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Israeli Writer Yoram Kaniuk, 83, On Pain And Peace

Author and journalist Yoram Kaniuk died June 8 at age 83. He joined Fresh Air's Terry Gross in August 1988 to talk about fighting in the Israeli underground and his belief that, for Israelis and Palestinians, "the only way is to live somehow together."


Other segments from the episode on June 13, 2013

Fresh Air with Terry Gross, June 13, 2013: Interview with Carl Hiaasen; Review of Slaid Cleaves' album "Still Fighting the War"; Obituary for Yoram Kaniuk.


June 13, 2013

Guests: Carl Hiaasen - Yoram Kaniuk

DAVE DAVIES, HOST: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Dave Davies, in for Terry Gross, who's off today. Our first guest, Carl Hiaasen, is a native of Florida and a longtime columnist for the Miami Herald and humor writer who's become a go-to guest for TV journalists when something big happens in the Sunshine State. He's some combination of cultural ambassador, social critic and voice of doom, railing against greedy developers, corrupt politicians and hordes of outsiders who come to plunder the state's natural riches.

Hiaasen has written a series of mystery novels set in Florida, and also some children's books. His novel "Striptease" was made into a film starring Demi Moore, and his 1986 book "Tourist Season" was described as the first book about sex, murder and corruption on the professional bass fishing circuit. Carl Hiaasen's latest novel is set in Key West. It's a typically funny and offbeat murder mystery involving some great Florida characters in outlandish situations. It's called "Bad Monkey."

DAVIES: Carl Hiaasen, welcome back to FRESH AIR. I thought we would begin with having you read us a bit from "Bad Monkey." This is a - this is the opening of Chapter 4, a description of the main character, Andrew Yancy. Do you want to just set this up for us?

CARL HIAASEN: Yeah, Yancy was a detective with the Monroe County Sheriff's Office, which is the Florida Keys, and he, due to some misbehavior, he got busted down to what's called the roach patrol, which is basically he's now inspecting the kitchens of various restaurants for vermin. And so it's somewhat not a lateral career move, and he's coping with it the best he can, and that's just how we start.

(Reading) Yancy received his first bribe offer at a tin-roofed seafood joint on Stock Island called Stoney's Crab Palace, where he had documented 17 serious health violations, including mouse droppings, rat droppings, chicken droppings, a tick nursery, open vats of decomposing shrimp, lobsters dating back to the first Bush presidency and, on a tray of baked oysters, a soggy condom.

The owner's name was Brennan. He was slicing plantains when Yancy delivered the feared verdict: I've got to shut you down. A hundred bucks says you won't. Jesus, is that blood on your knife? OK, 200 bucks, said Brennan. Why aren't you wearing gloves, Yancy asked. Brennan continued slicing. Nilsson never gave me no trouble. He ate here all the time. And he died of hepatitis.

He ate for free. That was our deal. Six years, never once did he step foot in my kitchen. Nilsson was a good man. Nilsson was a lazy (beep) whistle, Yancy said. I'm writing you up.


DAVIES: And that is our guest Carl Hiaasen reading from his new novel, "Bad Monkey." You know, you've written so much about Florida, in some respects you're kind of a cultural representative of the state, almost, I suppose. It's a big place, with a lot of different regions. And, you know, Key West is different from Miami. Do you want to talk just a little bit - talk a little bit about Key West and it's, what, cultural vibe?

HIAASEN: Well, I mean, Key West, I've always had a fond spot in my heart for Key West. It's very different from Miami. It's very different from the Panhandle, way different from Central Florida. It's been a pirate outpost since the 1800s. It was an area that, at the turn of the century - I mean the 19th century turning to the 20th century - it was the wealthiest city per capita in the United States because of the treasure salvaging business.

It existed on sort of the plunder of ships that went aground on the reefs in Key West. And so it's always attracted, if you go back to, you know, Hemingway, you go back, you know, I mean, it's attracted characters and outlaws and brigands from the early days. And it still does, to some extent. Certainly it was huge in the drug smuggling trade in the '70s and '80s, and it's always sort of had laws of its own.

And it's just a very, very colorful and diverse place to write about.

DAVIES: Right, and for folks that don't know the geography, I mean, it is among the Florida Keys, this little string of islands that extend out from the bottom of Florida, it's the very last one.

HIAASEN: Yeah, and it has the famous southernmost point in the United States, a little strip of beach with some sort of marker there that you can go get your picture taken. And it's - you know, and now of course they have cruise ships coming in, and that plays a bit of a part in "Bad Monkey.

DAVIES: Right, and the murder plot begins with the very first paragraph of the book, which, with your permission, I'll just read it.


DAVIES: (Reading) On the hottest day of July, trolling in dead calm waters near Key West, a tourist named James Mayberry reeled up a human arm. His wife flew to the bow of the boat and tossed her breakfast burritos.

