Jewish Books – Mirta Ines Trupp~ Author

Author’s Interview with Dr. Leah Grisham~ Jane Austen, Jewish Storytelling, and the Courage to Resist

July 28, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

When I first connected with Dr. Leah Grisham, it was through a shared affection for Jane Austen and a passion for Jewish storytelling. That led to a conversation on her blog about my latest book, Kindle the Light of Liberty: A Jewish Colonial Love Story of the American Revolution. It came as no surprise when that conversation quickly broadened into something much larger: the enduring question of what it means to resist unjust systems while remaining faithful to one’s conscience.

Dr. Grisham is a Cleveland, Ohio–based writer whose work explores literature, feminism, and Jewish life. Her first book, Heroic Disobedience: The Forced Marriage Plot in British Novels, 1747–1880 (Vernon Press, 2023), grew out of her doctoral dissertation and examines how the rise of capitalism in Britain depended upon the oppression of women—and how novelists such as Jane Austen and Charles Dickens used fiction to celebrate heroines who refused to surrender their moral agency. Dr. Grisham—Leah, as I now have the pleasure of calling her—is also a regular contributor to Kveller, the Jewish Book Council, Lilith Magazine, and Publishers Weekly, where she writes about literature, Jewish history, and contemporary Jewish life.

I have found that her work reinforces my belief that both traditions—Austen’s novels and Jewish storytelling—grapple with questions of societal expectations and confront difficult moral questions. I was struck by how many of the themes Leah explores—inequality, limited choices, conscience, and quiet acts of resistance—extend far beyond the English novel, echoing enduring concerns found throughout Jewish literature and history.

I am thrilled to have Dr. Leah Grisham on the blog today! Our conversation ranges from Jane Austen’s heroines and Victorian literature to Gothic fiction, antisemitism in the literary canon, and the ways modern readers understand courage and resistance. It concludes with Leah’s forthcoming work on Holocaust-era Poland, where the questions she first explored through fiction become matters of historical survival.

I hope you’ll enjoy our conversation as much as I did.

HOST: Leah, you and I connected as “Jewish Janeites,” a phrase I absolutely love. Has your Jewish background shaped the way you read Jane Austen, and if so, in what ways?

GUEST: Hi Mirta! Thanks so much for this conversation – it is always fun to connect with other Jewish writers – and Jewish Janeites!

I’ve loved Jane Austen for decades, and even spent a lot of time reading and writing about her novels in my PhD program. I’ve always been interested in the ways that authors portray minority groups (an oversimplified term, but you know what I mean), especially when these groups are portrayed in ways that challenge the stigmas that their cultures placed on them. So, while there may not be a wealth of Jewish characters in Austen’s ouvre, she had a lot to say about the treatment of women (especially poor women) and enslaved people that I think invites similar types of discussion.

HOST: And that’s why, I suppose, the themes in Heroic Disobedience reach beyond the English novel. They reminded me of Jewish writers—from Amy Levy to Sholem Aleichem—who also explored women resisting the constraints of family, economics, and society. Whether those parallels are direct or simply part of a larger literary conversation, they led me to wonder about another shared characteristic of both Jewish and Austen’s storytelling: the willingness to question and wrestle with difficult moral questions. Do you see a similar impulse in Austen’s novels, where heroines respectfully—but firmly—challenge the expectations placed upon them?

GUEST: 100% — and I think that is a big part of what has led to her enduring popularity for so many centuries. Obviously, her prose is so engaging, as is the world she creates, but what really sticks out to me are the characters who defy the expectations that have been hoisted upon them without their consent. The obvious example that most people will identify is Lizzy Bennet and Mr. Collins. He is such an obnoxious bore, and her refusal to marry him is such a highlight of that novel. However, I also love that in Pride and Prejudice, Austen doesn’t just leave it at that. Charlotte Lucas does agree to marry him, and her conversations with Lizzy really lay out the lack of options that women had in the early nineteenth century – especially those who were not wealthy. Austen’s novels constantly challenge readers to question their world while pointing out injustices.

HOST: And speaking of injustices, I know I’m not the only one who struggles with the casual antisemitism found in some Victorian fiction. Anthony Trollope, for example, critiques the marriage market in The Way We Live Now while also relying on harmful Jewish stereotypes. George Eliot’s Daniel Deronda offers both a critique of marriage and a remarkably sympathetic portrayal of Jewish identity. How do you think readers should navigate this tension—acknowledging an author’s literary merit while honestly confronting the prejudices embedded in the work?

GUEST: This is such a hard question, and one that I’ve wrestled with a lot. It makes me think of Dara Horn’s amazing book People Love Dead Jews (which, by the way, I think everyone should read)! In one of the chapters, she writes about listening to Shakespeare’s plays in the car with her son, and how she wanted to skip The Merchant of Venice because of the deep anti-Jewish stereotypes that are so important to the play. Her son challenges this, and encourages her to change her mind and listen to it. What follows is a really excellent reading of the play, and also some really insightful discussion about the questions you’ve posed here.

As someone who loves Dickens, Trollope, and Eliot, there is a big part of me that wants to say, “WAIT! We have to take these examples one at a time!” I want to argue against treating these characters and authors with broad strokes, and say that their treatment of Jewish characters is more complicated than meets the eye. I don’t think this is wrong at all (and, in fact, can help us understand the ways that these cultures understood Jewishness/treated Jews), but – as Horn comes to conclude – sometimes you just have to call a spade a spade. Many canonical authors engaged in antisemitic portrayals of Jews, and it is still these authors who are studied in literature classes instead of actual Jewish counterparts. Calling it out is the first step, I guess.

The American/British literary canon has such a problem with reading historically marginalized groups through the lens of white authors. The last decade or so has seen an influx of work that challenges that, but – for a lot of reasons – it’s still very much a work in progress.

HOST: The Tanakh is filled with figures who disobey human authority because they are obeying a higher moral law: Shifrah and Puah, the midwives in Exodus, Esther standing before King Ahasuerus, Michal defying her father, King Saul, and many others. Their heroism lies not in rejecting obligation, but in discerning which obligation is paramount. Our conversation, Leah, keeps returning to the tension between obedience and resistance, doesn’t it? Austen’s heroines are often celebrated for defying convention, yet as a Jewish reader, I’m less interested in the act of resistance itself than in how they discern the moral course of action. What obligations do they owe their families? Their own consciences?

Your research suggests that novelists of the 18^th and 19^th centuries gave these same ethical struggles a more dramatic form, embodying coercion and systemic oppression in the figure of the Gothic monster. Authors used these creatures to illustrate the horrors of systemic dependence and forced marriages. Historical fiction readers continue to be fascinated by these tropes. Why do you think modern readers are still so captivated by these dark, high-stakes relationship dynamics?

GUEST: Oy vey – such a good question! I think that these evil, patriarchal gothic figures endure because, frankly, the systems of power that they represent are still in place, actively harming women today. They are at once so simple – easy to identify as evil – yet authors can also map very specific power dynamics onto them that speak to their current historical moment.

