaird, suggested he contact the aspiring composer.

Between October 1814 and February 1815, the poet and the musician did, indeed, work together. Their first collaboration included “She Walks in Beauty”—a poem that predated their partnership, although Nathan married this work to a known melody used for Adon Olam, a song for the Sabbath morning service. He set the first volume of Byron’s poems to music for voice and piano in April 1815— presumably for the Pesach (Passover) holiday which was commemorated that year from April 24th through May 2nd. It was printed by T. Davidson of Lombard Street and published by John Murray—and dedicated to the Princess by royal permission. Before absconding from England, Byron bestowed the copyright of the publication to Nathan.

Nathan sent his partner a gift with the following note: My Lord, I cannot deny myself the pleasure of sending your Lordship some holy biscuits, commonly called unleavened bread, and denominated by the Nazarites Motsas, better known in this enlightened age by the epithet Passover cakes; and as a certain angel by his presence, ensured the safety of a whole nation, may the same guardian spirit pass with your Lordship to that land where the fates may have decreed you to sojourn for a while.

The following response was received: Piccadilly Terrace, Tuesday Evening~ My dear Nathan, I have to acknowledge the receipt of your very seasonable bequest, which I duly appreciate; the unleavened bread shall certainly accompany me on my pilgrimage; and, with a full reliance on their efficacy, the motsas shall be to me a charm against the destroying Angel wherever I may sojourn; his serene highness, however will, I hope, be polite enough to keep at desirable distance from my person, without the necessity of besmearing my door posts or upper lintels with the blood of any animal. With many thanks for your kind attention, believe me, my dear Nathan, yours very truly, BYRON

Not all of the poems in Hebrew Melodies are specifically Jewish in theme, but they do express sympathy for the plight of the Jews. Due to his enthusiasm for supporting “foreign liberation struggles,” the poet’s teaming up with Isaac Nathan may not have been much of a surprise to society. George Canning, a British statesman, once said that Byron was, “a steady patriot of the world alone, the friend of every country but his own.” Whether he meant to be, or not, he was immensely popular with Zionists. In fact, Anglo Jews said if their political organization had only begun a few decades earlier, Lord Byron may have been “its champion.”

Zionist poetry owes more to Byron than to any other Gentile poet.” ~ Nahum Sokolow

According to those in the know, there is no evidence that Byron “saw the Jewish tragedy as amenable to a political solution.” Yet, the poem “Oh, Weep For Those!” laments that the Jews have no home. Listen to the melody here

Thanks to https://jewishmiscellanies.com/tag/lord-byron/

The work was later translated into Hebrew by J.L. Gordon as Zemirot Yisrael (1884) and into Yiddish by Nathan Horowitz (1926). Thanks to these translations, settlers of the First Aliyah (1881 – 1903) sang, “Oh! Weep for Those!” to their own—improvised—tune. Theodor Herzl, the father of modern Zionism, may have even quoted it at the Second Zionist Congress 1898.

Byron’s influence on his own generation of Russians surpassed that of Tolstoy. ~ Vladimir Jabotinsky

Having received such accolades and support from Jewish leaders, one would think that Lord Byron was Klal Israel’s chief advocate. That, sadly, was not the case. Byron’s main interest was championing Greek independence and, in that cause, Greek Christians did not favor their Jewish neighbors. In 1821, all one thousand Jewish inhabitants were massacred in Tripolitsa, along with their Muslims counterparts. Byron did not repudiate the action. A few years later, in 1823, Byron wrote, “The Age of Bronze”—a poem that raged against land barons, including Anglo Jews such as Rothschilds, as “living on the blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions.” It is said that Byron was well aware of the flaws in some of his philosophies and causes. His willingness to look past them is the dark side of Romanticism, where reason is completely overwhelmed by Man’s ability to do evil.

That said, Herzl, and many of his followers, believed that Zionism owed a debt of gratitude to Romanticism. These authors provided the inspiration—the impetus—for Jews finally returning to their homeland. It seems that, despite religious, political, or geographic differences, Lord Byron remained popular with Jewish readers. Perhaps it was because they could identify with the man’s passionate nature and questioning mind.

The Romantics encouraged us to feel the full spectrum and intensity of human emotion: joy, grief, love, anger, veneration, jealousy, pride… They asked us to observe an object of beauty, or empathize with someone’s pain, in order to transcended rational thought; and in doing so, to connect with the essence of humanity.

In this day and age, where we text and post and rage without thought of the pain we may cause—or the Truth we may be concealing—I wonder if we shouldn’t take a page from the Romantics, and connect to something greater than ourselves. Just the ramblings of an Independent Author…

With love,

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The JBC’s Network Conference~ On a Day Such as This

May 25, 2025May 25, 2025 Mirta Ines Trupp

Even in the midst of all this anguish, we still wake up and thank God for returning our souls to our bodies—such is His faith in us. We fulfill our commitments, never setting aside the pain, never forgetting the fear—knowing we are not alone. Klal Israel is our meshpucha.

A new day will rise, life will go on. Everyone cries, don’t cry alone…” Written Keren Peles, interpreted by Yuval Raphael

For several months, I have been preparing for the 27th annual Jewish Book Council Network Conference. This is a whirl-wind, high-tech event where traditional and independent authors are allowed exactly two-minutes to pitch their books to organizations across North America, including JCCs, synagogues, Hillel groups, Jewish Federations, and cultural centers.

