“Yentl the Yeshiva Boy” — An Image Is Worth a Thousand Words by Anna Zhang

“Yentl the Yeshiva Boy” by Isaac Bashevis Singer delineates the journey of Yentl finding her true identity. After the death of her father, she disguises herself as a man and attends a religious school, while girls at the time are not allowed to study scripture. Along the way, not merely does she confront her gender identity and navigate the forbidden realms of religious study for women, but she also explores friendship, love, and marriage. Compared to reading the story in a compilation entitled “Collections of Stories,” the title “Yentl the Yeshiva Boy” provides readers with a unique perspective by introducing a paradox. According to the plot, Yentl is a girl, and Anshel is the Yeshiva Boy. However, combining the female name and the male identity emphasizes the intersectionality of one’s identity. That is, one ought not to be confined to the expectation of a single identity. Instead, we should explore and embrace our multifaceted selves. The interplay in the title reflects this notion, and so do the black-and-white and red-and-white woodcuts.

Both types of woodcuts capture significant moments within the text, inviting readers to immerse themselves in the narrative through vivid visualizations. As I turned the pages, I anticipated each woodcut guiding me through the story.

Specifically, the black-and-white woodcuts display the literal context of the text, showcasing scenes as they develop. In the beginning, Yentl’s decision to sell the house and embark on her journey to Lublin is accompanied by a full-page woodcut portraying her disguised appearance as a male figure. While the text alone leaves readers with the imagination of her new appearance, the woodcut serves as a tangible representation, especially for readers who might be skeptical about the effectiveness of Yentl’s disguise. After Anshel, the male name assumed by Yentl, receives consent for the match with Hadass, a woodcut of Hadass is partially covered by a silhouette, which also contributes to the deception of Anshel’s true identity. The artwork further conveys a melancholic connotation, foreshadowing the ultimate ending of this marriage. While the adage says “a picture is worth a thousand words,” the woodcuts complement the text well. A moment that stands out to me is when Anshel strolls with Avigdor and discusses marriages, a woodcut is placed side by side with their dialogue. In the image, the two figures walk away from the readers into an expanse of trees, evoking a peaceful atmosphere. The walk embodies the journey of their friendship, and the endless destination signifies the intimate connection between the two, with the hope that their relationship will never come to an end. In addition, the positioning of the woodcut, with the characters’ backs turned to the audience, makes it seem like the viewers are not merely observers but also the societal crowd within the setting. The motion of walking away implies an effort to avoid the societal constraints imposed upon them. In the story, Yentl refuses to trap herself in an early marriage recommended by many others, while Avigdor grapples with people’s view on his potential marriage, that “no one else will have [him]” except “the widow” (Singer 18). Therefore, through the perspective of the woodcut, the walk in the scene illustrates their shared longing for escape. As they enter farther into the forest, a hopeful impression lingers – their friendship will remain undisturbed by external influences.

While also representing textual elements, instead of achieving so directly, the red-and-white woodcuts shine a light on the religious allusions in the text. This artistic form offers a nuanced reflection of Jewish culture interwoven into the characters and events, adding a dimension to the visual narrative. For instance, as Anshel seeks the consent of Alter Vishkower to marry his daughter Hadass, the narrative unfolds in the courtyard of the synagogue. This scene is immediately followed by a woodcut of an eighteenth-century Torah curtain. Also, because red is the color of the curtain hanging over the Torah Ark in Jewish synagogues, the woodcut serves as a realistic visualization of an essential element, effectively leading readers into the story’s setting (Dekel). Continuing the visual journey, another woodcut, depicting a sixteenth-century wall hanging appliquéd on an eighteenth-century Torah curtain, accompanies the preparations leading up to Anshel’s wedding. Moments like “reading from the Torah” and “[delivering] Talmudic discourse” resonate with the religious elements captured in the woodcut. There is an intriguing image that caught my attention, which emerges with the text “Avigdor [is] the first to marry” (Singer 32). This image features two rings. One ring showcases two hands at its center, symbolizing Avigdor’s substantial burden within his marriage. The constant demands of labor imposed by his wife outweigh any joy in life. On the contrary, the elegant castle on the other ring aligns with the narrative that “Anshel [has] fallen into good hands” and Anshel’s parents-in-law “indulge [his] every wish” (36). That is, the juxtaposition of the two rings shows starkly different marital experiences for the two friends. While the two rings appear to be separate entities, they belong to one, as one is the side view and the other is the front view of a communal wedding ring. The fact that the two rings stem from one elevates the narrative. It transcends the apparent differences in their lives to reveal a shared foundation. While Anshel and Avigdor’s lives may seem different and separate, the unity of the rings underscores an inherent connection. This image portends a later shift in the plot, as Avigdor ultimately marries Hadass and names their child Anshel, reinforcing the intertwining of their destinies.