Prologue: The First Bold Strides of Goethe’s Wanderer on a Very Long Journey
It is now approaching 75 years since Professor L. A. Willoughby ‘s article ‘The Image of the “Wanderer” and the “Hut” in Goethe’s Poetry’ was published in’.Etudes Germaniques. (3, Autumn 1951) The article points to the conspicuous frequency with which the word ‘Wanderer,; often in noticeable proximity to the word ‘Huette’ appears throughout Goethe’s writings, not just in his poems. It advances the proposition that this phenomenon requires an explanation which it finds in C. G. Jung’s theory of the Collective Unconscious according to which the libido is engaged in a constant quest to achieve a state of union with the anima, the former being equated with ‘the wanderer’ and the latter with ‘the hut’ according to the terms of Willoughby’s argument. The recurrences of the wanderer-hut combination follow the course of both Goethe’s progress as a writer and the course of his life in keeping with Goethe’s own principle of ‘Wiederspiegelung,’ according to which life ‘mirrors’ and art ‘mirrors’ life. The quest of the libido to be at one with the anima has relevance to family life and the practical needs of society while in Harold Bloom’s philosophy the ‘marriage’ of the libido and the anima is a purely internal process of the mind which, on being consummated in the thought processes of Wordsworth and William Blake when reaching the pinnacle of poetic achievement, ‘led to the death of poetry.’
As to the article itself, two points stand out. It has found but a faint echo in the domain of literary criticism, which is hardly surprising in view of the persistent denial of a living connection between literature and life that prevails in major schools of Western criticism. Secondly, what explanation can one offer for the fact that Willoughby avoided any mention of Romantic literature, in which the word ‘Wanderer’ also had a central place? In answer I suggest that Willoughby failed to recognize the dialogical element that inheres in the relation between Goethe and fellow writers on the contemporary scene, and only by reference to this dialogue can one explain an occurrence of the word ‘Wanderer’ in Die Leiden des jungen Werthers, (The Sorrows of Young Werther) for this was a translation of the word ‘traveller’ found in James Macpherson’s Ossian, a portion of which Goethe himself translated into German.
Willoughby adopted in rudimentary form a logocentric approach that took account of the frequency and textual location of the word ‘Wanderer’ but he took no account of the diachronic (historical) axis of language as defined by Ferdinand de Saussure in his recorded lectures on the fundamentals of linguistics, for language, particularly poetic language, has depth as well as surface, allowing poets to converse with poets of the past and present simply by virtue of their choice of certain words, among them ‘wanderer’ and derivatives of that word’s verbal root.
What is so special about this word and what has the title of the article along with its mention of ‘strides’ got to do with the present discussion? Among the several lexical definitions of to wander it can be classified as a verb of motion, and verbs of motion, according to Frederick Nims, an educator in the field of poetics, states the following in his monograph Western Wind, An Introduction to Poetry:
"A mountain may be a symbol of salvation, a traveller may be a symbol of a human being in his life. But it the traveller takes as much as one step toward the mountain, it seems that the traveller and the mountain become allegorical figures, because a story has begun."
It follows from this argument that one has freedom only to unlock, but not fully control, powers of the mind which are not subject to conscious mental control. The word 'Wanderer' is rich in allegorical associations with biblical and classical themes and mythological figures, among them the Muse of Inspiration and the Holy Spirit which Milton conflated as ‘the Muse of Horeb’ in Paradise Lost This Holy Muse later appears in mollified form as the liberating ‘breeze’ in the works of Wordsworth and Coleridge. In The Prelude, as M H. Abrams points out in The Correspondent Breeze: A Romantic Metaphor (1), the opening lines have an implicitly dedicatory tenor that corresponds to the appeal to the Muse for support and guidance. A reference to a ‘house of bondage’ and the poet’s wish for a cloud to serve as his guide clearly allude to the wilderness journey in The Book of Exodus. Deprived of the Muse in a literal sense, poets in the age of Goethe and Romanticism feared being let down, at times literally, by their source of inspiration and feared suffering a paralyzing state of atrophy as symbolized by the Mariner’s becalmed ship. The same ‘breeze’ makes Wordsworth’s daffodils dance but, as Frederick Pottle points out in his article "The Eye and the Object in the Poetry of Wordsworth" (2) an alternative name of the daffodil is ‘Yellow Narcissus,’ and we all know what happened to Narcissus in the end. We will soon consider the first entry of the Wanderer into Goethe poetic vocabulary and its evocation of the figure of striding giant.