My initial draft was revised and rewritten numerous times even before I had my coaching session with a program advisor. There were Zoom meetings for technical support, ensuring visual and audio were functioning at optimum performance levels—not to mention the many questions and concerns presenters had regarding virtual backgrounds, appropriate attire, and what the program director meant by ‘Up Next’ and ‘Up Now.’

After my practice session and the group orientation, I felt energized and ready to go. My office was reorganized and spruced up. I changed my outfit three times. I adjusted the camera at least as many times. I went to sleep…well, I went to bed, but couldn’t rest. I kept repeating my lines and thinking of different ways I might change my cadence, projection, or tone.

Before tossing the bedsheets aside the next morning, I murmured, “Modah ani lefanecha…” Thank you, God. I had been waiting for a day such as this! I was excited. I was motivated. I was going to nail my presentation. It was only a few minutes later when I heard the devastating news. A young couple had been murdered in the nation’s capital. Senselessly. Without cause. Without any consequence to the situation in the Middle East.

After October 7th, after watching endless protests, after hearing antisemitic vitriol being spewed from the mouths of useful idiots, I thought my heart was beyond breaking.

I was wrong.

At some point, I went online and checked my emails. I wondered if the conference would be postponed—cancelled, even—but then remembered that putting off a simcha or joyful event was not in keeping with Jewish tradition. Was that only for weddings? No, it wasn’t; but, more to the point, we have been here before. We don’t retreat. We don’t back down.

The conference was not cancelled.

The Jewish task is not to fear the real world but to enter and transform it.” Rabbi Lord Sacks

At the appointed time, the authors joined the webinar. We supported each other in our grief and shock, and we went on. I heard the others present their stories; some poignant, some humorous. Each, at its core, a testament to our resilience as a people.

At the end, we all held up our books, those little pieces of ourselves that we are bravely sending out into the world, and took a group picture. I was so nervous! I guess the point is that I shouldn’t have been. After all, I was speaking to my meshpucha…

The following is what I managed to say within the allotted time:

Hi! I love everything about Jane Austen and Fan Fiction. By incorporating Jewish storylines into Austen’s work, I hope to showcase that Jews were an integral part of every-day, Regency society. By 1815, the year that “Emma” was first published, Jewish communities had re-established themselves all throughout England—many in the upper echelons of society. I’m thinking of the Rothschilds, Goldsmids, and Montefiores. “The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary” allows readers to escape to the charm of the Regency era, but there is so much more.

Miss Harriet Smith, a secondary character in Austen’s original story, faces judgement and scorn due to her humble—and questionable—circumstances. Characters struggle with romantic angst and foolish misunderstandings, pettiness and bigotry too; however, in keeping with Austen’s morality and Jewish teachings, there also is spiritual growth. Yes, Harriet finds herself attending fine dinners, assemblies, and soirees, but it’s her inner battles that provide an element of introspection and self-determination. What is more Jewish than that?

Jane Austen wrote: “Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.” These words encourage us to recall our triumphs—even over small, every-day challenges. Given the times, our community craves such assurance and inspiration.

The Jews of Donwell Abbey delivers a touch a whimsy, but it also inspires pride and cultural cohesion. It nurtures that quintessential Jewish quality called: hope. Let’s indulge in an afternoon of tea and conversation! We’ll talk about Jews in the Regency era and their often— overlooked—contributions to society.

Having had time to think back on the day’s events, I might have changed a word or two. With all due respect to Austen and her well-meaning advice, I’d update the statement to say:

Think only of the past, as it remembrance gives you strength and propels you forward.

We will overcome this darkness, we will dance again, and laugh again, and write heartwarming love stories. Baruch dayan ha’emet and may Yaron and Sarah’s memory be for a blessing.

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The Musings of an Austenesque Novelist~ Following the Crumbs: Part II

January 29, 2025January 30, 2025 Mirta Ines Trupp

In “The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary,” the spot light is on Miss Harriet Smith. As stated—so succinctly, I might add—by Mr. Knightley in the original novel, she is the “natural daughter of nobody knows whom.” Austen’s famed protagonist and resident know-it-all, Miss Emma Woodhouse, assumes she knows her prodigy’s genealogy; however, as the story unfolds, her imagination does not serve her well. Yes, I will say it: Miss Woodhouse is rather clueless. More to the point—and the reason for this post—Mr. Knightley’s admonishment provided enough encouragement to write my own version of Austen’s “Emma.”

No, that’s not quite right. I wasn’t encouraged. I was provoked!

In my previous post, I referenced Hansel and Gretel from the famed Grimm’s fairy tale. We all remember how these youngsters left a trail of bread crumbs, hoping others would follow. Whether or not Austen meant to tease future authors of fan fiction with a few suggestions, or hints, is irrelevant. I relished the opportunity to gather said crumbs and gently fold them into a new version, one that incorporated a Jewish storyline. It was a natural progression for me, but I understand that some readers might question the legitimacy of such a plot. They may ask if the Jewish population in Regency England could merit such diversity and inclusion in an Austenesque novel.

The answers were waiting for me as I tumbled down the rabbit hole…

Sometime around 1690—when exiled Jews were allowed to return to England— a synagogue for the Ashkenazi community was constructed in London. At the time, it was known as Duke’s Place Synagogue, and was probably one of the earliest of its kind.

