'Black and Jewish:' What Happens When Peoplehood is Shelved
There have been many, many, many satire clips about Jewish life that have become hits, proliferated by Facebook accounts, websites and emails. Once was so offensive that it merited being posted about on this blog as well.
The latest has been gracing my News Feed for some weeks now, and I finally succumbed to watching it. What a mistake. Entitled 'Black and Jewish,' it chronicles two women rapping about their "mixed" identities in a clip that looks like MTV circa 1995, replete with scenes of gangbangers sitting in front of low-income housing spinning dreidels.
Rolling around in stereotypes from both communities (African-Americans as ghetto dwellers, Jews as talit-wearing Ashkenazim), this might be what its creators had in mind. Profiting off Jewish stereotypes is nothing new in the entertainment business (ever see 'The Nanny,' 'Seinfeld,' 'Mad About You,' and 'Curb Your Enthusiasm?'); furthermore, if this clip gives African-American Jews a sense of pride, then far be it from me to impede on such expressions.
But if not, why is this clip so popular and so widespread among "white" Jews? I personally believe "white" is a state of mind, something for immigrants to aspire to in the multicultural mess of early 20th century America as a means of obtaining success (I urge you to read "A History of White People" for more background on this topic). Certainly there's plenty to be said about the racist tinges in this clip, and it should be said, but it detracts from my main point that links this clip with those that have come before and those to surely be produced in the future.
Call me a 29-year old stick in the mud, but clips like this are the opiate for the masses that satiate the young enough to obfuscate our real needs as the under-50 set: greater and affordable access to meaningful Jewish experiences and literacy, representation in communal and institutional policy-making, an understanding of Jewish identity as one that includes AND transcends Western conceptions of race/culture/history/religion/nationality/language/etc, and working together because of our inherent diversity to tackle the day's greatest challenges.
THIS is where the discourse of Peoplehood is so important -- so instead of snickering in the audience like tweenagers, we're digesting the tough issues. We're openly acknowledging both the complexities of what it means to be a Jew in the singular and plural, and taking advantage of said complexity to come up with new solutions and strategies.
David Breakstone recently wrote a response to Misha Galperin's push for Peoplehood, alarmed that Israel is potentially left out of the discourse, thus questioning the legacy of Zionism. Notwithstanding the argument that Zionism never was a mainstream movement, nor is to this day (how many Jews live in the USA?), we can't discuss Israel without the basic conversations of 'Who/What is a Jew' and 'Why Being a Jew is Important,' both of which sorely need to take place. Perhaps that's something that we who grew up in movements/day schools/Israel can't see, but it's there.
Peoplehood is a nuanced pedagogy for an age where we need nuanced talking points. I'm all for having this kind of dialogue, whether in public or private, in Israel or Diaspora. Just don't dare try to engage me with the request to "Challah Back."
09 July 2011
The Week of Days: Bookends
OK, so my last post was a bit audacious in that while I formulated seven different posts about the Week of Days, posting them in a timely fashion proved to be too much.
Instead, I focus on the first and last days of the Week, as they have different and meaningful lessons (and I want to start blogging forward, and fulfilling my previously posted promise will help). The week starts off with the most challenging day for me, Yom HaShoah veHaGevurah. As a day, it's actually very innovative, as it was instituted at a time in Israeli society where talking about the Shoah was a taboo .It's hard to imagine such a time, as the Holocaust has since then inundated every waking moment of Jewish life. As a child, I had nightmares of SS men storming our apartment building in Upper NW, which I later found out was a common occurrence among others my age.
There's a lot to say about this day, perhaps why it took so long to publish the first post, so I broke it down into categories of Jay's Issues with Yom HaShoah:
- Holocaust vs. Shoah: "Holocaust" comes from a Greek derivation meaning a sacrifice which went up in flames, while "Shoah" comes from the Hebrew meaning a catastrophe that suddenly came from out of nowhere. Both have their connotative drawbacks -- the former gives the impression of lambs being led to the slaughter, while the latter gives the impression that 1932 was its inception (and not 1919, or for that matter 1492 or 1099)
- Never Again: I love the irony of this phrase, as it originated with the black sheep of American Jewish mainstream and became the catchphrase of every youngster this time of year. Along with the next entry, it represents the dumbing down of Jewish identity, where education is supplanted by content-less experiential fluff (as I assume most "young Jews" are neither knowledgeable of its origins nor supportive of said organization and its actions). The latest "X-Men" film (which I so badly want to see) turn the phrase around, literally, making its contextual significance visible for all:
The other end of the Week of Days is Yom Ha`atzmau't (Independence Day), or more correctly, the consecutive 48 hours of Memorial & Independence Days. In trying to think how to relate to Independence Day this year, I kept thinking about Yom Kippur. For the twice-a-year observing Jew, the cathartic spirit of the day may be lost in the march to services and countdown to lox and bagels. There's a lot in common between the two days, in that they're both day-long periods for an entire nation to reflect on successes and setbacks, and how to move forward. Perhaps I was reading a few relevant bogs, or perhaps the collective unconscious caught up to me; either way, I was in shock to hear the Speaker of the Knesset's speech at the Lighting of the Torches ceremony (at the 20:00 mark, in Hebrew, on YouTube):
I love this ceremony, as it's one of the few moments every year that viscerally separates Diaspora and Israel through pomp and circumstance. But it was the President's speech that was the highlight this year, as he too was thinking about the connection between YK and YHa, as evidenced by his extensive paraphrasing of Kol Nidrei. Rather than talking only about achievements and accolades, he chose to speak of renewal and relevance in a way that gave me chills and made me proud to be living here. Putting into action, of course, is the next and bigger step; but, after all, it's a holiday.
Instead, I focus on the first and last days of the Week, as they have different and meaningful lessons (and I want to start blogging forward, and fulfilling my previously posted promise will help). The week starts off with the most challenging day for me, Yom HaShoah veHaGevurah. As a day, it's actually very innovative, as it was instituted at a time in Israeli society where talking about the Shoah was a taboo .It's hard to imagine such a time, as the Holocaust has since then inundated every waking moment of Jewish life. As a child, I had nightmares of SS men storming our apartment building in Upper NW, which I later found out was a common occurrence among others my age.
There's a lot to say about this day, perhaps why it took so long to publish the first post, so I broke it down into categories of Jay's Issues with Yom HaShoah:
- Holocaust vs. Shoah: "Holocaust" comes from a Greek derivation meaning a sacrifice which went up in flames, while "Shoah" comes from the Hebrew meaning a catastrophe that suddenly came from out of nowhere. Both have their connotative drawbacks -- the former gives the impression of lambs being led to the slaughter, while the latter gives the impression that 1932 was its inception (and not 1919, or for that matter 1492 or 1099)
- Never Again: I love the irony of this phrase, as it originated with the black sheep of American Jewish mainstream and became the catchphrase of every youngster this time of year. Along with the next entry, it represents the dumbing down of Jewish identity, where education is supplanted by content-less experiential fluff (as I assume most "young Jews" are neither knowledgeable of its origins nor supportive of said organization and its actions). The latest "X-Men" film (which I so badly want to see) turn the phrase around, literally, making its contextual significance visible for all:
The other end of the Week of Days is Yom Ha`atzmau't (Independence Day), or more correctly, the consecutive 48 hours of Memorial & Independence Days. In trying to think how to relate to Independence Day this year, I kept thinking about Yom Kippur. For the twice-a-year observing Jew, the cathartic spirit of the day may be lost in the march to services and countdown to lox and bagels. There's a lot in common between the two days, in that they're both day-long periods for an entire nation to reflect on successes and setbacks, and how to move forward. Perhaps I was reading a few relevant bogs, or perhaps the collective unconscious caught up to me; either way, I was in shock to hear the Speaker of the Knesset's speech at the Lighting of the Torches ceremony (at the 20:00 mark, in Hebrew, on YouTube):
I love this ceremony, as it's one of the few moments every year that viscerally separates Diaspora and Israel through pomp and circumstance. But it was the President's speech that was the highlight this year, as he too was thinking about the connection between YK and YHa, as evidenced by his extensive paraphrasing of Kol Nidrei. Rather than talking only about achievements and accolades, he chose to speak of renewal and relevance in a way that gave me chills and made me proud to be living here. Putting into action, of course, is the next and bigger step; but, after all, it's a holiday.
03 May 2011
The Week of the Days: A count-up/down to Israel's Independence Day
It's a busy week in Israel. The Week of the Days has commenced and I'm back in the country after a short, two-continent jaunt.
The Week of the Days (my own name for this time of year) is a modern addition to the Jewish holiday cycle, which expectantly continues to provide controversy over its content and form. The Days in reference are Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day), Yom Hazikaron (Israel's Memorial Day) and Yom HaAtzmaut (Israel's Independence Day). The Week was unofficially inaugurated in 1953, when Yom HaShoah came into existence and two years after Yom Hazikaron was enacted as the day before Yom Haatzmaut.
I hope to blog each day this week -- an ambitious feat I know, but equally ambitious is this Week, which seeks to encapsulate 140+ years of history and 4,000 years of emotions -- as each of these days redefines time, space, and interpersonal relations between Israeli/Diaspora Jew, Jew/non-Jew Israeli, Diaspora/Homeland and more.
Keep reading!
The Week of the Days (my own name for this time of year) is a modern addition to the Jewish holiday cycle, which expectantly continues to provide controversy over its content and form. The Days in reference are Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day), Yom Hazikaron (Israel's Memorial Day) and Yom HaAtzmaut (Israel's Independence Day). The Week was unofficially inaugurated in 1953, when Yom HaShoah came into existence and two years after Yom Hazikaron was enacted as the day before Yom Haatzmaut.
I hope to blog each day this week -- an ambitious feat I know, but equally ambitious is this Week, which seeks to encapsulate 140+ years of history and 4,000 years of emotions -- as each of these days redefines time, space, and interpersonal relations between Israeli/Diaspora Jew, Jew/non-Jew Israeli, Diaspora/Homeland and more.
Keep reading!
17 March 2011
Why Saint Patrick's Day is Good for the Jews
We're loud, assertive, neurotic corned-beef eating hyphenated-Americans. Stereotypes and interfaith relationships abound when discussing Irish Catholics and Jews, and to be sure this post could be comprised only of those common traits to attract a few stragglers to read this blog. And the growing Israeli fascination with Saint Patrick's Day, mainly the imbibing aspect of it, is also enough fill a few lines' worth; but the intermediate identity of this holiday – between its Catholic origins as a Saint Day and an excuse to drink green beer – as an institutionalized ethnic holiday in American culture is the source of inspiration for millions of immigrants and its connection with Jews.
Few other immigrant populations in the USA endured the same processes of alienation, assimilation and cultural rejuvenation than Jews and Irish Catholics. And few other diasporas created as deep and complicated multi-generational connections with their countries of origin than these two communities.
Catholics endured ongoing stigmatization, if not outright discrimination, for much of the 19th and early 20th centuries with the brunt of this xenophobia leveled against the Irish. They were quickly stereotyped by the existing Protestant population as backwards and barbaric, with their thick brogues, violent temper and allegiance to the Catholic Church. The first examples of “Black” being used in a derogatory fashion in the USA were not against African slaves, but rather against the Irish. The theories of race, in fashion at the time, denigrated the Irish as sub-human.
So too did the Jews of Eastern Europe face similar discrimination in their initial absorption into American society, at the hands of both the Protestant population as well as German Jews. The American immigration experience created cultural hybridism, with some traditions being eschewed for fear of their isolating effects; some being relegated to the home or place of worship; and others being invented by said population or by the larger society. Think of foods, music, aesthetics; American culture is a composite of its immigrant populations, ever changing and quickly absorbing new experiences. The Wasabi craze of a few years ago turned into the Sriracha frenzy of today. Anyone in a major metropolitan area has experienced first-hand these hybrid zones of cultural manufacturing, tongue-in-cheekly described in a recent post on the New York Times.
There is no single holiday of the Jews in the American cannon like Saint Patrick’s Day, even with the childhood stories of baseball players refusing to play on Yom Kippur notwithstanding. But Jews, like other immigrant populations, contributed in other ways to American culture; furthermore, perhaps because of Jews’ inherent diversity of self-expression that there is no one, single day which celebrates Jews’ contribution to America like Saint Patrick’s Day has become.