To quote a line from Don Juan by Lord Byron: ‘The regularity of my design forbids all wandering as the worst of sinning.’ Our story begins when Goethe named Shakespeare as the greatest of wanderers in his so-called ‘Speech on Shakespeare’s Day,’ his declaration of liberty from outdated literary conventions. It conjures up the image of a giant in seven-league boots able to stride from one global location to another with consummate ease. We will shortly examine this striking metaphor more closely but now let us consider this image as something little different from the metaphors that constantly compose language and thought, poetic or otherwise. ‘Making great strides’ is a commonplace phrase after all. We make constant use of metaphors built into words such as progress, digress, and deviate without thinking of taking steps or altering our direction. Here we have not only historical linguistics to consider but the driving forces of the mind which underlie language itself as we enter the sphere of noetics, the science of consciousness. We believe we control language but there are times when language controls us. Perhaps that is why metaphors sometimes take on a life of their own and there is no telling, as in a dream, where they will lead.
The impulse Frederick Nims attributes to verbs of motion cannot by itself guarantee the wanderer unlimited sustenance or provide continued guidance as Goethe was to discover very soon. HIs poem ‘Wanderers Sturmlied’ describes the wanderer’s attempt to levitate on a flight towards the summit of Mount Parnassus while at the same time making his way through a storm-swept forest. He stalls in flight and plunges into a flow of mud and must then wade his way towards a wayfarer’s hut. We find here perhaps the first instance of the wanderer-hut antithesis to which Professor Willoughby refers in his article ‘The Image of the Wanderer” and the “Hut” in Goethe’s Poetry.” In Die Leiden des jungen Werthers (The Sorrows of Young Werther) the distressed hero declares that he is only a ‘wanderer’ and pilgrim through life. Here wandering carries a significance drawn from religious tradition but in this case all the emphasis is laid on the wanderer’s isolation from his earthly surroundings and little on the consolations of a heavenly reward. In his novel Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre (Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship Years) two modes of wandering emerge. The protagonist, a theatre manager and actor himself exemplifies wandering as purposeful progress in the service of a practical mission In stark contrast, members of Wilhelm’s troupe, Mignon, a girl singer and acrobatic artiste, and the Harper, whose bardic appearance belies his erratic and unpredictable behavior, pose the antisocial or at least idiosyncratic side of wandering. This novel was one of the chief factors that initiated the German Romantic movement but with a paradoxical affect. The first Romantic writers accepted ‘Wanderer’ as a key word expressing a new understanding of poetry and of themselves as poets but they could not follow Goethe’s insistence that wandering also entailed obligations to the practical needs of society. They resented the harsh treatment Goethe meted to Mignon and the Harper by allotting them a tragic and untimely death. Joseph von Eichendorff and Novalis reacted by writing anti-Meister novels of their own extolling the merit of being of no practical use as we can judge from reading Aus dem Leben eines Taugenichts (From the Life of a Good-for-Nothing) and Heinrich von Ofterdingen. Willoughby sided with what he deemed to be Goethe’s justified condemnation of ‘romantic’ irresponsibility. When Goethe composed Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre no Romantic movement existed In Die Leiden des jungen Werthers the word ‘romantic’ appears but then it carried the meaning ‘of pertinent to the novel as a literary genre’ and no more. Throughout his works we find survivors in close association with non-survivors with no sign that longevity bore the seal of Goethe’s approval. Our sympathies lie with Egmont, not William of Orange, who cheated the Duke of Alba’s machinations, with Werther, not with Albert, his friendly but conformist rival in love. I believe the renowned scholar Friedrich Gundolf hit the mark when asserting that both Wilhelm Meister and the unfortunate couple under his charge occupied their own proper place in Goethe’s psyche. (3) Indeed, within as well as beyond the scope of Goethe’s poetry and prose allegorical figures such as Cain, the Wandering Jew, the pilgrim bound for Heaven, the Prodigal Son, once detached from their theological and didactic moorings, became symbols that traced motions of the mind and imagination. In the words of Werther: ‘I turned into myself and discovered a new world.’ Contentions within the mind, outwardly expressed by disputes between debating individuals like Werther and Albert, provided Goethe with the stamina poets of old had once attributed to a muse.