Six or seven years later, additional land was acquired for the establishment of a Jewish cemetery. By 1722, the congregation had outgrown the original structure and a new building was consecrated, thanks mostly to the philanthropy of Moses Hart. Some six decades later, between 1788 and 1790, with the influx of Eastern European immigrants, the Great Synagogue of London was redesigned in order to accommodate its growing numbers. The principal donor, this time, was Judith Levy, daughter of Moses Hart.

Of course, there were other Jewish communities outside of London. Synagogues, schools, and cemeteries could be found in Cornwall, Dover, Exeter, Plymouth, Ramsgate, and Sussex to name just a few. Prayer boards were typically paced in the entryways of these sacred spaces, the ancient words were made readily available for all who wished to pray on behalf of the royal family.

A Society for Visiting the Sick was established sometime around 1722, as well as A Society for the Cure of the Soul (Hebrath Refuath haNephesh). There was as an Orphan Aid Society (Hebrath Gidul Yethomim) and a society for “dowering poor brides.” Another group helped the destitute with clothing and other provisions, and a Society for Ransoming Captives (Hebrath Pidion Shevuyim) was created to “help those reduced to slavery by the barbarous customs of Mediterranean or Muscovite warfare.”

Such institutions had always formed an important part of the Jewish community, but as Anglo-Jews strove to assimilate, and be accepted in English society, it became evident that something else had to be done in order to retain—and to motivate—the community to remain religiously observant. In 1789, David Levi published a new daily prayer book (a siddur), the first publication of Hebrew liturgy with English translation.

Therefore, the answer to the posited question is: Yes! There was sufficient numbers of Jews to merit a Jewish storyline in an Austenesque novel—if, indeed, one actually needs to rationalize or justify the need for a Jewish storyline, but I digress.

In fact, the Jewish population of England was over 18,000 by the time Austen introduced her readers to Miss Emma Woodhouse and friends in 1815. By 1880, the number soared to over 60,000! While a normal person might be satisfied with that level of research, I’m here to tell you that my quest was not yet complete.

My ancestors left Imperial Russia somewhere in between 1899 and 1910. They immigrated to Argentina. During that same time period, Ellis Island was receiving wave after wave of immigrants from all across Eastern Europe. But what was going on over in Western Europe, and how could I use those events to get my fictional character, Doctor Yosef Martsinkovsky, to Surrey, England?

Austen fans are sure to know about The Napoleonic Wars, which lasted from 1803-1815. These conflicts had monumental ramifications throughout Europe at large, but the timeframe didn’t coincide with my story. I needed something of similar magnitude; and so, I followed the trail through the rabbit hole once again…

The Seven Years’ War was an attempt to prove dominance. The “usual players” involved included: Prussia, Hanover (a separate state at the time) and Britain battling against Austria, France, Spain and Imperial Russia.

The conflict raged on from 1756-1763, at the same time the British colonies in North America were making their voices heard.

Over in Prussia, Frederick the Great was busy…being not that great. His “Revised General Privilege” doctrine of 1750 allowed for the exploitation of successful Prussian Jews and the persecution of all others. In many instances, the population was worse off than their contemporizes in other lands; and, now — whether facing danger on the battlefield or facing danger at home—these Jewish communities were at the point of extinction.

The Seven Years’ War is often referred to as the first true world war. Upon its conclusion, and after all the treaties were signed, the world was a different place. Taking advantage of the First Partition of Poland in 1772, Frederick the Great expelled thousands of Jews from their homeland. This research, by the way, not only helped draft my outline, but also corroborates my family’s understanding of how our Trupp ancestors migrated from Lithuania to Ukraine. Again…I digress.

Having resolved two points that needed substantiating, I was ready to move on. Please take a moment to enjoy the excerpt below, where Mr. Knightly addresses the party at Hartfield and introduces Doctor Martsinkovsky to one and all.

Excerpt from The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary :

Mr. Knightley began to pace, attracting the company’s full attention. “My father, the Colonel,” he declared, “owed his life to Doctor Martsinkovsky.”

“You have the right of it, good sir!” cried Mr. Woodhouse.

“Oh, dear! I do hope you will spare us some of the details, Mr. Knightley,” cried Miss Bates. “Pray remember we have yet to dine. Is that not right, Mama?” she said, patting her matriarch’s wrinkled hand. “Would that you could save the details for when you and the other gentlemen are enjoying your port and cigars. We are rather delicate, are we not Mama, and do not wish to hear that which might ruin our appetite.”

Mr. Knightley did not offer a reply, though he did perform a curt bow. Harriet felt a great story was about to unfold as the gentleman began his discourse, inviting one and all to recall the summer of ‘57.

He asked the party to recall how great armies had been on the move, not only on the continent but across the ocean in the Americas. Complex strategies had moved the King’s men like chess pieces upon a checkered board. Mr. Knightley reminded those old enough to remember how Austria united itself with France and how Frederick II, in turn, aligned his kingdom with the English Crown.

“And with that, Prussia’s invasion of Saxony brought the leading nations of Europe to war,” said Mr. Knightley. “Frederick not only required English funds to support his campaign, he required English troops.”

“How could anyone of us forget, sir?” asked Mr. Weston. “Only think of the men we lost—just in this parish alone—I will never forgive the king’s own son for causing so much pain. The coward!”

“Do allow Mr. Knightley to continue, dearest,” said Mrs. Weston, laying a soothing hand upon her husband.