The connection to one's homeland, while not exclusive no Irish Catholics nor Jews, has been championed by them in ways many other ethnic communities wich they could emulate. The Fenian raids against the British in Canada in the mid-19th century are a classic example of using diaspora relaities to further homeland ideals. the NORAID scandal of the 1980's, which inculpated Irish-American elected officials, has parallels with AIPAC and accusations of American Jews spying on behalf of Israel. Ironically, this common connection wth one's homeland (called by Jacob Neusner "enlandisment) was not heralded by the IRA but by the Northern Irish Ulster -- ostensibly, as the former was dependent on money and arms from countries hostile to the UK and thus banded with the growing anti-establishment Left of the Cold War era, whose financer was the USSR and Palestinian opposition groups as the go-between (another example of logistics preceeding ideology comes from the Basque separatist group ETA, who boycotted an Israeli food fair).
What was the point of this post's foray into American history, if not to justify my plans (or yours) for imbibing Guinness? To point out the commonalities of Jews with other communities that otherwise get used for more cynical reasons, like non-Jewish support for Israel without reciprocal support of other's homelands (hello, Armenia) or in the course of trying to publicly justify the otherwise personal nature of interfaith relationships, which can potentially help Jew and non-Jew alike in their self-identity development and relationship with their homeland.
Éire go Brách from Jerusalem.
Few other immigrant populations in the USA endured the same processes of alienation, assimilation and cultural rejuvenation than Jews and Irish Catholics. And few other diasporas created as deep and complicated multi-generational connections with their countries of origin than these two communities.
Catholics endured ongoing stigmatization, if not outright discrimination, for much of the 19th and early 20th centuries with the brunt of this xenophobia leveled against the Irish. They were quickly stereotyped by the existing Protestant population as backwards and barbaric, with their thick brogues, violent temper and allegiance to the Catholic Church. The first examples of “Black” being used in a derogatory fashion in the USA were not against African slaves, but rather against the Irish. The theories of race, in fashion at the time, denigrated the Irish as sub-human.
So too did the Jews of Eastern Europe face similar discrimination in their initial absorption into American society, at the hands of both the Protestant population as well as German Jews. The American immigration experience created cultural hybridism, with some traditions being eschewed for fear of their isolating effects; some being relegated to the home or place of worship; and others being invented by said population or by the larger society. Think of foods, music, aesthetics; American culture is a composite of its immigrant populations, ever changing and quickly absorbing new experiences. The Wasabi craze of a few years ago turned into the Sriracha frenzy of today. Anyone in a major metropolitan area has experienced first-hand these hybrid zones of cultural manufacturing, tongue-in-cheekly described in a recent post on the New York Times.
There is no single holiday of the Jews in the American cannon like Saint Patrick’s Day, even with the childhood stories of baseball players refusing to play on Yom Kippur notwithstanding. But Jews, like other immigrant populations, contributed in other ways to American culture; furthermore, perhaps because of Jews’ inherent diversity of self-expression that there is no one, single day which celebrates Jews’ contribution to America like Saint Patrick’s Day has become.
The connection to one's homeland, while not exclusive no Irish Catholics nor Jews, has been championed by them in ways many other ethnic communities wich they could emulate. The Fenian raids against the British in Canada in the mid-19th century are a classic example of using diaspora relaities to further homeland ideals. the NORAID scandal of the 1980's, which inculpated Irish-American elected officials, has parallels with AIPAC and accusations of American Jews spying on behalf of Israel. Ironically, this common connection wth one's homeland (called by Jacob Neusner "enlandisment) was not heralded by the IRA but by the Northern Irish Ulster -- ostensibly, as the former was dependent on money and arms from countries hostile to the UK and thus banded with the growing anti-establishment Left of the Cold War era, whose financer was the USSR and Palestinian opposition groups as the go-between (another example of logistics preceeding ideology comes from the Basque separatist group ETA, who boycotted an Israeli food fair).
What was the point of this post's foray into American history, if not to justify my plans (or yours) for imbibing Guinness? To point out the commonalities of Jews with other communities that otherwise get used for more cynical reasons, like non-Jewish support for Israel without reciprocal support of other's homelands (hello, Armenia) or in the course of trying to publicly justify the otherwise personal nature of interfaith relationships, which can potentially help Jew and non-Jew alike in their self-identity development and relationship with their homeland.
Éire go Brách from Jerusalem.
26 February 2011
Is There Room for Fantasy in Israel?
Is there room for fantasy in Israel?
(Attempting to make my way back into the blogosphere by finally publishing a month-old post)
I went to see ‘Black Swan’ with two close friends, both of whom are native English-speakers. The film was like 'Carrie' and 'The Exorcist,' so naturally I was completely mesmerized. The cinematography gave it that realistic feeling found only in dreams, wherein we’re seeing our own actions, and can even manipulate ourselves physically, but are otherwise externally separated from our bodies.
While the three of us agreed that the movie was brilliant, we couldn’t help but become distracted from quite a few in the audience snickering at times during an otherwise intense film. This was a late showing in Tel Aviv, filled with mainly 20- and 30-somethings. I started explaining this as a defense mechanism in relation to Israeli’s jaded nature, and I found my words fading and failing.
Why was I trying to justify this kind of behavior?
To leave the theater meant walking down two flights of stairs, whose walls were covered in an abstract red-and-grey series of geometrics that caused me to say “and now we’re descending into a club.” And sure enough we were, as the exit for the theater was the entrance for a recently-opened club in the basment of a dental college. Bodies pressed up against one another, drinks and cleavage spilling all over the place, music blaring and lights on the verge of inducing fits -- I was ready to leave. In my exhaustion-induced stupor, I saw the lights and wraparound bar as the instruments of self-delusion, to willingly numb ourselves from the realities of the Middle East outside.
At first, I chastised myself for thinking so darkly, so being so jaded. And then I thought, how far is this from actual reality? After all, the movie theater led straight into the club. I personally become engrossed in any film I see, to the extent that my sensory awareness for some time afterwards is linked with the film – I think I’m living the film.
But are we meant, as Israelis, to quickly snap out of such alternative dimensions? Is there space for fantasy in Israel?
When I was younger, I used to create stories that stretched on and on, set off by the smallest of observances. Music is a great passion of mine, as it forces me as the listener to come up with the accompanying visual; but film is so wonderfully engrossing that I lament how much I miss it as soon as the credits roll.
I furst noticed this lack of space for fantasy at least year's Jerusalem Film Fesitval, blogged about here, with the premiere screening of "Andante." The film, avant-garde and entirely in Hebrew, disturbed more than a few people as evidenced by their leaving the theater. Several months later, I find myself less and less able to concentrate on such fantasies, becoming easily distracted by ADHD-inducing mechanisms like the “Shuffle” function on the iPod or the “Recommended” section on YouTube, making me feel lazy for not making the concerted effort in my choices for art.
(I’d also like to think my buying into this mentality is is the reason why this blog hasn’t been updated for a while....)
Perhaps that’s why I hold out in living in Jerusalem while working in Tel Aviv. The latter is a city, but what it lacks in fantasy is made up for here. For example, a short piece I coined in the heat of last summer:
(Attempting to make my way back into the blogosphere by finally publishing a month-old post)
I went to see ‘Black Swan’ with two close friends, both of whom are native English-speakers. The film was like 'Carrie' and 'The Exorcist,' so naturally I was completely mesmerized. The cinematography gave it that realistic feeling found only in dreams, wherein we’re seeing our own actions, and can even manipulate ourselves physically, but are otherwise externally separated from our bodies.
While the three of us agreed that the movie was brilliant, we couldn’t help but become distracted from quite a few in the audience snickering at times during an otherwise intense film. This was a late showing in Tel Aviv, filled with mainly 20- and 30-somethings. I started explaining this as a defense mechanism in relation to Israeli’s jaded nature, and I found my words fading and failing.
Why was I trying to justify this kind of behavior?
To leave the theater meant walking down two flights of stairs, whose walls were covered in an abstract red-and-grey series of geometrics that caused me to say “and now we’re descending into a club.” And sure enough we were, as the exit for the theater was the entrance for a recently-opened club in the basment of a dental college. Bodies pressed up against one another, drinks and cleavage spilling all over the place, music blaring and lights on the verge of inducing fits -- I was ready to leave. In my exhaustion-induced stupor, I saw the lights and wraparound bar as the instruments of self-delusion, to willingly numb ourselves from the realities of the Middle East outside.
At first, I chastised myself for thinking so darkly, so being so jaded. And then I thought, how far is this from actual reality? After all, the movie theater led straight into the club. I personally become engrossed in any film I see, to the extent that my sensory awareness for some time afterwards is linked with the film – I think I’m living the film.
But are we meant, as Israelis, to quickly snap out of such alternative dimensions? Is there space for fantasy in Israel?
When I was younger, I used to create stories that stretched on and on, set off by the smallest of observances. Music is a great passion of mine, as it forces me as the listener to come up with the accompanying visual; but film is so wonderfully engrossing that I lament how much I miss it as soon as the credits roll.
I furst noticed this lack of space for fantasy at least year's Jerusalem Film Fesitval, blogged about here, with the premiere screening of "Andante." The film, avant-garde and entirely in Hebrew, disturbed more than a few people as evidenced by their leaving the theater. Several months later, I find myself less and less able to concentrate on such fantasies, becoming easily distracted by ADHD-inducing mechanisms like the “Shuffle” function on the iPod or the “Recommended” section on YouTube, making me feel lazy for not making the concerted effort in my choices for art.
(I’d also like to think my buying into this mentality is is the reason why this blog hasn’t been updated for a while....)
Perhaps that’s why I hold out in living in Jerusalem while working in Tel Aviv. The latter is a city, but what it lacks in fantasy is made up for here. For example, a short piece I coined in the heat of last summer:
"I was once told that there are no ghosts in the Land of Israel, despite inevitable shivers one feels here. Despite the Witch of Endor and Biblical prohibitions that do not deny their existence, some are too weary to admit to strange shifts in the wind at night.Here's to more fantasy and inspiration, speedily in our days.
Maybe not ghosts per se, but definitely supernatural events. The torpid quiet of a Shabbat night that for someone like myself, accustomed to an urban aural landscape, already presents itself as a chilling soundtrack. Or the imminent arrival of rain, as the sky turns asphalt to pave the way for clouds and thunder from the North, appropriately personified in ancient mythology as the storm god riding his chariot. The wind whips the trees’ branches into a frenzy, flagellating themselves and any miserable object not having found adequate shelter. Or the suffocating heat of the sharav, that wind-less heat from the East, whose breath is shortened momentarily by hiding in the air-conditioned indoors."
01 November 2010
Am I the Only Under-50 American Jew Who Didn't Like the AJWS video?
Just like how the 'It Gets Better' campaign is all about the featured celebrities and not about the still-harassed LGBT teen, the Judd Apatow-produced ad for AJWS is another example of taking a very worthy and important cause and deep-frying it in ego and smothering it with a side of self-congratulatory condescension.
OK, before I continue on my curmudgeoned rant and in the interest of full disclosure, I did crack up at 4.25 from Brian Williams (I’m a laughing fool for gibberish) and Triumph (who sounded eerily like me at a wedding after a few gin & tonics)….only to vomit a bit in my mouth at the last part of 'goyim' cutting their teeth on one of 'our' languages. But it’s a Judd Apatow flick, which I suppose is meant to automatically trigger one’s gag reflex.
No less important than the argument that such multimedia campaigns satisfy primarily those who appear in them, this is another example of another Jewish organization trying to make itself relevant through online social media/network/blahblahblah to those youngsters among us apparently unable to comprehend the importance of the organizations’ daily mission. Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, Tumblr – whatever it takes to get dem youngins’!
While it’s true that online social networks have the power to make connections between otherwise-distant peoples and resources, and not all online social media users are youngsters (as evidenced by the PS in AJWS’ own campaign to promote its video (*I might be turning 70, but I can tweet with the best of ‘em. Follow me: @ruth_messinger, emphasis added) – I cannot help but feel that social media and the under-50 set are inextricably linked in the halls of Jewish organizations, perhaps as a way of keeping us involved enough to forget we’re still not letting you make communal policy decisions.
Cue the latest example: http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=166358540044295. Now my relationship with Jewish conferences is like my relationship with advanced math classes in grade school: I love them but I hate them. I love the euphoria, the optimism, the unending buffets, the unending inspeak with no need for simultaneous translation. All of that is for naught, however, when us youngsters are relegated to the kiddy table like it's one big Passover Seder.