HOST: Throughout our conversation, I found myself thinking about how each generation redefines heroism. Modern adaptations like The Other Bennet Sister often ask whether fulfillment comes from personal freedom or from discovering one’s deeper moral purpose. At the same time, recent events have reminded many Jewish readers what it means to live as a minority culture negotiating questions of belonging, conscience, and resistance. Those ideas made me especially curious about your transition from literary heroines to documenting the lived experiences of Holocaust survivors.

Your upcoming book, The World Has Caught Fire: Life and Death in Holocaust-Era Poland, shifts focus from the systemic constraints of 19th-century British women to the existential horrors faced by Polish Jews under Nazi rule. In Heroic Disobedience, you explore characters whose resistance is quiet, internal, and guided by personal conscience. How did analyzing those literary forms of defiance shape how you approached the factual stories of Jewish resistance, agency, and survival during the Holocaust?

GUEST: Like I mentioned above, I spent many years of my graduate studies analyzing literature that up-ends dominant power structures. I find there to be something so rebellious and triumphant about these types of stories – I truly just love them. Throughout my dissertation work and writing Heroic Disobedience, I had the words of Mary Wollstonecraft ringing in my ears: “If the degeneracy of the higher orders of society be such, that no remedy less fraught with horrour [sic] can effect a radical cure; and if enjoying the fruits of usurpation, they domineer over the weak, and check by all the means in their power every humane effort, to draw man out of the state of degradation, into which the inequality of fortune has sunk him; the people are justified in having recourse to coercion, to repel coercion.” Here and elsewhere in her work, she is defending the right of oppressed people to use violence to overthrow corruption when they have been left no other choice. In this instance, she is talking about the French Revolution, but it’s a principle that is threaded throughout her work.

When it came to my new book, though, I had to unlearn a little bit of that kind of thinking. Or, at least, re-frame how I thought about resistance, rebellion, and armed violence. (And, again, People Love Dead Jews was integral to this process for me). For instance, there were a million ways big and small that Jews tried to resist the Nazis, but this resistance looked different than the type of resistance that Wollstonecraft was writing about: in many instances, sadly, the Nazi military was just too powerful. When researching my book, I spent countless hours with firsthand testimony, both recorded and written (and many of the written accounts, like journals, were written by Jews who did not survive). A few things that come up over and over again is the desperation of the doomed to be remembered, and their anger – desire for revenge – toward the Nazis and their collaborators. These feelings don’t always make it into the holocaust narratives that become popular, but, to me, they are crucial for historical accuracy. The average European Jew might not have participated in a violent uprising, like the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, but remembering them in a historically accurate manner is, I think, its own kind of resistance.

In The World Has Caught Fire, for instance, in addition to telling Dora’s survival story, I also trace the fates of her family members who didn’t survive. Ninety percent of Polish Jews perished in the Shoah, and telling their stories in addition to the glorious survival stories makes the Nazi’s mission – eradicating all of Europe’s Jews – impossible.

HOST: And maybe that’s the point. We must keep our stories alive by sharing Jewish experiences, accolades, hardships overcome, and most importantly, Jewish joy! Because, in my opinion, that is what we should be focusing on—not the tragedy, not the horrors that befell us. Like Austen wrote in Pride and Prejudice, “Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.” I don’t think she meant that we should forget about our sorrows or disregard our pain. I think she meant that we should focus on our purpose. We should remember the good things, our achievements and success. We should recall those memories that propel us forward. And so I thank you for joining me today and for sharing a bit of your work.

Look for Leah’s book on Amazon and check out her blog for articles, book reviews and more!

With love,

New Post

Publishing Day: A Revolutionary Jewish Fiction I Couldn’t Find on the Shelf~

July 4, 2026July 4, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

So I Wrote it Myself.

As America commemorates the 250th anniversary of its independence, I’m delighted to announce that Kindle the Light of Liberty is now available on Amazon.

Like many readers who love early American novels, I grew up surrounded by familiar stories. We know the Pilgrims. We know the Puritans and the Quakers. We know Washington, Franklin, Adams, and Jefferson. Historical fiction has given us countless perspectives on the birth of our nation. But one question kept nagging at me:

Where were the Jews?

Not because we weren’t here—but because we so rarely appear in the founding narrative.

Historians have long documented the lives of America’s colonial Jewish communities. Adam Jortner’s A Promised Land: Jewish Patriots, the American Revolution, and the Birth of Religious Freedom, Oscar Reiss’s The Jew in Colonial America, and Laurens Schwartz’s Jews and the American Revolution: Haym Salomon and Others all remind us that Jewish families were very much part of the American story. They built businesses, raised children, prayed in their houses of worship, argued over politics, supported different sides of the conflict, and helped shaped an emerging nation. Yet when I looked for novels that placed Jewish families at the center of Revolutionary America, I found surprisingly few.

That absence became the beginning of Kindle the Light of Liberty.

Set in Philadelphia, the novel follows Jewish colonists wrestling with questions of identity, faith, and loyalty as their city transforms into the cradle of Revolution. The story unfolds not only in the streets and meeting houses, but around kitchen tables, inside shops, through letters, and clandestine conversations. Rose Wachsman and her family live alongside neighbors whose lives are equally shaped by uncertainty—including Betsy Ross—because history wasn’t experienced in isolated communities. It was shared.

And just as Jane Austen used drawing rooms and assemblies to critique a changing world, her sharp social commentary inspired me to view the American Revolution through the intimate, high-stakes lens of one Jewish household.

Yes, I said Jane Austen.

People often are surprised by my literary influences; Austen doesn’t seem to be a logical choice when contemplating a novel set in this era. At first glance, I understand that it does seem an unlikely pairing! But Austen understood something timeless about human nature: history provides the backdrop, yet stories endure because of the people who live through it. That’s her genius and the secret to her longevity. She mastered the art of the domestic canvas—showing how massive societal shifts echo through family dinner tables and neighborhood gossip.

Elizabeth Bennet taught generations of readers that first impressions can be wonderfully, painfully wrong. Her wit, compassion, and willingness to reexamine her assumptions helped inspire my own heroine, Rose Wachsman. And if readers catch a glimpse of Fitzwilliam Darcy in Mr. Hirsch—reserved, honorable, occasionally misunderstood—I will happily plead guilty! They may also recognize faint echoes of Caroline Bingley, Mr. Wickham, or even Lady Catherine de Bourgh. After all, every story needs its social climbers, charmers, and people whose polished exteriors conceal far less admirable motives.

That’s why Austen still captivates us more than two centuries after her birth. She reminds us that beneath every great historical event are ordinary people navigating pride, prejudice, family expectations, misunderstandings, and deeply human connections.

That’s the novel I wanted to read. And that’s the novel I wrote.

A Revolutionary story where the Jewish experience isn’t a footnote.

A love story grounded in history.

And a reminder that America’s founding was always more diverse, more interconnected, and more human than we sometimes imagine.

Sneak Peek: Read an Excerpt from Chapter Four:

Rose tallied the chandlery’s goods with a restless precision. She found her thoughts snagging on the great gamble taking place blocks away. Had the divided loyalties finally snapped the cord of their resolve?

For weeks, men dawdled at her father’s counter, stripped of their coats and their patience in equal measure. Women lingered after completing their purchases, feigning an interest in a particular scent or the quality of soap, but their voices were lowered and their eyes watchful as they spoke of those grave matters which now threatened the balance of their world. Her father maintained a most rigorous display of neutrality, attending to every wick and ledger with a public diligence intended to keep his doors unbarred—not merely for the sake of the coin, but for the quiet, folded messages that were expected to pass through his hands in the shadows of the shop.

