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Marcos Iolovitch in Porto Alegre, 1937
Acknowledgements
The publication of this translation and accompanying essays only exists because of the support and kind assistance of so many. First, I want to thank Leo and Tania Iolovitch for entrusting me with the translation of their father’s beautiful novel and for sharing so many archival resources. And of course, a warm hug of gratitude to the god-mother of this effort, my good friend Lenora Rosenfield, who introduced me to the Iolovitch family. The god-father of this effort, although his early passing doesn’t allow him earthy knowledge of this publication, is Moacyr Scliar, who gave me a copy of this work that had so inspired him, a copy I kept for almost thirty years promising myself that someday I would bring it to the world at large. Moacyr, thank you for this treasure. And, of course, my thanks to Judith Scliar for allowing me to publish my translation of Moacyr’s preface to the second Portuguese edition of this novel.
To Professor Regina Igel of the University of Maryland, I send so many thanks for encouraging me when I first thought of translating Marcos Iolovitch’s novel and for recommending the translation for publication and for support from the Brazilian National Library’s Program for the Translation and Publication of Brazilian Authors. And to Cella and Norman Manea for their continual appreciation for the importance of this translation.
Next, I want to thank Tatiana Ballalai and Isabel Manuela Estrada Portales for helping me assure that this translation was as faithful to Iolovitch’s beautiful choice of words and phraseology as it could be. But of course, any errors that remain are my responsibility.
I then want to thank my English language readers who helped me assure that the translation flowed, my friends Diane and Caitlin Fitzgerald, Ellen Sarkisian, and Miki Farcas, my cousin Susan Friedland and my brother and sister Michael Blocker and Elizabeth Ebaugh. To another old friend, Evan Friedman, I send thanks for pointing out to me, not only that Baron Hirsch assisted Jewish farmers in the United States as well as in South America, but that my own grandfather was a recipient of that aid. And to my husband, Ricardo Merlo, I owe many thanks for his daily support throughout this years-long process and his patience as he read out loud endless chapters so I could check that each word and phrase were correctly translated.
To Alessandra Anzani, Darrell Lockhart, and Academic Studies Press, I send my gratitude for believing in the value of this book and for bringing it to publication.
For helping me understand from where this book blossomed and for giving me the information I needed to explain that process to English-language readers, I want to thank the people of the United States and the staffs of the Library of Congress and the US National Archives. It is because the American people truly believe that information should be accessible to all and are willing to invest their tax dollars in that endeavor that I was able to obtain the information included in the preface and afterword. Thank you for giving me and all people from everywhere these opportunities and for making me proud once more of our national values.
For essential support in obtaining primary sources only available in Porto Alegre, I send my gratitude to Anita Bruner and the Marc Chagall Jewish Cultural Institute. I must note that it was Anita who gave me the strength to push forward and find a publisher. When she offered to translate my afterword and publish it in the Marc Chagall Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul web journal Webmosaica, I realized this work really mattered.
And I must thank the Brazilian historians Isabel Gritti, Nelson Boeira, and Rene Gertz for sharing their works and for helping me convince myself that my interpretations were indeed valid. I also send to the beyond a warm embrace for my old friend, the historian Sandra Jatahy Pesavento, who also passed away before I began this translation. Reading your works on the intellectual history of Porto Alegre not only gave me crucial information, it allowed me to enjoy once more our sharing of ideas over a cafezinho.
To the Brazilian National Library and the Brazilian people who fund this marvelous institution, I send my gratitude for supporting this publication through the Library’s Program for the Translation and Publication of Brazilian Authors. To receive this recognition from the preserver of Brazil’s literary treasures is a great honor for Mr. Iolovitch, an immigrant from a tiny village in a far off land, who loved his adopted language so much that he didn’t just want to give us a story, he wanted to give us Portuguese in all its poetic possibilities.
And finally, and most importantly, I send thanks to the man I have grown to love very much, Marcos Iolovitch. It is because he had such a profound understanding of the human drama, because he had such a deep affection for those near and far, and because he realized that he had an important story to tell, an important addition to our narration of the human experience, that we have been given this piece of history in all its poetry.
Merrie Blocker, Silver Spring, Maryland, February, 2020
Preface to the Second Portuguese Edition by Moacyr Scliar 1987
Within any body of literature there exist some texts that, for some obscure reason, are underestimated. On a Clear April Morning falls into this category. Not so much for its literary value, which is appreciable, but which is not reflected in stylistic innovations or flights of imagination. Rather this book’s value as a work of documentation is priceless. It speaks to us of an age, it speaks to us of a human experience that decisively marked Judaism and also left an indelible mark on the history of this state, Rio Grande do Sul, and of this country, Brazil. It is about the experience of emigration, an experience that, over the last two thousand years, has not been a rare occurrence in the Jewish timeline. But in this case emigration came with special circumstances.
At the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth, the largest segment of yishuv, the world wide Jewish community, lived within the limits of the vast Czarist Empire, in areas especially designated for Jewish settlement. The restriction was not only geographical; it was social and cultural.
Among Jews an aspiration for a better and more dignified existence never disappeared. It was achieved in two ways, through Aliyah, to the land of Israel, where the first collective settlements were formed; and by emigration to the New World. America, with its vast expanses of land, its magnificent natural wealth, and its need for labor, opened its doors to the impoverished masses of the Old World. At the entrance to the port of New York the Statue of Liberty (in whose pedestal are engraved the verses of the Jewish poet Emma Lazarus warmly welcoming the newly arrived) symbolized a guarantee of a life without discrimination or oppression. Millions of Jews came to the United States; a smaller number came to South America.
Here, in the Southern Cone, however, the experience was organized in a unique fashion. The Jewish Colonization Association, a Jewish philanthropic institution, acquired lands in Rio Grande do Sul and Argentina in order to promote Jewish agricultural settlements. But the enterprise did not have the expected success, for numerous reasons—the lack of resources, the inexperience of the emigrants, and the traditional political instability of Latin America, which indeed was directly felt during a bloody revolution in Rio Grande in 1923. All these factors sapped the settlers’ spirits and resulted in most of them looking towards the cities.
Then began a new stage in the process, the emigrants’ adaptation to the country. It required learning a new language and inserting their group into a society that was already pretty well structured. As can be imagined, it was not easy. Initially it was an arduous path, marked by hard work, by anxiety, and many times by comic or pathetic ventures.
Marcos Iolovitch speaks to us of this path. In his work, as seen only rarely, the man and the writer are one. Marcos, who I knew personally, was a gentle creature, a frail man, but elegant and endowed with a charming kindness. And he wrote exactly like that, with gentleness,
