Knowledge of Life

Before my dissertation was defended, I had bad luck in the job search.  I’m talking a dozen or so applications without so much as a response, to say nothing of an interview.  That all changed when I finished the dissertation and successfully defended it (which, I’m proud to say, happened nearly a month ago).  Since then, I’ve incorporated the suggested changes and submitted a copy to Harrassowitz in Wiesbaden for publication.  I’ve also been looking for a job.

The good folks at the University of Virginia have offered me a postdoctoral fellowship.  Full faculty benefits and $40,000, which will almost certainly go much further in Charlottesville than it would here in New York City.  Of course, this would necessitate that I move to Charlottesville, which is a big step for me.  I’m not sure how I feel about the whole long-distance relationship thing or moving so far out for a position that would only last a year.  Furthermore, this fellowship does not offer me any teaching prospects.

I’m in negotiations right now with Rutgers, the State University of New Jersey.  I applied for a rather generic-sounding position ("Instructor in Middle Eastern Studies") and discovered during the interview that I was in the running to coordinate their new program on Islam and the Contemporary World.  I explained that my training was in linguistics, not religion or sociology, but they pointed to my work with the Mandaean-Sabian community and my web work (such as the Arab Washingtonian) and suggested that I would bring a perspective to the position that a scholar of Islam would not.  Furthermore, roughly half of my responsibilities would involve development - both of the academic and financial kind.  They are looking for someone who is comfortable schmoozing and who works well with Middle Easterners, and the fact that I’m from New Jersey doesn’t hurt (as they are a state university and much of their support comes from the Arab community in Jersey).  I also explained that I could teach courses on Islam and Pluralism, Syria and Lebanon (not currently offered by Rutgers) and Qur’anic Arabic (also not available) and that pretty much sealed the deal.

At this moment, the director is setting up a meeting with one of their top donors and some community leaders.  They want to bring the community and the donors into the hiring process, and also see how I interact with them, as part of my job will require me to be a liaison to the community.  Once I’ve had an opportunity to meet with them, they will decide (on the spot) whether the job is mine or not.  A long shot, to be sure, but one with a lot of potential.

I’m crossing my fingers.

The conference in Seattle went well; my paper was well received, I made some new connections, and generally had a good time.  On the final day, I was elected (in absentia, as it happens) to convene the next conference in San Antonio, Texas.  I discovered this only after arriving (late) to the meeting, which was the source of much chagrin on my part.  I joked that this was my punishment for not being around to take part in the vote.

After I arrived, we decided to dedicate the meeting to the memory of Robert Hetzron, who was the first conference organizer in 1973.  NACAL 24 in Philadelphia was one of his last public appearances.

I’m giving a paper at the 34th Annual North American Conference on Afroasiatic Linguistics (NACAL) in Seattle in seven days.  I’ve been so occupied with my dissertation that I haven’t had an opportunity to pull the paper together, but I’ve finally done it.

The paper is on an aspect of language to which few people give much thought - the assumptions we make about things to which we refer in conversation, and the way these assumptions map onto the way we present them in speech.  In this case, there are two categories that are associated with a given word - the extent to which the thing it represents (or "referent") is identifiable to either the speaker or his audience, and whether the thing represented by the word is unique or not.  The first is called identifiability and the second objective referentiality.

The former is marked by articles like "the" and "a/an."  The definite article, "the" indicates that the speaker can identify the referent of the noun it modifies and that he assumes the audience can as well. "A/an" on the other hand, implies that the referent is not immediately identifiable (although the act of introducing the word that represents it into the conversation may well make it identifiable).

Objective referentiality is a bit more difficult to describe.  There are three types of reference: specific (in which case the referent is unique), non-specific (in which case the referent is merely one out of a class), and generic (in which case an entire class is indicated, such as non-count nouns like "water" or "rice").  The indefinite article can indicate both specific referents ("a (particular) place") or non-specific referents ("a place - any old place").  The definite article, by contrast, indicates both specific referents ("the computer that you’re using") and generic referents ("the computer has become a standard fixture of American homes").  The latter is also often represented by the plural noun, e.g. "the croissant was invented in 1689" and "croissants were invented in 1689" both refer to the entire class of "croissants" and not any particular ones.

Obviously, in English, the primary distinction is between identifiable and unidentifiable nouns.  Specific reference must be determined from context.  This is true for many languages, like Arabic.  There are, however, many languages in which the reverse is true; languages like Persian, Turkish, and Neo-Mandaic explicitly mark objective referentiality, but the identifiability of the referent must be gauged from context.  Other languages, like the Neo-Aramaic dialects of Arbel and Aradhin, in Iraqi Kurdistan, do both; identifiability is marked on the subject of the verb, and objective referentiality is marked on its object. 

As it happens, other Neo-Aramaic dialects behave more like English.  These two behave in some respects like Turkish, Persian, and Neo-Aramaic, despite the fact that these represent three different language families (Ural-Altaic, Indo-European, and Semitic, respectively).  When languages of such diverse origins come into contact and start behaving like one another, the result is often described as a sprachbund ("language league") or linguistic area.  In this case, several languages such as Persian, Turkish, Kurdish, and various Neo-Aramaic languages comprise such as sprachbund in an area I’ve described as the "Middle Eastern Marches," strattling the border between the old Ottoman and Qajar empires.