How long ago was it that conferences were held hostage by youth delegates, demanding at least 25 percent representation on communal organizations' boards? Long enough that those same delegates are now in charge and clearly forgetful from where they came. It's all too easy for organizations to lament youth apathy but all too hard for them to alloacte a perceptange of their lay & professional leadership positions to those under 35 years of age.
I, like many in my age bracket, am able to comprehend complexity and nuance without the words “boobs” and/or “poop” being used. And I’m able to hold conversations without the use of my two thumbs or 140 characters.
In other words, it’s the same patronization as usual -- only this time, we're able to see just how many have drunk the Manischewitz in our News Feed.
OK, before I continue on my curmudgeoned rant and in the interest of full disclosure, I did crack up at 4.25 from Brian Williams (I’m a laughing fool for gibberish) and Triumph (who sounded eerily like me at a wedding after a few gin & tonics)….only to vomit a bit in my mouth at the last part of 'goyim' cutting their teeth on one of 'our' languages. But it’s a Judd Apatow flick, which I suppose is meant to automatically trigger one’s gag reflex.
No less important than the argument that such multimedia campaigns satisfy primarily those who appear in them, this is another example of another Jewish organization trying to make itself relevant through online social media/network/blahblahblah to those youngsters among us apparently unable to comprehend the importance of the organizations’ daily mission. Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, Tumblr – whatever it takes to get dem youngins’!
While it’s true that online social networks have the power to make connections between otherwise-distant peoples and resources, and not all online social media users are youngsters (as evidenced by the PS in AJWS’ own campaign to promote its video (*I might be turning 70, but I can tweet with the best of ‘em. Follow me: @ruth_messinger, emphasis added) – I cannot help but feel that social media and the under-50 set are inextricably linked in the halls of Jewish organizations, perhaps as a way of keeping us involved enough to forget we’re still not letting you make communal policy decisions.
Cue the latest example: http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=166358540044295. Now my relationship with Jewish conferences is like my relationship with advanced math classes in grade school: I love them but I hate them. I love the euphoria, the optimism, the unending buffets, the unending inspeak with no need for simultaneous translation. All of that is for naught, however, when us youngsters are relegated to the kiddy table like it's one big Passover Seder.
How long ago was it that conferences were held hostage by youth delegates, demanding at least 25 percent representation on communal organizations' boards? Long enough that those same delegates are now in charge and clearly forgetful from where they came. It's all too easy for organizations to lament youth apathy but all too hard for them to alloacte a perceptange of their lay & professional leadership positions to those under 35 years of age.
I, like many in my age bracket, am able to comprehend complexity and nuance without the words “boobs” and/or “poop” being used. And I’m able to hold conversations without the use of my two thumbs or 140 characters.
In other words, it’s the same patronization as usual -- only this time, we're able to see just how many have drunk the Manischewitz in our News Feed.
28 September 2010
Lessons Learned While Traveling Between Three Continents
Lessons Learned While Traveling Between Three Continents:
-Never pack multivitamins in their original container if their country of production uses a non-Latin alphabet -- not only will they be opened but will spill all over one's suitcase as a result of security agents' ability to open childproof lids and inability to close them.
-Combining a frequent flyer membership and the evil eye results in at least two seats to oneself on transatlantic flights, as well as the envy of all other passengers. Guard the seats carefully by getting up when everyone's passed out after the "meal."
-Speaking of which, always order "Vegetarian (Dairy-Free)." It's healthier, identifiable, and reduces looks from suspicious-looking passengers curious as to why one ordered the Kosher meal. Be prepared, however, to explain in the flight attendants' native language, whould they lose your request, why you cannot eat the Halal meal instead.
-Never order the Halal meal. Serving passengers half a raw jalapeño pepper is an airborne disaster waiting to happen that no accompanying packet of fennel seeds can prevent.
-Almost everything in Spain contains some part of a pig. Even the coffee.
-One of the greatest museums on The Mall in DC is the Hirshhorn. Not only are the installations spectacular, the museum as a whole has the highest level of tourist repellant.
-There is a connection between the names of Japanese restaurants in DC and their unintended meanings in Hebrew (examples include Sakana on P Street ("danger" in Hebrew) and this one on K Street (the "n word" in Hebrew). Luckily the latter serves a great Negroni.
-The Starbucks by the 110th Street downtown stop on the Upper West Side serves out sartorial compliments to uncaffeinated customers, leaving them speechless and starting the day on a positive note.
-The best meals are home-cooked, be it butternut squash mac-and cheese in Midtown, 14 pounds of the best beef brisket ever made in Ohio, or roasted brussel sprouts back home.
-It's always good to go back to the States for quality time with friends and family. And television.
-Never pack multivitamins in their original container if their country of production uses a non-Latin alphabet -- not only will they be opened but will spill all over one's suitcase as a result of security agents' ability to open childproof lids and inability to close them.
-Combining a frequent flyer membership and the evil eye results in at least two seats to oneself on transatlantic flights, as well as the envy of all other passengers. Guard the seats carefully by getting up when everyone's passed out after the "meal."
-Speaking of which, always order "Vegetarian (Dairy-Free)." It's healthier, identifiable, and reduces looks from suspicious-looking passengers curious as to why one ordered the Kosher meal. Be prepared, however, to explain in the flight attendants' native language, whould they lose your request, why you cannot eat the Halal meal instead.
-Never order the Halal meal. Serving passengers half a raw jalapeño pepper is an airborne disaster waiting to happen that no accompanying packet of fennel seeds can prevent.
-Almost everything in Spain contains some part of a pig. Even the coffee.
-One of the greatest museums on The Mall in DC is the Hirshhorn. Not only are the installations spectacular, the museum as a whole has the highest level of tourist repellant.
-There is a connection between the names of Japanese restaurants in DC and their unintended meanings in Hebrew (examples include Sakana on P Street ("danger" in Hebrew) and this one on K Street (the "n word" in Hebrew). Luckily the latter serves a great Negroni.
-The Starbucks by the 110th Street downtown stop on the Upper West Side serves out sartorial compliments to uncaffeinated customers, leaving them speechless and starting the day on a positive note.
-The best meals are home-cooked, be it butternut squash mac-and cheese in Midtown, 14 pounds of the best beef brisket ever made in Ohio, or roasted brussel sprouts back home.
-It's always good to go back to the States for quality time with friends and family. And television.
23 August 2010
I may keep kosher, but I’m in the mood for Frog Kebab
In this quasi-semi-weekly news roundup: French tourists, begrudgingly agreeing with Tom Friedman, and getting ready for the next Stateside trip
~It’s late summer in Israel which means staying indoors with air-conditioning and away from the tourists. I don’t mean Birthright Israel participants, though there were a few close moments where I almost side-checked a few standing idly in the middle of the shuk; no, this time I’m referring to the typical late-summer tourist in Israel – the French Jew. I’m doing my best to be tolerant towards all types, especially being the month before the High Holy Days, but there’s only so much American patience I can muster before hordes of cordovan-skinned screaming parents with equally screaming kids who assume every and any store will haggle over a marked price. My all-time favorite is when, upon breaking their teeth over English, they point to one of their eyes to begin a declarative sentence with “I am looking for....”
This has nothing to do with the ethnic origins of the majority of the French tourists, nor of being French citizens or Francophones per se; but combining government-mandated vacations with the ongoing Diaspora-Israel conflict leads to a level of self-entitlement that even American Jews couldn’t muster out of embarrassment. This article, besides being written by a Tel Avivcentric writer who clearly hasn’t been witness to the onslaught of the Gallic hordes in Jerusalem, paints these tourists in an unflatteringly positive light. I’m all for Diaspora Jews drawing closer and more complicated ties with Israel and vice versa (a trait long lost on this guy), but acting out the worst of Israeli stereotypes on a minute-by-minute basis in perforated Hebrew or English (or simply speaking in French loudly and slowly) doesn’t bode well for my growing taste for frog kebab.
~Because enough people haven't weighed in on the Muslim center to be built in lower mnahattan, here comes another voice: The problem with Ground Zero is neither this planned mosque, nor the strip clubs already in existence; it's the fact that nine years later, there is still a huge, gaping hole in the ground. There's been no post-pigua type collective closure, when the sad music on the radio stops, the memorial plaques go up, and stores re-open because we don't surrender to terrorism -- instead we've filled the hole with two wars and a Patriot Act stil in existence. Till then, when the hole's filled with a new building and we're able to think in nuances again, we're gonna have to endure Americans' ongoing love-hate relationship with their own xenophobia & racism, as well as a gluttony of talking heads. Even Tom Friedman, in his latest Op-Ed, begrudgingly agrees with me to a point.
I'm back in the States starting Thursday for a four city tour, two weddings, and a long stopover in Madrid, with perhaps some writing in between it all.
~It’s late summer in Israel which means staying indoors with air-conditioning and away from the tourists. I don’t mean Birthright Israel participants, though there were a few close moments where I almost side-checked a few standing idly in the middle of the shuk; no, this time I’m referring to the typical late-summer tourist in Israel – the French Jew. I’m doing my best to be tolerant towards all types, especially being the month before the High Holy Days, but there’s only so much American patience I can muster before hordes of cordovan-skinned screaming parents with equally screaming kids who assume every and any store will haggle over a marked price. My all-time favorite is when, upon breaking their teeth over English, they point to one of their eyes to begin a declarative sentence with “I am looking for....”
This has nothing to do with the ethnic origins of the majority of the French tourists, nor of being French citizens or Francophones per se; but combining government-mandated vacations with the ongoing Diaspora-Israel conflict leads to a level of self-entitlement that even American Jews couldn’t muster out of embarrassment. This article, besides being written by a Tel Avivcentric writer who clearly hasn’t been witness to the onslaught of the Gallic hordes in Jerusalem, paints these tourists in an unflatteringly positive light. I’m all for Diaspora Jews drawing closer and more complicated ties with Israel and vice versa (a trait long lost on this guy), but acting out the worst of Israeli stereotypes on a minute-by-minute basis in perforated Hebrew or English (or simply speaking in French loudly and slowly) doesn’t bode well for my growing taste for frog kebab.
~Because enough people haven't weighed in on the Muslim center to be built in lower mnahattan, here comes another voice: The problem with Ground Zero is neither this planned mosque, nor the strip clubs already in existence; it's the fact that nine years later, there is still a huge, gaping hole in the ground. There's been no post-pigua type collective closure, when the sad music on the radio stops, the memorial plaques go up, and stores re-open because we don't surrender to terrorism -- instead we've filled the hole with two wars and a Patriot Act stil in existence. Till then, when the hole's filled with a new building and we're able to think in nuances again, we're gonna have to endure Americans' ongoing love-hate relationship with their own xenophobia & racism, as well as a gluttony of talking heads. Even Tom Friedman, in his latest Op-Ed, begrudgingly agrees with me to a point.
I'm back in the States starting Thursday for a four city tour, two weddings, and a long stopover in Madrid, with perhaps some writing in between it all.
03 August 2010
Launch of My Own News Reader Roundup
I consume enough news, Op-Eds, style blogs and music to fill my own blog....oh wait, I do have a blog. In the course of job hunting and spilling over with things to say, I present you with the inaugural and semi-weekly roundup of news and homespun commentary. Sarcastic title TBD.
-JTA reports that increasing numbers of right-wing MK's are in favor of a one-state solution. Seems to have the same problem of those who say "all of Israel's problems are a result of the Occupation" -- they're completely wrong. It still won't solve increasing racism and inter-ethnic discrimination; leaves Law of Return and democratic representation hanging way too high in the air; doesn't solve increasingly poorer distribution of natural resources (blackout in Rehavia, anyone?); and continues to assume North American Jews will some day make Aliyah en masse to fill the demographic difference, despite the growing existential chasm between Diaspora and Israel. I'm not holding my breath to be back in Tulkarm.
-Jewcy Magazine tweeted "A Jew's Primer to Krautrock and Beyond." Maybe it's the 140 characters or the highschool music "been there, heard that" snob in me, but this otherwise-thorough list comes off just as holier-than-thou as this blog post. Not to mention, chances are if you're reading Jewcy and subscribing to their Twitter feed, you probably know the relationship between the genre and David Bowie's "Low" album. If you really want to educate your supposedly xenophobic readership, create a primer for the Arab music they listen to while smoking hookas in East Village bars.
