The Death of Moishe-Ganef
William Heinemann, 1986
Paperback – Black Swan, 1987

Savage Levity – Jonathan Keates in The Observer, 8 June 1986

Moishe-Ganef’s corpse lies sprawled on the bed at the Edenvale Hotel, Russell Square, with a bullet-hole in the left temple. But then maybe it isn’t him at all. That things are scarcely what they seem is a sine qua non in the world of Joe Dekel, former Israeli intelligence agent whose cynicism has hardened into a resolute detachment and for whom opting out has become an unending and obssessive manouevre. Dodging responsibilities, whether as friend or compatriot, can only carry him so far, and this time the shadow of involvement falls even more grimply.
Simon Louvish’s latest assault on Middle Eastern ethno-politics, provocatively subtitled ‘A Levantine Tale,’ is patently designed to infuriate those for whom the Arab-Israeli conflict is a simple matter of trumpeting national loyalties or rubber-stamping magic peace formulas. The whodunnit cliché of the opening is merely a detonator for the writer’s savage laughter as he hops frenziedly to and fro among the lumber of broken promises, wasted impulse, brutishness, cupidity and the degenrate pieties of race and religion.
Everything gets in, from Sabra and Chatila, Six Day War hubris and Abu Nidal to cassocked spies from Greene territory and hyperventilating Muslim irredentists. The landscape is that of the military scrapheap which the disputed frontiers have now become and the mood one of comic despair, sustained by a flow of chirpy one-liners which readers may feel a need now and then to beat off like a plague of mosquitoes. Louvish comes into his own as a satirist rather than as a stand-up comedian, with an enviable gift for making hardened Zionists and PLO cheerleaders squirm.

Simply Simon – Gillian Reynolds in Punch, June 4, 1986

SIMON LOUVISH is a real comic writer, one who makes jokes about life and death, love and fear, intellect and emotion. He is a proper satirist (which is good news for those of us who get fed up with parochial sketches by literary groupies masquerading as such, for Swifts read sparrows), and he is a born story teller. The last is a handy talent, given the son of stories that real life runs past the eye and ear every living hour and the rate at which it takes over even the most outrageous fictions.
This is his second novel. It is a political thriller. In it we are asked the thriller questions: who is this body? why is it dead? The answers are where the political satire comes in, to my mind also thrillingly. It scares you stiff and makes you laugh like mad.
It starts in London, in March 1984, around midnight. Joe Dekel, the narrator, is taken to see a body in a hotel room and asked to identify it as Moishe-Ganef, childhood friend, army comrade, arch thief hence the nickname. The people who are running this show are Israeli secret agents. The plot is bound to thicken.
As it does it moves back to centripetal Jerusalem, then to the occupied territories of the West Bank, up through the Galilee to the Lebanon, in and out of jail meanwhile. Joe Dekel is not at all keen on this. He would sooner be at home plying his trade as a television critic, pursuing his obsession with old movies on video and his lovelife with the wise and beautiful Anat.
Joe used to be in the army, like all Israelis, he signed on for more and was a coming man in Intelligence. One day he found he could be such a man no longer and discovered no sane man could deal with the politics of Israel. This was when he shut himself inside the world of film fiction where you know who the good guys are and stories have ends.
Then comes the body from the past, a son of Marley's ghost (from the 1951 film with Alastair Sim as Scrooge, probably) to beckon him to reckoning. And once Joe starts walking about in the real world you can see why he would much prefer to be at home watching tv, even the "national disgrace" of Israeli television. Fiction, after all, helps to make pattern and sense of life.
Life in the Middle East, however, remains resistant to fictional analysis. None of the westerns, easterns, love stories, war epics and subtle character studies which Joe knows backwards and uses as a comb on the mad mane of life can make the tangles come out. Only an existential sense of humour can make you even try to carry on.
Which is why Joe makes jokes and why, through him. Louvish makes such sense. This book comes flooding over you like dreams you don't want to remember but wake up laughing from. Good jokes put you in the centre of eternal human dilemmas before you know it and snatch you out again before they have time to hurt. You can, and probably do, watch endless newsreels from Lebanon and try to put together a whole quilt from the patches. What Simon Louvish does is show you the pattern on the patches, bright, quick vivid. After that you can also see what whole political garments the patches were cut from.
The absurdity of it all, the inevitability, the grotesquery make you laugh out loud. Louvish pulls you into the whodunnit too, so close you can feel Joe's heart rate go up in the Palestinian refugee camp and smell the Beirut sewers in the chase that leads to the explosive finale. Joe's dilemma is that he is religious but he hates what is being done in the name of religion. He is a patriot, but the kind who has paid his dues in three wars and holds on to his right to criticise therefore. What he wont tolerate is the way people just say "It's the Middle East" and shrug, for that is no excuse for the killing, the corruption, "the disengagement of mouth and brain."
The brain has to work to keep up with Louvish, he goes at a fearsome lick with a rocket trail of jokes and gibes and paradoxical plays on words glittering across the page. This is not a long book but it is, most satisfyingly, not a quick read either. You can't put it down but even a plot glutton will turn into a line by line gourmet when ao rare and rich a style is on offer.
His first novel, The Therapy of Avram Blok, came out about this time last year and got the son of rave notices that have stopped many a good writer in his satirical tracks before now. That was a big,wild book. It is out in paperback (Black Swan £3.95) and, so I read in the paper the other day, there is a sequel planned. Good. Even better that Joe Dekel has come forth meanwhile, a hero who is bound to remind you of Philip Marlowe played by Woody Allen, or a Jewish Eddy Murphy in a situation that Repo Man would recognise. Best of all is that Simon Louvish has the talent and the stamina to set him in a place of his own. Read him and weep, mostly with laughter.