In that lovely passage, we get a Carl Hiaasen kind of classic, I suppose, a grisly image of a crime and also a good laugh. Where did the severed arm come from?

HIAASEN: Well, there's even a line in the novel that refers to - for years South Florida was sort of the severed body parts capital of North America. I mean, this was back, you know, in the drug wars and in the days before that, the mob wars. I mean, we were one of the early vacation spots for the - all of the five crime families from New York. So we have plenty of experience with severed body parts, and they turn up all the time.

And they go into the morgue, and they're catalogued, and in this case it was just, you know, a day of fishing that - and initially the thought is that this was a boating accident, and somebody had drowned, and the shark had taken the rest of the body - which is normally what, you know, what you would guess in this situation. It doesn't turn out that way, but that's initially what everybody thinks, that somebody sunk their boat, and, you know, a shark moved in and took advantage of it.

But of course that isn't the way it is in this story.

DAVIES: Right, and one of the things that you describe is that there's a lot of, you know, charter fishing out there, and this happens on a charter fishing boat. And I wonder if this is true, that some of these companies have a way of scamming some gullible sports fisherman into thinking he's caught a sailfish. Does this really happen?

HIAASEN: Well, this happened once, and the Herald - the Miami Herald wrote about it, and in fact we sent a fake guy out on the boat to pretend he was fishing, and we had another boat watching it happen. And this was years ago, but it's an absolutely true story. They - it was called the sailfish - the dead sailfish scam. And what it was is they would load up the boat with sort of an unlikely - I mean usually very, very gullible tourists.

And a mate would provide a distraction, say he'd see something on the other side of the boat: Hey, look over there, there's a school of dolphin, or there's whatever. And while he was doing that, another mate would reach into the icebox and pull out a sailfish that had been caught long ago, hook him on the line, let him loose in the back, you know, just kind of release it into the back of the boat and then shout: Fish on, fish on.

And these - somebody would run back and reel in this limp, dead remains of a sailfish, which of course never jumps the way the sailfish are supposed to. But they were able to recycle this a fair number of times if you had a dumb enough customer. And what - the reason they did it was because they got a commission on the taxidermy. They would send the dimensions in to a taxidermy shop, and at the end of the day the guy was so thrilled to have caught a sailfish, he'd write a check, and the boat would pocket part of the check.

So that was the scam, and it went on for a while until we wrote about it and took some pictures for the Herald. But it was one of the more brazen and ingenious scams I think I've ever heard about. I mean, it's a great deal of trouble to go to for a $7,500 fish deposit. But at the time, it was just classic South Florida. I mean, it was perfect.

And it also said a lot about the quality of tourists we had at the time.


DAVIES: Come and show me a good time. I don't care whether it's real or not.

HIAASEN: No, they don't care, just reel in a dead fish.

DAVIES: There's a part of the story that takes place in the Bahamas.


DAVIES: And there's a woman known as the Dragon Queen. Do you want to describe her and tell us where she came from?

HIAASEN: Well, I'll describe her as far as I can. I spent a lot of time over in the Bahamas, and I like it quite a bit over there. I do a lot of fishing over there. But I heard this tale repeated on several visits about a women who was sort of a black widow figure who had had - at least three of her boyfriends had died under mysterious circumstances after breaking up with her. A fourth had fled to Cuba.

And she was a practitioner of voodoo, and the whole island was terrified of her. And I made some efforts to sort of see her house or at least where she lived. I didn't really want to make her acquaintance or take her out for dinner or anything, but I just thought it would - but I couldn't find anyone who would take me, even, into the neighborhood.

They said they would drop me off and let me walk, and I, being the chicken at heart that I am, I didn't do it. But I did, I did sort of - I was inspired by the story of this person who is still very much alive. So I just sort of shamelessly stole the stories that I'd heard and weaved it into this character who plays a part, along with the bad monkey, of course.

Now, the monkey I didn't - I didn't have any particular inspiration for the monkey, but I did know that the Johnny Depp pirate movies were all filmed near this area that I was writing about. And they had a number of monkeys that they used. You know, they have the main monkey. They have a stand-in monkey. They have a stunt monkey. You know, I knew all that. So I just kind of took that idea and ran with it.

But I - and my vision of the monkey was of a show business monkey that just crashed and burned and went bad, sort of the, you know, sort of a Lindsay Lohan of monkeys.


HIAASEN: And that he got fired from the set of the "Pirates of the Caribbean" movie and found his way to this island.

DAVIES: Well, right. And you might as well just tell us a little bit more about this particular monkey, who goes by the name of Mr. Driggs, right?

HIAASEN: Driggs. Driggs is his name, and, you know, he's sort of got a sad story, but he makes his own problems, as most monkeys do. But here's what - you know, in every movie it seems you go to now, and TV sitcoms and everywhere you look, there's sort of a gratuitous monkey - you know, "The Hangover" series.

