Ebisu Publications

This is what was, and what might have been.

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Category: Ebisu Publications

  • That Isis Might Make Free

    th  Followers of ISIS destroying statuary

    The title of this post is the first line of an Egyptian prayer, asking the goddess Isis to free a patient from illness. Isis is very much in the news lately, but ironically, only as the English-language acronym for an organization that calls itself the Islamic State. It is best known for beheading and/or burning people alive, raping and enslaving female captives, and—this week—taking sledgehammers to pre-Islamic art.

    We in the West are horrified. We would never do such things. Except that we did, and do. The Old Testament is loaded with praise for kings and prophets who slaughter polytheists and smash their religious images. In the Christian era, the destruction of pagan books and art continued; even in the 21st Century, certain U.S. churches have torched copies of the Harry Potter books and the Qur’an. It’s true that we don’t burn heretics at the stake anymore, at least not officially. I guess dropping napalm on the Vietnamese, or white phosphorus on the Iraqis, doesn’t count.

    aemilianus St. Aemilianus & his followers destroying pagan art

    Jews and Christians are still taught to celebrate the massacre on Mt. Carmel. According to the Bible, the prophet Elijah ordered a mob of his followers to murder the Tyrian pagan priests and priestesses who were praying for rain. I write about this event in The Stars in their Courses:

    The Tyrians began to dance more quickly, the chant contracted into a single throbbing wail: “Mercy! Mercy!” The sun was higher now, and their foreheads shone with perspiration. Someone must have given a signal, because all at once they flourished small curved knives and cut their forearms. Human blood dripped onto Yahweh’s altar and into the thirsty, sacred soil. Elijah thought he could smell it. Damn them!

    “Now!” Elijah leaped up and ran to the summit, holding his staff overhead, howling “Aliens out!”

    His followers sprang from their concealments. Within seconds they had surrounded the Tyrians. The lead priestess turned toward them in fury. “How dare you!”

    A laborer slapped her face. She raised her hand, brandishing the ritual knife, and he smashed his staff into the side of her head, so hard Elijah heard the cracking of bone. She crumpled like a punctured goatskin. The other Tyrians screamed.

    A farmer raised his sickle and swung it in a flashing arc that amputated the hand of a Tyrian priest whose little blade was no defense, exposing an instant of white bone that drowned in a fountain of bright blood spouting a cubit in the air at first, then diminishing as the priest’s veins emptied.

  • Readings: in Portland this Friday

    nena rawdahNena Rawdah, owner of St Johns Booksellers

    This Friday, February 27, Martha Shelley will be one of the featured readers at “Them’s Fightin’ Words.” For those unfamiliar with the series, it happens the last Friday of the month at St. Johns Booksellers here in Portland, OR. It starts with an open mike where anybody can read from their work, for maybe 5-7 minutes each. Then, after a brief intermission, two featured authors take the stage.

    Martha will be reading poetry and fiction—some historical, some contemporary; some of from already published work, some still in the process of creation. Address is 8622 N. Lombard Street. Event starts at 7 pm. Hope to see you there!

  • Passover: the First Cup

    haggadahPassover comes after Purim and is my favorite holiday, since it celebrates a successful slave revolt. Whether that revolt actually happened is irrelevant; what matters is that the Passover legend shaped the consciousness of the Jewish people and was adopted by other people struggling to liberate themselves—most notably African slaves in the United States. The book that is used to walk you through the service on Passover is called a haggadah. There is no one correct haggadah—there are probably thousands of different versions of this book. Like many of my generation, I was inspired to write a non-traditional haggadah. Aunt Lute Books published it, and you can obtain it through them at http://store.auntlute.com/Current-titles/Haggadah-p192.html .

    During the service, you drink four cups of wine. Here’s what I wrote for the first cup:

    For the mother who gleaned in the fields
    back bent under the weight of the sun
    shoving off those who would
    snatch an ear of grain from her
    bleeding hands, feet bleeding into
    thick dust, for the sake of a handful
    of ears of grain short of stalk and
    empty of kernels, for the sake of a mouthful
    of bread for her children;

    for the mother who conjured up
    nourishment from weeds and the parts
    of a pig that the master cast aside,
    for the mother bending over her
    own swelling belly to pick cotton
    whose back dripped blood,
    whose breasts could only drip prayers
    for the children auctioned away;

    for the mother who snatched up
    her children and hid in the forest
    till the pogrom was over, till
    her hands were blue as the snow
    and the ashes that had been her home
    were cold, till day broke over
    the frozen body of her newborn son;

    for the mothers who hid their
    children in cellars or convents
    for the mothers who carried their
    children across borders with
    bombs falling behind them;

    for the mothers picking coffee or planting rice
    cleaning toilets or sewing sneakers
    or soldering silicon chips;
    for the mothers who work two shifts
    to buy books as well as bread
    for their children; we drink.