The burden of such secrets required a mask of perfect indifference, a performance that was put to an immediate test by a most unexpected visitor. One afternoon, while the bells of Christ Church tolled noon, Mr. Hirsch entered the candle shop and found Rose and Hannah Ellicott passing the time of day.

He stood tall in the doorway, his dark coat impeccably cut, appearing remarkably untouched by the stifling heat that had caused the rest of the city to wilt. His hair, tied simply at the nape, lent him an austerity that suited his grave expression. Rose noted a sharp, discerning flare of his features—a movement so fleeting she might have imagined it had her own pulse not quickened in response. She had hoped the clean fragrance of the honeycomb and citrus peel would mask the heavy, acrid scent of the rendering kettles, but the sudden, rigid set of his jaw suggested her efforts had been in vain.

Steadying her breathing and smoothing her apron, Rose masked any flicker of concern. She cared little if a stray smudge of soot marked her cheek. Boiling berries and rendering raw comb was a messy business; it followed that it was an odorous one. The result, however—the sweet-smelling soaps and tapers born of that labor—softened the edges of their world.

Given his apparent state, Nathan Hirsch was plainly not a man given to softened edges.

Rose felt rather than saw the shift in Hannah beside her as her friend’s missive slipped swiftly into the folds of her apron. She curtailed any emotion that would give her away, although she noticed Mr. Hirsch’s eyes registered the exchange. The gentleman had not yet approached the pair. In fact, he had not greeted Rose in his usual way. The simple nod she was afforded possessed nothing of his accustomed formality. And it gave her pause.

“The mail has come early today?” he asked.

His tone was mild. Too mild for her liking. What game was he playing? Rose felt the ridge of the wax seal from within her apron’s pocket. Wax was meant to protect. It could just as easily betray. She could not trust him. The letter was bound for Savannah. If it failed to reach its destination, a family might be ruined—or worse.

“Just the butcher’s bill,” she said lightly. “Mistress Ellicott was good enough to drop it off, seeing that she had to collect her weekly order of tapers. It is a small kindness we extend to one another.”

“Yes,” Hannah quickly added. “It helps when one must tend one’s shop. Sometimes Mrs. Riley or even little Tommy comes to our aid—such a good boy, that one. Always willing to help carry our little packages or knick-knacks.”

Rose resisted the urge to reproach her friend. Mr. Hirsch’s mouth, she noticed, curved ever so faintly—not in amusement, but in something like…recognition.

“Ah,” he said softly. “How clever you are.”

His gaze lingered on Rose’s face with cool intensity, as if attempting to reconcile the woman before him with some private conclusion.

“I would encourage you,” he continued, “to be selective in choosing couriers for your… knick-knacks. You would not wish anything to fall into the wrong hands.”

Rose met his eyes steadily, though her pulse hammered against her ribs. It was a moment that required a most calculated diversion; she must lead his thoughts away from the missive he had observed—away from the dangerous reality of their schemes and into the safer, if more painful, territory of society’s parlors.

“I thank you, sir, for your concern. Pray tell me—how may I be of service?” she asked with the civil indifference of a tradesman’s daughter.

“Was there something amiss with your mother’s order,” Rose continued with practiced calm, “or perhaps you seek a gift for a young lady? For Miss Franks, perchance? I believe my cousin has a particular partiality for our lavender soaps.”

He hesitated. It was a silence of a most distressing duration, and one which frightened her more than a direct accusation would have.

“Be at ease, Miss Wachsman,” he said at last. “I have been commissioned to acquire an additional dozen of the bleached tapers, if you please.”

Though she found the request odd—she had, after all, filled his mother’s order only two days prior—Rose turned to retrieve the items at once, willing her hands not to tremble beneath his keen observation. Mr. Hirsch had not shifted from his place; his dark eyes, however, took in every detail. Every shelf and display was scrutinized. Nothing, it would appear, was too small for the gentleman’s attention. Rose set the wrapped candles upon the counter between them—a small barricade of paper and twine.

“You keep busy,” he said. “I suppose you have felt the effects of the recent blockade.

“Indeed, sir. We have felt it exceedingly,” replied Rose. “We pray that the strain does not prove too hard to bear—for ourselves and for our families.”

Mr. Hirsch nodded his understanding as he placed his payment beside the parcel Rose had presented.

Sterling! He paid in sterling.

The silver coins caught the light with a cold, indisputable authority which the paper Continental notes could never hope to mimic. Rose found her gaze anchored to them a second longer than propriety allowed, her mind racing to reconcile the gleam of the King’s metal with the man who stood so unruffled before her.

Something unreadable flickered across his face. “Is there anything… amiss?” he asked, repeating her words.

She searched his expression for accusation—or mockery—but found neither. “No, not at all, sir. I thank you for your custom.”

He inclined his head. “Then I wish you a good day, Miss Wachsman; Mistress Ellicott.”

Rose watched him make his way toward the door. The question of where his loyalties truly lay rose to her lips with such force she very nearly put it to him directly.

“Mr. Hirsch.”

He paused, his hand upon the latch. “Yes, Miss Wachsman?”

“If you would authorize me to do so, sir,” she said instead, “I shall adjust your mother’s weekly order. I would not wish to incommode your schedule.”

“I have every faith in your judgment, madam,” he replied.

The bell above the door gave a soft, indifferent chime as he departed. Rose could not help but roll her eyes at the formality of his parting salutation. Madam, indeed!

Beside her, Hannah exhaled. “He knows.”

Rose turned the letter slowly between her fingers, the parchment feeling suddenly like lead. “He suspects,” she corrected, though the distinction brought her little comfort. She could not know if she had truly diverted his scrutiny or merely confirmed it; she was not sure which might prove worse.

Nathan Hirsch moved easily between worlds that distrusted one another. He frequented the Franks’ salons—seemingly paying court to the daughter of the house—yet he stood in prayer beside her own father each Sabbath.

He spoke carefully—and watched everything.

She could not know which allegiance governed him. Rose suspected that his neutrality was not a choice of conscience, but a masterwork of convenience.

Slipping the provocative letter into the hidden compartment beneath the counter, Rose felt her pulse steady as wood and wax and ordinary commerce enfolded the message until it could be revealed. He might keep his elegant decorums and his careful speech! She cared not for them. Here, amidst the scent of rendered fat and cooling wax, there was no room for duplicity—only the hard, honest work of survival.

I hope you’ll join Rose, Mr. Hirsch, and the families of Colonial Philadelphia as they discover that liberty is kindled not only by famous speeches and battlefield victories, but by the quiet courage of ordinary people whose stories deserve to be remembered. Click here to be directed to Amazon.

Happy Birthday, America! Kol hakavod—well done—for the first 250 years! May God’s presence continue to abide among us, and may our country remain a beacon of freedom and justice for the world.

