Helene Wecker Quotes

Sometimes men want what they don't have because they don't have it. Even if everyone offered to share, they would only want the share that wasn't theirs.

All of us are lonely at some point or another, no matter how any people surround us. And then, we meet someone who seems to understand. She smiles, and for a moment the loneliness disappears.

A man might desire something for a moment, while a larger part of him rejects it. You'll need to learn to judge people by their actions, not their thoughts.

Faith is believing in something even without proof, because you know it in your heart to be true.

The human body is like a piece of fabric. No matter how well one cares for it, it frays as it ages.

And perhaps the humans did create their God. But does that make him less real? Take this arch. They created it. Now it exists.

If the act of love is so dangerous, why do people risk so much for it?

They’d need no reason!” shouted Arbeely. “Why can’t you understand? Men need no reason to cause mischief, only an excuse!

He'd lived so long in anticipation of his own death that to contemplate his future was like standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into a vertiginous rush of open sky.

Most idealists lived in their own impossible worlds, sealed away from reality; Maryam, it seemed, effortlessly reached out from hers and drew others inside.

On a cloudless night, inky dark, with only a rind of a moon above, the Golem and the Jinni went walking together along the Prince Street rooftops.

I look at what we call faith, and all I see is superstition and subjugation . . . They create false divisions, and enslave us to fantasies, when we need to focus on the here and now.

Chava," he said, "it's a cruel irony that you have the most difficulty precisely when those around you are on their best behavior. I suspect you would find it much easier if we all cast politeness aside, and took whatever we pleased." She considered. "It would be easier, at first. But then you might hurt each other to gain your wishes, and grow afraid of each other, and still go on wanting.

What use is logic, when it takes you so far in the wrong direction?

I trust you above all others", he told her. "Above myself". She shook her head, but then leaned into him, as though taking shelter. He drew her close, the crown of her head beneath his cheek. Beyond the hansom's window, New York was an endless rhythm of walls and windows and doors, darkened alleys, flashes of sunlight. he thought, if he could pick a moment to be taken into the flask, a moment to live in endlessly, perhaps he would choose this one: the passing city, and the woman at his side.

And I still don't understand the purpose of a wedding. What could possibly induce two free beings to partner only with each other for the rest of their existence?

All of us are lonely at some point or another, no matter how many people surround us. And then, we meet someone who seems to understand. She smiles, and for a moment the loneliness disappears. Add to that the effects of physical desire-and the excitement you spoke of-and all good sense and judgement fall away. The Rabbi paused, then said, But love founded only on loneliness and desire will die out before long. A shared history, tradition and values will link two people more thoroughly than any physical act.

What did people do when the ones they needed died? She lay curled on her bed, feeling as though part of her chest had been roughly scooped out, left raw and exposed.

Now as then, he sensed the threads of his life scattering and rearranging before this new and overwhelming thing that had landed among them.

It's his duty. A good healer can't pick and choose. If he can help, then he must.

Enormous. Cold. It stretched on forever, in every direction. If I hadn't know otherwise, I would've thought that the whole world was ocean.

So perhaps this God of the humans is just a jinni like myself, stuck in the heavens, forced to answer wishes. Or maybe he freed himself long ago, only no one told them.

The tide of her exhilaration drained from her, leaving her exhausted and heartsick. She would have bound the entire city, made them all into her golems, to satisfy her own need to be useful.

Her father, indulgent in his concern, had opened his library to her, and at last she could read to her heart's content. In all, these past few weeks had been some of the most peaceable of her life. She had the sense of existing inside a fragile pause, a moment of grace.

After that, the Jinni was rarely without tobacco and rolling papers. He appreciated the taste of the tobacco, and the warmth of the smoke in his body. But to the puzzlement of all who stopped him on the street to ask, he never carried matches.

These were the world’s first people. Everything they did, every action and decision, was entirely new, without precedent. They had no larger society to turn to, no examples of how to behave. They only had the Almighty to tell them right from wrong. And like all children, if His commands ran counter to their desires, sometimes they chose not to listen. And then they learned that there are consequences to one’s actions.

The more he rode the trolleys and trains of New York, the more they seemed to form a giant, malevolent bellows, inhaling defenseless passengers from platforms and street corners and blowing them out again elsewhere.

All religions (..) they create false divisions, and enslave us to fantasies, when we need to focus on the here and now.

Let me see if I understand correctly now," the Jinni said at one point. "You and your relations believe that a ghost living in the sky can grant you wishes." "That is a gross oversimplification, and you know it." "And yet, according to men, we jinn are nothing but children's tales?" "This is different. This is about religion and faith." "And where exactly is the difference?

Ibn Malik snarled in anger, but Schaalman was faster. A hand lashed out and caught Ibn Malik around the throat. You cost me any chance at happiness, Schaalman said. Ibn Malik writhed around his fist: I gave you boundless knowledge instead. A poor second, said Yehudah Schaalman, and squeezed.