    Blessed is the fruit of the vine
    and the earth and the sun and the rain,
    and the hands that planted and pruned.
    Blessed are the mothers who gave us life and
    sustained us, and whose labor enabled us to
    reach this occasion.
     

     

  • Esther = Ishtar: the Pagan Origins of Purim

    hamantaschenCakes for Purim

    Purim has been called “the Jewish Halloween.” In its origins, however, I’d say it was more like Carnival. On Purim Jews in various countries dress up in costumes, get drunk, put on plays, sing, parade, burn effigies of Haman (the traditional enemy), and eat little triangular filled cakes.

    Central to the holiday is a reading of the Book of Esther. Many scholars believe this book is a fable rather than a recounting of actual events. The details really make no historical sense. So what did happen? Why is there a Book of Esther?

    That was the 6th Century BCE, when the Hebrews were captive in Babylon. The Hebrews, naturally, adopted many Babylonian customs. The Babylonian calendar was easily accepted and is still used for religious observances. Their New Year celebration was more of a threat, for the Hebrew priests. It consisted of a ten-day carnival, during which the people drank, feasted, staged processions, and had sex with people other than their spouses. The king, during this festival, was stripped of his insignia and humiliated, to remind him that he ruled by the grace of Ishtar, the Great Goddess.

    Some of the exiles must have joined the party and assimilated. Eventually, I believe, the Hebrew priests came up with a solution: they gave us a two-day holiday in place of a ten-day carnival; they gave us the human Queen Esther instead of Ishtar, her uncle Mordechai instead of the Babylonian god Marduk. They commanded the people to drink themselves silly, but not pour libations to foreign gods. Fornication remained a no-no. And we got those little cakes filled with poppy seeds or fruit preserves. Little vulva-shaped cakes.

    I believe the cakes go back much further than the Babylonian captivity, to pagan times when the Hebrews worshipped a goddess, Asherah. They burned incense to her, danced in her sacred groves, and poured libations. And baked cakes: in that same 6th Century BCE, the prophet Jeremiah denounces the women for pouring drink offerings to the Queen of Heaven, and baking cakes in her image. The women retort that they and their husbands would continue to do so, just as their ancestors had.

    Nowadays we are taught to call those cakes hamantaschen (Yiddish, Haman’s pockets) or oznei Haman (Hebrew, Haman’s ears). But they don’t look like pockets or ears to me. They’re still goddess images, stuffed with symbols of fertility and fruitfulness.

  • Oil for the Lamps of Assyria

    Oil seep, IraqNatural oil seep, Iraq

    You and I live in a petroleum-based global economy. Most likely you’ve heard of the theory of “peak oil,” meaning that there’s only so much oil in the ground. Once we start running out, prices will skyrocket. Scientists, economists, and oil industry representatives have been arguing about this theory for years. Leonardo Maugeri, an energy company director, said we’ll never run out—we’ll just supplement traditional oil wells with unconventional methods, like fracking, or extracting petroleum from tar sands (bitumen). And of course, we’ll drill in the deep ocean. Georges Monbiot, an environmentalist, responded that that there is more than enough oil from unconventional sources for capitalism to “deep-fry” the world with climate change.

    Theories aside, everyone agrees that petroleum is getting harder and harder to access. It wasn’t always this way. Natural oil seeps occurred in many places, most notably the ancient Middle East, and people figured out how to use it early on. Bitumen was found on the tools of Syrian Neanderthals. Subsequent peoples employed bitumen for waterproofing boats and baskets, for making mummies, and in construction. Liquid petroleum—which Herodotus called stone oil—was used as medicine and for lighting.

    In The Throne in the Heart of the Sea, two of my heroines encounter petroleum in ancient Assyria, which is now Iraq. The women are part of a diplomatic delegation:

    On the last evening of the festivities everyone gathered in the great square outside the palace to watch the sun set and the full moon rise, while King Ashurnasirpal offered to the gods. Afterward he led his army in a torchlight parade through the streets of the city.

    The foreign delegates were given places of honor on the staircase, the better to appreciate their host. Tamar caught a glimpse of the king standing behind his driver in a four-horse chariot, his armor glittering in the moonlight. As he rode by the staircase he turned toward his guests and waved stiffly.

    Next a pair of elephants in tasseled blankets lumbered by, casting shadows like thunderheads. Tamar had never been so close to anything so large. She shivered with delight.

