Alef: The NEXT Conversation
An Israeli Winter Olympic Team To Warm The Jewish Soul
by Bradley Chalupski
My name is Bradley Chalupski and I race Skeleton sleds for Israel.
Skeleton, for those of you who don’t know, is this:
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Yes, I go head-first down an ice chute for Israel (and yes, to answer your next question, I do have a Jewish mother who does in fact tolerate this!). I hurl myself recklessly down mountains in North America and Europe full-time as an athlete in the Israeli Bobsleigh and Skeleton Federation, the official governing body of the sport in Israel. This past February, I represented Israel in the 2011 International Bobsledding and Tobagganing Federation (FIBT) World Championships in Konigssee, Germany and earned enough points racing to qualify Israel for her first ever spot on the FIBT World Cup circuit this coming 2011-2012 FIBT season. My goal is to represent Israel in the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia. With a spot secured on the FIBT World Cup circuit, that goal is also squarely in my sights.
Whenever people hear about what I do, they are always so kind in asking me to tell them more about my story. My storytelling however comes with a caveat that underscores a uniquely Jewish nuance of its character. I do not consider “my story” to truly be my own. I am of course living it (and receiving the bumps, bruises, and subsequent ice treatments induced by it), and so in one sense it (and the Advil) is “mine”.
In another sense though, I am just a placeholder. My story at its essence, its core, cannot be selfishly confined to the temerity of my own list of athletic achievements. Really the story is the manifest expressions of friendship, family, Jewish identity and self-discovery that I have witnessed throughout my journey of competing for Israel. It is that story which I consider an honor to tell as I watch it unfold through the prism of my life.
I have known no bigger honor in my life than representing Israel at the 2011 FIBT World Championships in Konigsee, Germany. Konigsee is a beautiful town in the Berchtesgaden, in Bavaria, Germany, on the border with Austria. On top of a mountain which overlooks the Skeleton track is a large compound known as “The Eagle’s Nest.” Today a museum, the Eagle’s Nest was once a military headquarters for the Nazi Third-Reich. To be called to the starting-line to compete in a World Championship for Israel, in plain view of this place where the destruction of the Jewish Nation was tirelessly and ruthlessly sought, was a moment so profound as to verge on being totally incomprehensible to the soul of any one individual Jew actually living it.
What’s incredible to me now though when I reflect upon that moment is that I almost did not let it happen. I am American, and in fact am still only in the process of making Aliyah. I was born to secular parents — a Jewish mother and a Catholic father; I received no formal religious teaching of any kind. Before agreeing to compete for Israel, I had never given any thought whatsoever to what role Judaism could play in my life. I had never even been to Israel.
- Me at the starting-line at the 2011 FIBT World Championships
I only agreed to join the Israeli program after 10 weeks of intense self-reflection and even then only as a leap of faith in advice I was receiving from my Jewish friends. Since the moment I made that decision to compete for Israel though, I have not regretted it even for one second. Today, I could not be prouder or more excited to represent the Jewish people internationally in sport. My journey is the journey of a Jewish soul finding its place amongst the Jewish people.
I hope in the coming weeks and months you will find it to be meaningful and compelling. You can follow my day to day exploits at the following places on the web:
Twitter: @TeamIsraelSkele
Blogger: http://ibsf18.blogspot.com
Next Time: An offer to compete for Israel and a life-changing decision to make.
Jews Gone Camping, Part 1
by Ruvym Gilman
I didn’t get why it was such a big deal. People go camping all the time so why should my weekend trip raise eyebrows, ruffle sensibilities?
It was while at a conference the weekend before my trip that I was reminded what seemed to be so unusual about it. One gentleman read a poem to the crowd.
“If you’re sleeping bag is tiltin’ you can find me at the Hilton, cause Jews don’t camp. If you’re tired of the diet come and meet me at the Hyatt babe. Jews don’t camp.”
Jews don’t camp? Wasn’t this just an idea that people liked to perpetuate because it was a complement to the stereotypes?