And I wanted a monkey with a back-story. I wanted a monkey who was a complete character, who had a literary role in the book. So I just sort of imagined a history for this monkey who was, you know, who was managed, had managers in L.A. and got into the set in the Exuma Islands to do this movie, and then he does a couple of very bad things on the set of the movie and he gets himself fired, and he ends up on this island.

DAVIES: Right. And the monkey wears diapers, we should mention.

HIAASEN: Well, yeah. And if you've ever owned a monkey, you know that's pretty important. They're not big on hygiene.



HIAASEN: I had a monkey briefly myself. I can state that hygiene is not a top priority for the monkey kingdom.

DAVIES: Well, did you enjoy the monkey? How did it work out?

HIAASEN: It worked out badly, Dave.


HIAASEN: It worked out very badly. I was about - literally, this is a true story. I was about - I got him, maybe 11 or 12 years old, and it was - and I looked in the back of one of these outdoor magazines, and it said pet monkey. $16.95, 16 dollars and 95 cents. I didn't tell my mother. I'd worked around the house. I got the money together, me and my little sister, and I sent off for this monkey without really telling her I was doing it.

So one day, the UPS truck pulls up, or some delivery truck, and this crate comes off, and there's this incredibly pissed-off monkey. And I took one look at him, I knew - and I knew. And she looked - my mom looked at me and said, oh, I can't wait for your father to see this. And so I was afraid - no one really would go anywhere near the crate, that was the monkey's state of mind when he got there.

My little brother, who was about four years old, said to me, hey, can I pet the monkey? And being a bigger brother, I said, absolutely. Go ahead. Pet the monkey. And it just bit the hell out of my - I mean, it just gnawed, chawed on him for a long time. And so the monkey lasted about 48 hours, and then I don't know where it went.

DAVIES: Sad story, another sad story in South Florida.

HIAASEN: It was a sad story, but in those days - the good news is you can't order them by mail anymore, so...


DAVIES: OK, OK. The name of the book is "Bad Monkey." It's written by our guest, Carl Hiaasen. We'll talk more after a short break. This is FRESH AIR.


DAVIES: This is FRESH AIR, and if you're just joining us, we're speaking with Carl Hiaasen. He is a columnist for the Miami Herald and writer. His latest novel is called "Bad Monkey."

You grew up in the Fort Lauderdale area. Is that right?

HIAASEN: Yes, Dave. I was - I grew up in a suburb of Lauderdale out west called Plantation.

DAVIES: Right. What was your childhood like, in particular, you know, your relationship to the outdoor world of South Florida?

HIAASEN: Well, I mean, I was lucky enough to grow up before there was - were any, at least in our neighborhood, any strip malls or any development at all. And so every day, I'd get home from school and get on my bike, and I'd just ride really a mile or two out and be right on the edge of the Everglades. And it was the best childhood imaginable.

You could, you know, fish and camp and do whatever you - you just were in the middle of nowhere in no time at all, and that's what I - that's what I remember. I mean, there were no skate parks. I mean, there was nothing. But it was great. It was just an incredible childhood and probably one that exists in other parts of the country, and maybe even still in other parts of Florida, but certainly not there anymore. It's all concrete now.

DAVIES: So, you know, your journalistic career covers a period in which Florida has been - I don't want to use the term invaded, but, you know, it is a state that is, you know, certainly at times of year, so full of tourists and retirees. Have you sort of - have you reconciled yourself to outsiders and their role in the state?

HIAASEN: Well, I mean you use the word invaded, I think is too mild. I use the word trampled, stampeded is what I usually use. Yeah. I mean, the population since I was born in 1953, the population has more than quintupled in the state. And that - and try to imagine any place absorbing that kind of population change and the transformation that you would watch if you lived here. I mean, it's traumatic.

And have I reconciled? Sure, I have no illusions about - I mean, I've been writing for 40 years trying to scare people out of this place, and I haven't done a very good job of it.


HIAASEN: I get letters from people all the time saying I love your books. Please don't hate me, but I'm moving to Florida, anyway.

DAVIES: You know, the other thing that I've always thought about Florida is that it must be so frustrating that when it's beautiful outside, the place can be overrun with people that you wish weren't there.


DAVIES: I mean, when I went to Del Ray Beach to visit my in-laws years ago, you couldn't get into the parking lot at the grocery store because there were all of these people.

HIAASEN: Oh, my gosh.

DAVIES: And then in the summer, when the population shrinks, it's, well, dreadfully hot, I would think. It's kind of a dilemma, isn't it?

HIAASEN: It is. It is hot, but, I mean, you know, you grow - I grew up in that heat. I don't mind the heat at all. But you're right, there is this dichotomy, and you do - it's beautiful. When you travel a little bit, like I do, and you're up north in the cold and the rain and the sleet, you understand why people can't wait to get on a plane to come to Florida. I mean, I get it. Everybody understands it.