-It's hot outside, really hot outside, so naturally it's time to let off some steam by trying to provoke an international war (caution -- article is in Hebrew!). While the UN-mandated patrol had the gall not to justify the Lebanese Army's heat-induced first shots, and in the first 12 hours of the event no less, the latter hands-down wins the ongoing debate over the better version of the Mediterranean English hit "Do You Love Me?": The Bendaly Family circa 1978 or their neighbor, slightly visible from the coastline, Sarit Haddad?
-If you haven't read this Statement of Principles yet, stop reading this noxious post and read it now. The first Op-Ed I wrote for my highschool newspaper was about the hypocrisy of Jewish students' intolerance towards homosexuals. 13 years later, a must-read breakthrough gets published, in English and Hebrew. I wish I really could back up such a connection, but clearly a lot of time and care went into this declaration and deserves to be praised.
-JTA reports that increasing numbers of right-wing MK's are in favor of a one-state solution. Seems to have the same problem of those who say "all of Israel's problems are a result of the Occupation" -- they're completely wrong. It still won't solve increasing racism and inter-ethnic discrimination; leaves Law of Return and democratic representation hanging way too high in the air; doesn't solve increasingly poorer distribution of natural resources (blackout in Rehavia, anyone?); and continues to assume North American Jews will some day make Aliyah en masse to fill the demographic difference, despite the growing existential chasm between Diaspora and Israel. I'm not holding my breath to be back in Tulkarm.
-Jewcy Magazine tweeted "A Jew's Primer to Krautrock and Beyond." Maybe it's the 140 characters or the highschool music "been there, heard that" snob in me, but this otherwise-thorough list comes off just as holier-than-thou as this blog post. Not to mention, chances are if you're reading Jewcy and subscribing to their Twitter feed, you probably know the relationship between the genre and David Bowie's "Low" album. If you really want to educate your supposedly xenophobic readership, create a primer for the Arab music they listen to while smoking hookas in East Village bars.
-It's hot outside, really hot outside, so naturally it's time to let off some steam by trying to provoke an international war (caution -- article is in Hebrew!). While the UN-mandated patrol had the gall not to justify the Lebanese Army's heat-induced first shots, and in the first 12 hours of the event no less, the latter hands-down wins the ongoing debate over the better version of the Mediterranean English hit "Do You Love Me?": The Bendaly Family circa 1978 or their neighbor, slightly visible from the coastline, Sarit Haddad?
-If you haven't read this Statement of Principles yet, stop reading this noxious post and read it now. The first Op-Ed I wrote for my highschool newspaper was about the hypocrisy of Jewish students' intolerance towards homosexuals. 13 years later, a must-read breakthrough gets published, in English and Hebrew. I wish I really could back up such a connection, but clearly a lot of time and care went into this declaration and deserves to be praised.
31 July 2010
It’s been more than a fortnight since the World Cup final. The end of the month-long, Guinness-soaked Mundial can only be described time-wise by words like “fortnight,” as it runs so contrary to American culture. My watching cohort were non-American Anglos, so much so the sound of another Yank talking brought on levels of cognitive dissonance I seldom experienced outside switching passports in a European airport. Only a few moments of American interjection stick out – the US team’s Hollywood finish advancement in the group stage, the Germany-England game with an inebriated, 20-something Yank yelling in a fake English accent about the Holocaust, etc. – in a game seldom appreciated outside of expat circles.
If the World Cup runs contrary to American culture, the Jerusalem Film Festival runs contrary to Israeli culture. A week long event revolving around the city’s Cinematheque, the Festival brings in international actors, films yet to be released in Israel, and an onslaught of style so desperately needed. I managed to get to a total of eight films, largely due to a manageable work schedule and eating pasta to save up the money. What seemed like a challenge of seeing three films in a row in one day turned out to be a source of pleasure, like the first day of classes in a semester at college: three completely different experiences that lit up different parts of my brain. Some of the films were outstanding (the simultaneously funny and chilling "Four Lions" and the must-see "No One Knows About Persian Cats"), some made people in the audience leave prematurely ("Andante," one of the first Israeli surrealist films), some fell short of their real potential ("The Golden Pomegranate," with the very odd English-only dialogue) and other were nothing short of the perfectly descriptive 'bleccch' ("Life During Wartime").
Beyond the individual films, the Festival serves to burn a hole in the increasingly isolationist culture here. As with other aspects of Israeli society, American attitudes are pervasive here – fast-food, individualism, even clothing trends as of late – including the notion that "the rest of the World can go to Hell, we'll be just fine." It's a generalization, for sure, but has some bearing on how we absorb certain trands and eschew others; how entires sectors of society ignore others; and the growing, almost idelogically violent, divide between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.
If the World Cup runs contrary to American culture, the Jerusalem Film Festival runs contrary to Israeli culture. A week long event revolving around the city’s Cinematheque, the Festival brings in international actors, films yet to be released in Israel, and an onslaught of style so desperately needed. I managed to get to a total of eight films, largely due to a manageable work schedule and eating pasta to save up the money. What seemed like a challenge of seeing three films in a row in one day turned out to be a source of pleasure, like the first day of classes in a semester at college: three completely different experiences that lit up different parts of my brain. Some of the films were outstanding (the simultaneously funny and chilling "Four Lions" and the must-see "No One Knows About Persian Cats"), some made people in the audience leave prematurely ("Andante," one of the first Israeli surrealist films), some fell short of their real potential ("The Golden Pomegranate," with the very odd English-only dialogue) and other were nothing short of the perfectly descriptive 'bleccch' ("Life During Wartime").
Beyond the individual films, the Festival serves to burn a hole in the increasingly isolationist culture here. As with other aspects of Israeli society, American attitudes are pervasive here – fast-food, individualism, even clothing trends as of late – including the notion that "the rest of the World can go to Hell, we'll be just fine." It's a generalization, for sure, but has some bearing on how we absorb certain trands and eschew others; how entires sectors of society ignore others; and the growing, almost idelogically violent, divide between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.
07 June 2010
A Week in the Gutter: Food Poisoning, Flotillas, and Eurovision
This was a trying week. Leave aside the events surrounding that now-overexposed contraption “flotilla” (I’ll come back to the topic), my sweet comfort snack of late poisoned me. To those English speakers who haven’t heard of a “comfort snack” before (believe me, there’s at least several), it’s one’s comfort food in the form of a snack or anything smaller than a meal (though easily consumed in a similar quantity). Mine of late has been Berman Bakery Cinnamon Rugelach, soft and pliable hand-sized pastries that look more like croissants and taste like serenity.
It’s a big deal when your comfort snack turns on you. There’s the obvious larger significance of betrayal from an otherwise source of solace; here, I’m too busy with thee genuflecting-inducing, gut-clutching, fever-inducing maleficence of that betrayal to ponder its larger existential dilemmas. To make a graphic story short, I’ve become a mini-expert on where to find the cheapest Gatorade in the city center (the price markup is astounding).
Back to the flotilla. As one Facebook friend put it so succinctly “I’m getting more updates on the Flotilla from my Facebook newsfeed.” People were posting Left and Right; I got invites to at least five different rallies and fifty different groups; I saw every IDF-released clip at least a dozen times; not to mention the innumerable puns on “flotilla” from a dish in a Mexican restaurant to requisite toilet humor.
I’ve been thinking about the f-word and how it relates to the annual Eurovision Song Contest, which took place in the shadow of the looming vessels. If you’ve never heard of it, much less seen it before, chances are you’re a full-blooded American. It’s the un-American contest, wherein camp and kitsch are held to such a high esteem no wonder this year was just awful. In the past, the winning songs became pop music standards; nowadays, they grace the pop charts on the Continent for a few weeks, if even that long. There were a few decent performances, but as usual politics determined the winner.
International relations have affected the scoring of contestants for some time now, in the form of point trading, or cultural affinities, or giving thanks for political/financial help. In this case, the award went to Germany, the newly minted financial savior of Europe and one lame ass song. But the more interesting voting trend was how well Turkey did, coming in 2nd place with a meh song. Turkey has placed in the Top 10 in the past four years in no small part due to the huge populations of Turkish workers in Europe. No wonder that not only Germany won this year, but German voting has given most of its votes to Turkey over the years.
Turkey has been playing the field for some time now, trying to be a member of the EU and a friend of Iran. Its current PM is following less in the footsteps of Ataturk, the secular founder of Turkey, and more in those of Ottoman sultans of yore. Look at all the moves the PM has made since taking office -- anti-Semitic programs on TV, striking a deal between Iran and Brazil (home to one of the largest Arab populations outside of the region), the rise of Islamic fundamentalism and the call of a vocal minority to reinstitute the Caliphate (last seated in Istanbul) and the rhetoric over the f-word -- and you have the telltale signs of a scimitar-brandishing, besuited firebrand sitting upon his bureaucratic throne in Ankara.
Living in a former vilayet of the Empire, I can tell you few things have united Arab and Jew in the past 100 years more than plotting against the Sublime Porte. Watch your doner kababs, Turkey.
It’s a big deal when your comfort snack turns on you. There’s the obvious larger significance of betrayal from an otherwise source of solace; here, I’m too busy with thee genuflecting-inducing, gut-clutching, fever-inducing maleficence of that betrayal to ponder its larger existential dilemmas. To make a graphic story short, I’ve become a mini-expert on where to find the cheapest Gatorade in the city center (the price markup is astounding).
Back to the flotilla. As one Facebook friend put it so succinctly “I’m getting more updates on the Flotilla from my Facebook newsfeed.” People were posting Left and Right; I got invites to at least five different rallies and fifty different groups; I saw every IDF-released clip at least a dozen times; not to mention the innumerable puns on “flotilla” from a dish in a Mexican restaurant to requisite toilet humor.
I’ve been thinking about the f-word and how it relates to the annual Eurovision Song Contest, which took place in the shadow of the looming vessels. If you’ve never heard of it, much less seen it before, chances are you’re a full-blooded American. It’s the un-American contest, wherein camp and kitsch are held to such a high esteem no wonder this year was just awful. In the past, the winning songs became pop music standards; nowadays, they grace the pop charts on the Continent for a few weeks, if even that long. There were a few decent performances, but as usual politics determined the winner.
International relations have affected the scoring of contestants for some time now, in the form of point trading, or cultural affinities, or giving thanks for political/financial help. In this case, the award went to Germany, the newly minted financial savior of Europe and one lame ass song. But the more interesting voting trend was how well Turkey did, coming in 2nd place with a meh song. Turkey has placed in the Top 10 in the past four years in no small part due to the huge populations of Turkish workers in Europe. No wonder that not only Germany won this year, but German voting has given most of its votes to Turkey over the years.
Turkey has been playing the field for some time now, trying to be a member of the EU and a friend of Iran. Its current PM is following less in the footsteps of Ataturk, the secular founder of Turkey, and more in those of Ottoman sultans of yore. Look at all the moves the PM has made since taking office -- anti-Semitic programs on TV, striking a deal between Iran and Brazil (home to one of the largest Arab populations outside of the region), the rise of Islamic fundamentalism and the call of a vocal minority to reinstitute the Caliphate (last seated in Istanbul) and the rhetoric over the f-word -- and you have the telltale signs of a scimitar-brandishing, besuited firebrand sitting upon his bureaucratic throne in Ankara.
Living in a former vilayet of the Empire, I can tell you few things have united Arab and Jew in the past 100 years more than plotting against the Sublime Porte. Watch your doner kababs, Turkey.
22 May 2010
Punk Preppies
The last week or so was abuzz online with news that Elvis Costello cancelled his performances in Israel for political reasons. His letter of explanation is still indecipherable to me; he seems trying to capture the “two Jews, three opinions” shtick in his writing style, thus supposedly playing to a sympathetic ear. Instead, he comes off as rambling and almost possessed by some other’s ideologies
Hard cheese, Mr. Costello. If this was a political protest meant to raise awareness, one could make just as much of a PR stunt by publicly rescinding an offer of an Israeli producer, in front of a bank of journalists or from a Twitter feed, before they invest thousands of dollars into your performance; instead, he screwed civilians and actual fans who poured out actual money to show their appreciation as opposed to what I can only imagine to be email-sending, eMule downloading quasi-fans more riled by seeing the name Israel alongside a formerly publicity-making entertainer. Caesarea (the venue for his performances) is not Sun City, and punking out like this hardly makes one an activist.