    Then came a marching band, then siege engines—all enlarged and multiplied by torchlight shadows, moonlight shadows. More chariots. Cavalry. The streets reeked of dung, and the foul smoke of the torches. Bez wrinkled her nose. “That’s beyond rancid. You’d think he could afford to burn fresh oil.”

    “Must be stone oil,” said Tamar. “They don’t have olive trees, but they’ve got lots of this stuff –it just oozes out of the ground.”

    “Ugh. I wouldn’t fry a fish in it.”

    Heavy infantry in conical helmets, pikes at the ready. More drummers and flautists. Companies of bowmen and slingers. It was the most impressive display of military might that Tamar had ever seen.

  • Nile Mud, Dirt, and Ancient Medicine

    In December, I blogged about how modern scientists are rediscovering the use of copper to kill germs. This week I’m interested in reports of a new antibiotic, one that doesn’t seem to induce resistance.

    We know that the overuse of antibiotics in modern medicine and factory farming has allowed bad bugs to evolve into badder, nastier, and often untreatable pathogens. For decades researchers raced to keep ahead of them by cultivating newer and stronger antimicrobials, but until now the bugs have been winning.

    The latest weapon in the medical armamentarium comes from dirt.

    Ebers medical papyrusThe Ebers Medical Papyrus

    What is it about mud and dirt? The Russian novelist Gogol reports that peasants used warm dirt on wounds. It’s not surprising, then, that most modern antibiotics have been cultivated in the lab from soil bacteria. The ancient Egyptians used Nile mud on certain lesions. Nile mud, as it happens, contains aureomycin.

    The latest weapon has been dubbed teixobactin. It kills bad bugs very efficiently—though it’s only been tested in mice, so far—by a mechanism that germs seem unable to resist.

    In The Throne in the Heart of the Sea, our medical student Tamar becomes acquainted with both Nile mud and copper as treatments. Her instructor Peninah assigns her to compile a pharmacopoeia:

    Peninah unrolled an elegantly written scroll. “Look at this.”

    “I don’t know all these words,” Tamar said.

     “No reason you should. It’s Egyptian medical terminology. All the best schools are in Egypt and no matter how good a physician you are, you’re nobody unless you’ve studied there.”

    Send me! Oh please send me!

     “But we have an opportunity to change that in our lifetime, because King Ittobaal wants to promote the healing arts at home. He said no Tyrian should have to travel abroad for a decent dentist. I told him if he gives me a budget, I can make this clinic rival anything along the Nile. So. I’ve written the Women’s Medical College at Saїs, and the Divine Mothers agreed to lend us one of their instructors, possibly next year. Meanwhile they shipped me a few surgical texts, like this one.”

    Tamar forced a smile. “Very kind of them.” Mama always said want only what you can get. Only rich people get to go to Egypt. And sailors, men with strong arms to pull oars.

    “Yes. Most of the pharmaceutical ones call for substances we can’t get, like Nile mud—I keep picturing a gang of stevedores shoveling it onto a boat that slowly sinks under the weight. Others can be shipped, like nosem-tree seeds, but most people can’t afford them. We need a local pharmacopoeia, so the goddess ‘Anat has inspired me to write one—with your help, if that’s agreeable to you.”

    “Me? Tamar squeaked. “Why choose me?” This was real, not a fantasy, and an honor beyond her previous imagining. “The other girls have been here lots longer.” Oh, please don’t let them be jealous. No Evil Eye!

  • Scurrilous Cartoons in Ancient Egypt

    graffito-regina-Hatshepsut

    It has been quite a week for the cartoon industry. Seems like everyone either insists they are Charlie, or wants to murder them. I checked out the Charlie Hebdo covers published by The Huffington Post and found them adolescent and poorly drawn, sometimes obscene but never particularly funny. Certainly not worth the effort of killing the artists or, as it happened, dying in the process.

    Scurrilous cartoons go back a long way. So does naughty language. After I published The Throne in the Heart of the Sea, one reader complained that I shouldn’t have my characters use bad words, because people in the Bible don’t do that. Well, maybe not in the King James translation, but some of the original biblical Hebrew is not exactly fit for Sunday school.

    The oldest lewd cartoon I know of was found in a tomb, and dates back to the 15th Century BCE; it is believed to depict Hatshepsut, one of the few female rulers of ancient Egypt. She assumed the title of pharaoh—king, rather than queen—and wore the royal regalia, including the double crown and the false beard. Her major accomplishments included opening up trade routes that had been disrupted when Egypt was occupied by foreigners, and commissioning hundreds of grand building projects, more than any other pharaoh of the Middle Kingdom.