I venture to suggest that the present discussion has demonstrated three facts.
First, Willoughby’s exclusive concentration on the wanderer factor in Goethe’s poetry and prose obscures the element of dialogue between poets that alone explains the occurrence of the word ‘wanderer’ in Goethe’s writings. One example has already been given; the case of Goethe’s translation of ‘traveler' that was included in .Die Leiden des jungen Werthers. Willoughby’s Goethe-centricity also leads him to overlook the factor of semantic shift regarding the term ‘’romantic’. The word ‘traveller’ was also the title of a poetic travelogue by Oliver Goldsmith entitled The Traveller that made a deep impression on Goethe’s mind during his formative years. In this Goldsmith records his Grand Tour of European centres of culture. As an Augustan poet who ruefully discerned the decline of an age that began with the Renaissance and was now approaching its end, he lamented the dilapidated condition of many ancient artifacts and monuments. As if to evoke the passing of Horace’s golden age, The Traveller includes the image of a labourer returning to home and family at sunset after his day’s labour in the field. By way of a homage to Goldsmith, Goethe composed a poem in the form of a dramatic dialogue entitled Der Wandrer The wanderer is a cultural tourist who roams in a region of Cuma in southern Italy where the remains of a temple built by Greek colonists is found. At that time tourist visits to such sights was encouraged by Johann Joachim Winckelmann who praised of the noble and stark simplicity of ancient Greek architectural wonders. The wanderer’s visual encounter with the temple excites not sadness but ecstatic delight as the wanderer discerns not only stones but the creative energy that shaped their original form .He encounters there a young woman and her infant child whose humble abode consists of fallen masonry. Far from condemning this use of sacred relics for practical purposes he applauds the reuse of the ancient stones in the service of the living. The heady rapture of the wanderer contrasts with the young woman’s preoccupation with more mundane concerns, instilling an element of humour in accord with the spirit of the Kuenstergedicht (a class of poetry that depicts the life of artists, often in contention with the practical demands of life). Wistfully the wanderer leaves the scene and the young family, a hint, Willoughby suggests, at Goethe’s wavering over the prospect of marriage. Der Wanderer was translated into English by William Taylor of Norwich under the title of The Wanderer. Coleridge took note of this translation and relayed his finding to Wordsworth on whom it made a deep and lasting impression, so much so that it prompted him to include the figure of ‘the Wanderer’ in The Excursion. The word ‘Wanderer’ brought with it the baggage of all that attached to the word in Goethe’s poetry. In ‘I wandered lonely as a Cloud’ the line with the words ‘A poet could not but be gay ’is not entirely innocent for it subtly suggests the experience of a specifically poetic vision. The poem arguably blends influences emanating from Goethe and Milton in the light of of M. H. Abram’s assertion that the ‘breeze’ in Wordsworth’s poetry replaces the Muse of Horeb.
Second, this study dispels any notion that the wanderer poses a mere conceit or fixed prsona and conventional image. Far from it. The word is sometimes the centre of heated and even acrimonious contentions such as those between Goethe and certain Romantic poets. This contentiousness carries over into English literature when Blake referred to the Lakers as cold earth wanderers limited by the unforgiving irreversibility and finality of linear time while he as a time traveler could go into reverse gear. Similarly Byron lampooned the mode of wandering evinced by Wordsworth’s poetry when describing don Juan in his youth as one who like Wordsworth wandered by glassy brooks thinking unutterable thoughts. Nor did Robert Southey escape Byron stinging taunts in the Dedication to Don Juan when portrayed as ‘arch Julian,’ an apostate who betrayed his earlier ideals on accepting the title of Poet Laureate. While Byron preferred the company of ‘pedestrian muses,’ Southey, mounted on a winged steed, suffers the indignity of tumbling to the ground. This is a clear pointer to a passage in Paradise Lost, Book VII‘ that tells of the poet’s fear of likewise falling from the back of a winged steed, then to ‘wander’ on earth ‘erroneous and forlorn.’ We recall that Goethe also entertained such a fear in ‘Wanderers Sturmlied.’ It seems then that the English Romantic poets adopted a ‘more wanderer than thou’ approach to fellow poets, deeming their own title to wanderership, if you allow the term, superior to any rival’s. Even Shakespeare pointed to the danger threatening a wandering poet in Julius Caesar Poet Cinna wandered forth of doors only to confront a mob who mistook him for Cinna the Conspirator and lynched poor Cinna, who was guilty if not of conspiracy then of penning bad verses. The danger of a poet’s sudden and violent death was real as shown all too clearly in the case of Christopher Marlow. Cinna had one consolation at least. He dreamed that he and Caesar would soon dine together and was spared the thought that this reconciliation would take place in the afterlife. where ideals not fulfilled in life before death would find their resting place. The Petrarchan ideal of the twin laurel crown shared by emperor and poet assured poets that they had a secure place in the order of things. One reason for the disconsolate mood of poets in Goethe’s time lay in the knowledge that poets had no assured footing in a world where the protection of aristocratic patronage was a thing of the past. Indeed, the poet and satirist Charles Churchill likened poets subject to the servitude of patronage to ‘harlots; and kept women in his poem ‘Independence.’ As we have seen, Byron regarded the status of the poet laureate as a badge of disgrace. Not that William Wordsworth fared any better when he accepted the same honour for he was castigated for deserting the poetic cause by Robert Browning in ‘The Lost Leader.’ However, the real cause of the modern poet’s distress ran much deeper that the loss of social status.
Not only poets but also the status of poetry itself came under fire in the historical process of meeting the challenges presented by social change, technological and scientific advance and with them the need for new explanations in the realms of philology, language theory and psychology that fired debates about the nature and potentialities of words. This issue comes to the fore in the opening scene of Goethe’s Faust Part One where we find Faust wrestling with the task of translating a portion of the New Testament into German and resolving the question as to the best word to convey the sense of ’logos’ in Saint John’s Gospel. He faces the choice between ‘Wort’ (Word) and ‘Tat’ (deed, act) He decides in favour of the latter‘ as shown bt the words ‘Im Anfang war die Tat’. His preference certainly did not accord with Lutheran theology but it did with the spirit of dynamic change that pervaded the era in which Goethe lived.
The low prestige of 'the Word' carried over into the twentieth century when Leon Trotsky arraigned the school of Russian Formalism for siding with Saint John while he firmly stood by Faust’s advocacy of the deed. (4) Ezra Pound held that images provided the basic stuff of poetry while words could do no more than label flat concepts. Major schools of literary criticism tow much the same line and shun that most obdurately intractable of words Wanderer’ in much the same way that the devil proverbially shuns holy water except in rare cases when a critic forcably rubs up against the word when examining the work of authors such as Milton who make undeniable and insistent use of it. Northrop Frye examines passages containing reference to wandering in Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained and concludes that the journey of the Israelites to the Promised Land is circular in form, ending where it begins within the wider circle of a divinely ordered scheme that begins and ends in .the Garden of Eden. Frye places all literary genres within the framework of the four seasons in which, for instance, tragedy corresponds to spring and satire to winter. He denies, however, that words in literary texts form authoritative statements concerning historical events, biographical facts or indeed any facet of the world outside the pages of a book. He also bends theology to suit his line of argument in a way that certainly would not have met with Milton’s approval , as when he refers to 'the labyrinth of the Mosaic Law' as an infernal region without regard to the Pauline evaluation to the Law as a schoolmaster. In a concept of a world enclosed within an eternal circle there is no place for learning , the strife between good and evil or the accumulation of experience. On the question of experience Milton and Goethe were on the same page, whether we are speaking of the experience of an individual or the collective experience of humanity throughout history. The original title of Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre was “Wilhelm Meisters Theatralische Sendung (Wilhelm Meister’s Theatrical Mission). Apprenticeship took place in the years of training and moving from place to place as a journeyman when an apprentice learned the practical side of his or her prospective profession. The change of title implied a redirection of focus away from the specifically theatrical towards a general and universal statement about the need to serve humanity.