Regardless, this country’s not big enough for two preppy dressers (AHEM), so it’s all as well Mr. Costello doesn’t show his face here. Next time he punks out like this, I hope the ticket-holders demand a refund from him in person.
Hard cheese, Mr. Costello. If this was a political protest meant to raise awareness, one could make just as much of a PR stunt by publicly rescinding an offer of an Israeli producer, in front of a bank of journalists or from a Twitter feed, before they invest thousands of dollars into your performance; instead, he screwed civilians and actual fans who poured out actual money to show their appreciation as opposed to what I can only imagine to be email-sending, eMule downloading quasi-fans more riled by seeing the name Israel alongside a formerly publicity-making entertainer. Caesarea (the venue for his performances) is not Sun City, and punking out like this hardly makes one an activist.
Regardless, this country’s not big enough for two preppy dressers (AHEM), so it’s all as well Mr. Costello doesn’t show his face here. Next time he punks out like this, I hope the ticket-holders demand a refund from him in person.
14 May 2010
Lazy Bones
14 May 2010
There's plenty to be said about my last trip to the States, not to mention the past two months since I last posted on this blog (two jobs and a thesis, US Customs in Northern Kentucky, being stalked by a pollster, etc.); but for the sake of brevity and some things which cannot be published, invite me for a drink or few and I promise to entertain.
Since I've tried starting to write this post, I've been thinking about how much in my life and in others' has to remain offline. Not that I'm confirming or denying a secret agent identity that so many assume I carry; but with companies and aggregate search engines collecting any bits of profile info that are out there, supposedly protected or not, the Luddite in me like that offline face-to-face communication still has a role in our day. A new computer program, wonderfully called diaspora, might soon put an end to all this otherwise much needed self-censorship.
That being said, there's plenty more to come; My previously promised St. Patrick's Day essay has yet to be finished and I have a new essay topic on the linkage between the Spanish Inquisition and the 1970's British Punk scene; I'm going to start posting my DJ playlists in a tab ingeniously entitled "DJ Playlists" on the right-side of the screen, for those interested; and hopefully this belated post, along with the new multivitamins and extra cup of coffee per day will help shed my routine exhaustion for something more fitting for my age.
There's plenty to be said about my last trip to the States, not to mention the past two months since I last posted on this blog (two jobs and a thesis, US Customs in Northern Kentucky, being stalked by a pollster, etc.); but for the sake of brevity and some things which cannot be published, invite me for a drink or few and I promise to entertain.
Since I've tried starting to write this post, I've been thinking about how much in my life and in others' has to remain offline. Not that I'm confirming or denying a secret agent identity that so many assume I carry; but with companies and aggregate search engines collecting any bits of profile info that are out there, supposedly protected or not, the Luddite in me like that offline face-to-face communication still has a role in our day. A new computer program, wonderfully called diaspora, might soon put an end to all this otherwise much needed self-censorship.
That being said, there's plenty more to come; My previously promised St. Patrick's Day essay has yet to be finished and I have a new essay topic on the linkage between the Spanish Inquisition and the 1970's British Punk scene; I'm going to start posting my DJ playlists in a tab ingeniously entitled "DJ Playlists" on the right-side of the screen, for those interested; and hopefully this belated post, along with the new multivitamins and extra cup of coffee per day will help shed my routine exhaustion for something more fitting for my age.
25 February 2010
Having quickly broken my promise to blog more, here's a quick recap since the last post:
-Fulfilled a long-standing dream of DJing. Two sets down, hopefully more to come. Surprise guests, crazy laser-laden dancers, couples making out in dimly-lit corners, undercover female Shin Bet agents flitring with me, lots of compliments...
-Started to work more regularly at my consulting gig, now hired part-time to open and maintain a website. Lots to say about this amazing project, stay tuned for the site's unveiling!
-The wettest winter in a decade gave way to the warmest winter in decades, leaving me salivating over all the snow dumped on the East Coast (my offer still stands to import some/all that remains over here).
-Updating my family tree online has led to new discoveries of distant relatives, including one I've known for several years. Geni.com rocks.
-Had an anxiety dream about flying to/from the States, which means it must be time for Passover! Back in the States late March-mid-April, including a flight from Israel to Hebron (Kentucky, that is).
Hoping to keep this blog updated more often, as Facebook and Twitter make my need for nuance intensify.
Future posts: New job, 3rd DJ set (hopefully), H&M opens in Israel, Why St. Patrick's Day is good for the Jews
-Fulfilled a long-standing dream of DJing. Two sets down, hopefully more to come. Surprise guests, crazy laser-laden dancers, couples making out in dimly-lit corners, undercover female Shin Bet agents flitring with me, lots of compliments...
-Started to work more regularly at my consulting gig, now hired part-time to open and maintain a website. Lots to say about this amazing project, stay tuned for the site's unveiling!
-The wettest winter in a decade gave way to the warmest winter in decades, leaving me salivating over all the snow dumped on the East Coast (my offer still stands to import some/all that remains over here).
-Updating my family tree online has led to new discoveries of distant relatives, including one I've known for several years. Geni.com rocks.
-Had an anxiety dream about flying to/from the States, which means it must be time for Passover! Back in the States late March-mid-April, including a flight from Israel to Hebron (Kentucky, that is).
Hoping to keep this blog updated more often, as Facebook and Twitter make my need for nuance intensify.
Future posts: New job, 3rd DJ set (hopefully), H&M opens in Israel, Why St. Patrick's Day is good for the Jews
01 December 2009
It’s time for an Israeli Thanksgiving.
I was thinking of ranting about how Tzabarim/Sabras almost always assume Thanksgiving is a Christian holiday, but playing the embittered Anglo card is getting old. Perhaps this train of thought is induced by one too many forkfuls of turkey and cranberry sauce, or from the separation from family and family (dys)functionality during this time of year. Whatever the reason, I know I’m not the only Anglo nor Sabra who’d be interested in an Israeli version of Thanksgiving.
(While this post is meant to be written in Hebrew, and will be shortly translated, for the sake of blurring border I’m leaving it in English.)
As I see it, there are three central themes to Thanksgiving: family/communal gathering, giving thanks in a secular format, and celebrating post-immigration freedom. Each has an aspect in the current roster of Israeli holidays, yet they often appear alone or in pairs.
I was thinking of ranting about how Tzabarim/Sabras almost always assume Thanksgiving is a Christian holiday, but playing the embittered Anglo card is getting old. Perhaps this train of thought is induced by one too many forkfuls of turkey and cranberry sauce, or from the separation from family and family (dys)functionality during this time of year. Whatever the reason, I know I’m not the only Anglo nor Sabra who’d be interested in an Israeli version of Thanksgiving.
(While this post is meant to be written in Hebrew, and will be shortly translated, for the sake of blurring border I’m leaving it in English.)
As I see it, there are three central themes to Thanksgiving: family/communal gathering, giving thanks in a secular format, and celebrating post-immigration freedom. Each has an aspect in the current roster of Israeli holidays, yet they often appear alone or in pairs.
12 November 2009
12 November 2009
This week was the annual General Assembly of the United Jewish Communities, now called Jewish Federations of North America. Amidst important and surprisingly relevant plenaries regarding the current financial crisis, Israel-Diaspora relations, and communal engagement came the speech everyone wanted to really hear: PM Netanyahu. Enough of the reports of delegates wanting to hear the new JFNA CEO or the last-minute cancelled President Obama – Bibi is always the crowd maker among North American Jews.
His speech was so incredibly directed at the heart (and purse) strings of the audience, the more provocative parts of his speech were seldom mentioned in the Israeli media. No, I’m not talking about peace negotiations or a two-state solution; we’re all falling asleep from those headlines.
Rather, it was two snippets I managed to catch on the streaming webcast on cspan.org. The first was in the framework of decreasing the global thirst for oil, offering Israel’s famous innovations in solar energy and desalinization. While generous of the PM to offer this to the far-flung and malnourished, I was wondering why he can’t offer it to his own constituents back here in Israel. True, Israel has the highest per capita use of home solar water heaters in the world, but this accounts for only 3% of the country’s total energy consumption. Recently, plans to build a massive array of solar panels were scuttled by landowners and private interests, despite being located deep in the Negev Desert; we just love our coal-burning power plants too much to give up precious arid desert.
The desalinization offer really got me boiling. There’s a oft-told story in public planning courses about how Israel passed on building multiple desalinization plants in the 1970’s because of the perceived costs – refusing to think long-terms brings us to the present day situation of the drought. You’ll almost never see the word “drought” or “famine” appear in English-language news about Israel, despite the dire predictions for this country’s water supply. Citrus groves have been intentionally decimated due to their large water intakes, apple and cherry orchards in the North are routinely uprooted to help falling water levels, and at one point we were supposed to be importing potable water from Turkey.
Just like I previously wrote about the Israeli industry of exporting outsourced customer service, which we never see here as consumers, the PM’s American-tailored speech proves that as long as we Israelis don’t care about customer service and accountability, the more we are tightening the straps on our own straightjackets.
The other snippet was the PM welcoming all Jews in the Diaspora, “of all denominations” as potential Israeli citizens with the right to religious belief. Amidst the billowing applause from the audience, over here in Israel we heard the proverbial sound of a turntable needle scratching a vinyl record in midplay. Last time I checked, non-Orthodox institutions did not receive any State funding, while millions of NIS pour into yeshivot and school systems run by the ultra-Orthodox political parties. Shas, the party with whom I mince my words the least currently runs the Interior Ministry which decides, among other things, who is a Jew and who is allowed to stay in this country. Nevermind the outrageous comments from some of this party’s members, who compare Reform Jews to all sorts of animals and co-conspirators with our worst detractors; and forget for the moment the current plans to expel the majority of foreign workers in the country, the majority of whom were issued work visas while Shas ran the Ministry; focus on the notion of Shas carrying out the myth of “Sfardi Tahor” on the entirety of Israel and World Jewry.
“Sfardi tahor,” or “Pure Sephardi,” varies in examples but refers to a difference in those Spanish and Portuguese Jews who fled the Inquisition versushose who converted and secretly practiced their Jewish beliefs. Its historiography is very hard to discover, its usage widespread, and in the hands of The Worldwide Sephardic Association of Torah Keepers (Shas) a moral hypocrisy for the Jewish people. Jews who haven’t practiced Judaism in generations and live in South American and northeastern India are brought here with taxpayer money and made to wear an Ashkenazi or Sephardi kippa, but God Forbid American Reform or Conservative Jews move here en masse and demand space for a synagogue.
Despite those who wallow in the Jews’ historic misery, and who mainly see an otherwise lachrymose Jewish history redeemed through the founding of the State, Jews aren’t defined by blood tests. Or at least, we shouldn’t define ourselves by them, thus negating the millions of Jews of color, Jews by choice, and Jews who have struggled to weigh modernity and tradition through a myriad of paths.
Probably by now you’ve deciphered how worked-up I got this week at the Jewish World, particularly with Israelis. Thankfully a bit of news from my hometown spread out the insanity. It seems a deer, one of the many which go into mating frenzy this time of year in Rock Creek Park, accidentally jumped into the lions’ den at the National Zoo. The gathering tourists wanted to deer the emerge from the lions’ den like some saintly victim in pre-Christian Rome; us filthy Jews (or at least me and my philosophic doppelganger Jeffrey Goldberg) wanted the tourists to shut up and let the lions have their Nature-apportioned meal in peace. Thankfully at least one Washingtonian is there to keep the turistas at bay.
This week was the annual General Assembly of the United Jewish Communities, now called Jewish Federations of North America. Amidst important and surprisingly relevant plenaries regarding the current financial crisis, Israel-Diaspora relations, and communal engagement came the speech everyone wanted to really hear: PM Netanyahu. Enough of the reports of delegates wanting to hear the new JFNA CEO or the last-minute cancelled President Obama – Bibi is always the crowd maker among North American Jews.
His speech was so incredibly directed at the heart (and purse) strings of the audience, the more provocative parts of his speech were seldom mentioned in the Israeli media. No, I’m not talking about peace negotiations or a two-state solution; we’re all falling asleep from those headlines.