ARTS GUARDIAN - Thursday May 15 1986

Simon Louvish tried Zion, but prefers London as a base for his coruscating wit. Hugh Herbert reports.
According to the Jerusalem Post, 5,000 schoolchildren were to gather in the main square in Tel Aviv and smash their war toys with hammers. In exchange they would get goodies and peace toys. The first war toy would be smashed by the city's mayor. For all we know it could be a plastic F111 from a cereal carton. Simon Louvish read the story out loud. " I can't write satire about Israel any longer," be said. "it's not possible - all you need do is report."
He should know. His first novel, The Therapy of Avram Blok, contained a pile of the most scatological, offensive and plain funny satire on the state and the State of Israel that has so far avoided the public bonfire of zealots. His second, The Death of Moishe-Ganef, is out this week and if It seems more carefully structured. It is no more complimentary to the land of promises.
It is, though, less wild and anarchic than Avram Blok - a book no goy could ever have written. On page one, Blok peers through the lighted window of a flat where his old girl friend used to live, to see whether she is still around. He is promptly arrested for a peeping Avram offence against the couple who, in their devoutness and modesty, are making love through a hole in the sheet. This brings Blok's first stay in the mental hospital that is later to be his chosen refuge.
The book's fantasies, subplots, jokes, diagrams, drawings and typographical conceits are disposed around sections that fall roughly into three categories: the utterly tasteless "'The man who counted the gold teeth and spectacles at Auschwitz "; the straightforward political sneer; an the sideswipe at homely Jewish foibles. Like arranging a series of fodder stops within walking distance where apostate food is available on fast days.
That first volume of Blok ends in the mid 1970s at what Louvish calls "the tail end of the great era when Israeli Government was a Labour Zionist Government and there was a loony Begin jumping about on the fringe and nobody thought he would ever get anywhere. That was the nature of Israel. At the same time there were various demons of the past and present from the characters' background, from the Holocaust, from the wars between Jews and Arabs. from the problems of growing up in Jerusalem."
The central progression of that one-joke-per-page Blok novel - a second volume is on the way - is his attempt to escape from all those demons. His chosen means of escape is into madness. "At that point he has to meet all those demons concretely rather than in the abstract."
Louvish also grew up in Jerusalem, though he was born in 1947 In Glasgow whose Jews are often the descendants of those who never made it to America. Glasgow was the quayside on which they were left, waving. He speaks scornfully of a television programme whose presenter wandered through Jerusalem - plenty to do - agog and awed at its holiness. "To me it's a totally unholy city, completely profane, everything is commercialised, and everything is for sale. The whole atmosphere of the great religious festivals is tinged with paranoia, hysteria."
When he went into the army for his national service at 18, he was recruited into the film unit. “Lucky for me, because instead of wandering about as a footslogger, getting shat on, I had a reasonably cushy time."
For the first two days of the Six Day War, he sat in an office and spoonfed the outside world with censored film from the front. On the third day he got himself sent out to film the war, and still sees some of his footage turn up in archive shots. But a lot of it has never been seen - there were complaints that he filmed too many dead bodies and burning buildings. And when that war was over he began to film the aftermath on the West Bank and Gaza. "And that was the problem. You saw you no longer had army against army - you had a subject population here."
Yet it was not immediately to turn him - In his terms "from being a nationalist to being a good humanist." That came later. After his army service, he came to tho London film School and with peopie he met there worked on political documentaries between 1969 and 1975. The catalyst was the first of these, End of the Dialogue, about South Africa. When the BBC bought it for a Man Alive slot, the South African ambassador kicked up a headline fuss.
For Louvish it was crucial. Seeing Soweto was to confront in another country an extreme form of what he had seen on the West Bank and Gaza. The Zionist ideal never seemed the same again. A few years later he made a film about the Israelis and the Palestinians, To Live In Freedom. Since when, in some Israeli circles, he is an unperson; he's lived in London since 1969.
His new novel is at once a piece of espionage Action and a send-up of the genre, set in London and the Lebanon at the end of the Begin era and the Lebanon war. "The thriller form seemed appropriate for this particular character, who is a TV critic and whose escape world is into the box, a sort of cliched world of the thriller and the soap opera." Louvish also sees a connection between the thriller and left wing politics ("who are the villains behind this?"); and he feels uneasy that the right wing has for so long occupied one of the most popular forms of fiction. The anti-black racism and antisemitism of the between the war thrillers may have been cleaned out. "What we're left with now in this kind of genre writing - especially In America - are nasty Arabs." His villain is a Jew.

