For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to write. I have written about extraordinary women, and one extraordinary man — Henry II. My research into King Henry, to whom I was originally attracted because he admired Jews (non-Jewish historical figures are always, to my mind, more interesting when they like Jews), took me into archives and libraries.
Writing is a solitary pursuit and can be lonely. So, alongside my writing, I also programmed events, first at the London Jewish Cultural Centre, and then for the Ham & High Literary Festival. And then, when I finished my Henry book, (King of the North Wind: The Life of Henry II in Five Acts, published by William Collins)) the opportunity arose to direct Jewish Book Week; it was a gift.
Jewish Book Week, I was surprised to discover, is London’s oldest literary festival. It was established by a group of bibliophiles in 1947 to “encourage the reading, help the readers, and to promote the cause, of Jewish books”.
I had first attended in the mid-1980s when I was 15; I went with my Jewish historian mother to Woburn House. Here, in a rather dark room, fifty people came together to hear the best that Jewish writing had to offer. The enthusiasm of this small community, who met to talk about books and ideas, was intoxicating; I have never forgotten it.
The festival grew, and, today, we host 200 speakers, many from overseas, at 80 events in our two venues, Kings Place and JW3. As festival director, devising the programme can feel like compiling a huge jigsaw puzzle: balancing different types of events, featuring first-time authors as well as the “stars”, figuring out who goes well with whom on a panel.
Jewish Book Week has its own special buzz. On a Sunday afternoon in early March, you arrive at Kings Place; it’s freezing outside but, once over the threshold, your chilled bones thaw.
You walk past the bookshop, piled high and full of eager readers. Everywhere you look, old friends greet one another, new friendships are being made, some chatting and others in heated discussion. The bagel bar has a queue reaching around the corner.
You venture downstairs, to the heart of Jewish Book Week. You may have booked to hear Philippe Sands speaking on Nazi escape routes out of Europe; Simon Schama on Jewish arguments; maths guru Kjartan Poskett demonstrating how to build a tower of pennies as big as the sun; Elif Shafak and Alice Shalvi debating women’s rights; foodies Tanya Gold and Jay Rayner talking about everyone’s favourite subject; or Anthony Horowitz on his latest thriller. Once the speaker finishes, question time from our well-informed audiences are always lively (novelist Tracy Chevalier says she loves the festival “because, whether on stage or in the audience, it makes me feel smart and challenged at the same time”). And when the event is over, you rejoin the throng: over coffee and cake, you debate with friends what you heard, what you liked, and of course, what you utterly disagreed with.
People come to Jewish Book Week to be entertained, informed and to socialise. But there’s more to it. Every British Jew, no matter how long settled in this country, has the DNA of a refugee. And so, at a time when the political tectonic plates are shifting, people come to debates on Brexit, the future of democracy, denialism, antisemitism, and Israel, for more than intellectual curiosity alone; they come because it matters. The playwright David Hare believes this is a distinctive feature of the festival. “Jewish Book Week is London’s non-party parliament,” he says, “distinguished from the other one by people listening as well as talking.”
Jewish Book Week, March 2-10, 2009: www.kingsplace.co.uk/jbw 020 7520 1490