But it's true. I know Del Ray, I know the parking lot experience. I know the grocery store - I had a friend of mine who used to manage one of those big grocery stores, Publix. And he would come - he had the greatest stories about fistfights and brawls over the pickles. And the slip-and-falls were classic.

They had to - this was back in the day, and they had to put up video cameras because they had old people that would come in on a regular basis and fall down on purpose and sue the store. And they knew who they were. So they started videotaping them as soon as they came in, because they knew they were just looking for a place to pretend to fall, do a flop, you know, do a LeBron right there, you know, right in the front entrance of the store.

And it was just classic Florida. Who else does this? You know, where you - you know, let's go to the grocery store and stage a lawsuit. Oh, great. Now, how about that? And then we can pick up dinner while we're there.


DAVIES: One more character from the book I'd like to hear you describe: Evan Shook.

HIAASEN: Oh, yeah.

DAVIES: Our protagonist, Andrew Yancy, lives, what, near the water, and he had this nice view of the sunset until this character Evan Shook comes in. Tell us about him.

HIAASEN: We've all had this. Maybe not, but many of us in Florida have had this experience. Andrew Yancy is, on his policeman's salary, now his roach inspector's salary, has got a modest little place on a beautiful island called Big Pine Key. It's actually a fairly big island in that chain of the Keys on the way to Key West.

And he - all he lives for is his sunset every day. You just sit on the deck, and you watch the sun go down over the Gulf of Mexico, and tranquility ensues. And this guy buys this lot next to him and decides to build a spec house. He has no intention of living there himself, Evan Shook doesn't, but his idea is to build a gigantic house and sell it for a lot of money and finance his future separation from his wife.

And so the house starts going up, and of course it's much larger, taller than the code, the building code in the Keys allows. This is no impediment to anyone resourceful enough in the Keys to face that problem, because there's lots of buildings that are bigger when they're built than they were on paper. And so Yancy just fumes, and it just, it keeps - the house keeps getting bigger. His sunset keeps getting smaller, and he embarks on sort of a subtle commando campaign to discourage Evan Shook from fulfilling his dream.

DAVIES: Yeah, there's some very funny stuff there. But again, there's a theme here, which is folks in Florida make money as they choose to, and, you know, regulation is, eh, kind of spotty.

HIAASEN: Yeah, well, in the Keys it's always been a little - it's been a little loose. But the point is that everybody there is there because they love the natural beauty of the place. And it may be just a little sliver of beauty. It may just be this view or that view, but then someone comes along who has no natural love for the Keys or for, you know, anything except making dough, and he just throws up this monstrosity of a structure.

You know, and while most of us would just fantasize about sabotage, Yancy puts it into motion.

DAVIES: Right. Some very - in some very clever ways. I gather you must spend some time on the water.

HIAASEN: Yes. Every spare minute I can, I'm on the water. I mean, it's a very tranquil sort of thing, and it takes you back to a time when it was - that was the principal, you know, way to get around, was by boat or canoe or dugout or whatever it was, before there was I-95 and I-75 and the Turnpike. I mean, people - the Seminole Indians traveled by water, and the - Ponce de Leon and everybody else who'd ever tackled Florida.

And the problem of conquering Florida was a problem of how do we - you know, how do you get there and hold it? And it's just, it's still a very peaceful thing. I mean, as I said, I go down to the Keys a lot, and I can get in my boat - I have a small skiff, but I can get back in the backcountry in places where you may not see another boat for a whole day, or if you do, it's just at a distance.

And you're just out there, and there's dolphins. There's sawfish. There's turtles everywhere. And you're thinking: this must have been what it looked like when they first got here. And that's a pretty cool thing, and that's not true everywhere. But it also gives you something to fight for. It's the reason you don't give up despite all the, you know, the madness and the insanity and the corruption, which is just, you know, multiplying with each new generation of arrivals.

DAVIES: Carl Hiaasen will be back in the second half of the show. His new novel is called "Bad Monkey." I'm Dave Davies, and this is FRESH AIR.


DAVIES: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Dave Davies, in for Terry Gross, who is off today. We're speaking with Carl Hiaasen, who's spent his life writing about and defending his native Florida from developers and outsiders who he sees as desecrating the state's natural treasures. Hiaasen's written several children's books and mystery novels set in Florida. His latest is "Bad Monkey," set in Key West. Besides writing fiction, Hiaasen has written a column for the Miami Herald for nearly 30 years.

You've done investigative reporting, and you've written a lot of columns and, you know, newspaper columnists can be real agents of change. I mean, you know, they stir outrage, they have impact. Do you sense a difference now when you write a piece about something than, you know, 20 years ago because the media have changed?