Rather, it was two snippets I managed to catch on the streaming webcast on cspan.org. The first was in the framework of decreasing the global thirst for oil, offering Israel’s famous innovations in solar energy and desalinization. While generous of the PM to offer this to the far-flung and malnourished, I was wondering why he can’t offer it to his own constituents back here in Israel. True, Israel has the highest per capita use of home solar water heaters in the world, but this accounts for only 3% of the country’s total energy consumption. Recently, plans to build a massive array of solar panels were scuttled by landowners and private interests, despite being located deep in the Negev Desert; we just love our coal-burning power plants too much to give up precious arid desert.
The desalinization offer really got me boiling. There’s a oft-told story in public planning courses about how Israel passed on building multiple desalinization plants in the 1970’s because of the perceived costs – refusing to think long-terms brings us to the present day situation of the drought. You’ll almost never see the word “drought” or “famine” appear in English-language news about Israel, despite the dire predictions for this country’s water supply. Citrus groves have been intentionally decimated due to their large water intakes, apple and cherry orchards in the North are routinely uprooted to help falling water levels, and at one point we were supposed to be importing potable water from Turkey.
Just like I previously wrote about the Israeli industry of exporting outsourced customer service, which we never see here as consumers, the PM’s American-tailored speech proves that as long as we Israelis don’t care about customer service and accountability, the more we are tightening the straps on our own straightjackets.
The other snippet was the PM welcoming all Jews in the Diaspora, “of all denominations” as potential Israeli citizens with the right to religious belief. Amidst the billowing applause from the audience, over here in Israel we heard the proverbial sound of a turntable needle scratching a vinyl record in midplay. Last time I checked, non-Orthodox institutions did not receive any State funding, while millions of NIS pour into yeshivot and school systems run by the ultra-Orthodox political parties. Shas, the party with whom I mince my words the least currently runs the Interior Ministry which decides, among other things, who is a Jew and who is allowed to stay in this country. Nevermind the outrageous comments from some of this party’s members, who compare Reform Jews to all sorts of animals and co-conspirators with our worst detractors; and forget for the moment the current plans to expel the majority of foreign workers in the country, the majority of whom were issued work visas while Shas ran the Ministry; focus on the notion of Shas carrying out the myth of “Sfardi Tahor” on the entirety of Israel and World Jewry.
“Sfardi tahor,” or “Pure Sephardi,” varies in examples but refers to a difference in those Spanish and Portuguese Jews who fled the Inquisition versushose who converted and secretly practiced their Jewish beliefs. Its historiography is very hard to discover, its usage widespread, and in the hands of The Worldwide Sephardic Association of Torah Keepers (Shas) a moral hypocrisy for the Jewish people. Jews who haven’t practiced Judaism in generations and live in South American and northeastern India are brought here with taxpayer money and made to wear an Ashkenazi or Sephardi kippa, but God Forbid American Reform or Conservative Jews move here en masse and demand space for a synagogue.
Despite those who wallow in the Jews’ historic misery, and who mainly see an otherwise lachrymose Jewish history redeemed through the founding of the State, Jews aren’t defined by blood tests. Or at least, we shouldn’t define ourselves by them, thus negating the millions of Jews of color, Jews by choice, and Jews who have struggled to weigh modernity and tradition through a myriad of paths.
Probably by now you’ve deciphered how worked-up I got this week at the Jewish World, particularly with Israelis. Thankfully a bit of news from my hometown spread out the insanity. It seems a deer, one of the many which go into mating frenzy this time of year in Rock Creek Park, accidentally jumped into the lions’ den at the National Zoo. The gathering tourists wanted to deer the emerge from the lions’ den like some saintly victim in pre-Christian Rome; us filthy Jews (or at least me and my philosophic doppelganger Jeffrey Goldberg) wanted the tourists to shut up and let the lions have their Nature-apportioned meal in peace. Thankfully at least one Washingtonian is there to keep the turistas at bay.
12 October 2009
10 October 2009
This was a long week. The Jewish holiday season is in many ways more exasperating than the American Christmas season, which should just about be starting. While the buildup to it lasts only a month, it’s comprised of four different holidays, one lasting a full week. Add to this potentially stress-filled time hordes upon hordes of tourists, newly arriving students, itinerant dwellers of luxury apartments and equally anxious Israelis and you got yourselves quite a scene. Even the eastern side of town is relieved by the season being over, as the echoing sound of fireworks has been especially louder in the past day.
I ended up having to work extra hours this week, leaving myself prey to all manners of out-of-towners belligerently walking about town, some inebriated by alcohol, others by simply “being here.” While I remember and appreciate that kind of euphoria being in Jerusalem, which in many ways sustains me living in this town as opposed to Tel Aviv, some of these people walking around seem to have gone hypoxic from the altitude change, leaving their brains less oxygenated than normal.
Just an illustration of what the autumn can bring to Jerusalem:
A trio of black-clad 18-year old American yeshiva girls walk up Rivlin St., a pedestrian street in the city center, saturated with bars serving drunken expat teenagers and the occasional Israeli. One bumps into a yeshiva boy five times her size.
Yeshiva Boy: Excuse me (to get her attention)
(Yeshiva Girl keeps walking, ignoring YB, stops in her tracks after the bumpand looks right at me)
YG: Oh my God, I love what you’re wearing! Are you gay?
Me: I don’t think that’s any of your business.
YG: But I really love your bowtie!
Me: Since when is there a connection between one’s sexuality and how one dresses? That’s a really offensive question. (Walks away)
YB (turns around, half-hearing the altercation): Did she bump into you too?
Me: She wishes.
I’m not sure where that academic response came from, especially when she deserved something far more embarrassing in return. Maybe it’s because of the encounter’s proximity to the previous week’s Yom Kippur; maybe it was pitying this overly-sheltered kid whose left the clutches of Mommy and Daddy for the first time (anyone who equates neckwear with sexual identity deserves, at least, pity); or maybe it was because exhaustion seems to make me less witty (except for my last line in the above script). Frankly, I blame the girl’s parents for raising her to believe such a remark to a complete stranger (or anyone) would be acceptable. Regardless, the drink I was already off to get with a friend gained more saliency after this experience in absurdity.
I’ve said before that I find it an odd phenomenon for many of these 18-year olds who come to Jerusalem for a year in yeshiva, as for many of them it’s their first time away from home for an extended period of time. To be plunked down into the already- complicated and challenging situation in Jerusalem makes having one’s first taste of freedom from American suburbia equally challenging. For example, the Middle East is a region where one shows off the actual or perceived wealth of his/her family through one’s clothing – at least this is my theory explaining all the sequined T-shirts, gold-plated jewelry designer labels. While Jerusalem is no exception to this theory, there are limits to the extent of one’s material displays. American teenagers follow these rules by wearing luxury branded clothes all the time (North Face black fleece jackets, Lacoste polo shirts, etc.) but diverge when they dig their heels into the limestone and bust out with their feelings of entitlement: talking loud on their rented cellphones; talking loud and slow to us Israelis to help our comprehension (I love it when they do this with me); asking rhetorical questions aloud, actually intending to be answered by anyone; arguing about the price of everything; bumping into people on the street without apologizing; and all those other actions one doesn’t think of in the suburbs nor when one is supposedly living for the year in Disneyworld.
When I see or hear these roving bands of teenagers, I think about what kind of preparations their high schools and families back in the States give them before their flights. I also think about the larger picture, namely what does this say about Diaspora Jewish travel in Israel and relating to Israeli society while here. I’m all for creating a life for myself Here and There, and embracing some aspects of American culture while living here (if not using said aspects to make societal positive change at the same time); but what this annual influx of teenagers suggest is a parallel dimension to daily Israeli Jewish life (as opposed to those ultra-Orthodox who choose not to interact, or Arabs who are largely left out of this kind of interaction) that only entrenches Diasporans and Israelis in their views of each other.
On a non-negative note, my iPod seems to sense my mood lately. Long hours at work make the walk home a bit of a challenge, the only source of relief on the way being music. For the last week, almost every day, the shuffle function in the iPod plays either “So What” or “‘Round Midnight” by Miles Davis. A present from my father before one of my flights back to Israel, the two tracks always seem to lift me up long enough to get me home by adding a touch of class to an otherwise long and usually classless day.
This was a long week. The Jewish holiday season is in many ways more exasperating than the American Christmas season, which should just about be starting. While the buildup to it lasts only a month, it’s comprised of four different holidays, one lasting a full week. Add to this potentially stress-filled time hordes upon hordes of tourists, newly arriving students, itinerant dwellers of luxury apartments and equally anxious Israelis and you got yourselves quite a scene. Even the eastern side of town is relieved by the season being over, as the echoing sound of fireworks has been especially louder in the past day.
I ended up having to work extra hours this week, leaving myself prey to all manners of out-of-towners belligerently walking about town, some inebriated by alcohol, others by simply “being here.” While I remember and appreciate that kind of euphoria being in Jerusalem, which in many ways sustains me living in this town as opposed to Tel Aviv, some of these people walking around seem to have gone hypoxic from the altitude change, leaving their brains less oxygenated than normal.
Just an illustration of what the autumn can bring to Jerusalem:
A trio of black-clad 18-year old American yeshiva girls walk up Rivlin St., a pedestrian street in the city center, saturated with bars serving drunken expat teenagers and the occasional Israeli. One bumps into a yeshiva boy five times her size.
Yeshiva Boy: Excuse me (to get her attention)
(Yeshiva Girl keeps walking, ignoring YB, stops in her tracks after the bumpand looks right at me)
YG: Oh my God, I love what you’re wearing! Are you gay?
Me: I don’t think that’s any of your business.
YG: But I really love your bowtie!
Me: Since when is there a connection between one’s sexuality and how one dresses? That’s a really offensive question. (Walks away)
YB (turns around, half-hearing the altercation): Did she bump into you too?
Me: She wishes.
I’m not sure where that academic response came from, especially when she deserved something far more embarrassing in return. Maybe it’s because of the encounter’s proximity to the previous week’s Yom Kippur; maybe it was pitying this overly-sheltered kid whose left the clutches of Mommy and Daddy for the first time (anyone who equates neckwear with sexual identity deserves, at least, pity); or maybe it was because exhaustion seems to make me less witty (except for my last line in the above script). Frankly, I blame the girl’s parents for raising her to believe such a remark to a complete stranger (or anyone) would be acceptable. Regardless, the drink I was already off to get with a friend gained more saliency after this experience in absurdity.
I’ve said before that I find it an odd phenomenon for many of these 18-year olds who come to Jerusalem for a year in yeshiva, as for many of them it’s their first time away from home for an extended period of time. To be plunked down into the already- complicated and challenging situation in Jerusalem makes having one’s first taste of freedom from American suburbia equally challenging. For example, the Middle East is a region where one shows off the actual or perceived wealth of his/her family through one’s clothing – at least this is my theory explaining all the sequined T-shirts, gold-plated jewelry designer labels. While Jerusalem is no exception to this theory, there are limits to the extent of one’s material displays. American teenagers follow these rules by wearing luxury branded clothes all the time (North Face black fleece jackets, Lacoste polo shirts, etc.) but diverge when they dig their heels into the limestone and bust out with their feelings of entitlement: talking loud on their rented cellphones; talking loud and slow to us Israelis to help our comprehension (I love it when they do this with me); asking rhetorical questions aloud, actually intending to be answered by anyone; arguing about the price of everything; bumping into people on the street without apologizing; and all those other actions one doesn’t think of in the suburbs nor when one is supposedly living for the year in Disneyworld.
When I see or hear these roving bands of teenagers, I think about what kind of preparations their high schools and families back in the States give them before their flights. I also think about the larger picture, namely what does this say about Diaspora Jewish travel in Israel and relating to Israeli society while here. I’m all for creating a life for myself Here and There, and embracing some aspects of American culture while living here (if not using said aspects to make societal positive change at the same time); but what this annual influx of teenagers suggest is a parallel dimension to daily Israeli Jewish life (as opposed to those ultra-Orthodox who choose not to interact, or Arabs who are largely left out of this kind of interaction) that only entrenches Diasporans and Israelis in their views of each other.
On a non-negative note, my iPod seems to sense my mood lately. Long hours at work make the walk home a bit of a challenge, the only source of relief on the way being music. For the last week, almost every day, the shuffle function in the iPod plays either “So What” or “‘Round Midnight” by Miles Davis. A present from my father before one of my flights back to Israel, the two tracks always seem to lift me up long enough to get me home by adding a touch of class to an otherwise long and usually classless day.