“It is true; the Duke of Cumberland was sent to command the Hanoverian Army. His regiment, the 1^st Battalion of Grenadiers, included my father. The Grenadiers were sent to support the Hanoverians—nearly 40,000 strong—to prevent French troops from crossing the Weser River. My father proposed that men be strategically placed to defend the Rhine; however, the duke rejected the plan!” Mr. Knightley’s fist came crashing down upon a side table. “This miscalculation cost them the day and much more.”

“Mr. Knightley, you are not yourself,” said Miss Woodhouse. “I insist you sit down and have a cup of my father’s good wine. If you need to hear my capitulation, sir, here it is: I surrender! There is no need to continue in this manner—all to explain how a foreigner of no consequence came to live among us.”

“Emma, my dear!” cried Mrs. Weston. “That is badly done!”

“How do I offend, Mrs. Weston? As hostess, is it not my duty to see to my guests’ comfort? Why spoil Serle’s dinner with all this talk of war?”

“I fear Harriet has asked one too many questions,” Mrs. Goddard supplied. “Perhaps it would be best, dear, to refrain from posing another.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Goddard; however, in the interest of time, I will endeavor to measure my words and bring closure to the tale,” Mr. Knightley said and bowed to Miss Woodhouse. “The Duke of Cumberland’s hapless orders did indeed lose the battle at Hastenbeck. His retreat, as Mr. Weston intimated, was a matter of shame and needless casualties—among the wounded, of course, was my father.”

“Were his injuries severe, sir?” Harriet asked, unwittingly prolonging Miss Woodhouse’s vexation.

“To be sure, it never fails to astonish how my father survived that day, shattered and beaten as he was.”

“It was all due to the good doctor,” cried Mr. Woodhouse. “I may be in my dotage, but I know what I have seen and the healing I have personally experienced by that man’s hand.”

“Now, Papa, there is no need—”

“Miss Smith,” Mr. Woodhouse continued, “if only I could make you understand the consideration given to cleanliness—the rituals observed by his people. Tell them, Mr. Knightley! Tell them, for my proclivities must always appear foolish to one and all.”

“Oh no, sir!” cried Miss Bates. “That we cannot allow! Is that not so, Mama?” She enunciated loudly into her mother’s ear, though the lady was beside her. “Mr. Woodhouse says he is foolish. Such condemnation of a gentleman we hold in high esteem—why the idea…no! Never that!”

The gentleman waited until the lady had done. Harriet could only admire Mr. Knightley’s patience and solicitude, knowing that the party intended to hear the full of the story and that the gentleman was inclined to comply. In an effort to acknowledge Miss Bates’ protest, Mr. Knightley offered her a brief smile before continuing with his explanation.

“Thanks must be given to the good men who carried their injured to the nearest military outpost, marching across blackened fields littered with the remnants of the battle. When my father awoke, he found himself being prepared for the surgical theatre, such as it was. He noted a surgeon washing his hands as he moved from one patient to the next. The Prussians mocked the man, making gestures and smirking behind his back as he approached my father’s gurney. He, in fact, was not a surgeon, as my father surmised. Yosef Martsinkovsky introduced himself as the physician assigned to the British troops. The Prussians preferred to be attended by their own kind.”

“I do not understand, sir,” said Harriet. “Was he not Prussian, himself?”

“Indeed,” replied Mr. Knightley, glaring at Miss Woodhouse. “He was Prussian by birth; however, the doctor was considered a foreigner because he was an Israelite in faith.”

Read more about the good doctor, Miss Woodhouse, and Miss Smith in, “The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary.” Get your copy here!

With love,

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The Musings of an Austenesque Novelist~ Following the Crumbs: Part I

January 28, 2025January 30, 2025 Mirta Ines Trupp

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.

Research, my dear reader, research…

In Heinrich Heine’s book, “The Rabbi of Bacherach,” the narrative unfolds in the 15^th 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 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.

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.

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.

See what people are saying about “The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary” and get your copy today!

With love,

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Jewish Austen Fan Fiction~ Cover Reveal Day!

October 1, 2024October 1, 2024 Mirta Ines Trupp

Drum roll please…

Surrey, England

August, 1812

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.”

Coming soon on November 5, 2024!

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Jane Austen and thoughts for Rosh Hashanah…

September 29, 2024April 29, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

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.

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An Austenite at the Jewish Book Council Network Conference

May 22, 2024April 29, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

I had the pleasure and the honor of participating in the Jewish Book Council Network Conference. This is an extraordinary experience! It gives authors the opportunity to present their latest book in a unique forum. It provides program directors, libraries, synagogues and other venues from across the country, a more personalized, in-depth look into potential speakers and their work. The conference is done via Zoom and lasts several days. Just imagine! All that creativity, knowledge, and enthusiasm for Jewish literature!

The scope of presentations cover practically every genre imaginable. The authors themselves ranged from newbies to established, professional writers. It was inspiring to be included amongst such talent. It was intimidating as well.

Authors are given two minutes to present their book. A two-minute shpiel, if you will, to entice, intrigue, and inspire. Listening to the other presenters was a rare treat. I was moved by several authors as they talked about their journey and the body of their work. With so many great titles published this year, I encourage you to take a look at the JBC website to find the ones that speak to you.