From the Jewish Chronicle, review by Gerda Charles:

Simon Louvish is a name new to me. I missed his first novel and very nearly because of the awful title and jacket, passed up on this one too, thinking: “Oh no! Not another stetl saga.”
I was wrong and have to report, though not without reservations, on a fizzing comedy-thriller set in Israel. Its hardly possible to summarise the twists and turns of the plot but briefly, Joe Dekel, an Israeli critic and former Intelligence Officer, and his girlfriend, Anat, is dragged back into Secret Service activities; a bagful of murder, whirling double and treble-crossings, journeyings to and fro across the country… The action is fast, the invention furious, the black, incessant jokes amusing. But one can’t avoid one’s critical sense even while chuckling.
For one thing, seldom has a literary child so many God-parents; from Dashiel Hammett to len Deighton to le Carre to Raymond Chandler and on… would Mr Louvish’s talent have emerged so readily without all these trial-blazers? Well, let’s leave that one.
Then the humour. You can’t, as they say, help laughing. But so much is strictly contemporary one wonders if anyone will understand it ten years hence. Perhaps that wouldn’t matter of the moral structure (yes, Mr Louvish is a moralist as well) were not so shaky or if Dekel’s characters were more firmly drawn.

A Good Old Jewish Argument:
JEWISH CHRONICLE JULY 11 1988
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Cause and effect in Israeli life.

Sir, - My review of Simon Louvish's novel, "The Death of Moishe Ganef" (July 4), may have conveyed by omission the impression that I agreed with his very strongly expressed anti-Israel stance. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I do not approve of his simplistic view of Israeli politics; or of his bitter attack on Israeli behaviour to the Arabs; or his views on Israeli society in general. I do not like his casual exposes of Arab behaviour with no hint of reproach there.
I believe Mr Louvish to have no sense of cause and effect. Under provocation, some Israelis behave badly. True. But why? Has he never asked himself what else can they do?
He's wonderfully hot on denunciations, but simply nowhere on solutions. In short, his opinions are directly opposed to mine. I would like this to be firmly understood.
Gerda Charles, Maida Vale, London, W9.

JEWISH CHRONICLE JULY 25 1986

Sir, - Many thanks to Gerda Charles for giving my book, "The Death of Moishe-Ganef," two separate (and contradictory) reviews. Her personal attack on me (July 1 1) does, however, raise an important point.
As a work of fiction, my book does not offer the required solution for the Arab-Israel conflict. It would help, though, if the passionately conflicting opinions held on this matter by Israelis were recognised in their full diversity, and political dissent allowed its expression without being automatically drowned in vitriol.
If Miss Charles had even the vaguest familiarity with the wide range of contemporary Hebrew prose, theatre or cinema, she might have recognised the field in which my humble, if provocative, Ganef prowls. I personally think this ignorance is more anti-Israel than the clear expression of dissent, but then, they do-say that ignorance is bliss.
Simon Louvish, London International Film School, 24 Shelton Street, WC2.

JEWISH CHRONICLE AUGUST 8 1986
Book Reviewer Hits Back:
S
Sir, - Fond as I am of my old and valued friend, the “Jewish Chronicle,” I feel I must, just this once and simply to protect myself, point the finger and say: “You done it!”
My letter in your issue of July 11 was not a contradiction but a shortened version of a whole paragraph which was completely cut from my original review of Simon Louvish’s novel. I was obliged to send it because so many people reproached me, concluding that, as I seemed to have overlooked his views, I therefore agreed with them. In the letter, too reticent by half, I used the mild phrase, “by omission” instead of spelling it out.
The gentleman is a fairly new novelist and obviously has not yet learnt the rules of the game. One of them is that, except to correct gross inaccuracies of fact, one does not send in abusive letters about unsympathetic reviewers. We’ve all suffered them. But if we all replied, the world’s press would consist of nothing else.
While I still have my pen in hand, I might as well add another observation or two. This author accuses me of downright ignorance of Israeli affairs and opinions. Well now, I wonder… I mean… How does he know? Does he keep a posse of little green dwarves monitoring my mental intake?
Well, I don’t need fairies at the bottom of my garden to know a great deal about his activities – ranging from the virulent anti-Israel film, “To Live in Freedom,” to his association with MERAG, a group devoted to anti-Zionist propaganda.
Oh yes. Then there was the headline of the “Jerusalem Post” review of his other novel about Israe which read, “Cheaply derisive.”
And a whole lot more. But enough is enough.
Gerda Charles, Maida Vale, London W9.