I thought of the Jews who had gone to sleep-away camps since they were five. Hadn’t they spent summers out in the woods, fighting away gnats while succumbing to the emergent urges of pubescence?
I thought of the Jews I met while in Israel, the tanned ones with rock-hard calves peeking out from worn-out hiking boots, the ones who seemed to levitate on their way up mountain paths and would laugh at us Americans whenever we grimaced at the splattered mud build-up on the backs of our jeans.
“Will this come out?”
Then I remembered my own short-list of camping experiences. Even while I saw myself as a “camper,” I realized that this was still a relatively new thing for me. I thought myself “deflowered” after the overnight experience at the “Bedouin” tent tourist-trap while on Birthright. Then, a year later, committed to taking my ruggedness a step further, I told a friend that I was going camping in upstate New York. I described the trip, pointing to my rolling suitcase and double-wrapped sleeping bag that I had in tow.
“Car camping is not ‘camping,’” she announced. “You’re lame.”
I decided to blame my lack of outdoorsy acumen on my parents and their Soviet Union origins, their rejection of all community-based ideals like the Boy Scouts or belonging to a temple, their entire philosophical approach to the world embodied in the way they pronounced the word “beach.”
They never sent me to sleep-away camp when I was a kid, surely because summer camp and camping were intimately associated in their Eastern European-bred minds with Communist youth groups and indoctrination. Who knows what they teach those kids in the woods? They come back wearing red berets and Che Guevara t-shirts, carrying pocket-sized copies of Mao’s writings and spouting anti-capitalist rhetoric.
“You bourgeois pigs! I don’t need to take this.”
“Off to bed for you! No borscht!”
Instead I spent my summers at my grandparents’ “datcha” out in Eastern Long Island, gaining weight on an unsupervised diet of kielbasa and slushies.
I was committed to getting past my upbringing, and car camping was a necessary step in the right direction. Here was finally a chance to brave the elements, to sleep on the ground and feel every little pebble and variation in the terrain under my back. I woke up after that first night with a strained neck and numb toes. As far as I was concerned, I was now a camper.
Photo provided by the author.
Ruvym is on the Alef editorial board. He has also written about traveling in Israel, foreign languages, Russian accents, and fur coats.
It’s Like Riding a Bike
by Jake W-M
When did bike-riding as an adult become a “thing?” One moment I was riding around the suburban Connecticut neighborhood where I grew up, the next moment I was old enough to drive, and my bike was rust. Now that I’m in my late 20s, it’s a “thing.” I don’t necessarily mean a thing as in a trend (though it’s clearly trendy in some spheres). I had to get a bike, a helmet, get a lock–because how is it ever going to fit in my tiny Brooklyn apartment–and learn to ride in traffic–to work! Let’s not forget that I was not even a particularly athletic kid to start. Energy and endurance are at a premium now.
And what’s so Jewish about biking? This is a Jewy blog, isn’t it?
I’ve always considered myself environmentally conscious, but only recently an activist. One of the most fundamental values of Judaism is Tikkun Olam, or fixing the world. This means different things to different people. “Environmentalism” is possibly just the most literal translation. The best part about fixing the planet is that it really means helping people. We can’t let the planet go down the tubes because we need a place for our kids to live (there are countless articles about Jewish continuity that never seem to mention this; wonder why). Getting out of my car onto a bike is one simple way to minimize how much damage I do to the world while I’m here.
A year ago I began working for Hazon, a Jewish environmental organization and home of the aptly named “People of the Bike.” One of our flagship programs is our New York Ride and Retreat, a two-day retreat over Shabbat in upstate New York followed by two days of cycling into Manhattan, now in its eleventh year. Participants raise money to benefit innovative Jewish environmental projects. As staff, I was told I would have the privilege of cycling alongside riders and crew (the crucial support team for the riders) of all different ages, backgrounds, and levels of experience. I had a few short months to get a bike, start training, and begin fundraising. I was excited but incredibly nervous. I wasn’t up on my bike lingo, my body wasn’t exactly a well-oiled machine, and the thought of riding with traffic left me concerned to say the least. My only goals at the time were to survive this ride, not embarrass myself, and ultimately to begin commuting to work by bike. Needless to say, Hazon got me there.