With love,

New Post

Jewish Historical Romance: A Jewish Colonial Love Story of the American Revolution

June 15, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

I can’t think of any author who wouldn’t appreciate the chance to talk about their new book—the research, the premise, the inspiration…well, you get my meaning. I had such an opportunity when I was asked to participate in an Author’s Q & A with Writergurlny. Click on the highlighted link to read the interview, or read a few snippets here:

Getting the full scope of history goes well beyond a generic textbook. For every well-known person, there are many others whose names and histories are lost to time. Mirta Ines Trupp’s new historical novel, Kindle the Light of Liberty, is set in Philadelphia during the American Revolution.

AB: What was the inspiration for the book?

MIT: First of all, thanks for the opportunity! I appreciate your interest in my latest book.

The inspiration for Kindle the Light of Liberty grew from three longtime passions. As a grateful naturalized citizen of this country, I wanted to contribute to the celebration of America’s 250th anniversary by exploring a lesser-known aspect of the nation’s founding—the experiences and contributions of Jewish Americans during the Revolutionary era. I am also passionate about writing Jewish protagonists in wholesome, accessible fiction. Too often, Jewish characters are absent from historical novels or appear only in stories centered on persecution. I wanted to create a compelling, “clean” read that allows Jewish characters to take their place at the heart of an engaging historical story—one filled with courage, hope, and the pursuit of liberty. Finally, as a devoted Jane Austen reader, I have long admired her ability to illuminate universal truths through the lives of ordinary people. Austen showed that questions of family, duty, love, and social belonging can be every bit as compelling as grand historical events. In Kindle the Light of Liberty, I sought to emulate that vision by placing personal relationships and moral choices against the backdrop of a transformative moment in history, allowing readers to experience the American Revolution through the hearts and minds of the people living it.

AB: Did the idea of Rose come from anyone specific?

MIT: Rose wasn’t based on any one specific person, but she was certainly influenced by a few different sources. As I mentioned, I am a longtime Austen fan. I would be hard-pressed to deny the influence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Pride and Prejudice fame. I’ve always admired Lizzy’s intelligence, wit, and willingness to speak her mind, even when doing so is not the easiest path. Those qualities definitely found their way into Rose’s character. At the same time, I often joke that all of my heroines are, in some sense, a blend of myself and the women who came before me. Rose reflects some of my own interests, values, and perspectives, but she is also inspired by the resilience, strength, and determination I imagine in my female ancestors.

As a historical novelist, I spend a great deal of time thinking about the lives of the women who preceded us—the challenges they faced, the choices they made, and the dreams they carried. In many ways, Rose became a way for me to honor both my own heritage and the remarkable women whose stories were never written down but whose lives helped shape the generations that followed.

AB: What made you choose the American Revolution as opposed to another time?

MIT: That’s a great question. As I mentioned earlier, one of the original inspirations for the novel was the upcoming commemoration of America’s 250th anniversary. I wanted to explore the colonial era, but through a lens that readers don’t often encounter. When most people think about Jewish involvement in the American Revolution, if they think about it at all, they tend to recall a handful of financiers and wealthy merchants. I was struck by how history reduced Jewish colonials to a single dimension. Ancient tropes and European stereotypes shouldn’t dictate how historical novel readers—Jewish or not—understand the past.

The Revolutionary period offered a fascinating opportunity to challenge those assumptions and expand the narrative. I wanted to portray Jewish characters as fully realized people—patriots, neighbors, friends, daughters, sons, and, when called upon, individuals capable of courage and sacrifice. The American Revolution was not only a struggle for independence; it was also a moment when many different groups were asking what it meant to belong in a new nation. That question felt as relevant to me as ever, and it made the Revolutionary era the perfect setting for Rose’s story.

AB: What kind of research did you do? Was it more internet-based, or did you rely on physical texts?

MIT: My research was actually conducted mostly online. One of the great advantages of not living in colonial times is that so much history is literally at our fingertips. Newspapers, letters, diaries, maps, genealogy records, academic articles, and digitized books that once required travel to specialized archives can now be accessed from home. The challenge is no longer finding information—it’s finding the time and patience to follow the trail of sources wherever they lead, and remembering to come up for air once you’ve disappeared down a research rabbit hole!

That said, online research doesn’t mean superficial research. Many of the sources I consulted were digital versions of primary documents and scholarly works. In fact, even my beloved Jane Austen was part of my online research process. Her novels are available free of charge through Project Gutenberg, which makes it easy to search passages and revisit particular scenes. Of course, I also keep a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice on my desk. Whether I’m reading a digitized eighteenth-century newspaper or a printed history book, the goal is always the same: reliable information. It needs to help me understand the period as accurately and vividly as possible so that readers can feel as though they have stepped back in time.

AB: The hardest part of historical fiction is melding the real people/events with the fictional ones. How do you go about it?

MIT: That’s probably the hardest—and most rewarding—part of writing historical fiction. The events themselves are often well documented, but people are much more complicated than the brief descriptions history leaves behind. When I encounter a historical figure, I try to look beyond the labels that have been attached to them. Take Rebecca Franks, for example.

On the surface, she can be easy to categorize. She came from a prominent Jewish family, yet she was a Loyalist. She was a known flirt, witty, and resourceful (to put it kindly). She married an Englishman and ultimately lived in Britain as part of the aristocracy. Viewed from a certain angle, she might appear to have turned her back on both her countrymen and her heritage. But I found myself asking a different question: What made her the person she became? What hopes, fears, disappointments, and demands shaped her choices? The moment you start asking those questions, a historical figure stops being a name in a book and becomes a human being.

In many ways, that approach is influenced by a central idea in Judaism. At Passover, we are instructed to see ourselves as if we personally came out of Egypt. At Shavuot, we are encouraged to imagine ourselves standing at Sinai. Jewish tradition asks us to enter the story rather than merely observe it. As a novelist, I try to do something similar. I place myself in the position of my characters—both the real historical figures and the fictional ones—and ask what the world looked like through their eyes. What would I have believed? What would I have feared? What would I have hoped for? Once I can answer those questions, the boundary between history and fiction becomes much easier to navigate. The historical record provides the framework, but empathy helps fill in the spaces between the facts. That’s where the story comes alive.

AB: Philadelphia is as much of a character as the people. Did you deliberately choose the city, or was it an organic decision?

MIT: Absolutely deliberate! From the very beginning, I knew that if I was going to tell a story about Jewish life during the American Revolution, Philadelphia was the natural setting. I was drawn first to the city’s rich Jewish history. Philadelphia was home to one of the earliest and most important Jewish communities in colonial America, and many of the individuals I wanted to write about either lived there or passed through it. One figure who particularly intrigued me was Jonas Aaron, who arrived in Philadelphia in 1703 and is often considered the city’s first known Jewish resident. His presence is a reminder that Jewish history in Philadelphia stretches back long before the Revolution itself.

At the same time, Philadelphia was the political heart of the Revolution. The Continental Congress met there. Benjamin Franklin walked the streets. Betsy Ross lived and worked there. It was a city where world-changing events and ordinary daily life existed side by side. I was also fascinated by Philadelphia’s Quaker roots. William Penn’s vision created a colony that was remarkably welcoming for its time. While no eighteenth-century society was free from prejudice, Pennsylvania offered opportunities for religious minorities that were difficult to find elsewhere. Quakers, Jews, Anglicans, Presbyterians, and many others lived alongside one another, creating a vibrant and diverse community. That diversity made Philadelphia an ideal place to explore questions of identity, belonging, and citizenship during the founding of the nation.