Coincidentally, my lecture falls on the day of Paranoia, the first day of Benje.  Like the ancient Egyptian year, the Mandaean year has 360 days plus five intercalary days that fall between years.  This is called Benje.  During this period, the Mandaeans fast; to break the fast, on the fifth day, they serve an elaborate meal called the dukrana, to which the spirits of departed Mandaeans are invited.

The last time I gave a talk at NACAL, it also fell on Paranoia.

Among the stories in my text collection, one stands out.  It’s the story of a bridge in Shushtar, Iran.  According to the legend, the people of Shushtar attempted to build a bridge; when the sun dawned on the community the day after its completion, the people discovered that their bridge had collapsed.  This happened every time they rebuilt it.  It occurred to them that the source of their trouble might be a demon or some other supernatural agency, and so they contacted the Mandaeans, who are known throughout the region for their knowledge of the occult, including the ability to trap demons.

I suddenly realized, only yesterday, that this legend was a version of a folktale that is told from the Balkans to India.  In fact, it seems that this legend is associated with every bridge in the Balkans, including the eponymous Bridge over the River Drina, possibly the greatest work of modern Serbian literature, and Ismail Kadare’s The Three-Arched Bridge, one of the most often translated works of Albanian literature.  The legend is particularly well-represented in Greece, where even a Ladino (Djudeo-espanyol) version exists, and has been attested in Cappadocia and even Kurdistan, where a reference to it is made in a Jewish Neo-Aramaic folk ballad.  This brings us somewhat closer to Shushtar, but there’s still quite a bit of distance to cover - not to mention the fact that all of the other attested versions of the legend occur well within the territory of the late, great Ottoman Empire.  Shushtar, the principle city of the Iranian province of Khuzestan, never fell under the rule of the Ottomans.

While one might be tempted to accuse my informant of being a closet fan of Serbian and Albanian literature, the fact remains that an earlier version of the Mandaean legend was first collected in 1854 by J. Petermann, who recounted it in his book Travels in the Orient (for those of you who are Seinfeld fans, I promise you that I am not making this part up).  This is long before any of the other versions legend were recorded, so the question remains as to how the legend traveled from the Balkans to the Persian Gulf.

Another feature distinguishes this variant of the folktale from the others: in most versions, the masons who are constructing the bridge learn that they must sacrifice a woman (usually a virgin daughter or a wife), often by immuring her within the bridge itself.  Only then will the bridge remain standing.  The Mandaeans turn this myth on its head; when the demon comes for the virgin daughter, she tricks the demon into revealing his true name.  Her father, who is the chief priest of the Mandaeans, thereby learns the true name of the demon and uses it to submit him to his will.  When the Muslims of Shushtar turn upon the Mandaeans, the chief priest commands the demon to carry them to safety, which he does by lifting the entire Mandaean quarter of the city, leaving behind nothing but a deep pit.

PARIS, France (AP) — Divers have discovered a new crustacean in the South Pacific that resembles a lobster and is covered with what looks like silky, blond fur, French researchers said Tuesday.

Scientists said the animal, which they named Kiwa hirsuta, was so distinct from other species that they created a new family and genus for it.

A team of American-led divers found the animal in waters 2,300 meters (7,540 feet) deep at a site 1,500 kilometers (900 miles) south of Easter Island last year, according to Michel Segonzac of the French Institute for Sea Exploration.

The new crustacean is described in the journal of the National Museum of Natural History in Paris.

The animal is white and 15 centimeters (5.9 inches) long — about the size of a salad plate.

In what Segonzac described as a "surprising characteristic," the animal’s pincers are covered with sinuous, hair-like strands.

It’s also blind. The researchers found it had only "the vestige of a membrane" in place of eyes, Segonzac said.

The researchers said that while legions of new ocean species are discovered each year, it is quite rare to find one that merits a new family.

The family was named Kiwaida, from Kiwa, the goddess of crustaceans in Polynesian mythology.

The diving expedition was organized by Robert Vrijenhoek of the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute in California.

Copyright 2006 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

This must be my fifth or sixth attempt at maintaining a weblog.  Judging from past experience, it will not be my last.  It is, however, my first attempt at a weblog under my own name.

As of this week, I have finished The Neo-Mandaic Dialect of Khorramshahr (NMDK).  I submitted it to my committee on the 1st and scheduled a defense for May 2nd.  Things are proceeding right on schedule.

NMDK has:

530 + xxx pages (including a 110-page dictionary)

Five long stories, five short stories, all transcribed in a system of my own devising.

A history of 350+ years of scholarship.

300 pages of grammatical analysis.

948 different examples.

90 tables.

147 footnotes (yes, only 147 footnotes).

The table of contents alone is 18 pages.  They will probably have to split it into two volumes.

I’m at a loss as to what my next project will be.  I’ve got a few things on the back burner that I’d like to publish; as it happens, I had an article come out last month in BASOR on epigraphy, the Parthian chancery scripts, and the origins of Eastern Aramaic scripts such as the Mandaic script.  I’m in the process of writing a paper on specific reference in Turkish, Persian, and Neo-Aramaic, to be delivered at NACAL this month, and a proposal for a paper on orality in the Aramaic-speaking Orient to be delivered at AAR this November.  My friend Yuhan has suggested that I publish something comparing the Pahlavi Psalter to the Peshitta (Syriac Bible) just to break out of this linguistic rut I’m in.  It would be nice to do something on a topic in literature.