08 October 2009
08 October 2009
This was a long, hot summer. School, job searching, little money, mosquitoes, thesis-writing, stress-induced stomach issues….little wonder I was rushing to get everything in order when the shared taxi came to collect me at 4am en route to the airport. Not done with the thesis, I needed the break badly. Arriving at the airport exactly three hours ahead of my flight, the scene in the check-in hall made it seem everyone else in the country was equally eager for a break. The place was so packed I had to wait 30 minutes before my flight’s check-in lane was listed. I breezed through security and check-in within 20 minutes, smugly smiled at the fools waiting in line at passport control while I swept through the biometric pass lane, and then spent the rest of the time doing what I do best in airports: convincing myself there are no deals to be had at duty-free after scoping out the merchandise for an hour; using my carry-on as a means of buffering those passenger equally interested in buying the last copy of the newspaper; wondering if anyone is traveling all the was to DC, who are the Americans, and why did he decide to wear THAT on a flight.
A loud flight to Paris as befits the end of summer, with families who spent the last few weeks on the beaches of Tel Aviv and Ashdod arguing with anyone non-French now letting their kids even more loose. Four hours of some spoiled girl kicking the back of my seat later, I arrived in gloomy, grey and drizzly Paris. It was heaven. After endless days of blue skies and warmth, I was craving this sight with upmost intensity. Staring at the watercolored windows a smile formed by the occasional sigh, I cared little for the reactions of those sitting nearby. My flight was in the newer of the two parts of Terminal 2E, with better food, shops, and sitting areas. Once able to pry myself from the outside’s grayness, my airport games made their usual shift of focus from Americans to Israelis. Travelling on two passports at all times means a few moments in limbo, usually in Western Europe, when I quickly shuffle the American and Israeli passports among the frequent flyer cards and travel documents, placing the American one with neon security stickers from past EL-AL flights in front. The games change accordingly, from Spot the American to Spot the Israeli, sometimes changing the level of difficulty and sometimes making for an even easier version: Families make for an early dead giveaway, as do oversized clothes and decibel level of one’s speech; poseurs and other pretentious passers-by, like myself, create a sporting challenge.
DC was great, only to be slightly eclipsed by a short trip to NYC. Having been away from the city for two years, the blurry first glimpse of the skyline from the Bolt Bus on the NJ Turnpike made me smile uncontrollably. Either the city is Babylon or a potential future home. Either way, it felt great to be back there (despite the gentrification that has turned everyone into a walking spokesman for American Apparel, and the bleachers in Times Square).
Ohio, as always, reaffirms how important family becomes while living in such a family-based society. Even for such a short trip, it was calming to be around extended family dynamics.
Paris was………mmmm, Paris. I got myself lost for several hours between flights, wandering around on hte perfect overcast day that make Parisians look even better and the surroundings all the more inviting.
And then there was the flight back to Israel. Nothing about the flight was particularly eventful, just my landing reception at 12am. After exiting the jetway, one goes up an escalator to be greeted by a poster reading “welcome to Israel” and, on non-EL AL flights, two agents who pick out the shady-looking passengers. Of course one of them picked me.
Agent (in Hebrew): Shalom, can I see some identification?
I hand him my Israeli passport.
Agent: Where are you coming from?
Me: Washington via Paris
Agent: Are you here for a visit?
Me: Nooooo, I live here.
Agent hands back passport and looks away.
I zip through passport control as I have a biometric pass issued by the Interior Ministry – perhaps the only governmental agency in the entire country who doesn’t think I am either a terrorist or a drug smuggler, as the next scene shows.
After getting my bags, I head for the exit which is after customs. A plainclothes officer stops me.
Agent (in Hebrew): Shalom, can I see your passport?
I hand it to him, trying to remain calm.
Agent: We’re looking for drugs.
Me: Okayyyyyy….
Agent: Do you have any drugs (gives me a look as if to say “C’mon, you know you wanna admit you do.”)
No. No!
Agent: Not even a little?
Me: No (my face filled with indignation, his signal that I am indeed smuggling in several kilos of drugs which I’ve packed right on my clothes).
Agent: Put your bags in the X-Ray machine.
I do it, he’s already looking for other weary passengers. I leave, feeling smaller than ever before, like some ironic Mark of Cain hovers over my head the moment I'm back in Israel.
Israel is a leader in hardware and software development, yet it takes several years for be introduced to the public. Israel has offices that seem to be opening nonstop, all offering positions in customer service representatives; yet customer service is such a low priority among Israeli companies and consumers alike that these already-outsourced jobs are outsourcing a need here.
When each agent handed me back my passport, they never said "Thanks," "Sorry," "Have a nice night," Shabbat Shalom" (I landed on a Friday morning) or even "Happy New Year." For a country obssessed with its demographics, who gave out thousands of tax breaks to returning citizens last year and hwo constantly ruffles the feathers of Diaspora Jewry by subtly or bluntly calling for them to move to Israel, this kind of reception home is anything but heart-warming.
That being said, it's great to be back.
UPDATE: No sooner did I post this that I saw this article on hte Yahoo! homepage: Police stop more than 1 million people on street
This was a long, hot summer. School, job searching, little money, mosquitoes, thesis-writing, stress-induced stomach issues….little wonder I was rushing to get everything in order when the shared taxi came to collect me at 4am en route to the airport. Not done with the thesis, I needed the break badly. Arriving at the airport exactly three hours ahead of my flight, the scene in the check-in hall made it seem everyone else in the country was equally eager for a break. The place was so packed I had to wait 30 minutes before my flight’s check-in lane was listed. I breezed through security and check-in within 20 minutes, smugly smiled at the fools waiting in line at passport control while I swept through the biometric pass lane, and then spent the rest of the time doing what I do best in airports: convincing myself there are no deals to be had at duty-free after scoping out the merchandise for an hour; using my carry-on as a means of buffering those passenger equally interested in buying the last copy of the newspaper; wondering if anyone is traveling all the was to DC, who are the Americans, and why did he decide to wear THAT on a flight.
A loud flight to Paris as befits the end of summer, with families who spent the last few weeks on the beaches of Tel Aviv and Ashdod arguing with anyone non-French now letting their kids even more loose. Four hours of some spoiled girl kicking the back of my seat later, I arrived in gloomy, grey and drizzly Paris. It was heaven. After endless days of blue skies and warmth, I was craving this sight with upmost intensity. Staring at the watercolored windows a smile formed by the occasional sigh, I cared little for the reactions of those sitting nearby. My flight was in the newer of the two parts of Terminal 2E, with better food, shops, and sitting areas. Once able to pry myself from the outside’s grayness, my airport games made their usual shift of focus from Americans to Israelis. Travelling on two passports at all times means a few moments in limbo, usually in Western Europe, when I quickly shuffle the American and Israeli passports among the frequent flyer cards and travel documents, placing the American one with neon security stickers from past EL-AL flights in front. The games change accordingly, from Spot the American to Spot the Israeli, sometimes changing the level of difficulty and sometimes making for an even easier version: Families make for an early dead giveaway, as do oversized clothes and decibel level of one’s speech; poseurs and other pretentious passers-by, like myself, create a sporting challenge.
DC was great, only to be slightly eclipsed by a short trip to NYC. Having been away from the city for two years, the blurry first glimpse of the skyline from the Bolt Bus on the NJ Turnpike made me smile uncontrollably. Either the city is Babylon or a potential future home. Either way, it felt great to be back there (despite the gentrification that has turned everyone into a walking spokesman for American Apparel, and the bleachers in Times Square).
Ohio, as always, reaffirms how important family becomes while living in such a family-based society. Even for such a short trip, it was calming to be around extended family dynamics.
Paris was………mmmm, Paris. I got myself lost for several hours between flights, wandering around on hte perfect overcast day that make Parisians look even better and the surroundings all the more inviting.
And then there was the flight back to Israel. Nothing about the flight was particularly eventful, just my landing reception at 12am. After exiting the jetway, one goes up an escalator to be greeted by a poster reading “welcome to Israel” and, on non-EL AL flights, two agents who pick out the shady-looking passengers. Of course one of them picked me.
Agent (in Hebrew): Shalom, can I see some identification?
I hand him my Israeli passport.
Agent: Where are you coming from?
Me: Washington via Paris
Agent: Are you here for a visit?
Me: Nooooo, I live here.
Agent hands back passport and looks away.
I zip through passport control as I have a biometric pass issued by the Interior Ministry – perhaps the only governmental agency in the entire country who doesn’t think I am either a terrorist or a drug smuggler, as the next scene shows.
After getting my bags, I head for the exit which is after customs. A plainclothes officer stops me.
Agent (in Hebrew): Shalom, can I see your passport?
I hand it to him, trying to remain calm.
Agent: We’re looking for drugs.
Me: Okayyyyyy….
Agent: Do you have any drugs (gives me a look as if to say “C’mon, you know you wanna admit you do.”)
No. No!
Agent: Not even a little?
Me: No (my face filled with indignation, his signal that I am indeed smuggling in several kilos of drugs which I’ve packed right on my clothes).
Agent: Put your bags in the X-Ray machine.
I do it, he’s already looking for other weary passengers. I leave, feeling smaller than ever before, like some ironic Mark of Cain hovers over my head the moment I'm back in Israel.
Israel is a leader in hardware and software development, yet it takes several years for be introduced to the public. Israel has offices that seem to be opening nonstop, all offering positions in customer service representatives; yet customer service is such a low priority among Israeli companies and consumers alike that these already-outsourced jobs are outsourcing a need here.
When each agent handed me back my passport, they never said "Thanks," "Sorry," "Have a nice night," Shabbat Shalom" (I landed on a Friday morning) or even "Happy New Year." For a country obssessed with its demographics, who gave out thousands of tax breaks to returning citizens last year and hwo constantly ruffles the feathers of Diaspora Jewry by subtly or bluntly calling for them to move to Israel, this kind of reception home is anything but heart-warming.
That being said, it's great to be back.
UPDATE: No sooner did I post this that I saw this article on hte Yahoo! homepage: Police stop more than 1 million people on street
26 September 2009
26 September 2009
Just got back from the States yesterday, jetlagged as usual from a great trip of seeing friends and family, spending Rosh Hashanah in Cincinnati with relatives (the only way I know how to ring in the New Year), quality TV watching, and a much-needed pilgrimage up to New York after a two-year hiatus.
Wishing you and your family a Happy New Year, and your forgiveness for any wrongdoings I may have commited aagainst you in the past year.
For myself -- after a year of not taking advantage of the time I have to finish my thesis; of not keeping in closer touch with family, friends and colleagues; for letting opportunities slip by; not updating my blog more often; and for being too hard on myself when times got tough -- I'm resolved to a new year of potentials, finishing school, finding meaningful and profitable employment, and celebrating more being here in Israel.
G'mar Hatima Tova
Jay
Just got back from the States yesterday, jetlagged as usual from a great trip of seeing friends and family, spending Rosh Hashanah in Cincinnati with relatives (the only way I know how to ring in the New Year), quality TV watching, and a much-needed pilgrimage up to New York after a two-year hiatus.
Wishing you and your family a Happy New Year, and your forgiveness for any wrongdoings I may have commited aagainst you in the past year.
For myself -- after a year of not taking advantage of the time I have to finish my thesis; of not keeping in closer touch with family, friends and colleagues; for letting opportunities slip by; not updating my blog more often; and for being too hard on myself when times got tough -- I'm resolved to a new year of potentials, finishing school, finding meaningful and profitable employment, and celebrating more being here in Israel.
G'mar Hatima Tova
Jay
24 July 2009
24 July 2009
Two seemingly opposite Jewish events have been in my thoughts lately: Tisha B’Av and weddings.
The usual way these two are connected is through the breaking of a glass at the end of the ritual, preceded by the groom reciting “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem…” While inappropriately followed by applause from the audience, the symbolism here is a reminder that the world and we as a people are not complete as we await redemption, even on such a joyous day.
In this case, a friend of mine is getting married in several months and are looking for a rabbi. She’s from a family with a converted mother, went through an Orthodox conversion herself, and is being denied the right to be married by several rabbis because her fiancee is a Cohen (Cohens are not supposed to marry converts).