AB: Rose and Nathan have a specific Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy energy to their relationship. Was this a deliberate choice, or did it emerge as a natural part of the writing process?

MIT: That’s a fair observation—Pride and Prejudice has been such a long-standing touchstone for me; Elizabeth and Darcy’s dynamic was always part of my creative landscape. At the same time, I didn’t want to simply recreate Austen in an American Revolutionary setting. Several of my other novels are “Austenesque” or straight-up Jane Austen fan fiction (JAFF), but I tend to introduce Jewish protagonists to the narrative, rather than portray Austen’s characters as Jews. There’s a reason for that approach.

What I’ve always found most powerful in Austen’s work is how clearly she shows the real stakes for women in her world: the very real fear of not marrying, of lacking financial security, of being labeled a spinster and therefore considered somehow “unfulfilled” or even nonessential in society. She also captures how profoundly a family’s social standing could shape the entire trajectory of a woman’s life, and how a single “wrong” choice could carry lifelong consequences. Those concerns absolutely echo through Rose and Nathan’s story, and in that sense, they do shadow Elizabeth and Darcy’s world. But as I wrote, those familiar Austen themes began to branch outward in new directions. Rose and Nathan are shaped by their Jewish identity, by a long history of displacement and persecution, and by the added weight of what it means to belong—or not belong—in a young nation trying to define itself. Their choices are not only about love, marriage, or reputation, but also about survival, continuity, and the question of whether a community that has endured centuries of exclusion can truly find a stable place in this new world. So I would say Austen gave me the emotional framework, but Rose and Nathan ultimately grew into something more layered—I hope! They are rooted in her world of social constraint and romantic tension, yet expand into broader historical and cultural realities that define their own lives.

Be sure to click on the link above if you’d like to read more, and don’t forget: both paperback and electronic versions of Kindle the Light of Liberty will be available on July 4, 2026! The pre-order link for the eBook is now live.

With love,

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Celebrating Jane Austen’s 250th birthday; A Jewish Austen Fan Fiction Author’s Review of the Year

December 17, 2025April 29, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

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!

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Celebrating Chanukah~ A Look at the Festival of Lights During the Regency Era

November 25, 2025April 29, 2026 Mirta Ines Trupp

What’s a nice, Jewish girl to do when the vast majority of the population is snuggling by a roaring fire with Hallmark movies and Dickens’ classics? Well, I’ll tell you. If that nice, Jewish girl happens to write Jane Austen Fan Fiction, she may share a little bit of history on the Jewish Festival of Lights. She may also share a snippet or two from her novels to illustrate the true meaning of the season.

I’ll stop writing in the third person now…

I realize that we’re still in the fall season here in the northern hemisphere, and there are other holidays to commemorate before we head into the darkest part of the year. However, I felt that this post was well-timed as the Jewish community has been experiencing “the darkest part of the year” since the horrific events of October 7, 2023. To date, we are still waiting for all of our hostages to be returned.

In just a few weeks’ time, we will begin preparing our latkes and sufgenyiot for our holiday meals. Dreidels and coins will decorate our tables too. The battles that were won, the significance of the dreidels and coins, the reasons why we eat fried foods—or, even dairy—are all well documented; you can read more about it here.

A Great Miracle Happened There!

Chanukah tells the tale of an impossible victory over the mighty Greek army in the 2nd century. This was a true, historical event—a terrestrial miracle that serves as reminder that Jerusalem and the Temple were lost and recovered due to the Maccabean revolt against tyranny and forced assimilation.

The second miracle of the holiday, however, is not so tangible. It is the story of how a small vial of sanctified oil was able to keep the Temple’s menorah lit for eight days and nights. The flames of the chanukkiah (the Chanukah menorah) speak to faith (emunah) and trust (bitachon). In celebrating this holiday, we are encouraged to emulate these characteristics, even when the world is enveloped in darkness—even when we are heartbroken and our spirits are brought low. As an author of Jane Austen Fan Fiction (J.A.F.F.), I wanted to highlight these themes, and show how I have attempted to underscore their importance in my J.A.F.F. or Jewish Austen Fan Fiction.

חג חנוכה שמח

The Hebrew greeting noted above is transliterated as Chag Chanukah Sameach, which means Happy Chanukah Holiday. No doubt, you have seen many different spellings of Chanukah, Hanukkah, even Januca—as it is written in Spanish. While many people call it a minor holiday—it’s not included in the Torah (the Five Books of Moses a.k.a. Pentateuch)—it has been commemorated by Jews for centuries… even in Jane Austen’s time.

On November 5, 1817, just prior to the holiday season in Regency England, tragedy struck. Princess Charlotte, the Prince Regent’s daughter, and heiress-presumptive to the throne, died after giving birth to a still-born son. The whole of the empire had been following this pregnancy; Charlotte was a favorite amongst the British people and her marriage to Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha had been a love match. The public were besotted by their fairy-tale union and by what the couple’s future foretold; however, Charlotte’s death at the age of twenty-one threw a stunned nation into deep mourning.

The outpour of grief for the young woman and her child was said to be unprecedented. Mourning protocols were highly respected during this period of time. Needless to say, when the deceased was a member of the royal family, and a favorite at that, the public were united in their sorrow.

“It really was as though every household throughout Great Britain had lost a favourite child.” ~ Henry Brougham

The Royal Exchange, the Law Courts, merchants, tradesmen, and schools closed down. There was a shortage of black cloth, as everyone wished to show their respect by wearing mourning armbands. Jane Austen and her family would have participated in these rituals. Naturally, the Jewish community aligned themselves with their compatriots.

Per the Gregorian calendar, November 19, 1817 correlated to the Hebrew date of the 10th of Kislev, 5578. Prior to the tragic news, Jewish congregations throughout the land would have been planning for the upcoming Festival of Lights; Chanukah falls on the 25th of Kislev. However, all such preparations came to a halt upon receiving the sorrowful news.

On November 19th, a memorial service was organized for “prayer and psalms for the day of grief” in the Great Synagogue, St. James’s Place. Congregants were allowed to “pour out their complaint before the Lord, on the day of burial of H.R.H. the Princess Charlotte.”

Hyman Hurwitz, the head master of a “fashionable” Jewish school at Highgate, composed Mourn the Bright Rose: A Hebrew Dirge and it was chanted to the tune of a well-known composition, typically recited on the Ninth of Av—a tragic and solemn occasion on the Hebrew calendar.

Rabbi Tobias Goodman, known amongst his congregation as Reb Tuvya, spoke on “the universally regretted death of the most illustrious Princess Charlotte of Wales and Saxe-Coburg.” Rabbi Goodman quoted Ecclesiastes in saying, “A good name is better than precious ointment, and the day of death than the day of one’s birth. It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting, for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart.”

I don’t know what followed. Perhaps the rabbi repeated the time-honored phrase, “Od lo avda tikvatienu,” (our hope is not extinguished) capturing the essence of Chanukah. He might have referenced Joseph and his brothers in Egypt, by saying: “Praiseworthy is he who places his faith in God” and “Remember I was with you.” Whatever else was said that day, I can only imagine the congregation went home with words of consolation and hope.

