JOSHUA MEIERFICTION BY DAVID VARNO“Reb Kringle,” is about a Hasidic guy who can’t aff ord to pay for his synagogue,
so he has to work as a Macy’s Santa Claus. I used to have long hair, and my sister’s
religious friends used to say, “I could make such a great wig out of that hair.” I was
like, that’s a good joke—a woman who desperately needs a man’s hair.Why was it important for Larry to mourn his father his way and reject
the family’s pressure? When a sister believes it’s a brother’s job to say Kaddish,
it’s not symbolic. You need to say this prayer eight times a day for 11 months, and
if you miss once, your father burns in hell. I wanted to fi nd a bridge between such
extraordinary opposing realities within a family. It had been 10 years since my
father passed away when I started the book. It’s been really moving to be on the
road and hear from people who’ve accidentally read it while
mourning. People are refl ecting on how they mourn. Your
relationship continues. I really feel that I get closer to my
father as the years go on.In a dream, Shuli’s father inspires him to take on a
crazy task. It reads like satire, but with real emotions.
How did you balance that? We’re all on a mission. It really
doesn’t matt er what it is... Did you watch Free Solo? I was
like, is it even ethically tenable to fi lm this guy? Th e fact that he’s not dead is actual-
ly surprising. I’m also interested in us having empathy for the framing of a mission.
We all cheer this guy on. I’m almost 50 and I still need everyone’s approval. Maybe
that’s the writing life. My wife is always like, “Are you on the phone with your
mother again?” It doesn’t make any sense to be a writer. It’s not supposed to work.
And even aft er it does, you feel like it doesn’t. So you have a mission. What are you
supposed to do except be on it?THREE NOVELS: A READING
Saturday, Nov. 23, 4:30 p.m.
Building 1, Auditorium14 MIAMI BOOK FAIR
I
n Kaddish.com, Shuli (née Larry) tries to set things right
with his dead father, 20 years aft er paying a stranger to say
Kaddish through the internet. Here, Englander shares the
fascinations that drove his novel of obsession.Th e book opens in 1999, when technology and
private life began to blur. What thoughts about the
internet did you bring to it? I grew up really religious.
I remember being tossed out of class for asking a question.
It was like Philip Roth’s “Th e Conversion of the Jews.” My
rebellion was solely theological, which is just heartbreak-
ing. Th ey were asking us to believe in a god that could know
what everybody in the world was doing, what they’d done
before, and what they’re going to do next. Like a predictive
omniscience. It was such a giant ask. And so looking back,I was like, we’ve built it! My Instagram is full-on creepy. It
knows I’m hungry and it off ers me food. I think I found out
my wife was pregnant from, like, a side ad.Why are we susceptible to strong religious beliefs?
We’re in a moment of extreme black-and-whiteness, and
I’m obsessed with the gray space. So I thought, this radi-
cally secular Larry still has his old self in him. What would
it take to fl ip? “He used to be religious, now he’s secular,”
is so part of my bio. But then I was thinking, man, I’m so
hardwired for switching. People tease me that I’m very bad
at being secular. I feel like my wife’s afraid she’s going to
come through the door and I’ll be koshering the kitchen, or
I’ll turn Hasidic while she’s out picking up our kid. I’m also
interested in giving mass to jokes. One of my fi rst stories,Bestselling author Nathan Englander
opens up about religion, the creepiness of
Instagram, and why it doesn’t make any
sense to be a writer“ We’re in a moment of extreme black-and-whiteness, and I’m obsessed with the gray space.”