While I usually blog this time of year about how much I like Tisha B’Av, I wanted to link the day with something that’s always fascinated me: Cohens. The family name and its derivatives (Kahan, Kogan etc.) refer to those who descend from the Cohanim, the priests who tended to the daily sacrificial rite in the Temples. With their destruction (on Tisha B’Av), their priestly roles have been relegated to certain rituals and traditions. I can remember wondering what was going on when the rabbi would ask the congregation to lower their heads, at the risk of seeing what was happening on the bimah: Men, with their heads covered by their tallit, were reciting the Priestly Blessing while holding both of their hands like the famous hand sign of Mr. Spock. I always wondered if Mr. Spock was allowed to do that on national TV, why were we supposed to not look directly at the guys onstage?
Maybe I have an inferiority complex, as I’m considered “just” a commoner Israelite, or maybe the problem is that I think in such terms. Why do we need more boundaries between us Jews when the purpose of Rabbinic Judaism and Hasidism – not to mention Reform and Conservative Judaism as well – is to tear down such boundaries? In the absence of the Temple, whose rebuilding would require a massive physical ritual purification of Jews – not just Cohanim – why should theses title persist to the level they do?
Without disrespecting this and other Cohen- related rituals, it seems incredibly out of place in Rabbinic Judaism. The revolution that came with the founding of synagogues was that anyone who learned enough could be considered a community leader, potentially becoming a rabbi. The Pharisees, whose descendants are mainstream Jews, are the ones who outright rebelled against the Cohanim’s authority, claiming become too enmeshed in pomp & circumstance and less in the spiritual welfare of the people.
The same seems to be happening to a friend of mine, a tragic and maddening story. God Forbid they should build a Jewish house and family together, countering the rates of intermarriage that these same rabbis will happily rail against; and God Forbid two people so clearly in love with each other should want to marry each other if it risks the groom losing his ancestral title. Since when are rabbis in the business of preventing two Jews from getting married?
As always I’m inspired by Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, who writes in his weekly commentary on the Torah portion that the longing for the Temple’s rebuilding is also (more so) about building ourselves as the light unto the nations we are charged to be by the prophet Isaiah. Jews haven't been in the business of listening to priests over prophets for a long time, why should we start now?
With that, with talk of weddings and to end on a slightly more hopeful note, here's a beautiful video sent to me today which put me in a great mood. Shabbat Shalom.
UPDATE: After thinking about it over Saturday, I decided to post the letter my friend wrote to explain her situation. It's best in her words, and I'm honored that she'd want it posted on my blog.
A seemingly simple question I posed recently to a friend getting married soon. “Who is performing the wedding?” I asked. “Oy, what a question,” she responded.
It all started more than 30 years ago, when my friend, we’ll call her B, well it all started when B’s parents, met, fell in love, from two different religio-cultural worlds. B’s father was Jewish; her mother was not. They decided, perhaps foolishly, that two religions and identities were invariably better than one, and that they would allow their children to determine their own identities.
Fast forward 15 years. Lo and behold, B did go on her own spiritual-cultural-identity quest as a teenager, embracing her Jewish heritage, upbringing (not to mention her Jewfro and Yiddish inclinations) and at the end of her journey, she embraced traditional Judaism, which eventually concluded in a dip at the mikveh and a certificate confirming her status as a Jewess. She was free to marry and flourish as a full-fledged Jew!
But alas, many years later, the foolish decision of her parents crept in to haunt B. She had been warned by rabbis that despite her piece of paper signed by the Orthodox Beit Din guaranteeing her status as a Jew, there were still restrictions: mostly, she could not marry a Cohen, and if she did, he would lose his status as such within the community.
But a Cohen is who she fell in love with. And though B warned her Cohen love interest of this potential gliche, he assured her, “it’s not a problem for me or my family! Is that even a rule anymore?”
Indeed it is still a rule, a black-and-white, unbending rule according to many. Shortly before B and Cohen became engaged, they started looking for a rabbi who would agree to bless their union. B started with the rabbi who had overseen her conversion process. His response, “I am sure the person you have chosen [as your future spouse] is a very worthy one; good luck.” Next, Cohen reached out to his family rabbi: “My hands are tied; there is nothing I can do.” And so proceeded conversations with another 30 “progressive” Orthodox rabbis, if such a thing really exists.
So what happens now?
Perhaps the most tragic occurrence to result from this situation is that two passionate, committed, educated Jews have now been turned away from the Jewish community in which they had hoped to raise a family one day. They now question in what kind of Jewish community they belong, and where their children will belong.
I know some of you reading this may think, well, according to Halacha (Jewish law), this is a forbidden marriage, so it is the right thing for these rabbis to refuse to marry the two.
In B and Cohen’s journey to find a rabbi, they met with many Torah-versed men, learning a great deal about this issue. In fact, one rabbi pointed out that according to some commentaries, B is considered “m’zera yisrael,” or, “of Jewish blood.” The next rabbi they spoke with helped to further this line of thinking, discovering a Tshuva by Rabbi Uziel, the First Chief Sephardi Rabbi of Israel, which stated that the marriage between a Cohen and a giyoret who is m’zera yisrael is indeed permitted since the real problem with a Cohen marrying a giyoret is that a Cohen must marry a woman of Jewish blood. B and Cohen presented this Tshuva to a few rabbis who all commented, “Well, that is interesting! Sorry, still nothing I can do.”
If this line of thinking still holds no appeal or credibility for you, I will leave you with a few thoughts to consider. The intermarriage rate in the United State nears 50%, and according to Hillel: The Foundation for Jewish Campus Life, 47% of all identifying Jewish students on North American college campuses have only one parent who is Jewish. So while B and Cohen find themselves without a solution for their upcoming nuptials, and now begin a new Jewish journey together as displaced Jews, I doubt that B and Cohen will be the last young Jewish couple to grapple with this issue. And if the American Modern Orthodox community fails to grapple with the reality of the American Jewish community’s makeup, they will not be the last young couple to find themselves without a Jewish home, at a time when numbers increasingly dwindle.
Two seemingly opposite Jewish events have been in my thoughts lately: Tisha B’Av and weddings.
The usual way these two are connected is through the breaking of a glass at the end of the ritual, preceded by the groom reciting “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem…” While inappropriately followed by applause from the audience, the symbolism here is a reminder that the world and we as a people are not complete as we await redemption, even on such a joyous day.
In this case, a friend of mine is getting married in several months and are looking for a rabbi. She’s from a family with a converted mother, went through an Orthodox conversion herself, and is being denied the right to be married by several rabbis because her fiancee is a Cohen (Cohens are not supposed to marry converts).
While I usually blog this time of year about how much I like Tisha B’Av, I wanted to link the day with something that’s always fascinated me: Cohens. The family name and its derivatives (Kahan, Kogan etc.) refer to those who descend from the Cohanim, the priests who tended to the daily sacrificial rite in the Temples. With their destruction (on Tisha B’Av), their priestly roles have been relegated to certain rituals and traditions. I can remember wondering what was going on when the rabbi would ask the congregation to lower their heads, at the risk of seeing what was happening on the bimah: Men, with their heads covered by their tallit, were reciting the Priestly Blessing while holding both of their hands like the famous hand sign of Mr. Spock. I always wondered if Mr. Spock was allowed to do that on national TV, why were we supposed to not look directly at the guys onstage?
Maybe I have an inferiority complex, as I’m considered “just” a commoner Israelite, or maybe the problem is that I think in such terms. Why do we need more boundaries between us Jews when the purpose of Rabbinic Judaism and Hasidism – not to mention Reform and Conservative Judaism as well – is to tear down such boundaries? In the absence of the Temple, whose rebuilding would require a massive physical ritual purification of Jews – not just Cohanim – why should theses title persist to the level they do?
Without disrespecting this and other Cohen- related rituals, it seems incredibly out of place in Rabbinic Judaism. The revolution that came with the founding of synagogues was that anyone who learned enough could be considered a community leader, potentially becoming a rabbi. The Pharisees, whose descendants are mainstream Jews, are the ones who outright rebelled against the Cohanim’s authority, claiming become too enmeshed in pomp & circumstance and less in the spiritual welfare of the people.
The same seems to be happening to a friend of mine, a tragic and maddening story. God Forbid they should build a Jewish house and family together, countering the rates of intermarriage that these same rabbis will happily rail against; and God Forbid two people so clearly in love with each other should want to marry each other if it risks the groom losing his ancestral title. Since when are rabbis in the business of preventing two Jews from getting married?
As always I’m inspired by Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, who writes in his weekly commentary on the Torah portion that the longing for the Temple’s rebuilding is also (more so) about building ourselves as the light unto the nations we are charged to be by the prophet Isaiah. Jews haven't been in the business of listening to priests over prophets for a long time, why should we start now?
With that, with talk of weddings and to end on a slightly more hopeful note, here's a beautiful video sent to me today which put me in a great mood. Shabbat Shalom.
UPDATE: After thinking about it over Saturday, I decided to post the letter my friend wrote to explain her situation. It's best in her words, and I'm honored that she'd want it posted on my blog.
A seemingly simple question I posed recently to a friend getting married soon. “Who is performing the wedding?” I asked. “Oy, what a question,” she responded.
It all started more than 30 years ago, when my friend, we’ll call her B, well it all started when B’s parents, met, fell in love, from two different religio-cultural worlds. B’s father was Jewish; her mother was not. They decided, perhaps foolishly, that two religions and identities were invariably better than one, and that they would allow their children to determine their own identities.
Fast forward 15 years. Lo and behold, B did go on her own spiritual-cultural-identity quest as a teenager, embracing her Jewish heritage, upbringing (not to mention her Jewfro and Yiddish inclinations) and at the end of her journey, she embraced traditional Judaism, which eventually concluded in a dip at the mikveh and a certificate confirming her status as a Jewess. She was free to marry and flourish as a full-fledged Jew!
But alas, many years later, the foolish decision of her parents crept in to haunt B. She had been warned by rabbis that despite her piece of paper signed by the Orthodox Beit Din guaranteeing her status as a Jew, there were still restrictions: mostly, she could not marry a Cohen, and if she did, he would lose his status as such within the community.
But a Cohen is who she fell in love with. And though B warned her Cohen love interest of this potential gliche, he assured her, “it’s not a problem for me or my family! Is that even a rule anymore?”
Indeed it is still a rule, a black-and-white, unbending rule according to many. Shortly before B and Cohen became engaged, they started looking for a rabbi who would agree to bless their union. B started with the rabbi who had overseen her conversion process. His response, “I am sure the person you have chosen [as your future spouse] is a very worthy one; good luck.” Next, Cohen reached out to his family rabbi: “My hands are tied; there is nothing I can do.” And so proceeded conversations with another 30 “progressive” Orthodox rabbis, if such a thing really exists.
So what happens now?
Perhaps the most tragic occurrence to result from this situation is that two passionate, committed, educated Jews have now been turned away from the Jewish community in which they had hoped to raise a family one day. They now question in what kind of Jewish community they belong, and where their children will belong.
I know some of you reading this may think, well, according to Halacha (Jewish law), this is a forbidden marriage, so it is the right thing for these rabbis to refuse to marry the two.
In B and Cohen’s journey to find a rabbi, they met with many Torah-versed men, learning a great deal about this issue. In fact, one rabbi pointed out that according to some commentaries, B is considered “m’zera yisrael,” or, “of Jewish blood.” The next rabbi they spoke with helped to further this line of thinking, discovering a Tshuva by Rabbi Uziel, the First Chief Sephardi Rabbi of Israel, which stated that the marriage between a Cohen and a giyoret who is m’zera yisrael is indeed permitted since the real problem with a Cohen marrying a giyoret is that a Cohen must marry a woman of Jewish blood. B and Cohen presented this Tshuva to a few rabbis who all commented, “Well, that is interesting! Sorry, still nothing I can do.”
If this line of thinking still holds no appeal or credibility for you, I will leave you with a few thoughts to consider. The intermarriage rate in the United State nears 50%, and according to Hillel: The Foundation for Jewish Campus Life, 47% of all identifying Jewish students on North American college campuses have only one parent who is Jewish. So while B and Cohen find themselves without a solution for their upcoming nuptials, and now begin a new Jewish journey together as displaced Jews, I doubt that B and Cohen will be the last young Jewish couple to grapple with this issue. And if the American Modern Orthodox community fails to grapple with the reality of the American Jewish community’s makeup, they will not be the last young couple to find themselves without a Jewish home, at a time when numbers increasingly dwindle.
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