They chanted the psalms and praises, and as always the rhythm fastened itself to his heartbeat. It seemed unfair that the prayers could affect him this way, against his will; that he could scoff at the sentiments, yet find himself mouthing along. He imagined himself at ninety, toothless and doddering, unable to remember anything except for the morning prayers. They were his deepest memories, his first music.

. . . some will be happy with whatever comes their way, and others won't be satisfied with anything. And there's always a few who are only looking to take advantage. So when my friends talk about how best to fix the world, it all sounds so naive. As though there could be one solution that would solve every man's problem, turn us into innocents in the Garden of Eden. When in truth we will always have our lesser natures.

As always, Arbeely’s heart squeezed at the sight of her, a not unpleasant ache, as if to say, Ah well. Like many of the men of the neighborhood, he was a little bit in love with Maryam Faddoul. What luck to be that Sayeed, her admirers thought, to live always in the light of her bright eyes and understanding smile! But none would dream of approaching her, even those who regarded the conventions of propriety as obstacles to be overcome. It was clear that Maryam’s smile shone from her belief in the better nature of those around her. To demand more of that smile for themselves would only serve to extinguish it.

If I didn’t sleep,” Arbeely mused, “I think I’d miss the dreams.

Someone whispered that she was a widow, and instantly her quiet manner was transmuted to an air of sad, romantic mystery.

Men need no reason to cause mischief, only an excuse!

I imagined myself on my deathbed, and I could hear my biggest regret: I never even tried to be a writer.

The jinni sighed. 'I'm less grateful to him than I should be. He's a good and generous man, but I'm not accustomed to relying on someone else. It makes me feel weak.’ 'How is relying on others a weakness?' 'How can it be anything else? If for some reason Arbeely died tomorrow, I'd be forced to find another occupation. The event would be outside my control, yet I'd be at its mercy. Is that not weakness?' 'I suppose. But then, going by your standard, everyone is weak. So why call it a weakness, instead of just the way things are?

Now that the book is out in the world, I’m amazed all over again at what my friend did for me in prompting me to ditch realism for a more magical approach. In some ways, the Golem and the Jinni are the ultimate immigrants. They aren’t just new to New York or America; they’re new to people. Like those around them, they wrestle with issues of religion versus doubt and duty versus self-determination—but as inescapable aspects of their own otherworldly natures. For seven years I’ve lived with their questions, arguments, and adventures, and it’s been one of the greatest gifts of my life.

Why take the time to convince me? If I disagree you could simply kill me, take Fadwa, and do whatever you like.” Ibn Malik raised an eyebrow. “True. But I prefer reason and agreement. Allies are much more useful than bodies.

He'd never asked her whether she would prefer to have a master again, and now the thought of such a conversation made his throat tighten. In a sense it would be like asking someone whether they'd like to escape their present difficulties by killing themselves

But now he saw that truths were as innumerable as falsehoods—that for sheer teeming chaos, the world of man could only be matched by the world of the divine. And as he traveled backward the Almighty shrank smaller and smaller, until He was merely another desert deity, and His commandments seemed no more than the fearful demands of a jealous lover.

You must learn how to act according to what people say and do, not what they wish or fear.

A man might desire something for a moment, while a larger part of him rejects it. You’ll need to learn to judge people by their actions, not their thoughts.

She couldn’t understand why some girls seemed to relish drawing their attention. One might as well call out to a wolf, and offer it one’s throat.

Without thinking, he’d given the Golem the worst life possible: that of idleness.

This is preposterous,” he said. “If I say yes, I’m buying something I didn’t ask for. And if I refuse, I’m like a man who complains that someone stole the eggs from his henhouse and replaced them with rubies.

It occurred to him to say the viddui, the prayer before death. He struggled to remember it. Blessed are You, who has bestowed me with many blessings. May my death atone for all I have done . . . and may I shelter in the shadow of Your wings in the World to Come.

All the while, Sayeed Faddoul would be watching from the small kitchen, a smile in his eyes. Another man might grow jealous of his wife’s attentions, but not him. Sayeed was a quiet man—not awkward, as Arbeely could be, but possessed of a calm and steady nature that complemented his wife’s heartfelt vivacity. He knew that it was his presence that let Maryam be so free; an unmarried woman, or one whose husband was less visible, would be forced to rein in her exuberance, or else risk the sorts of insinuations that might damage her name. But everyone could see that Sayeed was proud of his wife and was more than content to remain the unobtrusive partner, allowing her to shine.

we must grow beyond it! Why reinforce our differences, and keep ancient laws, and never know the joy of breaking bread with our neighbors?

There you are," the man said. A small plate and a fork were in his hands. Irritated, the Jinni said, "Yes, here I am, enjoying a moment of solitude.