HIAASEN: Certain things have changed. I do sense, I mean the one thing that a column does is it gives readers a sense that they're not the only ones who feel a certain way. Oh, good, not only he agrees with me, but he's putting it in writing, and it strengthens the position of those whose voices are not always heard or not always listened to, you know, as they should be. I don't know, I mean I don't think anyone sets out to change the world, and I think if you have that delusion going into journalism you're going to end up disappointed. I mean all you can do is act out - you write what you feel and stick to your conscience, stick to your guns and sometimes it's not always popular.

I mean but the readers do respond, I will say that. I, you know, I've been writing about the NRA for I don't know how long. They somehow, kind of, bumbling in a way, they put me on their mailing list. So I would get these great screeds that they sent out to their prospective members and real members that Wayne LaPierre would write and now for 20 years I've been writing about this drooler and making fun of him. And every time I'm, you know, it's a slow day and I don't know what column I'm going to write about, I - there's something from the NRA about, you know, all their guns are going to be taken away and we all have to all band together and go out and fill your ammo clip, and it's just great. I mean it's great. It just falls into your lap. And it's true for a lot of columns; I mean there's so much going on that some days it really is like shooting fish in a barrel.

DAVIES: You know, most journalists are being pressured to become multimedia folks, do all the social media.

HIAASEN: Mm-hmm.

DAVIES: How about you?

HIAASEN: No, I'm not. I'm hopeless in that area. I think Knopf, my book publisher, has a Facebook page for me that I cannot even get on the thing. I don't even know where to start and I don't know what - I don't know, Twitter, I don't tweet, Twitter, do anything like that. I have a webpage, you know, and I have a very skillful young guy who runs that for me - thank God. I mean I can really truly barely answer my mail, so...


HIAASEN: I just - you know what else it is, Dave, and I know writers who get into this in a big way, but it can be a huge distraction. And if writers are honest on this show or anywhere else, they're going to tell you that we are always looking for distractions. We're always looking for reasons not to write that day. Oh, the lawn, oh, there's this section of the lawn that needs to be weeded, I think I'll go out and do that. But if I'm sitting there interacting with people, you know, day and night on Facebook or a blog or a webpage, I would never get any writing done, it would just consume - it's consuming, so it's better that I don't know how to do it.

DAVIES: You recently wrote a book called "Downhill Lie"...


DAVIES: ...which is sort of a meditation on golf and family.

HIAASEN: Meditation, yeah, that's a good word.


DAVIES: Well, it's about the game and it's about your father.


DAVIES: Now I haven't read this. I've read about the book. And this appeals to me because I'm a weekend golfer...


DAVIES: ...and am a little embarrassed about it. I mean I used to play real athletic sports and now this is what I do. And, but I'm kind of embarrassed about it because it's such a pansy sport...


DAVIES: ...and it's sort of associated with the rich people in the country clubs - even though I play public courses. But can you explain what's appealing about the game to somebody who just doesn't get it?

HIAASEN: There's nothing appealing, it's just pure torture. And I think - but I grew up, my dad, that was his game, and it was my time that I knew that I could have a couple hours with him if I learned to play golf and would go out to the country club with him, you know, and play. And I was not very good at it then. After he passed away I gave it up for 32 years, I took a 32-year break from golf, and then a friend of mine talked me into playing again. And I found myself thinking a lot about dad when I played. And also, it's, as you know, it's one of the most difficult things in the world to do, is to hit a golf ball straight for any distance at all, and to score at golf. I mean it's an incredibly hard game. But if you have that sort of inner competitiveness where you know you can do better and, you know, all it takes is one good shot in a round to convince you that you're the next Tiger Woods, then you keep playing.

It's maddening, but there's - at the same time, you're outdoors and you're walking. And where I play here there's bald eagles on the course. There's all kinds of terrific wildlife. There was a humongous gator on one of the holes that I was - waiting to make a move on a foursome that was in front of me one time. I was just - I would've paid money to see it. You know, I mean these are things there is an element of nature and being out and connecting with nature. I like that. I like the outdoors aspect of it. It's just a very, very difficult, an impossibly difficult sport.

DAVIES: Well, Carl Hiaasen, it's been fun to have you again. Thanks so much.

HIAASEN: Thanks, Dave. Thanks for having me.

DAVIES: Carl Hiaasen still writes his column for the Miami Herald. His latest novel is "Bad Monkey."

DAVE DAVIES, HOST: Singer-songwriter Slaid Cleaves has said that as he wrote songs for his new album, a theme of perseverance through hard times revealed itself. One of his earlier albums was called "Everything You Love Will Be Taken Away."

Rock critic Ken Tucker says the new album called "Still Fighting the War" is no downer, and Cleaves manages to find both complex sentiments and witty phrases in his new songs.


SLAID CLEAVES: (Singing) Hard times coming home now, can't get your feet on the ground. Got some issues, and no one wants you around. Barely sleeping and you can't get through to the VA on the phone. No one's hiring, and no one wants to give you a loan. And everyone else is carrying on just like they've always done before. You've been home for a couple of years now buddy, but you're still fighting the war.