In preparing for the event, authors are given the opportunity to be coached by seasoned professionals. Presentations are reviewed and revised with a focus on timing and content. As the saying goes: Editing is never easy, but always necessary! Being the only Austenite in the line up—or, at least, that was my assumption—I came across a “hiccup” or two in trying to explain my POV (point of view). I would have liked to have shared more about the concept of Austen devotionals or my passion about historical Jewish women; but, two minutes goes by quickly! There isn’t much time to go into detail or provide background. Here is the text of my presentation:

Hello everyone. As a woman, an immigrant, and a Jew, I found that following in Jane Austen’s footsteps helped me find my voice. She wrote about her surroundings with a keen eye. She used humor to call out the injustices of her society; and in this brilliant manner, Austen touched upon some heady subjects that are still relevant today. This form of Realism coincided with my purpose for writing Judaic storylines.

When I set out to write, “From Meidelach to Matriarchs,” I took Austen’s words to heart. She said, “Everyone likes to go their own way—to choose their own time and manner of devotion.” I found this to be very relatable to Judaism. As the old saying goes, you put two Jews together and you end up with three opinions. Judaism encourages debate and contemplation. It challenges us to cultivate habits that help connect to the Divine.

My previous books are Austenesque in nature; however my latest book is different. As a non-fiction and motivational journal, it is a form of…spiritual work. It asks the reader to interact with the text. It is a reminder that we, as Jewish women, are standing on the shoulders of giants. From athletes to actors, social workers to socialites, playwrights to pioneers—these women faced adversity, found their voices, and won! We need to emulate their strength, their courage, and compassion and walk in that light.

“From Meidelach to Matriarchs” focuses on one hundred women from various eras and diverse backgrounds. I share a snippet of each individual’s history and then provide questions for consideration. It’s a Bu-Jo (that’s a bullet journal for us Boomers) and a safe space for you to jot down your thoughts. There is no pressure, no judgement. That’s the beauty of this book. No one needs to know; it’s just between you and the Woman of Valor within.

What do you think? Was I successful in representing myself and my newest book? Let me know your thoughts and don’t forget to keep your eyes on the Jewish Book Council’s website with updates on the 2024-2025 season!

With love,

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A Daily Devotional for Women of Valor~ Inspired by Jane Austen

December 28, 2023April 29, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

Miss Caroline Bingley provides a definition of a “lady of quality” in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. However, in trying to call attention to Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s lack of social graces (the young lady would rather read, than play cards. Heavens!) Miss Bingley miscalculates and misses her mark. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy sees past the thinly veiled attack and offers a rejoinder of his own.

All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”
Pride and Prejudice~ Jane Austen

Without a doubt, Jane Austen was familiar with Proverbs 31. After all, she was the daughter of a Anglican rector. No doubt, she drew inspiration from the words that described a Woman of Valor. In fact, Austen’s own brother made certain to memorialize her using a quote from the same passage.

She opens her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness”
Proverbs 31:26

Miss Elizabeth Bennet is known to be witty—a nicer way of saying sarcastic—and quick to judge. Certainly, the opposite of speaking with wisdom and kindness. Like any character worthy of notice, however, she goes through a series of events that spark introspection and change. Austen provides the arc for this character’s spiritual and emotional growth.

When Miss Bennet arrived at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy observed her skirts covered “six inches deep in mud…her hair, so untidy, so blowsy!” Instead of censuring her for her lack of grace as Miss Bingley was quick to do, Mr. Darcy saw a woman whose mission that day was to attend to her sister, Jane, who had taken ill. Clearly, the young lady had no improper pride; she was not there to exhibit or to lay claim to her many accomplishments. Later, when the party gathered in drawing room, he saw a young lady who would not be swayed by peer pressure. Elizabeth Bennet stood her ground against Miss Bingley and read a book, rather than play at cards.

In the 1995 version of Austen’s novel, Lizzy is asked to perform at the piano during a visit to Pemberley. She had no great talent, and often admitted her failure to practice. Lizzy does play, however, and the room is delighted. It is probably one of the most beloved scenes of the series. The admiration on Mr. Darcy’s face says it all. Throughout the novel, he was known to be a man who despises cunning and deception. He cannot, therefore, fail to notice Lizzy’s strength of character, her kindness, her vivacity, and grace.

It’s my belief that, in showing the character’s ability to reflect, to admit her own failings, and to seek to come up a bit higher, Austen created an Eishet Chayil —a Woman of Valor.

There are many in Austen’s fan base that have crafted devotionals inspired by the author’s work and personal life. I hope to add to the flavor, so to speak, by offering my own take on Women of Valor with this motivational journal.

With love,

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Sound the Shofar! This Jewish Historical Fiction Author Reflects Upon the Season

September 30, 2022December 11, 2022 Mirta Ines Trupp

This month, the British empire suffered a tremendous loss. I dare say, the world at large lost a dedicated and devout leader. Queen Elizabeth’s death touched people from all walks of life, none more so than the Jewish community under her protection.

For over seventy years, congregations across the land concluded their Sabbath service praying that “He who gives salvation to kings and dominions to princes, guard her and deliver her from all trouble and sorrow.” But Jewish prayers for the monarchy, or for any ruling government, are not unusual. After the Israelites first expulsion from Jerusalem in 586 B.C.E., the prophet Jeremiah urged the community to pray to the Lord in order for Him to guide their foreign rules with wisdom and compassion. These prayers were eventually incorporated into the siddurim (weekly prayer book) in the 14th century.

However, the supplications were not solely reserved for the Sabbath service. In England, any royal event may have called the community to prayer. Indeed, if Jane Austen attended a Jewish service in 1787, she would have heard a prayer calling for the preservation of King George lll “from the hands of an assassin.” And in 1817, while the empire mourned the death of Princess Charlotte, Hyman Hurwitz composed Israel’s Lament: Mourn for the universal woe, With solemn dirge and fault’ring tongue, For England’s Lady is laid low, So dear, so lovely, and so young!