Thirdly, I recall Willoughby’s reference to Wiederspiegelung, the reciprocal reflection of of Goethe’s writings and the course of his life’s experience. We have already noted such an instance. In ‘Wandrers Sturmlied’ where the wanderer simultaneously trudges his way forward in a forest through wind and storm and wafts on an imaginative plane towards the summit of Mount Parnassus. Goethe was assuredly familiar with the experience of making difficult headway through a forest on his excursions between Frankfurt and Darmstadt on this way to and from the home of Ephraim Herder, the man who instilled in Goethe his enthusiasm for Shakespeare and German native culture, a domain that which incorporated such diverse elements as a giant in seven-league boots, Gothic architecture exemplified by Strasbourg Cathedral and folk poetry as epitomized in ‘Heidenroeslein.’. Goethe also set in train his attempt to promote drama in the German language and Goetz von Berlichingen was the resultant first fruit. Goethe was keenly aware of events in his home environment and some of these created a lifelong impact. The execution of the infanticide Susanna Margarethe Brandt in Frankfurt provided the basis of the Gretchen theme in Goethe’s lifelong preoccupation with the character of Faust. The first version of Faust was never presented on the stage. The text of Urfaust was first revealed to scholarship many years after its composition. This text is identical with passages in Faust Part I and contains celebrated lines that depict Faust as the violent ruthless force of nature that destroyed Gretchen’s idyllic cottage abode, in German her ‘Huettchen,’ an early case of the wanderer-hut connection that Willoughby discerned as a recurrent motif throughout Goethe’s poetry. In keeping with precedents established by Lessing in the field of the tragedy of middle class representatives of the common people took the place of gods, goddesses, kings and queens in Greek high drama, and so it was that humble and innocent Gretchen replaced Helen of Troy in Urfaust and Faust Part I. The story of Werther is also attributable to events in Goethe’s life. He spent some months in the provincial town of Wetzlar to complete his legal studies at the local court. He met a young woman who rebuffed his amorous advances and fixed her affection on Goethe’s friend Johann Friedrich Kaestner Not long after leaving Wetzlar Goethe received a letter from Kaestner informing him of a bizarre case of suicide committed by one Karl Wilhelm Jerusalem, like Goethe a young man near the end of his legal studies. Jerusalem fell in love with a married woman and tried to persuade her to become his lover. When his intended refused his plea he devised a plan to join her in the afterlife, having been convinced by a philosophic tract of the immortal[ty of the soul. After his death by suicide he was buried outside the precinct of consecrated ground. Kaestner sent Goethe a laconic and terse announcement of his demise and burial together with the news that a copy of Lessing’s Emilia Galotti lay on his corpse when it was found. This play tells the tragic story of a young woman who induced her father to take her life and so save her from ‘a fate worse than death’ as the concubine of a lascivious aristocrat. Goethe incorporated these details in the story of Werther’s end. Goethe revised the story of Jerusalem’s plan to join the woman he loved in death and cast Werther in the position of Jesus when promising the Disciples mansions in heaven. Parallels with Jesus are also found in the very title Die Leiden des jungen Werthers as Leiden can be construed as a reference to the Passion, not to mention the naming of his ‘Gethsemane letter.’ Werther was buried outside consecrated ground between two linden trees. Goethe’s novella earned him international fame at the expense of the lives of many a young man who followed Werther’s example by leaving this world dressed in his blue riding coat and yellow waistcoat. Strangely enough, it would be Gretchen, not Werther, who would ‘go before’ to eternity and prepare a place in heaven for one still contending with the trials of life on earth, ifor her seducer Faust, no less.
Goethe became a celebrity over night thanks to the success of Die Leiden des jungen Werthers, but he still needed to secure entry to a lifelong career. Would he remain in Frankfurt and be a small fish in a large pool or become a big fish in a small pool somewhere else? He chose the latter course when Duke Karl Augustus of Weimar offered him a place of residence in his small duchy. Goethe joined the duke’s court at the beginning of 1776 and immediately fell under the spell of Frau Charlotte von Stein, a married women seven years his senior. Their relationship was based on sincere mutual admiration and a deep affection of a highminded platonic character. It is no exaggeration to claim that she was his muse to whom he dedicated a cycle of poems under the heading of Lida. Of all the poems associated with Charlottte von Stein one was preeminent, ‘Wandrers Nachtlied,’ essentially two poems fused into one. The first poem was composed in February 1776 and enclosed within the cover of a letter to Charlotte, the first of many more such letters to come, that Goethe sent to Charlotte on its completion. It begins with the line ‘Der du von dem Himmel bist’ (rendered by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow as ‘Thou that from the heavens art’ in his translation of the poem) and continues in the strain of a prayer addressed to Peace, to whom the poet assigns the power to assuage his vacillation between the extremes of pain and joy. We hear the voice of Goethe as one who has not fully recovered from the turmoil of his ‘Storm and Stress’ years. The second poem, which was composed on the 6th of September in the year 1780 and brought to Frau von Stein’s attention within a day, bears the title of ‘Ein Gleiches’ indicating ‘something that is the same.’ if placed under the first night-song on the printed page It is strikingly different in substance and mood, so much so that one might wonder how it could be that the two night-songs stem from the same author . I quote it in full and add Longfellow’s translation of the same.
Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh’, / In allen Wipfeln / Spuerest Du / Kaum einen Hauch. / Die Voegelein schlafen im Walde. / Wart nur! Balde / Ruhest Du auch.
O'er all the hill-tops / Is quiet now, / In all the tree-tops / Hearest thou / Hardly a breath; / The birds are asleep in the trees: / Wait; soon like these / Thou too shalt rest.
A recent study has shown that there are over fifty translation of ‘Wandrers Nachtlied’ in the Hebrew language alone.(5) The mind boggles at the prospect of counting how many translations of the same poem there are in all languages of the world. What is more, countless learned articles have demonstrated how earnestly scholarship has attempted to fathom the depths of the poem’s core significance without being able to draw a halt. Our present concern is limited to the aim of establishing connections between occurrences of the word ‘Wanderer’ and stages in Goethe’s progress through life. In the second night-song we find no outcry of a burdened soul but the portraiture of a nocturnal landscape that is almost entirely devoid of movement. It is not obvious who address whom on the basis of the pronoun ‘du.’ It seems that the speaker tells a witness of this nocturnal scene what this person can well see or hear for himself. It is as though a connoisseur of art points out the features of a painting to an attentive student. With what authority can the speaker promise his ward that he will soon rest? What source of light illumines the hill-tops? On this question the speaker, like the small birds in the lower woods, is silent. It is worth noting, however, that the second night-song bears an uncanny resemblance to ‘An den Mond,’ (‘To the Moon’), a poem that is unambiguously addressed to ‘Lida,’ the name Goethe gave to Frau von Stein. I venture to suggest that the second night-song proves the beneficent and transforming effect of Frau von Stein’s civilizing influence on Goethe just over four years after their first encounter. By 1780 Goethe had become a pillar of Weimar society, a minister of state, the bearer of a noble’s title, a patient observer of nature, indeed a scientist and expert on mineralogy and the holder of a ministerial portfolio with special responsibility for the dukedom’s iron ore mines in the town of Ilmenau where he wrote the second night-song near a wooden lodge on the Kickelhahn, a hill that offered Goethe a clear view of surrounding hills and woodlands. In the planks of that lodge Goethe carved the lines of the second night-song and, on coming across them only months before his death, he reread them with tears flowing uncontrollably from his eyes. As Goethe wrote in a poem entitled “Zueignung’ (‘Dedication’) it was 'William' and Lida who made him all that he was.
- (M. H. Abrams, , The Kenyon Review, Vol. 19, No. 1 (Winter, 1957), 116). Deprived
- Frederick A. Pottle, "The Eye and the Object in the Poetry of Wordsworth," Romanticism and Consciousness, ed. Harold Bloom (New York, 1970) 273-287. Originally in Yale Review. Vol. (Autumn 1951).
- ‘Mignon und der Harfner stammen aus einer anderen Schicht von Goethes Wesen und Leben, als alle Figuren des Meister.’ ( ‘Mignon and the Harper spring from another level of Goethe’s being and life than all other figures of the Meister’ [novel]).Friedrich Gundolf, ‘Wilhelm Meisters Theatrische Sending,’ Goethe, (Berlin,1916) , p.345.
- "The Formalists show a fast-ripening religiousness. They are followers of St. John. They believe that "In the beginning was the Word." But we believe that in the beginning was the deed. The word followed as its phonetic shadow." Leon Trotsky, ‘Literature and Revolution’ (Russian version published in 1934, tr. Rose Strumsky) Ann Arbor, 1960).
- Michal Ephratt, Wondering about Silence, Vol. 58 (2017) pp. 263-295, published by NAPH, University of Haifa, Israel.