Agnon, eventually publishing it as a book called Not a Simple Story with Lexington Books.
I wrote my dissertation on (who else?) S.Y. In the coming years, I eventually completed a doctorate in Hebrew literature. He was a master of language, a wellspring of textual knowledge–a writer whose sparkling imagination was as deep and varied as the sea. Two years later, I transferred to Brandeis University in Boston where I immersed myself in the writings of the great Jewish novelists and poets of the 19th and 20th centuries. I took courses in every Jewish Studies subject I could find that fit into my schedule. I enrolled in a Jewish philosophy class taught by Emil Fackenheim at the University of Toronto. When the play ended its run, I decided to leave behind the unforgiving lights of the theatre in search of another type of light. Meanwhile, I was now acting in a new play, this time beside Gilda Radner-she, a rising star, and me, a shy kid trying to get noticed. Why hadn’t anyone told me that I could find beauty and wisdom in Jewish literature? But discovering Agnon’s writing turned all those presuppositions on their head. Though I was born Jewish, I had looked down at my middle-class Jewish background as hopelessly shallow and unsophisticated. I thought that somewhere between French romanticism and Russian despair, I would find clues to a meaningful existence.
I was eighteen years old and pursuing a career in the theatre, reading Flaubert and Dostoevsky in breaks between rehearsals. Agnon’s Twenty-One Stories at a used bookstore in downtown Toronto. I can still trace my fascination with Jewish writing to the day I picked up a dog-eared copy of S.Y. By Sharon Hart-Green, Author of Come Back for Me.
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