KEN TUCKER: Raised in South Berwick, Maine, and residing in Austin, Texas, Slaid Cleaves is no one's idea of a music-industry insider. He writes and sings songs primarily about working-class people and romantics both hopeful and hopeless. That said, it's also not difficult to hear another element of the 40-something Cleaves' past: He was an English and philosophy major at Tufts, and his lyrics are underpinned by both a fine sense of meter and moral perspicacity. You can hear the former - the clever rhymes and forward narrative momentum - in a jaunty song such as "Texas Love Song."


CLEAVES: (Singing) For you, I'd give up all my time. Searching for the perfect rhyme, and this is one that certainly perplexes. For you, I would spend all my days thinking up all the crazy ways. I love you even more than I love Texas. You got Bellaire class and Dallas style, Austin soul and a Luckenbach smile. For you I'd trade my truck in for a Lexus. You smell as sweet as the piney woods. I'd marry you if I thought I could. I love you even more than I love Texas.

(Singing) You're the barb on my wire...

TUCKER: The other side of Cleaves' music is his interest in delineating what it's like to live a hardscrabble existence without too much hope of rising above one's station in life. This tends to lead Cleaves back to his Maine childhood, where the economy and the climate are frequently difficult, and which can summon up vivid images for him. One of the best of these is "Welding Burns," in which the narrator recalls the look of his father's hands and the trapped feeling the older man felt in the work he was bound to do.


CLEAVES: (Singing) My father was a welder down at the Navy yard. Up on the North Atlantic where the winters come down hard. A union job, some overtime. Nobody would complain. He went to work with a humble pride through the snow and rain.

(Singing) Some things you're born to. Some things you gotta learn. My father built his world on bone, muscle and blood, welding burns.

TUCKER: Yeah, my father was a welder, and that song certainly rings true to me. Something I can also identify with is Cleaves' admiration for Don Walser, a legendary cult figure in Texas country music - a genial, portly singer who was known for his bold yodeling. Walser didn't make his modest recording breakthrough until he was in his 50s. Cleaves' song "God's Own Yodeler" doesn't merely describe Walser; the melody also embodies the spirit of Walser's music.


CLEAVES: (Singing) Up at Henry's Bar & Grill on the north side of town, I saw a man reach up to heaven and pull a song on down. To a smoke filled room of misfits, young and old and brave and small and with the laughing eyes of the Buddha, he shared it with us all.

(Singing) And every soul in that roadhouse felt the power of his song. Through life's joys and sorrows, he brought us together as one. They called him God's own yodeler, the Pavarotti of the plains. There's no bigger voice in Texas, Don Walser was his name.

TUCKER: As you've noticed by now, Slaid Cleaves possesses a beautifully dusty, yearning voice that rarely strains for poignancy or effusive sentiment. He has the distinctive gift of being able to describe lost loves in songs here such as "Gone" and "Without Her" without self-pity. And on this one called, "I Bet She Does," he pulls off a trick I'm not sure I've heard before: making clear his bitterness about a woman who rejected him - and who now regrets breaking his heart - without turning it into a surly, I-told-you-so song.


CLEAVES: (Singing) They say she's trying to get a hold of me. That she's not the woman she once was. She's telling all her friends now she misses me. I'll bet she does. I turned off my phone a week ago. She sent a friend over today. I said, it's over, please don't waste my time. But she said it anyway.

(Singing) She misses you. You can see it in her eyes and besides, she told me so. Is there anything you want to whisper to her now that she wants again what once was? She says she misses you. I bet she does.

TUCKER: Cleaves has expressed his admiration for songwriters such as Woody Guthrie and Bruce Springsteen, and he tours a lot, but as he sings in a song about auto workers called "Rust Belt Fields," no one remembers your name just for working hard. You might, however, remember the name Slaid Cleaves for music as terse and clear and heartfelt as it is throughout "Still Fighting the War."

DAVIES: Ken Tucker reviewed the new album from Slaid Cleaves called "Still Fighting the War."

Coming up, we remember Israeli novelist Yoram Kaniuk, who condemned religious extremism in his country. This is FRESH AIR.


DAVIES: Yoram Kaniuk, a prominent Israeli writer who spoke out for peace with Palestinians and against religious extremism in Israel, died Saturday in Tel Aviv. He was 83. Kaniuk was born in Palestine in 1930, and was wounded in Israel's war for independence. Among his 30 books is "Adam Resurrected," set in a mental institution for Holocaust survivors, which was made into a film, starring Jeff Goldblum and Willem Dafoe.

In recent years, Kaniuk became a cultural leader of secular Jews - winning a court decision allowing him to be legally classified as a Jew of no religion.

