My Russian Grandmother and Her American Vacuum Cleaner: A Family Memoir

From the author of the acclaimed novel A Pigeon and a Boy comes a charming tale of family ties, over-the-top housekeeping, and the sport of storytelling in Nahalal, the village of Meir Shalev’s birth. Here we meet Shalev’s amazing Grandma Tonia, who arrived in Palestine by boat from Russia in 1923 and lived in a constant state of battle with what she viewed as the family’s biggest enemy in their new land: dirt. Grandma Tonia was never seen without a cleaning rag over her shoulder. She received visitors outdoors. She allowed only the most privileged guests to enter her spotless house. Hilarious and touching, Grandma Tonia and her regulations come richly to life in a narrative that circles around the arrival into the family’s dusty agricultural midst of the big, shiny American sweeper sent as a gift by Great-uncle Yeshayahu (he who had shockingly emigrated to the sinful capitalist heaven of Los Angeles!). America, to little Meir and to his forebears, was a land of hedonism and enchanting progress; of tempting luxuries, dangerous music, and degenerate gum-chewing; and of women with painted fingernails. The sweeper, a stealth weapon from Grandpa Aharon’s American brother meant to beguile the hardworking socialist household with a bit of American ease, was symbolic of the conflicts and visions of the family in every respect. The fate of Tonia’s “svieeperrr”--hidden away for decades in a spotless closed-off bathroom after its initial use--is a family mystery that Shalev determines to solve. The result, in this cheerful translation by Evan Fallenberg, is pure delight, as Shalev brings to life the obsessive but loving Tonia, the pioneers who gave his childhood its spirit of wonder, and the grit and humor of people building ever-new lives.

ldquo;Brimming with witty and playful mockery, Shalev’s story is equally compassionate, an elegiac glimpse of the authentic Zionist pioneers. A genuine comic tour de force, it is also a marvelous meditation on the mysterious workings of memory and the intricate tapestry of familial connections.”
—Forward

“Lighthearted yet meaningful . . . As I read this, I felt like I was one of Meir Shalev’s cousins, sitting out behind his grandmother’s house, listening to a great retelling of a story I knew by heart . . . A book for everyone.”
—Jewish Boston

“Probably one of the most enjoyable books ever written about obsessive-compulsive disorder.”
—Haaretz (Israel)

“Evan Fallenberg’s translation is nimble and sensitive . . . At once a mystery story, a fascinating glimpse into what life was like for the Labor Zionists of the early twentieth century, a moving family memoir, and, above all, a vivid, affectionate tribute to Grandma Tonia, who must now take her rightful place as one of history’s most redoubtable matriarchs. Unfailingly charming.”
*—Words Without Borders

“A loving and humorous family story about Israel’s pioneers and their offspring.”
—Die Welt (Germany)

“An unconventional and quite hilarious family scrapbook . . . Shalev’s reflections on quirky uncles, family squabbles, the rich history of his Jewish heritage, and the legacy of the omnipresent American vacuum cleaner touch the heart and tickle the funny bone.”
—Kirkus Reviews*

Auteur

One of Israel's most celebrated novelists, MEIR SHALEV was born in 1948 on Nahalal, Israel's first moshav. His books have been translated into more than twenty-five languages and his honors include the National Jewish Book Award and Israel's Brenner Prize for A Pigeon and a Boy. He died in 2023.

Résumé

From the author of the acclaimed novel A Pigeon and a Boy comes a charming tale of family ties, over-the-top housekeeping, and the sport of storytelling in Nahalal, the village of Meir Shalev’s birth. Here we meet Shalev’s amazing Grandma Tonia, who arrived in Palestine by boat from Russia in 1923 and lived in a constant state of battle with what she viewed as the family’s biggest enemy in their new land: dirt.
 
Grandma Tonia was never seen without a cleaning rag over her shoulder. She received visitors outdoors. She allowed only the most privileged guests to enter her spotless house. Hilarious and touching, Grandma Tonia and her regulations come richly to life in a narrative that circles around the arrival into the family’s dusty agricultural midst of the big, shiny American sweeper sent as a gift by Great-uncle Yeshayahu (he who had shockingly emigrated to the sinful capitalist heaven of Los Angeles!). America, to little Meir and to his forebears, was a land of hedonism and enchanting progress; of tempting luxuries, dangerous music, and degenerate gum-chewing; and of women with painted fingernails. The sweeper, a stealth weapon from Grandpa Aharon’s American brother meant to beguile the hardworking socialist household with a bit of American ease, was symbolic of the conflicts and visions of the family in every respect.
 
The fate of Tonia’s “svieeperrr”—hidden away for decades in a spotless closed-off bathroom after its initial use—is a family mystery that Shalev determines to solve. The result, in this cheerful translation by Evan Fallenberg, is pure delight, as Shalev brings to life the obsessive but loving Tonia, the pioneers who gave his childhood its spirit of wonder, and the grit and humor of people building ever-new lives.

Échantillon de lecture

1
 
This is how it was: Several years ago, on a hot summer day, I rose from a pleasant afternoon nap and made a cup of coffee for myself, and while I stood sipping from the mug I noticed that everyone was looking strangely at me and holding back their laughter. When I bent down to put my sandals on I discovered the reason: my toenails, all ten of them, had been painted with shiny red nail polish.
 
“What is this?” I cried. “Who painted my toenails?”
 
From the other side of the porch door, which stood ajar, came the sound of giggling that I recognized at once from previous incidents.
 
“I know who did this,” I said, raising my voice. “I’ll find you and I’ll catch you and I’ll paint your noses and your ears with the very same shiny red polish you used on my toes, and I’ll manage to do it all before my coffee turns cold!”
 
The giggles became laughter that confirmed my suspicions. While I lay sleeping, my brother’s two little daughters, Roni and Naomi, had stolen in and painted my toenails. Later they would tell me that the younger of the two had done four nails while her older sister had done the other six. They had hoped I would not notice and that I would walk out in public, only to be scorned and ridiculed. But now that their scheme had been unmasked they burst into the room and pleaded: “Don’t take it off, ­don’t, it’s ­really pretty.”
 
I told them that I, too, thought it was ­really pretty, but that there was a problem: I had been invited to “an important event” where I was expected to speak, but I could not appear before the crowd with painted nails, since it was summer and in summer I wear sandals.
 
The girls said that they were familiar with both ­matters—­the important event and my custom of wearing ­sandals—­and that this was precisely the reason they had done what they did.
 
I told them that I would go to any other important event with shiny red toenails but not to this important event. And that was because of the crowd that would gather there, a crowd no sane man would appea…