Dear Shalom Auslander,

First, I want to say that I looked at photos of you online and you are not fat. Readers may be wondering why I’m beginning my review with that comment, but your second memoir “Feh” (Riverhead Books) opens with you in the hospital because of the weight loss drugs you took that almost cost you your life. My first reaction was, “Boy, someone did a job on him,” and the rest of your memoir proved me correct. The stories we are told have an enormous effect on our lives and the ones we pass on the next generation can do the same.

I also need to apologize to you for thinking that you started writing for TV because you were no longer interested in literature. I am a big fan of your books (novels, short stories and your previous memoir) and was disappointed that you were focusing on screenplays. I had not realized you’d lost your advertising job and needed additional income, one that writing for print was not going to produce. (Side note: If I ever teach a course in theology, I plan to use your short story “Waiting for Joe” as part of the class. The two hamsters, who believe their owner is God, are a perfect example of how theological differences can develop.)

But back to your new memoir: It seems your Orthodox background convinced you that human beings and human activity are all feh, which you define as “an expression of disapproval or disgust.” Yes, rather than learning that the world is filled with beautiful, wonderful possibilities, you learned from your rabbi’s version of biblical stories that God views humans with disgust, something which made you dislike – perhaps even hate – yourself. You note that you were so young when you heard these stories that you can’t remember your age; it has always seemed a part of you. What it did was fill your life with darkness and pessimism. 

What is amazing is that your memoir is extremely funny. I realize this humor comes from pain. But I love your versions of biblical stories and your take on God speaking to angels in heaven. Yes, I know that some people will find them sacrilegious, but your humor teaches a different way of looking at the world, and it is a legitimate one. You note in one chapter that “William James believed that every philosophy is nothing more than a reflection of the philosopher’s own temperament” and I have to agree, although my definition of philosophy is that it’s the thing that keeps us from running screaming into the night in despair. 

I wish I could reprint your versions in complete detail, but I don’t have space. But I do want to note your image of God: “Sometimes, in my darkest moments – when my heart is broken or my dreams collapse or I can’t find a job to provide for my family – I suspect I am God’s favorite comedy.” You write, “‘I could use a good laugh,’ God says as He drops onto His couch and aims his remote at the TV. ‘Let’s watch a little Auslander.’ Gabriel enters, holding a bowl of popcorn, and sits down beside Him. ‘Is this the unemployment episode?’ Gabriel asks. ‘I love this one.’” I’ve never worded it quite that way when things haven’t gone well in my life: My version features God looking down and deciding that things have been quiet too long so it’s time to stir things up a bit by adding yet another health problem. (Hmm, maybe it’s not such a surprise that I love your work.)

Learning about your Orthodox Jewish education and the effects of your family of origin, I realized just how dark and difficult your life has been. I don’t remember feeling quite this way when reading your first memoir, “Foreskin’s Lament,” but you used humor to tell your story there too. Plus, perhaps your life was not quite as hard then as it was when you were writing “Feh.” Financial problems – not being able to provide your family with the life you want them to have – is not only disappointing, but can make someone feel like a failure.

I’m sorry you had to give up your house in upstate New York and move to California. I’m sorry that you didn’t receive the financial awards you sought. I’m sorry that your friend died. I’m sorry that you feel you infected your sons with your pessimism. Your wife does seem wonderful and I believe she truly loves you, even though it’s very clear that you don’t love yourself. Her declarations of love at the end of your memoir brought tears to my eyes.

I hope you can find if not peace, then a way to live your life with less pain. What I can do is recommend your book to my readers. I know some won’t like your religious point of view or your language, but they’ve probably already stopped reading this review. Everyone else should buy a copy of your book so you can write more books. I can’t wait to read your next one. 

Sincerely,
Rabbi Rachel Esserman