Terry spoke to Yoram Kaniuk in 1988, after he and other Jewish and Palestinian intellectuals had signed their own peace treaty. His latest novel was called "Confessions of A Good Arab." It's about the son of a Jewish mother and Arab father who is disowned by both communities. Terry began by asking Kaniuk if writing the book was an exercise in trying to see Arabs and Jews from the perspective of one who is at once both and neither.

YORAM KANIUK: Most of my characters I've written about were a little split, so I felt a need to get into that split personality or split nationality - from the force of the pains that inflict our society, the Israeli pain, our pain and since both sides are right and both sides are so strong about their rightness, I felt that I understand that as a person, as a human being.

Part of the argument between Jews and Arabs in Israel is all the time who suffered more. Just like in a Jewish family, you know.

TERRY GROSS, HOST: Do you think that's a pretty fruitless way, a pointless way, of looking at conflict, the who suffered more syndrome?

KANIUK: I think it's part of our conflict anyway, because it's a Jewish thing to be a victim because the Jews were victims and the Palestinians had inherited that quality or whatever. And it's very strong because the Jews like to still feel victims in Israel but they are not. They were victims until they came there. But the Palestinians are the victims of the situation. I don't measure pain versus pain or how much the Palestinians have it compared to the Holocaust survivors. That's not the point.

The point of it right now, in the reality of Israel, the Jews are the sovereign people. I mean Israel is a sovereign - the Jewish sovereignty. And the Arabs are living under that.

GROSS: The main character in your book makes a few observations about Israeli soldiers, and he describes the kind of person who is an outstanding soldier, protesting every injustice, but always doing what he was told in the end, searching his soul while he shot from the hip. Someone who defends the motherland and suffers pangs of conscience, loving his enemies but killing them with the most sophisticated means available. Is that really an observation of yours about a certain type of person in the Israeli army?

KANIUK: No. It's an observation of a very large part of our, I would say, the more intelligentsia, and it includes me. I was like that when I was 18. It's a kind of a Jewish mutation(ph). We became Hebrews. We became sort of Russian Jews. And so many of us have strong pains. I mean it's like trying to be Marlon Brando and John Wayne at the same time. I mean fighting the Indians and moralize about it.


KANIUK: I mean, but you had 300 years to have in between. We didn't. So there is some ironic things about this observation because it's a part of me that criticized the part of me that is probably the best part of me. Because we are fighting not for fun. I mean - and neither do the Palestinians. But we also - when we - when the Israeli soldiers went into Lebanon and it was not a very right war, according to me, of course, and they shut their eyes when the Christians were massacring in Sabra and Shatila, they also - the Israelis were also the ones who wrote the best and the most moving poems about it. A Palestinian writer once accused the Palestinians and said to them, look, these Jews, I mean first of all they kill you. Then they moralize about it. Then they write the best poems about it.

In other words, why don't you at least write these poems? So I think that this is very much part of our collective psyche.

GROSS: You've written about the split between the Israelis before World War II, the Jews who settled Israel before World War II and their ideals, and how that was changed after the Holocaust and after many Holocaust survivors came to Israel. Now, you were born in Israel in 1930, before the war. What brought your parents to Israel?

KANIUK: Well, my mother was born in Russia but she came with her parents in the beginning of the century. They call them the second wave of immigration. It was very Zionistic and very idealistic. This generation was in fact the founders of modern Israel. And my father was born in Ukraine (unintelligible) he went to Berlin and studied in Heidelberg.

And I don't know, in 1926 I never understood why he decided to come to Israel. It was always mysterious. And he was a founder of the Tel Aviv museum and he started chamber music in Israel, which became very big. But I think that they represent, both of them in a way, the immigration we had before, before even Hitler came to power, which was not very much but people who came for idealistic reasons.

The feeling was that something beautiful and great and fantastic is going to happen and the Jews will all understand that the condition in Europe is going to be terrible and they're going to come. I mean when I was seven years old, in '37, we used to write letters to children in Germany saying, little Franz(ph), you know, you're going to die soon. Please come to Israel. Signed Yorum. And we really believed in it. And of course if they had listened, they would have been alive today. Yeah.

GROSS: You fought in the war of independence.

KANIUK: Yes. I fought in '48 and I was wounded in the battle of the Old City. Yeah.

GROSS: Did you volunteer to fight? And how did you...

KANIUK: No. I volunteered before...

GROSS: did you feel about fighting?

KANIUK: I volunteered - when I was 17, in 1947, I joined the (unintelligible) the underground.

GROSS: Mm-hmm.

KANIUK: And the fighting started around the beginning of December. And from there on I was fighting. First as parties and kind of fighting, and then more and more in - not yet army but army-like brigades and so on.

GROSS: How did having to fight in a war change your sense of idealism?

KANIUK: It makes you aware maybe of life in a different way. I saw my friends - not all, but many, many of my friends - being killed. And I saw a lot of atrocities. And I developed even then, when I was 18 in the war, a feeling that on one hand you can be an angry man and your stomach is full of anger, but you have to use your sanity in order to find a solution.