Of course, there were occasions for happier prayers, such as the Golden Jubilee of Queen Victoria in 1887 and that of Queen Elizabeth II in 2002 and again in 2022.

Her crown is honor and majesty; her scepter, law and morality. Her concern has been for welfare, freedom and unity, and in the lands of her dominion she has sustained justice and liberty for all races, tongues and creeds.”
Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis, the Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth

Did you know that the concept of jubilee hails from the Torah (Pentateuch)? According to the Book of Leviticus, a commemoration was held at the end of seven cycles of shmita (sabbatical years). Slaves or prisoners would be freed, debts would be forgiven and “the mercies of God would manifest.” The sounding of a ram’s horn (a shofar) would proclaim the celebration. In fact, the ancestral summons was used to announce a variety of events, including a king’s coronation or the proclaiming of a period of mourning—so apropos during these sad days of September.

This is the moment history stops; for a minute, an hour, for a day or a week; this is the moment history stops.”
BBC NEWS

If we were living in biblical times, the shofar would have certainly announced this momentous occasion and the community would have responded in kind. Today, Jews worldwide recognize the cry of Tekiah as the call to prepare for the new year and the Day of Atonement.

For over 5,700 years during the month of Elul (which usually falls during August or September in the Gregorian calendar), the piercing sound of the shofar has beckoned us to examine our behavior—to ask for forgiveness and to prepare to make amends for the new year.

I came across another blog post about Anglo-Jewry while preparing this article. Naturally, it led me to another post where I discovered an interesting historical figure by the name of Solomon Bennett. For a variety of reasons, Mr. Bennett made it his life’s work to torment Solomon Hirschell, the Chief Rabbi of the German and Polish Jews of England. To be honest, I would say that both Solomon Bennett and Solomon Hirschell were full of themselves! If ever anyone ought to have heeded the sound of the shofar…The series of events that transpired between these two men borders on the ridiculous. Therefore you cannot fault me, dear reader, for immediately envisioning Mr. Collins and Mr. Bennet of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.

Mr. Collins is a clergyman. He is tall and maintains formal manners; he comes across as pompous and grave. He takes great pains to inform everyone about his social status, which mostly stems from his noble patroness. Mr. Collins is excessive in his compliments and excessively snobbish. His counterpart is Mr. Bennet of Longbourn. This landed gentleman has a sarcastic, cynical sense of humor which he purposefully uses to irritate his prey. However, his dry wit and composure in the midst of mayhem serves him ill, for Mr. Bennet is weak and largely ineffective as a husband, father, or property owner.

I now present Rabbi Solomon Hirschell. He was said to be a tall and imposing sort of man. He was a traditionalist and did not apologize for wanting to maintain ancient standards and customs. The rabbi liked to boast of his long line of impressive ancestors and benefactors, such as Sir Moses Montefiore and the Goldsmids. Although he had no formal secular education, Hirschell was proud of his Talmudic training and made it known that he possessed an impressive rabbinic library.

In 1811, the European Magazine published an interview with the clergyman. Hirschell proclaimed that he was direct descendant of the royal house of David. He believed his election as chief rabbi to be a natural turn of events. His fiercest enemy, Solomon Bennett, had a field day with that announcement. An author, artist, and a Hebrew scholar in his own right, Bennett publicly ridiculed the rabbi by declaring that he was only given the position due to his connections. But it didn’t end there. He claimed that Hirschell was barely competent in the English language and that he hid behind his father’s precious library to mask his illiteracy.

Of one thing you may be assured, Hirschell could only have known my English publications at second hand because he could not even understand them in the original language, of which his knowledge is so slender.”

Bennett continued to write scathing remarks about the shocking lack of rabbinical publications put out by the Hirschell administration. The Magna Bibliotheca shows that the chief rabbi only published three sermons. Of note: one marked the battle of Trafalgar in 1805 and another, which warned the community against sending their children to secular schools. The rabbi was so set in his ways, the sermons were given in Yiddish and had to be translated into English for publication.

Sometime around 1815, Rabbi Hirschell endorsed a book of Jewish studies written by another Solomon —Solomon Jacob Cohen. Bennett was highly critical of the work and published a 66-page pamphlet where he called the rabbi “a proud, savage, and tyrannical Pontiff…in his orthodox piety on the one hand, and his ignorant malice on the other.”

The public did not appreciate Bennett’s wit and he did not succeed in defaming his nemesis. In fact, the project was a complete failure and Bennett lost money— a £100 to be exact. Short of funds, he was unable to pay his publishers and was sent to debtor’s prison—blaming Hirschell for his misfortune all along the way.

For all that was said against him, Rabbi Hirschell appeared to hold England dear. In one particularly poignant speech, the rabbi expressed his gratitude that “providence permitted me to return to this my beloved native Land.” During the Napoleonic wars, Hirschell encouraged his congregants to enlist and to serve their adopted nation. It was also said that the rabbi secured permission for Jews to “stay away from church parades and to be sworn upon the Book of Leviticus—instead of the New Testament.” This was in keeping with his lack of interaction with his Christian counterparts and his sermons against the newly established Reform movement. On the other hand, Hirschell was known for his charitable organizations and worked to help the relatively newer community of Eastern European Jews.