    220px-HatshepsutHatshepsut

    “But what about that cartoon?” you ask. That’s it, up at the beginning of this post. Most likely drawn by a worker after the funeral, it depicts the pharaoh being shtupped from behind by a guy whom archaeologists think might be her steward, Senemut. (He was reputed to be her lover.) The cartoon showed a shocking disrespect for royalty—and likely a big dollop of misogyny as well. I’m sure there have always been men who resented a woman boss.

    The drawing is still there, some 3500 years later, along with other obscene graffiti, so I guess the artist got away with it. He probably didn’t suffer the fate of the Charlie Hebdo cartoonists, or the hundreds of media workers imprisoned in modern Egypt and other countries because of what they wrote or depicted.

  • The Hurricane Headed for Cuba

    SweatshopCuba has been big news this week. What I’ve gathered from the papers, including readers’ comments, is there seem to be three points of view: 1) Most Americans are happy about the prospect of normal relations between the U.S. and that island nation. 2) A handful of aging anti-Communist exiles, and their Republican supporters, are still outraged by the loss of wealth and position they enjoyed under the corrupt dictatorships before the revolution. 3) Then there’s an even smaller handful of people—including me—who welcome the change, but with considerable trepidation. I’ll explain with a story.

    Although I’ve never been to Cuba, my maternal relatives lived there for many years. My mother was born in 1914 to a poor family in a Polish shtetl. I wrote a little bit about what life was like for them in Haggadah: A Celebration of Freedom, published by Aunt Lute Books (http://store.auntlute.com/Jewish/Haggadah-p192.html). An excerpt:

    for the mother who snatched up
    her children and hid in the forest
    till the pogrom was over, till
    her hands were blue as the snow
    and the ashes that had been her home
    were cold, till day broke over
    the frozen body of her newborn son

    That was my grandmother, and a baby who would have been my uncle. My mother was the other child with her that night.

    After World War I and the subsequent food shortages, my grandparents decided to emigrate. However, the Emergency Quota Act of 1921 severely restricted immigration from Southern and Eastern Europe. Since the family couldn’t get into the United States, Grandpa took his young family to Havana. There they suffered poverty but not persecution.

    Mama was taken out of school at age 11 and put to work. She ate the diet of the poor—heavy on starches—but the family didn’t go to bed hungry night after night as they had in Poland. As a teenager, she attended dances at the Jewish center and at the Communist youth center.

    Besides poverty, there was endemic corruption. When Batista ousted Machado, our family couldn’t prove they had the right to live in Cuba. Their papers had disappeared. It took a couple of visits to government offices before Grandpa realized that he had return with a bribe. When he did, lo, the papers surfaced again.

    050615-N-0000X- 001At age 16, during the Great Depression, Mama and her younger brother boarded a tiny boat and set out on the 90-mile journey across the open ocean to Florida. They made their way to New York and took the same kind of sweatshop jobs as the ones they had had in Cuba. They lived in the shadows for many years, but eventually Mama married a U.S. citizen, regularized her status, and was able to sponsor her parents.

    Despite her distrust of Soviet-style Communism, Mama welcomed the Castro revolution. “Now all the children will be able to go to school, they’ll get to see a doctor when they’re sick, and they’ll have enough to eat.” She was at least partly right. The current generation of Cubans has received a decent education and better medical care than a considerable portion of the U.S. population. They have not always had enough to eat—largely because of the U.S. embargo.

    So why do I hesitate at the thought of ending the embargo? Because of the corporations that are salivating at the prospect of setting up shop in Havana. They will attempt to do what they do everywhere: drive wages down, privatize everything, and push the average worker back into the conditions my mother endured decades ago, while the elite scoop up all the wealth.

  • Medusa Coils mentions Stars in their Courses

    The Stars in their Courses by Martha ShelleyMartha’s The Stars in their Courses was mentioned in Medusa Coils. “I have started reading Martha Shelley’s latest novel, The Stars in their Courses. I hope to have a full review in a month or so after I have recovered from carpal tunnel syndrome. But I wanted to let you know that if what I’ve read so far is any indication it’s at least as good as the previous novel in this trilogy, Throne in the Heart of the Sea, which I reviewed here.”

  • Martha Shelley reading in Portland

    Martha Shelley, feminist author
    Martha Shelley, feminist, researcher, and author of historical fiction.

    Martha Shelley is doing a reading at the St. Johns Booksellers of her book, The Stars in their Courses. There’s not a huge crowd but they’re very lively and interested. Martha just read a scene where a Canaanite medical student and priestess of Anat assists in an amputation in Sais, Egypt.

    Martha is happy to be reading at the bookstore in her own little town. St. Johns Booksellers is a comfortable local bookstore crammed with thousands and thousands of great books.

    Map of Battle of QarQar, The Stars in their Courses
    Map of Battle of QarQar, The Stars in their Courses