JEWISH CHRONICLE AUGUST 22 1986
Author Hits Back at Book Reviewer

Sir, - Concerning Gerda Charles' further attacks on my "anti-Israeliness," may I be allowed a response, delayed a little because I am in Israel?
Vei is mir! Several weeks ago, when I met Ms Charles, she didn't know me from Adam. Now she knows all about my nefarious "activities." However, frenzied, selective rummaging in the dustbin of decade-old political dossiers is relevant neither to my novels, to which she has taken, belatedly, such grave exception, nor to the premise of my letter (written in answer to her own letter, not her review): Israelis both at home and abroad, differ strongly in their political opinions.
Israeli books, plays, films and journalism frequently express unorthodox and anti-establishment views. It is surely a little arrogant of Ms Charles, or anyone, to decide which is a legitimate Israeli opinion and which is not. Ms Charles goes even further, hinting, in true McCarthyite fashion, at "a whole lot more" that could be revealed about me.
I am vastly intrigued. Is it the old "PLO agent" smear? The "Moscow gold" fantasy? We have been through it all. Surely the time has come to face argument with argument. I am happy to let my novels speak for themselves. Buy now while stocks last.
Simon Louvish, Jerusalem, Israel.

From the Jerusalem Post, July 25, 1986, by Frances Gertler:

… The Death of Moishe Ganef is the second novel by the author of the satirical The Therapy of Avram Blok. It is set in Israel after the Lebanese imbroglio, and ambiguously prefaced by an extract from the Sidur concerning God’s promise to protect Jacob despite the “destruction that wastes at noon.” In the light of what follows, this seems an ironic comment on a country Simon Louvish presents as utterly corrupt, irredeemable and seemingly abandoned by God. Here is modern-day Israel with all its warring factions and religions, although the hero Joe Dekel claims: “In the scramble for causes I am non-aligned…”
Dekel is a malcontent. He snipes at and condemns almost indiscriminately whatever he sees, though often with humour. The right wing in particular come off rather badly. Here are a group of Jewish zealots, the “Sons of Judah… They did not eat meat and always faced the sun even if that meant walking backwards. In Jerusalem, unfortunately, they were not conspicuous.” Gush Emunim also comes under heavy fire as a movement of people who “believe God has told them that Arabs are sheer scum.”
Modern-day Israel could provide any novelist with plenty of good material for satire, but Louvish presents a country almost unrelievedly corrupt, frenzied and unbalanced. Occasionally, almost in spite of himself, there is some hint of wistful regret for the current state of Israel.
As a spoof spy story, The Death of Moishe-Ganef is amusing, and sometimes even very funny, but the constant jibes leave a somewhat bitter taste.

From the Jewish Telegraph, Liverpool, Leeds, Manchester, 6 June 1986:

A Left Wing Gripper. (by D.W.)
With brilliant style Simon Louvish portrays the self-hatred of the Israeli left-winger, post-Lebanon, in this blood-curdling spy thriller.
But Joe Dekel, Louvish’s hero is a left-winger with a difference. He is religious, keeps Shabbat, wears a kippah and uses biblical language to express his discontent. Israel is “the land of curdled milk and sour honey” and Dekel demands, “I demand to see justice prevail. The lion will lie down with the calf or I will bloody well know the reason why.
The internecine strife and scandals in the Mossad described in the book are strangely reminiscent of the recent allegations about the Shin Bet. But despite all Israel’s sins Dekel has ultimate faith that only God will make peace and the book ends with a translation of the Kaddish.
Extremely entertaining and gripping reading.

From British Book News, June 1986, by Gary Pulsifer:

… Simon Louvish’s understanding of the human condition reflects an empathy for the underdog and natural justice, and like the prophets of old his righteous anger is reserved for those who oppress and destroy. Too often a political argument comes across as merely simplistic. Louvish escapes this particular trap by writing detective fiction; it can only be hoped that Israel’s present-day rulers will pick up this novel and consider its case. Along the way they would encounter many pertinent criticisms of their society, from an author who is unafraid to stick out his neck.

From London Magazine, July 1986, by John Mellors:

… The plot becomes bewilderingly complex but Louvish’s jaunty, wise-cracking narrative carries the reader along at a pace which does not allow him to feel exasperated. The story is well-spiced with rueful Jewish humour. When Joe’s lover suddenly says that she’s sure now that there is no God out there, Joe says, “Nevertheless, I shall continue looking. There might be a cash prize.”

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