Some folk claim there is no horror tradition in Judaism because Jewish history is filled by horrific experiences. That is, we don’t have horror, we have history; we don’t have fear, we have trauma. Let us begin with a foundational statement: there has been historically, and there remains, a tradition of Jewish horror. Works within this tradition might be inspired by or respond to horrific acts throughout history, or they might not. They might be inspired by or respond to generational and cultural trauma, or they might not.
The rise of Jewish horror studies, and the burgeoning production of Jewish horror film and literature, should put to bed the notion that there is no Jewish horror tradition. The question remains, though, what exactly is Jewish horror?
The below is a summary of the responses made to this question in The Jewish Book of Horror, edited by Josh Schlossberg, and published by the Denver Horror Collective in 2021. Specifically, the response is summarised from two introductory chapters, John Carrier’s “An Orchard of Terror: Scary Stories and the Jewish Tradition”, and Molly Adams’ “Torah-fying: An Introduction to Jewish Horror”. [Please note, there are no page numbers in the Kindle edition.]
The taxonomy of Jewish horror set out in The Book of Jewish Horror is simple: if it is horror, and if the author is Jewish, then it is Jewish horror (Carrier 2021).
In the Book of Job, the titular character runs afoul of a wager between ha-Shem and ha-Satan. His children are murdered, he loses his wealth, and his status, and finally his health. His wife sticks with him, though, even when Job gets lippy with her. I have argued elsewhere that it is a rich man’s bad dream (Imray 2016). Molly Adams (2021) notes that Job is a horror story, claiming the story “highlight[s] the importance of faith”. That is one way to read it – there are others – but Adams is certainly correct in singling Job out as an ancient horror story, and is not the only reader to have done so (see Roger Schlobin’s 1992 Semeia article, “Prototypic Horror: The Genre of the Book of Job”).
John Carrier offers examples of horror from Talmud, a tradition populated by demons (eg Berakhot 6a), violence, and magical acts. In the Four Entered Pardes story (Chagigah 14b), Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, Acher/Elisha ben Abuya, and Rabbi Akiva enter a mystical garden. Ben Azzai peeps and dies. Ben Zoma peeps and is harmed. Elisha ben Abuya chops down the shoots (for more on this see Snapshots of Grief: Meir and Elisha Acher). Only Rabbi Akiva comes out b’shalom. This story, Carrier says, is a proto-Lovecraftian tale: “Four different Jews gaze into the abyss, and after an infinitesimal glimpse of the true power and revealed intention behind the universe, most of them are destroyed” (Carrier 2021).
Jewish folklore has featured the golem since Talmudic times (see Sanhedrin 38b), but the best-known version is Joseph Golem, Rabbi Loew’s golem created to safeguard the Jewish inhabitants of Prague during the 16th century. This golem has inspired countless authors including Cynthia Ozick (Puttermesser), Michael Chabon (The Amazing Adventures of Cavalier and Clay), F. Paul Wilson (The Keep), and Bari Wood (The Tribe). I want to add my own references here: Isaac Bashevis Singer (The Golem), David Wisniewski (Golem), and Eric Kimmel (The Golem’s Latkes). “Originating as a figure of protection”, Adams (2021) says, “after the Holocaust the golem was reconfigured, becoming a beacon of revenge, and allowing storytellers to delve into feelings of powerlessness and the taboo desire for violent retribution”.
The dybbuk is another folkloric horror figure. This figure could have risen from the influence of Christian practices of spirit possession and exorcism on Jewish culture, or perhaps the simultaneous rise of spirit possession in Christianity and in Judaism is attributable to a shared cultural milieu (Chajes 2003, p. 6). Whichever, the dybbuk figure “reflected the traumas Jewish communities were facing” (Adams 2021). Modern dybbuk tales such as An-sky’s The Dybbuk and the 2015 movie “Demon” address intergenerational trauma and violent histories.
Franz Kafka’s body of work contains elements of nihilistic and existential horror. In “The Metamorphosis”, Kafka “uses a grotesque and terrifying transformation to force his readers to confront the horror of skewed power dynamics” (Adams 2021). “In the Penal Colony” is torture-porn, “A Country Doctor” is psychological horror. The Trial satirises the rabbinic Bet Din that would, in Jewish folktales, have saved the protagonist, “adding yet another layer of terror and building on the Jewish horror tradition” (Adams 2021).
Finally, there are modern Jewish horror authors who “hide in plain sight” (Adams 2021). Ira Levin, for example, writes stories about the “dark heart of American Christianity” (Adams 2021). When Jewish myths are retold they are likely to become unstuck from their contexts, and while Levin’s horror stories do not appear to be about Jewish people or culture, Adams says it is possible to read them as such. In an important statement that ties back into Carrier’s taxonomy of Jewish horror as horror that is written by a Jewish author, Adams (2021) notes that an “approach to Jewish horror as a sensibility rather than just an untapped well of lore is vital”.
For anyone interested in reading more about Jewish horror in film and literature, please see The Jewish Horror Review.
References
Adams, Molly. (2021). “Torah-fying: An Introduction to Jewish Horror.” In Josh Schlossberg (ed), The Jewish Book of Horror. The Denver Horror Collective.
Carrier, John. (2021). “An Orchard of Terror: Scary Stories and the Jewish Tradition.” In Josh Schlossberg (ed), The Jewish Book of Horror. The Denver Horror Collective.
Chajes, J. H. (2003). Between Worlds: Dybbuks, Exorcists, and Early Modern Judaism. University of Pennsylvania Press.
Imray, Kathryn. (2016). “Literary Seduction: Yhwh as Feminized Other in Job.” Pacific Journal of Theology 55, 35-49.
Schlobin, Roger. (1992). “Prototypic Horror: The Genre of the Book of Job.” Semeia 60, 23-38.