From the President

Rabbi Suzan Lipson has been working daily at our shul for weeks. She told me she was bothered by the state of the shul’s library — books shoved onto shelves wherever there is a space, no regard for order. She asked me if I’d mind if she straightened up the shelves, put the books into categories, and made a database so we would know what we have. Would I mind? Was she kidding?

A week or so into the project, Adrianne dropped off a pile of books, noting humorously, “I’ll just leave them here for Suzan. Nobody will steal these books.” What?

Then I remembered… I’d heard that before, maybe 35 or even 40 years ago, a time when Ruth and I worked for a local newspaper group in Westchester County. I could picture Ruth gliding into the office, recently coiffed, her designer suit accessorized with a ruffled blouse and a lapel pin she’d purchased on one of her trips abroad. A lovely, intelligent woman with a pleasant sense of humor and an aura of style, Ruth drifted quietly through life. She played tennis, attended concerts and the theater, maintained urbane friendships, and frequently did lunch at tablecloth restaurants. I once suggested we meet for lunch at Mont Olympus Diner, where the omelets are outstanding, and the French toast, made with think slabs of challah dipped in eggs and cream, was to die for. Ruth’s taste leaned more toward lettuce adorned with to-mah-toes in season and a mere sprinkling of croutons for bulk.

“Yes,” she said politely, perhaps we should lunch together, one day.”

Ruth and I had met as colleagues on our local newspaper group in Westchester County. I was the features editor; she was the book reviewer. As such, she never got into the dirty, day-to-day hustle of putting the paper to bed, newsprint ink on her fingers or, heaven forbid, her clothing. She would write and file her column, then head to Bloomingdales or meet friends for lunch.

I wrote hundreds of features about local people and events, like the new librarian in town, beekeeping for fun and profit, ice skating on Crane’s Pond and, one of my proudest accomplishments, the local rabbi who had brought a bar mitzvah to Poland — the first spiritual rite of passage Poles had witnessed since the Holocaust.

But somehow, no matter how sensitive the situation or how well the stories might have turned out, they lacked that conceit, that sense of high-mindedness that one associates with books and their reviewers.

Typically, Ruth would stop by the newspaper office once a week to pick up her loot — the new releases sent in by publishers eager for a critique, even a mention, by the reviewer. She’d scan every volume, sorting the wheat from the chaff before finally choosing a main selection and several recommendations from among what she felt were the lesser works, nonetheless noteworthy.

But on this occasion, Ruth had been on vacation for several weeks, during which time the books had filled the basket where we stored them for her. By the time she returned, they had spilled out onto the floor and were causing quite a traffic hazard.

“Don’t worry, Ruth,” I said. “I’ll help you get them to your car.” Together we began to gather them up, Ruth filling her big canvas bag and I wrapping my arms around a goodly stack. Once in the parking lot, Ruth struggled to balance her book bag while opening the back door of her Mercedes. With a great heave-ho, she emptied the contents onto the back seat, and I followed suit with my armload. She shut the car door and turned to walk back into the building for more.

And that’s when I said, “Aren’t you going to lock your car?”

And she replied, “Oh, it’s not necessary. Nobody steals books.”

Nobody steals books? Nobody cares enough to covet the rich aroma of fresh ink against new paper, to wrap their fingers lovingly around a smooth volume, to caress the cover in anticipation of the delights to be found inside — words, words that when set down in the proper order have the power to educate, inform, intrigue, persuade, transport, entertain, amuse. Nobody steals books? Why not?

Would you leave your coat, your wristwatch, or even a bag of donuts on the seat of your car and walk away? Of course not. Yet, according to Ruth, apple crumb, raspberry cream, double-chocolate filled crullers — all gone. Faulkner, Hemingway, O’Neill — left on the seat.

I say, if people were busy reading, they wouldn’t be shooting innocents in the streets, plotting terrorism, looting shops, abusing children. We would be erecting monuments to honor great writers, not our war dead.

Clearly, we have too many books and not enough people who want to read them. If books were in shorter supply, people

Rabbi Suzan Lipson takes on the shul library as her project. Andrea Blaga photo

would steal them. Do you know how many thousands of books are published in this country each year? In my opinion, the key to more widespread reading is to create a perceived shortage. People want what they can’t have. We have plenty of books; we need more people to want them.

Take the Harry Potter phenomenon. J.K. Rowling, a struggling single mother in Edinburgh, Scotland, created the orphaned boy with the wizard powers and wrote a wickedly popular series of novels about him and his exploits. The publishers printed and sold untold millions of copies. But then they got greedy. If we create a perceived shortage, they reasoned, think of the demand, the lines stretching beyond the doors to every bookstore in the world. Think of the sales. The profits.

And so it was. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire brought youngsters to their knees. “Please, please, let me be one of the lucky ones to get a copy of the new adventures of Harry Potter.” Was any child denied? Of course not. The first printing was 15 million copies. So there it was, a full summer of reading to get through the 700-page adventure. A happy summer devoid of the pranks and general mischief-making that come with youngsters’ boredom and inactivity. And maybe they would be tempted to pick up another book, filling their spare time engaged in the sport of reading rather than making sport of life. Maybe they would find they liked books so much that, if pushed to make a choice, they’d rather have a book than a donut — better informed and thinner.

That’s my theory anyway — that the world would be a better place if people were so desperate to read, so eager to have a book that they would actually steal one.

Thank you, Rabbi Suzan, for inviting readers to your neatened book shelves, and the thrilling adventures and learning contained thereon. Much appreciated. And anyone thinking of walking off with Adrianne’s literary contributions before they are shelved and catalogued, thank you.

—Sara Bloom