From Israel, writer Etgar Keret talks about the role of fiction in times of war

Transcript

ARI SHAPIRO, HOST:

Sometimes fiction can help us see the world more clearly than the news can. And since the war started, I've been thinking about the fiction writer Etgar Keret. He's a beloved Israeli author of short stories and other writings. His work can be absurd, fantastical and poetic.

Hi. Etgar?

ETGAR KERET: Yeah.

SHAPIRO: Hi. I'm Ari.

KERET: Hi.

SHAPIRO: This morning, I got to visit him at the apartment in a leafy neighborhood of Tel Aviv, where he lives with his wife and a white rabbit named Hanzo.

KERET: He's a protection rabbit.

SHAPIRO: How so?

KERET: He's always alert. And, you know, he's like a Rottweiler, but only...

SHAPIRO: (Laughter).

KERET: No. I'm just kidding.

SHAPIRO: The Rottweiler of rabbits.

When I interviewed him in 2019, Etgar Keret told me fiction helps him make sense of a crazy world. And now the world seems even crazier. So I asked what fiction is doing for him today.

KERET: So I started writing during my compulsory army service, being one of the worst soldiers in the history of the IDF and basically having my best friend die in my arms, you know? So I got into writing, you know, really out of the spirit - was kind of like a last option, you know? And I think ever since then, there is something about writing that it functions like an airbag in a car, you know?

SHAPIRO: An airbag?

KERET: Yeah.

SHAPIRO: It cushions.

KERET: COVID, a terrorist attack, my girlfriend dumped me - ooh. I ran to the computer, and I write something. And it's as if, like, it's both something that protects me from reality and, at the same time, can create the bridge to reality.

SHAPIRO: Yeah.

KERET: And also makes me understand myself, you know?

SHAPIRO: Yeah.

KERET: So I really don't remember any time in my life that was bad that I didn't write in.

SHAPIRO: Yeah.

KERET: But this time, it was as if, like, there was nothing to write because I guess that for writing, you need to have a bit of a solid ground, this kind of feeling. You should know up from down. You should know what your name is, you know? If you don't hold that, you cannot do anything.

SHAPIRO: Etgar Keret told me he's been doing something that might sound strange. He and his wife drive to places where survivors of the massacre gather. Maybe he says it's a reading or they do yoga, but really, it's just a place to be together - kind of like an AA meeting, he said. And sometimes he taps little things out on his iPhone's notes app. It's not the kind of writing he's used to, but it's what he's doing now.

KERET: And the weird thing is that I made these friends through these two weeks, and I wouldn't - it's not friends. It's - we're kind of - I don't know - we're survivors. We're running for cover together. But I've been building this kind of little group of people who like my stories and who seem to be sensitive and lost. And I send them stories every couple of days.

SHAPIRO: Really?

KERET: It's like I'm on vibrate mode, you know? I...

SHAPIRO: Yeah.

KERET: ...I need - so, so...

SHAPIRO: Wait. Will you show me?

KERET: Yeah. I have...

SHAPIRO: Or I assume it's in Hebrew. Will you tell me?

KERET: I have it in English, actually. (Reading) I'm sitting at home on my balcony. From below, I can hear a little boy making the sound of the rocket sirens and his father scolding him. Apartment buildings in Tel Aviv are crowded and close together. And when the next-door neighbors fight, the shouts echo through our living room. I'm sick of this, shouts the neighbor's girl tearfully. I can't do it anymore. But Daddy, her mom starts to explain, and the girl interrupts. I'm sick of Daddy, too. After a pause, she adds, he loves the soldiers more than he loves me.

It's just - like, things that happen - I just try to capture them, you know?

SHAPIRO: Yeah. It's funny. I don't know what I expected when I came to talk to you, but I think I imagined some sort of omniscient fiction writer. And what I hear from you is that you are as lost in a fog, searching for your way as anyone.

KERET: For sure. And, again, you know, and - I tell you one a story, OK?

SHAPIRO: Yeah.

KERET: OK. And then you can leave. If...

SHAPIRO: I would...

KERET: Oh, you - stay.

SHAPIRO: ...Stay here all day.

KERET: Oh, stay. So one morning, I'm getting a WhatsApp from a guy I don't know. He's an officer about to go to Gaza. And he says, I don't know you, but I need your help with something. This is the contact info of my ex-girlfriend. She dumped me. And I just want to ask you that if I die, you will contact her and say to her, I'm sorry for everything and that I went to this war thinking about her. And I kind of say to him, look. I don't know you.

SHAPIRO: Why would he give you that message?

KERET: So I said, I don't know you, you know? I don't know her, you know? I don't know - ask your family or friends. And he said, she's very angry with me, and they - and I'm not sure if she will listen to any of them, but you're her favorite author. So if you call her, she'll listen to you. So of course, immediately I WhatsApp the girl.

SHAPIRO: He hadn't even gone into...

KERET: Yeah. No, no.

SHAPIRO: ...Battle, but you're...

KERET: No. And I say to her, I say to her...

SHAPIRO: ...You're jumping the gun.

KERET: Yeah. No, no. No, I said to her, listen. I'm not going - I have a lot of on my head...

SHAPIRO: (Laughter).

KERET: ...And I'm not going to Google your ex-boyfriend's name every day just to see if he died, you know? I have other things...

SHAPIRO: Sure. You have priorities (laughter).

KERET: ...To deal with. So I'm telling you what he said. Do with it what you want, you know? If you want to say to him something before he dies, go ahead, you know? It's really...

SHAPIRO: Wash your hands of it (laughter).

KERET: And I get a WhatsApp back, you know, like, much more relaxed than my WhatsApp, you know? And she said, would you like to know why I dumped him?

SHAPIRO: And?

KERET: And I said, yes. And then she told me - maybe I shouldn't share that, you know? But immediately, I say, oh, my God, you know, I don't like this guy so much anymore.

SHAPIRO: (Laughter).

KERET: And me and this girl, we're kind of friends now. And I send her stories, like, every couple of days.

SHAPIRO: In this moment, I know that people all over the country are sending clothes and food and basic supplies. What's the good of sending stories?

KERET: You know, first of all, I said to Shira a long time ago...

SHAPIRO: Shira is your wife?

KERET: To my wife, yeah. I wish I was good at other things too, you know? I'm a bad driver. I can't cook. I don't know how to do many things, but I think that - you know, I think in war, you can be confused only in stories. If you try to be confused on Facebook, you know, it's going to tear you to pieces, you know? This is an atmosphere where if somebody wants to say something positive, general and naive, everybody will attack him. If you want to say something that is negative, shallow and extreme, everybody say, OK, this is an argument, you know? If I say now, how about we will blow up the entire region? Then people say, OK, we talk with that. But if I say, you know, I feel sad when I see any human being dying, then they say, oh, my God, you know? Here he goes again, you know?

SHAPIRO: Yeah.

KERET: So I'm saying that there is these things that, at least, art allows you to do that because it's so irrelevant and unimportant. It's really - it's almost like the attic. It's the hiding place for your emotions during war. You know, go and put them there, you know? Go read a story. Go read a poem. Go write a poem. Because if you try to interact with people and bring your complexity, you know, they're going to rip you to pieces.

SHAPIRO: Well, Etgar Keret, I'm so grateful for the chance to meet you and talk to you, especially during this difficult time. Thank you for having us in your home today.

KERET: Thank you.

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