In 1811, he aided the Westminster Jews’ Free School to open its doors. In 1817, the Jews’ Free School was founded. In 1820, the Western Institute for Clothing and Apprenticing Indigent Jewish Boys was opened; and in 1824, the Society for the Relief of Indigent Poor began providing widows with five shillings per week.

During his administration as chief rabbi, the problem of poverty was investigated, reforms were suggested, and solutions were implemented (certainly not in keeping with a Mr. Collins). In the face of these good deeds, Mr. Bennett’s cynicism should not have prevailed; however, it did. To this day, Solomon Hirschell’s legacy remains tainted. He has been labeled as a pompous, unwavering traditionalist, ignorant and out of touch.

Without wishing to overstep the boundaries of a simple blogger (who has no right to sit in judgment), it would seem that the call of Tekiah fell upon deaf ears with these two men. Talk about pride and prejudice! Perhaps they ought to have heeded Elul’s message; they should have recognized the error of their ways and made amends. History might have been kinder to both if the had learned to compromise a bit; but to paraphrase Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, I leave it to be settled, by whomsoever it may concern, whether the tendency of these two gentlemen is to recommend tyrannical rivalry or reward stubborn constancy.

May the sound of the shofar awaken us to be kind to one another and to cherish the moments that make up the days of our lives. May we all be inscribed in the Book of Life and may the new year be blessed with health, happiness and goodwill.

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A Salute to Mothers~ With Love, a Jewish Regency Author

May 13, 2022April 29, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

It’s been a while since I’ve added to the blog. I thought long and hard on what I could present to this group of well-informed and clever people. In keeping with my modus operandi, I knew that I needed to combine my cultural heritage with my love for all things Austen; and so, I looked to the calendar and found my mark.

It’s May, and here in the United States, we just celebrated Mother’s Day—but not so in other parts of the world. Let me persuade you to take a turn about the globe with me. It’s so refreshing!

Naturally, I will begin in England! Jane Austen would have been familiar with the festive occasion known as Mothering Sunday. Usually occurring during the season of Lent, it was a day for church, as well as acknowledging one’s matriarch. Even servants were given the day off, so that they could visit with their own mothers and perhaps share a token of their love. I did a little research on Jane Austen’s mother and found that Mrs. Austen was considered witty and quite talented herself with a quill and a bit of foolscap. It is generally acknowledged that the Rev. Austen supported his daughter’s love for reading and writing. However, it appears that Jane might have inherited her talents from her mother. I can easily imagine Mothering Sunday in the Austen household. After church, our dear girl would very likely read from her latest scribblings to honor her mother. Then perhaps, they would have tea with iced cakes or some such. They certainly didn’t head out for brunch or to the nearest salon for a mani-pedi!

In the United States of America, Mother’s Day is celebrated on the second Sunday in May. It is considered a secular holiday; but when first established by Anna Jarvis on May 10, 1908, it was celebrated during church services—at St. Andrew’s Methodist Church in Grafton, West Virginia, to be exact. I read that Jarvis was critical of the commercialization that quickly took over the occasion and continued to encourage all to reflect upon and honor the important contributions of mothers.

In my native country of Argentina—where Catholicism is the State religion—Mother’s Day originally coincided with the Feast of the Maternity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, celebrated in October. The feast day was later moved to January, which coincided with summer picnics and family gatherings at the beach. Argentines, however, decided that Mother’s Day would continue to be celebrated on the third Sunday of October. Needless to say, there is a plethora of spring flowers, cards and gifts to help celebrate the occasion.

In Israel, the commemoration of Mother’s Day came along with its own brand of controversy. It all began when the newly founded country couldn’t decide on which day to celebrate the occasion! The Ezra Society, headed by Sarah Herzog, the mother of then-president Chaim Herzog, established the first Mother’s Day on April 6, 1947. However, the city of Haifa initiated its own version when the mayor proposed that the day be linked to the Maccabean matriarch, Hannah. The mayor’s wife was also named Hannah. Hmm? In any event, Haifa celebrated Mother’s Day for many years during the Hanukkah season. Towards the end of 1951, the newspaper Ha’aretz Shelanu declared its own Mother’s Day initiative—perhaps hoping to settle the issue definitively. The editors asked its young readers to suggest a date to honor all Israeli mothers.

Side Note: Sorry! My mind took an unexpected detour. I was suddenly reminded of two other times when young writers responded to newspaper editorials. In October 1860, eleven-year-old Grace Bedell of Westfield, New York, wrote to presidential candidate, Abraham Lincoln. She urged Mr. Lincoln to grow a beard because “all the ladies like whiskers” and believed he would have a better chance at winning the election! In 1897, eight-year-old, Virginia O’Hanlon wrote to The Sun and asked whether Santa Claus was real. The newspaper’s response was published anonymously in September of that year. Due to its popularity, it was republished every year during the Christmas season until 1950, when the paper ceased publication. Now back to my story in Israel…

Eleven-year-old Nechama Frankel, responded to the newspaper query and suggested a date to honor the memory of Henrietta Szold, founder of Hadassah. Although childless, Szold had run an organization that rescued 30,000 Jewish children from Nazi Europe. The suggestion was easily accepted; but on a final note, Mother’s Day recently became known as Family Day. At 72 years of age, Nechama Frankel (now Biedermann) didn’t appreciate the change in the name and wrote her local newspaper—again! She asked that the “lost dignity of Mother’s Day be restored.” Sounds very much like her American counterpart, Anna Jarvis, don’t you think?

