Peter Farrugia explores the provocative poetry of Jasmine Donahaye, her love of language, and her troubled relationship with Israel.
Lecturer and poet Jasmine Donahaye is no stranger to change. Born in England and a frequent visitor to Israel, she spent 12 years in California before settling in Wales. Donahaye is a critic, poet and editor whose work with its particular focus on Jewish identity, has been featured in the UK and the US.
We’re living in a world that’s so full of choices, the pressure can be too much sometimes
“There’s an odd familiarity about Malta,” says Donahaye. Her first visit to the island has already left a lasting impression. “It reminds me of Jaffa in Israel with its post-colonial heritage. I’ve fallen in love with the place, especially the strange mixture I’ve seen in Valletta. There’s Middle Eastern, North African influences and Baroque aesthetics all combined.”
Donahaye’s visit to Malta included two writing workshops, a poetry reading at St James Cavalier, and a taught seminar at the University of Malta. The round-table discussion (treating varieties of reading) was especially fruitful – “it all felt so familiar, the relationship between language and literature in Maltese and English and issues about finding readership, they were all so similar to the kind of thing we face in Wales.”
The issue of readers, and critics, is particularly important. When asked about critics’ reactions to her work, Donahaye says she often finds herself surprised.
“I don’t write for shock value. I talk about themes of the body, and some subjects I touch on are uncomfortable for people. I wrote quite a bit about post-natal depression and motherhood in rather difficult terms, moving away from a sentimentalised portrayal of motherhood.”
Donahaye’s more recent collection tackles topics related to Israel and Palestine, juxtaposed with images of the body.
“My next book,” says Donahaye, “will be creative non-fiction, a travelogue memoir about my mother and the place in Northern Israel where she’s from. It will tackle that sense of loss, uncertainty, home-sickness for a place that can’t be home.” Growing up the daughter of a Jewish immigrant inEngland, the importance of authentic language has always presented a particular challenge to Donahaye. She learnt Hebrew as an adult and says, “I remember the first time I spoke to my mother in Hebrew. It was an extraordinary, naked moment – a strange intimacy, being able to speak to my mother in her mother tongue.”
Although Donahaye grew up with a strong sense of Israeli identity, there wasn’t any explicitly religious tradition. Part of the struggle she faced as a young adult was educating herself about what it meant to be a Jew rather than an Israeli, while she lived in America.
Donahaye’s relationship with Judaism has since settled and she now draws cultural enrichment from Jewish festivals marked in a non-religious way, providing a yearly rhythm and sense of stability. It’s all part of a process in her life, reclaiming elements of a heritage she’s explored through her writing.
Donahaye’s poetry tackles these themes in some intimate ways. “There’s a strong identification I used to have with the whole Marxist, Zionist story on a kibbutz that my mother told me. But I’ve found it’s full of holes and doesn’t bear up under examination.” That’s what led Donahaye to investigate “the other story of that place”, depopulated Arab villages and ghostly memories.
Talking about the balance between Israel and Palestine, Donahaye considers the Zionist stories she inherited from her mother. “The Israeli assault in 2006 shifted things for me. I realised that my whole sense of Israel was different, I had to notch up my denial – and the ability to deny what was very obvious became a crisis. Do I have to reject Israel entirely because I have discovered that Zionism is a lie, or can I have a new relationship with this place I love so much, through the medium of my family?”
“There’s a particular form of left-wing response to Israel, where the dividing line between hostility to Israel and Jews is very grey,” says Donahaye. “There are people who use ‘Zionist’, ‘Jewish’, ‘Israeli’ interchangeably. So there are forms of criticism of Israel in which it is possible to express hostility to Jews without being held to account for it, and this should be exposed. We need to make distinctions.”
However at the other end of the spectrum, Donahaye identifies stalwart “defenders of Israel”, where any criticism of Israel is perceived as an attempt to delegitimise Israel entirely. No distinction is made between Israel in its 1948 boundaries and the current state, and the use of the word ‘Palestine’ has strongly partisan overtones.
“There can be so much evasiveness, and such a lack of clarity in criticism of Israel. It’s a panicked reaction – a fortress mentality. We’re living in a world that’s so full of choices, the pressure can be too much sometimes.”
And modern life, with its complex moral decisions and daily ethical struggles, are all part of what Donahaye sees as a human response to a changing world.
“I’m not someone looking for packaged answers and simple solutions. I would rather have complexity than simplicity.”
At the end of the day, perhaps that’s why Donahaye’s relationship with Israel is so fascinating in her poems. It’s a sense of homesickness that pervades the work, a longing for integration that is never quite satisfied. In striving for resolution, we are all bound in the common paths of her journey.
“What I love about language is the particularity of experience that it can carry. Experiences that are specific to a place and culture, that ground us in our humanity.”
Donahaye’s poetry speaks to this powerful sense of place, and the tantalising promise of ultimate homecoming, always on the horizon – a poignant source of strength and heartache.