If he wasn't careful, he'd fall to chasing his own mind, trapped in the maddening game of don't think about that.

But love founded only on loneliness and desire will die out before long. A shared history, tradition, and values will link two people more thoroughly than any physical act.

like when he had tried to explain how this God of theirs was somehow three gods and one at the same time. It left the Jinni drowning in a sea of exasperation.

nothing more taxing than a novel to read, something frivolous and French.

I am no saint, and he is no monster for me to slay.

She existed in both places at once, and neither seemed more real than the other.

But his anger seemed out of reach now, somewhere beyond his sadness.

But sometimes at the bakery where I work, I'll give someone a loaf of bread-and it answers a need. For a moment, that person is my master. And in that moment, I'm content. If I were as independent as you wish you were, I'd feel I had no purpose at all.

Even in the driest desert a rainstorm could strike with little warning, and a jinni caught in the rain was in mortal danger. For no matter what shape a jinni might assume, be it human or animal or its own true shape of no shape at all, it was still a living spark of fire, and could easily be extinguished.

of jinn captured by human wizards. A jinni would offer his captor three wishes, in exchange for his release. The wizard would spend his wishes on more wishes, and force the jinni into perpetual slavery. Until finally the wizard would wish for something poorly worded, which would allow his captive to trap him. And then the jinni would be freed.” She was still studying the arch; but she was listening. “So perhaps this God of the humans is just a jinni like myself, stuck in the heavens, forced to answer wishes. Or maybe he freed himself long ago, only no one told them.

Imagine [...] that you are asleep, dreaming your human dreams. And then, when you wake, you find yourself in an unknown place. Your hands are bound, and your feet hobbled, and you're leashed to a stake in the ground. You have no idea who has done this to you, or how. You don't know if you'll ever escape. You are an unimaginable distance from home. And then, a strange creature finds you and says, 'An Arbeely! But I thought Arbeelys were only tales told to children! Quick, you must hide, and pretend to be one of us, for the people here would be frightened of you if they knew.

Oh, nothing. Only you really did help them, you know.” “Who?” “All the men who’ve come through this House. You helped them find their cots, and gave them good advice, and cleaned up after them. You were a friendly face in a strange city. It must have been torture for you.” “You have no idea.” Michael smiled. “Good. I’m glad it hurt. Though I pity you, I really do. All that power doesn’t seem to have gotten you very far.” Joseph’s eyes had turned to slits. Michael swallowed and said, “In fact, if you think about it, all those men, the ones you hated helping—they’ve all moved on from here, to bigger and better things. You’re the one who’s been left behind.” “Spare me your pity,” Joseph said—and then lunged forward and grabbed Michael by the head. Michael

He reached his own first memory and kept going—back to the self before him, and then the one before that. He traveled each life from death to birth, watching himself worship gods and idols of every stripe. In each life his terror of judgment was all-consuming, and his belief absolute. For how could it be otherwise when each faith gave him such powers, allowing him to conjure illusions, scry futures, hurl curses? His own singed and stolen book, the source of all his wonders and horrors: never once had he doubted that it was the knowledge of the Almighty, the One before whom all others were mere graven images. Did its efficacy not prove that the Almighty was the supreme truth, the only truth? But now he saw that truths were as innumerable as falsehoods—that for sheer teeming chaos, the world of man could only be matched by the world of the divine. And as he traveled backward the Almighty shrank smaller and smaller, until He was merely another desert deity, and His commandments seemed no more than the fearful demands of a jealous lover. And yet Schaalman had spent his entire life in terror of Him, dreading His judgment in the World to Come—a world that he would never see!

Chava, I’ve no doubt you’re the best baker in the city. But you can do so much more! Why spend all day making bread when you can lift more than a man’s weight, and walk along the bottom of a river?” “And how would I use these abilities without calling attention to myself? Would you have me at a construction pit, hauling blocks of stone? Or should I license myself as a tugboat?

And if there was little honor in thieving from a thief, he imagined he would feel little shame in it, either.

I felt stuck in a Sisyphean loop, writing the same press release over and over. Even more, I was tired of promoting other people's creations instead of creating something myself. I imagined myself on my deathbed, and I could hear my biggest regret: I never even tried to be a writer.

But already his mind was racing ahead to his next encounter with humans. There was, he knew, a small encampment of Bedouin nearby. He’d spied their sheep-flocks and their fires from a distance, their men traveling on horseback, but until now he’d avoided them. He wondered, how did their lives differ from those of the caravan-men? Perhaps, instead of finding another caravan to follow, he would turn his wanderings toward their encampment. But should he remain content with observing them from a distance, when a much more intimate option lay available to him?

her eyes. The Jinni watched the girl sprint excitedly back the way she’d come, driving her goats before her. He smiled, and wondered what a girl such as she might dream about.

his work was more of an education than a classroom could ever offer.

if God was so literal in his resurrections, humanity would be brought back in a state of decay so advanced that the marks of dissection would seem minor in comparison.