Jane Austen said, “My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.” That speaks to her genius, of course. As in any book, there needs to be an arc to the storyline. There needs to be growth. The heroine must face her fears and rise above the obstacles placed in her path.

In my novels, these concepts are interwoven in Becoming Malka, Destiny by Design: Leah’s Journey, Celestial Persuasion, and most recently in The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary. In keeping with Miss Austen’s playbook, my characters—Molly, Leah, Abigail and even Harriet Smith—all have a little trouble, but it is ultimately their faith and trust that helps achieve their Happily-Ever-After ending.

Of all my books, I think The Meyersons of Meryton highlights the Chanukah message best. In this story, due to a variety of unforeseen circumstances, Mrs. Meyerson—the rabbi’s wife—and Mrs. Bennet find themselves much in one another’s company. Miss Catherine Bennet (Kitty, as we know her) has endeared herself to the rebbetzin and her young daughter, Rachel. In a rather poignant moment, Kitty makes an emotive declaration and both Mrs. Meyerson and Mrs. Bennet are moved—most profoundly.

The passage below is a snippet of the final chapter, where Mr. and Mrs. Bennet have an interesting exchange.

An Excerpt from The Meyersons of Meryton…

When the happy couples at length were seen off and the last of the party had departed Longbourn, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were found in the dining room quite alone, sharing the last bit of port between them.

“What shall we do now, Mrs. Bennet, with three daughters married?”

Surprised at being asked her opinion, Mrs. Bennet gave the question some thought before replying. “I suppose we have earned a respite, husband. Let us see what Life has in store for us.”

“No rest for the weary, my dear, for soon Mary will leave us and then Kitty. We shall have to make arrangements for the inevitable. Perhaps you shall live with one of the girls when I am gone and Mr. Collins inherits the place.”

“Mr. Bennet,” she giggled, “you should have more bitachon.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Perhaps it was the port, or perhaps it was pure exhaustion, but Mrs. Bennet found she had no scruple in sharing the entire tale of Chanukah with her most astonished husband. “Pray Mr. Bennet,” she finally concluded, “what was the true miracle of this holiday?”

“The logical answer,” he replied dryly, “would point to the miracle of such a small group of men overcoming a fierce and mighty army.”

“No, that is not it.” She giggled, as a hiccup escaped her lips.

“Well then,” he sighed, “the esoteric answer would point to the miracle of the oil lasting eight nights.”

“No, Mr. Bennet. Again, you are incorrect.”

“Pray tell me, wife, what then was the miracle, for I can see that you may burst with anticipation for the sharing of it!”

“The miracle, sir, was that they had bitachon. I do hope I am pronouncing correctly. At any rate, it means trust. They knew they only had one vial of sacred oil and had no means to create more. They lit the candle and left the rest up to the Almighty. And that is exactly what we should do in our current circumstance.”

“My dear, it is a lovely tale and I am certain that it has inspired many generations before us and will inspire many generations after we are long gone, but it does not change the fact that Mr. Collins is to inherit Longbourn…”

“Longbourn is entailed to Mr. Collins if we do not produce a son.”

“Yes, and well you know that we have produced five daughters, although you are as handsome as any of them, Mrs. Bennet. A stranger might believe I am the father of six!” he said with sincere admiration.

“You flatter me, Mr. Bennet. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I wish to say…”

“You were but a child when we wed,” he waved her silent, “not much more than Lydia’s age, if I recall. But, my dear, that is neither here or there, for in all this time a son has not been produced and there’s nary a thing to do for it!”

“Mr. Bennet, there is something I have been meaning to tell you. That is, if you could spare a moment of your time—or does your library call you away?”

His wife’s anxious smile made him feel quite the blackguard. Had he not made a promise in Brighton? Did he not vow he would change his ways? Mr. Bennet decided it was high time he put the good rabbi’s advice into practice. Bowing low, he replied, “Madam, I am your humble servant.”

Happier words had never been spoken.

No matter which holiday you celebrate this December, whether the lights of your chanukkiah or the lights of your Christmas tree shine brightly against the dark, wintery nights, I hope your home and your hearts are blessed with peace.

With love,

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Author’s Interview with Lauren Tallman

October 7, 2025October 8, 2025 Mirta Ines Trupp

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.

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.

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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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Soap Operas, Shakespeare & Secrets: An Excerpt from “Go On Pretending” by Alina Adams

March 4, 2025March 4, 2025 Mirta Ines Trupp

It was recently pointed out to me that I was born in the “early 1900s.”

Wait! What?

You could have knocked me over with Mr. Carson’s Bowler hat…

Obviously, I know my own birthday—I know that I’m considered a “baby boomer”— but, come on now!

Some of you are from my generation. How does that statement strike you? The “early 1900s” gives Downton Abbey vibes, doesn’t it? Not hip-hugger bell bottoms, olive green and orange kitchens, or mountain-high platform shoes!

That being said, I have to admit the speaker was right. I was born in 1962, in the middle of what is known as the “Mid-Century Modern” period; and, while I typically gravitate to the late Victorian or early Edwardian eras for entertainment, many others think of Mad Men, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, or Call the Midwife. That’s why when author, Alina Adams told me about her new release, I thought she’d be a fabulous guest host. Along with her personal family history and immigrant experience, her professional background lends itself perfectly to this complex and conflicted era. That’s why I am honored to welcome Alina back to the blog!

We have previously collaborated, as some of you may recall, such as in this author’s interview promoting her book The Nesting Dolls, but today, Alina will be sharing an excerpt of her latest novel, “Go On Pretending.” It’s scheduled to be released on May 1, 2025.

I first discovered the author when I read The Fictitious Marquis. The Romance Writers of America named this Jewish Regency Romance the first Own-Voices Jewish historical; however, along with being a New York Times best-selling author, Alina is a soap opera industry insider and a pioneer in online storytelling and continuing drama. Throughout her career, Alina has worked as a television writer, researcher, website producer, content producer, and creative director. So without further ado—ladies and gentleman:

ALINA ADAMS!

I realize this blog is usually about romance in the Regency, Victorian and Edwardian eras (with some sprinkling of Jews), but I’m hoping readers will indulge me just a little for this guest post. I promise there will still be romance! Only it will be more modern. The 1950s, to be precise. So not too modern. And it will still feature romance. Plus some Shakespeare, to boot! (Which, I realize is Elizabethean… so… closer.) But there will definitely be Jews!

In fair New York City, where we set out scene, Rose Janowitz (that’s the definitely Jewish part) has just started working for the radio soap opera “Guiding Light” and it’s brilliant, mercurial creator, Irna Phillips, when she is forced to confront the drama, intrigue and romance of her own life – or lack thereof. What happens next is not at all what anyone expected…

There were llama droppings on the marble stairs.

Rose couldn’t have been happier.

“Props!” she shouted, leading to a chorus of chuckles and groans. The studio where they staged The Guiding Light for fifteen minutes live every weekday, year round, also broadcast periodic, experimental television programs. Said programs featured a disproportionate number of animal acts. As the building had no elevator, the cast, sets and assorted creatures arrived via marble staircase. This not only made a clatter – while they broadcast, Rose stationed boys at the top and bottom to stop anyone from interrupting; an aspect of Rose’s job Irna had neglected to mention – but also proved a magnet for fecal droppings of many sizes and textures. There was an ongoing building argument about which department’s responsibility clean-up fell under. Most recently, it had been dumped on – pardon the expression – props. Hence, Rose’s call.