And even in '48 they were laughing at me because I was talking about walking together with the Arabs and finding some solution. Even then I felt that the only way is to live somehow together. So I think that I'm saying that is because even then I could somehow conquer my deep Jewish anger that lingers in my stomach with a sanity that I thought needed for practical living.

DAVIES: Israeli novelist Yoram Kaniuk speaking with Terry Gross in 1988. We'll hear more after a break. This is FRESH AIR.


KANIUK: This is FRESH AIR and we're listening to Terry's 1988 interview with Israeli novelist Yoram Kaniuk, who died Saturday at the age of 83.

GROSS: In the late '40s, in 1949, you were sent by the Israeli government to Europe to try to encourage Holocaust survivors to come to Israel to settle.

KANIUK: No, no, no. That's a very wrong expression. No.


KANIUK: Because what happened in country, I was not sent - I went there after the war. I was sent to work on a ship that - there were many ships like that looked all around Europe for survivors. No one wanted these Jews. People forget that in the late '40s, even after the war, there was no country in the world that really wanted these refugees. There were pogroms in Poland when they came back to their homes.

So they were looking for some way out. And America then started to take some immigrants, after - they didn't take - you didn't take Jewish immigrants during the war. And some of them managed to go to America and Australia, but most of them had to come to Palestine, to Israel. But not because we had to convince them. They knew that the only place in the world that would take them is Israel.

I mean these people were the greatest survivors in the history and they moved from place to place - from Poland to Russia, from Russia to Hungary, from Hungary to Yugoslavia. And in most places no one wanted them. They were unwanted even after the Holocaust, even after Auschwitz. People forget it today. So finally 250 or 300 thousand of these people came to Israel.

And they changed the whole thing in Israel because before you had a homogeneous Jewish society, Hebrew society. It was an Arab society, of course. But then came these greatest survivors of history and they changed the whole country. They came with a different kind of pain and different kind of memory and different kind of mistrust. And our society was torn apart and became slowly what Israel is today.

And all my books are about that split, this time when the Jew became an Israeli, the Israeli became a Jew. I mean we didn't feel before that we were Jews. We felt that we are something else, Hebrews. It was not simple because we were a very different breed of people. We grew up in Palestine in the heat, near the sea. We never lived in ghettos.

And we were educating ourselves to work and to fight and to do all these kinds of things they didn't do in the diaspora in those days in Eastern Europe.

GROSS: So you were personally changed after World War II when Holocaust survivors immigrated to Israel.

KANIUK: I was born. I was reborn. I mean the whole thing was for me - when I walked on this ship, this was the greatest event of my life. This is when I was shaped. But all of a sudden I was with people that really went through hell, something that I never knew existed. And they kept telling me this and their face was showing it and you can feel it in them.

And so slowly I became - I mean I even invented the whole biography of being them(ph), because I thought, god, if my father didn't come in '26 and I would be born in (unintelligible), then I'll disappear like my cousins who disappeared and no one knows where they are. It's this fear of many of us Israelis that we were there by accident because our parents decided to come there or someone else's parents decided to go to America and could.

I mean most of the Jews that wanted to go to America of course couldn't get in. But for me, Israel existed. The important thing is because we need one place where Jews can always come. We knew the time when no country in the world - no Argentina, no Brazil, no Australia, not Canada, not America - no one wanted the Jews. And two million Jews died in vain because they could've been saved if one of these countries wanted them.

GROSS: You obviously feel that it's important that you understand and describe to others the pain and suffering of the Jewish people, but you also think it's important that the Jewish people understand what the Palestinians have been through and that the Palestinians understand what the Jews have been through so you can reach some kind of understanding.

KANIUK: I think so. I think that we have to (unintelligible) the kind of fears of each other, of myth that we build about each other, and look at the reality and say, look, we've been fighting each other. We've been hurting each other. And I think that part of it is not understanding that the Palestinians have a case. They became a nation only lately. We became a nation only lately. The Zionism and the Palestinian movements are both new to their histories.

There has never been a national movement among the Jews and there have never been a Palestinian movement among the Palestinian. But there is today and so we have to recognize one, recognize the other, and understand the other. And it's two rights(ph) which create a tragedy and it's two rights that maybe create something beautiful. It's only a way of giving up some of the kind of bitterness. And yes...

GROSS: Well, I thank you very much for talking with us. Thank you.

KANIUK: Thank you very much.

DAVIES: Yoram Kaniuk spoke to Terry in 1988. He died Saturday in Tel Aviv. He was 83. You can download podcasts of our show at Follow us on Twitter at nprfreshair and on Tumblr at

Transcripts are created on a rush deadline, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of Fresh Air interviews and reviews are the audio recordings of each segment.

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