All these meanderings have brought me to this point: Words have the power to effect change, to stir passions, and to alter the paths of women and men who otherwise might not take action. The importance of a well-written missive is not lost on us Janeites, whether it comes from a loved one across the ocean or a gentleman across the room.

My own mother, of blessed memory, wrote more letters than I can recall. They crossed back and forth from Argentina to our home here in the United States. They were filled with every possible emotion, from the simplest piece of gossip to the greatest despair. But these letters kept us united with our family half way around the world and that was her life-long goal. I am grateful to my mother for the many lessons she taught me. I miss her, and think of her, every. single. day.

In my novel, Celestial Persuasion, Miss Abigail Isaacs also receives a life-altering communication. I hope you enjoy the following excerpt.

“Might you share the letter?” Mrs. Dashwood enquired. Long accustomed to having her young friend’s housekeeper-cum-companion present in times such as these, she handed Mrs. Frankel some tea and cake.

Abigail nodded slowly and proceeded to read her letter aloud. She had no wish to hide the contents of Captain Wentworth’s message; and in fact, she was curious to hear the ladies’ opinions. “And there you have it. Papa and Jonathan are gone from this world.”

“Whatever shall you do?” Mrs. Dashwood asked.

“I am a woman alone, with little means of support and head full of impractical aspirations. In truth, I have no idea at present.”

“You might do well to follow Jonathan’s example,” murmured Mrs. Frankel, setting down her plate of seed cake. “You might apply to the Royal Navy.”

“Never say so!” Mrs. Dashwood cried. “Has the Crown gone through all our fine men and boys, that we are now enlisting young ladies to battle the French?”

“No, no.” Abigail shook her head in gentle reproach. Mrs. Frankel ought to have known better than to mention such a radical scheme.

“For some time now, Miss Isaacs and I have been following the news of an extraordinary woman by the name of Mary Edwards,” Mrs. Frankel, now a little recovered, continued unabashed. “The London paper had a full story on her work as a computor for the British Nautical Almanac. She is one of a very few women paid by the Board of Longitude.”

“But what is her work?” insisted Mrs. Dashwood.

“It is rather intriguing,” supplied the housekeeper. “With her mathematical talent and computational skills, she is tasked to calculate the position of the sun, moon, and planets at various times of day. I have no doubt that our dear girl could do the same.”

“Whatever for? I am sure I have never heard of such a thing!”

However sensible Abigail was to her own sad mental state, it did not follow that the dear lady ought to be left to feel bewildered, so she provided further explanation.

“They use the information for nautical almanacs, Mrs. Dashwood. According to The Times, Mr. Edwards took on piecework to supplement the family’s income. After his death, it was revealed that Mrs. Edwards had done most of the calculations. It all came out into the open when she asked that they continue supplying her with work. She had to support herself and her daughters, you see, and they happily complied. This is what Mrs. Frankel was referring to when she suggested that I apply to the Royal Navy.” Abigail saw at once that her friend was aghast at the mere suggestion and waited patiently for her reply.

“I have always thought your education seemed rather …excessive,” offered Mrs. Dashwood. “As your poor mother was no longer with us and able to voice her concerns, I daresay your father was pleased to provide you any pleasure.”

Abigail smiled at the memory of her father’s affection and shrugged her acquiescence.

“You were the light of his life, and I told him so many a time. He was quite amused at my observations and went so far as to explain that your name, Avigail, means a father’s joy in the language of your ancestors. I must say, my dear, they chose your name wisely.”

“Avigail Yehudit—such noble names!” Mrs. Frankel exclaimed. “Such fine examples of female wisdom and valor.”

“Papa prevailed with his first choice,” said Abigail, “but Mama was appeased with the second. Judith was her favorite biblical heroine— or so I have been told. But it was all for naught, for Jonathan had wished for a brother and thought the names too feminine! I simply became Avi to him. But it is of no consequence. Whichever name I choose, be it the English version or that of my ancestors, Isaacs will remain the same.”

Mrs. Dashwood would not have any of it. “But my dear, you are young yet. Might you not consider marriage? Mr. Green has shown great interest in you…”

“Mr. Green, ma’am, is a widower with three children. His only interest in me is knowing that I would make a proper physician’s wife, and I have begun to believe that I am not meant for love. I am intelligent and have received an excellent education, thanks to my doting father and my…my brother’s enthusiasm.” Abigail paused and sipped her now-tepid tea while she attempted to compose herself.

“You might apply to Sarah Guppy and ask for her advice,” Mrs. Frankel insisted. “She too has worked for the Royal Navy. You have yourself informed me of her numerous creations and inventions. Of course, the patents were secured through her husband—”

“My dear…” Mrs. Dashwood set down her tea things with trembling hands.

“Pray forgive Mrs. Frankel. I believe she is merely attempting to call my attention to various alternatives, unconventional though they might be,” Abigail quickly added. “In truth, ma’am, the day’s events have taken their toll. I am pained knowing that Jonathan will not return to us. He was my beloved brother, but he was also my partner, my teacher and confidant. My friends, I am lost. I am drifting at sea without the North Star to guide me.”

“Might you not receive a pension for your poor brother’s service? What would your good mother have thought?”

I’ll sign off now with an amended version of my mother’s famous salutation: With Love, A Jewish Regency Author~

Tag: Jane Austen

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Sound the Shofar! This Jewish Historical Fiction Author Reflects Upon the Season

A Salute to Mothers~ With Love, a Jewish Regency Author