While such matters, technically, did not fall under her job description, Rose didn’t mind. She was happy to do whatever it took to keep the wheels of production churning. Because, as she’d promised Irna, the show came first. Everybody from Network Head to actors with a single line, not to mention the sound effects crew, the director and engineers, put their personal needs on the back burner and rallied to ensure their product was the best it could be from the moment the organ announced its histrionic beginning, until the music adroitly faded “until next time.” Rose would have expected to experience the height of worker solidarity at proudly socialist WEVD. It turned out, though, that there was nothing like money to be made to get everybody enthusiastically rowing in the same direction.

Money, of course, was also the source of some of their greatest conflicts. Not among the staff, but among those who created the shows and those who controlled them. Sponsors loved getting into the act, demanding characters use their products, orate about using their products, and marvel at the convenience and thrift of using their products. Irna was a wizard at scripting heart-clenching drama to take place amidst a variety of cleaning supplies. If a villain wasn’t being threatened to have his mouth washed out with soap (only one brand would do!), then the heroine was hurrying to get her laundry done before her husband arrived home and learned she’d been out all day, engaging in who knows what mischief. How lucky she was that this brand of detergent took half the time for twice the results!

Their bigger problems stemmed from all that they weren’t allowed to do by Standards and Practices. According to “daytime morality,” good men and women could not smoke. This infuriated Irna, who saw thousands of dollars in potential sponsorship monies wafting away like, well, smoke. It was Rose who came up with having the bad characters be the smokers, but of having the good ones constantly remark on it. “Go, and take your (brand of) cigarettes with you!” and “I knew you’d been there. I could smell your (brand of) cigarette the second I arrived!” That way, they wouldn’t be going against the censors, but the product would still be associated with the voices of heroes and heroines.

They faced the same obstacles with alcohol. Even beer and sherry were off limits. Tea or coffee were the mandated beverages of choice, no matter what the crises. (They could always select from hot or iced, in case anyone complained of feeling creatively shackled.) Inspired by prohibition, Rose suggested to Irna that she write any drinking as either religious or medicinal. When Rose submitted that having Jewish characters would make a sip on Friday a directive from God Himself – what pious censor could deny that? – she actually pried a smile out of her redoubtable boss.

Their biggest problem, however, was sex. They couldn’t show it. This was radio, not the movies. They couldn’t speak of it. This was radio, not… the bible. (Irna had chortled at that one, too, which was the biggest compliment Rose could hope for.) On The Romance Of Helen Trent, one of the few radio soaps not created by Irna, where the titular heroine had been proving that “romance can begin at thirty-five” for seventeen years; while managing to remain thirty-five – they spoke of the “emotional understanding” that could only come with marriage. And not a second before. They meant sex. Everyone knew they meant sex. But no one was allowed to say it. Irna gave notice she wasn’t going to adopt that awkward turn of phrase for her own shows.

So, on The Guiding Light, characters begged each other to “hold me and never let me go.” They embraced. Quite a bit. They stared into each other’s eyes. Sometimes from one day to the next. And then they somehow ended up pregnant. Viewers filled in the gaps on their own.

Rose wished she could do the same. She’d told Irna the truth when she answered she wasn’t married. But she’d never confirmed the implicit promise that she never would be. She’d like to be. No matter how many times Mama told Rose she’d ruined whatever chance she’d had – what man would want her after what she’d done, what woman would want a man who would; it was quite the recursive question – Rose never quite managed to give up hope. She was a year short of thirty now. If Helent Trent could “find romance” at an even more decrepit age, why not Rose Janowitz?

She spent her days surrounded by men. For a woman’s genre, daytime drama – save Irna – was suspiciously dominated by men. Men at Procter & Gamble, men at the network, men at the advertising agency, men in the production booth, men on the studio floor. There were men in tailored suits and men in shirtsleeves. Men in fedoras and men in caps. Men wearing the latest No. 89 by Floris cologne, and men who smelled of the Ivory P&G gifted each employee at Christmastime. There were men wherever Rose looked. So why was she still alone?

Naturally, a majority of those men were married. Rose wasn’t ready to go the mistress route yet – though she knew Irna had a stable of such philanderers in her life. Irna preferred doctors and lawyers, just like on her shows. If Rose were twenty, the pickings might have been broader. But men her age were interested in younger women. And older men were either divorced – which came with children and alimony… and bitterness – or… well, Mama said Rose was picky. As tall as she was, she had to accept that some men would be shorter. As opinionated as she was, she had to accept that silence could be golden. And certainly she must never talk about how much money she was making. No man would stand to be emasculated in such a manner. Yet, after all that, remember, he had to also be Jewish. Anything less would be unthinkable.

The worst part was, Mama was right. Rose was too picky. She could put up with short. She could put up with poor. She could put up with old. The one thing she could not put up with was: boring. Compared to the hustle, bustle, constant crises and close calls of production, the conversation proffered by the majority of men Rose met for dinner dates left much to be desired. Mama said it was because Rose challenged them. Rose should be sitting quietly and listening. Yes, even when the men were wrong. Especially when they were wrong. A good man, Mama lectured, didn’t expect the woman across from him to know more about a given subject than he did. And he certainly didn’t appreciate her demonstrating it. When a man waxed poetic about a film he’d seen, he didn’t need Rose breaking down the dialogue and scene structure. When he talked facts and figures about his job, he didn’t need to know that Rose also oversaw a budget – and it was greater than his. And he definitely had no interest in anything she had to say about politics! Rose found the men she stepped out with boring. She could only imagine what they thought about her.

Luckily, she had very little time to dwell on it. Irna lived up to her promise. She kept Rose so preoccupied, the only love lives Rose agonized over were Bill and Bertha “Bert” Bauer as they battled that floozy, Gloria, and whether widowed reporter Joe should choose Nurse Peggy, whom his children preferred, or ex-jailbird Meta, who made Joe’s heart flutter. Irna was thinking bigger than radio. She’d already produced one television soap-opera, These Are My Children, which sputtered out after less than a month of episodes on NBC. Yet Irna remained convinced the fledgling medium was her serials’ future. To that end, she was battling to convince Procter & Gamble to resettle The Guiding Light on the small screen. To assuage their doubts about its viability, Irna used her own money to produce a pilot. When it failed to convince her sponsors, she set to work on a second one.

This meant Irna had less time for the radio version. Outside of writing, which Irna still guarded ferociously, the bulk of responsibilities were now Rose’s. Rose raced from advertiser meeting to rehearsal to casting session. When the latter was plunked in her lap, Rose switched all auditions to the telephone. It allowed her to sift through paperwork without the actor noticing her distraction and getting – rightfully – offended. It also kept Rose from basing her decisions on appearance. It was difficult to picture a dashing, romantic leading man when the applicant was balding and barely came up to Rose’s chest, or an ingenue when the lady reading for the part looked more appropriate for grand opera. Since all that mattered was how they sounded, Rose holding auditions over the phone was more likely to yield unprejudiced results. Which was what was best for the show. Because the show always came first.