Sayeed was a quiet man—not awkward, as Arbeely could be, but possessed of a calm and steady nature that complemented his wife’s heartfelt vivacity.

Her future unrolled before her like a dreadful tapestry, its pattern set and immutable. There would be a wedding, and then a house somewhere nearby on the avenue, with a nursery for the children that were, of course, mandatory. She’d spend interminable summers in the country, traveling from estate to estate, playing endless games of tennis, chafing under the strain of being constantly a guest in someone else’s home. Then would come middle age, and the expected taking-up of a cause, Temperance or Poverty or Education—it did not matter so long as it was virtuous and uncontroversial, and furnished opportunities for luncheons with dowdy speakers in severe dress. Then old age and decrepitude, the slow transformation into a heap of black taffeta in a bath chair, to be displayed briefly at parties and then put out of sight; to spend her last days sitting bewildered by the fire, wondering where her life had gone.

The air was a malodorous broth, and all labored to inhale it. The

I'm not accustomed to relying on someone else. It makes me feel weak." "How is relying on others a weakness?" "How can it be anything else? If for some reason Arbeely died tomorrow, I'd be forced to find another occupation. The event would be outside my control, yet I'd be at its mercy. Is that not weakness?" "I suppose. But then, going by your standard, everyone is weak. So why call it a weakness, instead of just the way things are?

It was clear that Maryam’s smile shone from her belief in the better nature of those around her. To demand more of that smile for themselves would only serve to extinguish it.

His dreams were a twilight of prayers and diagrams and names of God.

All at once his throat filled with tears.

A man tells you to believe, and you believe?” “It depends on the man. Besides, you believe the stories that you were told.

The human mind is not meant to house a thousand years of memories

Most idealists lived in their own impossible worlds, sealed away from reality; Maryam, it seemed, effortlessly reached out from hers and drew others inside. Her unstudied goodness affected their judgment, even to the point of buying large quantities of ice cream in winter.

All of us are lonely at some point or another, no matter how many people surround us. And then, we meet someone who seems to understand. She smiles, and for a moment the loneliness disappears.

In the whole of Creation, there was only himself, the wall, and the door.

All of us are lonely at some point or another, no matter how many people surround us. And then, we meet someone who seems to understand. She smiles, and for a moment the loneliness disappears. Add to that the effects of physical desire—and the excitement you spoke of—and all good sense and judgment fall away.

A good healer can’t pick and choose. If he can help, then he must.

On a cloudless night, ink dark, with only a rind of a moon above, the Golem and the Jinni went walking together

Let me see if I understand correctly now,” the Jinni said at one point. “You and your relations believe that a ghost living in the sky can grant you wishes.” “That is a gross oversimplification, and you know it.” “And yet, according to men, we jinn are nothing but children’s tales?

I'll help you," the girl said, with the grand generosity of the newly happy.

When he straightened from dressing, he saw that she was watching him. "Will you come again?" she asked. "Do you want me to?" "Yes", she said. "Then I will," he said, turning to leave; and he did not know if either or both of them were lying.

it struck him as the sort of thing that adults liked to say when what they meant was I was terrified, so I ran for it.

I meant no offense,” he said. “You called him your master. I assumed

There was an immense weight on his chest. An eternity of water lay above him, pushing down, breaking his body and grinding his bones. He had never been so cold. He felt the nibbling of a thousand tiny teeth. A sucking blackness stretched in every dimension.

Why not be angry? It’s a pure, honest reaction!

Ibn Malik laughed. “There is never hope, Jalal ibn Karim,” he said. “There’s only what can be done, and what cannot.

like a hack-saw in a bakery case.

They have so many boxes that they must number them to keep track.

You should try to be happy, if you can, Ann’s had said— but the Golem could not see a way toward it.

He’d been wandering the Lower East Side, trying to comprehend the ruin of his life, when he realized where his path was taking him. He had no strength left to change his course. He could not stomach the thought of going home.

The Golem watched her go, wondered what it would be like to have a daughter. She knew that Mrs. Radzin felt a constant stream of worries and anxieties for Selma, and wished occasionally that she could halt time, to keep the girl innocent of the world and its disappointments. Selma, meanwhile, could not wait to grow up, to at last understand the frustrating adults around her, their whispered arguments and sudden silences. And where, thought the Golem, did she herself fit in? Somewhere between mother and daughter, she supposed; no longer innocent, not yet understanding.

Back on Washington Street, he trudged to Arbeely’s shop, feeling as though he were caught inside a single day that stretched like molten glass. There was nothing to anticipate, except Matthew.