On the schedule for today were tryouts for a new role, that of ne-er-do-well Edmund Bard, who’d be coming to town to set every young and not so young lady’s heart aflame, toy with them mercilessly, then be revealed as the illegitimate son of a pillar of the community. It was a fun, juicy role, and Rose was looking forward to hearing her candidates’ takes on it.

The first six proved a disappointment. They were playing it too evil right from the start. There was no tension, no surprise, nothing to reveal or learn. Rose couldn’t imagine listeners at home not seeing right through the literal bastard and wondering why the women of The Guiding Light couldn’t do so, as well.

For the seventh applicant, Rose didn’t even glance at his name until after he’d been speaking for almost a minute. She didn’t even listen to the words – she’d heard them so many times – until she realized that – what was his name, now? Cain… Jonas Cain – was offering a completely different interpretation from the men who’d preceded him. Where they’d snarled, he purred. Where they’d bellowed, he murmured. Where they’d insisted on seduction, he made the listener want to be seduced. No, he made the listener ache to be.

“Mr… Cain,” Rose needed to clear her throat, lest her voice crack.

“Yes, Miss Janowitz?” His speaking voice was the same as his auditioning voice. Which meant he was either always on, or always himself.

“That was… that was quite… good.”

“I thank you for saying so.” Yes, he was definitely always… something. Impossible to believe he didn’t realize precisely what effect his speaking voice had on the listener. And that he wielded it for all it could do for him. Rose didn’t blame him. She’d do the same in his position.

“May I ask what inspired your take on this character? It’s so different from how every other actor saw him.”

“Is it now?”

A drawl? A bass clarinet? A full-throated pipe organ? Just what was it about this man’s voice that made Rose vibrate from hip-bone to hip-bone as surely as if he’d plucked a string, like Rose might melt through her desk-chair, dissolving towards the carpet.

“Yes.” This time, she swallowed instead of coughing. Hardly less obvious.

“Well, it’s obviously Shakespeare, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Edmund Bard?” His laugh rolled in like a fog diffusing throughout her senses. “You gave the whole game away right there. He’s Edmund the Bastard from King Lear.” Jonas quoted, “To both these sisters have I sworn my love; each jealous of the other, as the stung are of the adder, which of them shall I take?” When Rose didn’t reply quickly enough; primarily because she’d run out of coughs and gulps and felt pressed to come up with an alternative; speaking was out of the question, his confidence wavered. “Did I get it wrong, then? How terribly embarrassing.”

“No.” Rose found her voice, because his had briefly tottered. “You’re one hundred percent correct. When Irna – Miss Phillips – when she told me about the character, I suggested the name. As sort of a little joke between the two of us.”

“Ah! So you’re the Shakespearean scholar.”

“Hardly!” Her snort was instinctive. If utterly unladylike.

“It was precisely the guidance I required to understand this man. He commits villainous acts, seducing married women, attempting to murder his father and brother, but he does not see himself as the villain. After being cast aside for an accident of birth, he feels righteously justified to, as they say: top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper: Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Surely, a sentiment we’ve all experienced. Whether or not we’d admit it.”

Was that the moment Rose fell in love with him? In later years, decades, centuries, that was the seed she traced it all back to. The moment when Jonas Cain – with a pinch of help from William Shakespeare – put words, put poetry, to the feelings Rose had been pressing down her entire life. Because the one time she’d let them roam free, she’d ruined everything.

She’d read those words. If she hadn’t read King Lear she wouldn’t have known of Edmund, and if she hadn’t known of Edmund, she never would have suggested that name to Irna. And if she’d never suggested that name to Irna, what would Rose and Mr. Cain be speaking about now?

She’d read those words. But she’d never heard them outside a well-meaning college professor who made as apt an Edmund as she did a Juliet. Rose had read the words, she’d heard the words recited. She’d never realized they were about her until they came undulating over the phone line at her office on the East Side of Manhattan.

Rose might have fallen in love with Jonas then and there. But the only thing she said was, “You’ve got the job.”

Rose sent the standard contract to Mr. Cain’s agent, perplexed when it was returned promptly, without a change. She wondered if her new employee had inexpert representation – it was an unknown to her agency – or whether they were desperate to see the document counter- signed before… what?

What could they be hiding? She’d heard the voice. The voice was all that mattered. The worst Rose could conceive of was Jonas Cain might be a pseudonym, and he was employed on another show which forbade him from performing on competing programs. But Rose listened to a lot of radio. She felt certain that, if she’d heard his voice before, she’d have proven incapable of forgetting it.

On the morning Jonas Cain was scheduled to come in for his first broadcast, Rose made a point of not dressing any differently. It was just another day. No longer did a chic autumn coat cost more than her weekly salary. Thanks to Irna, Rose could afford a closet full of crepe and taffeta tunic dresses with their touted slenderizing waists and straight three-gore skirts. She’d paid extra to have the lapels and pockets dotted in rhinestones, as per the current fashion. The sole reason Rose chose the lightweight green over the navy fine-ribbed was because the day was shaping up warm. She didn’t want to overheat. It wasn’t because the white jabot of the latter made Rose appear older – she saved those for meetings with the sponsors – while the overbodice of the former brought out the hazel in her otherwise dull brown eyes. A pair of black Capezios with sharply pointed toe-tips completed the ensemble. Rose opted for flatties. No reason to appear any taller than she needed to.

Because one thing that Rose had already braced herself for was the possibility of Jonas Cain being short. She had no idea why a disproportionate number of deep-voiced men seemed to be challenged in the height – and follicle – department. Maybe a compressed entity was vital to generate such a profound resonance? Rose told herself she didn’t wish to intimidate Mr. Cain by towering over him. Not on his first day.

“Jonas Cain is…” the voice of the unspeakably competent assistant Rose met the day of her interview and now knew to be named Hazel, that she was twenty-four years old, working to pay her husband, Ike’s, way through medical school, counting the days until she could quit and just be a normal wife and, hopefully soon, mother to a brood of baby Ikes, echoed through the intercom on Rose’s desk, “… he’s here.” In later years, Rose would wonder if her taking heed of the unusually long pause in Hazel’s announcement might have changed anything. Would she have been better prepared for what was to come? Might she have circumvented it in some way? Did she wish she had? Would she have wanted it any other way?

“Send him in,” Rose chirped, oblivious to the message Hazel was trying to transmit.

“How do you do, Miss Janowitz? Jonas Cain, at your service.”

Rose had been in the process of rising to greet him. She’d just pressed her palms into the desktop, which came in handy when she nearly lurched forward, only stopping herself from plunging face first by the fact that her arms were already locked at the elbows.

She’d braced herself for Jonas Cain being short. She’d braced herself for him being ancient, him being a child half her age. She’d braced herself for his having a face Mama called “perfect for radio,” and a host of other deficiencies, as well.

She hadn’t braced herself for him being a Negro.

For soap operas, viewers had to tune in tomorrow to find out “what happens next.”

For readers, though, here is the rest of the story….

To pre-order “Go On Pretending,” please click on the link: https://www.historythroughfiction.com/go-on-pretending

Thank you!

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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,

New Post

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.

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With love,