The group ride was incredibly powerful. The two-day retreat that precedes the ride builds the community and sets the tone. Buzz words like pluralism and inclusiveness get thrown around, but I saw and stood by 300 people of every type of Jewish observance level and background eat a meal together without starting a fight. Diversity truly felt more than tolerated, but appreciated and encouraged.
I felt the same once we hit the road. I rode with the group going the shortest distance. There were beginners, families, and what seemed the largest age spread. There was no judgement, only smiles and encouragement. We cheered each other on, stopped for breaks together, walked when the hills were too steep, and made sure no one had to ride alone. At some level, it was a demonstration. We represent the Jewish community, we care about the environment, we care what Judaism has to say about healthy and sustainable living, and we’re going to be very public about it. The times I’ve felt united with a large group of Jews about anything are few and far between. This was for sure one of them.
At the end of our 36 mile route for day one, I wish I had picked a longer route. More importantly, I felt like I had the tools I needed to make biking a part of my daily routine. My commute is just a fraction of the mileage of the New York Ride route, and I now do it a few days a week. The benefits keep surprising me. The days I ride to work usually my most productive–by the time I arrive, I’ve already accomplished something. I feel like I’m in the best health of my life. When I need to run an errand, my mind jumps to the time and distance of riding before I think about the bus or the subway. More importantly, I feel less destructive and less passive as a member of my eco-system. I’m living a healthier lifestyle and using a highly sustainable form of transportation.
I still take the subway, I still ride buses, and I’ve been known to rent a car. There’s no pretending that I’ve got this completely figured out, but I’ve made some critical changes that have turned out to be pretty simple. Riding my bike makes me feel like a better person and a better Jew. Really, it’s just like riding a bike, only it’s even better with a bit of cavanah, or intention. If I can do it, anyone–really, anyone–can do it.
Photo care of Hazon.
Jake W-M is an Alef regular. Read his posts on Indie Minyanim, Jewish Communal Workspace, and being Jewish-Italian for the Holidays. Email alef@birthrightisraelnext.org to learn how to join the regulars.
Alef Interviews: Tamir Goodman
When asked to name the most famous Jewish professional athletes in history, most respondents would likely toss out names like “Hank Greenberg” and “Sandy Koufax” without too much hesitation. Give them a few minutes more, and some people might even come up with “Kerri Strug” or “Mark Spitz.” But, over the last several years another name has begun to gain traction. From his native Maryland to basketball courts across Israel, an entire generation of sports fans is cheering on professional basketballer, Tamir Goodman: “The Jewish Jordan.”
Born in Baltimore, Maryland, Goodman first attracted national attention after profiles in Sports Illustrated, ESPN, and 60 Minutes, and raised eyebrows after a series of high-profile college recruitment offers. Ultimately, Goodman decided to play college basketball for Towson University, and in 2002 made aliyah to play professionally in the Israeli basketball leagues for Maccabi Tel-Aviv, and then Maccabi Haifa. Goodman recently announced his retirement from professional basketball, and has been focusing on leading basketball clinics, workshops, and motivational seminars in the United States. Goodman is also one of the leading figures advocating for the Haifa Hoops for Kids program, which allows American donors to provide basketball tickets for underprivileged children in Israel.
Alef recently caught up with Tamir by phone, and talked to him about his life, his work, and what it’s like to be a Jewish sports hero:
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Thanks for talking to us Tamir. Tell us a little bit of what you’ve been up to.
I’m in the States, i’m on an extended speaking tour. We have a reality TV show, we have a campus initiative, we have basketball caps and clinics and tournaments around the world, and we’ve really been working hard on Haifa Hoops for Kids. Here in America I do motivational speaking at Zionist organizations, at Chabad, Hillel, Aish ha’Torah. And, we do it to connect to Israel and Judaism. And, there’s Haifa Hoops for Kids which is a tzadakah program that raises money and empowers underprivileged kids from the North. [of Israel] It’s a great way to connect to Israel because you get to meet with kids, and teach them the sport that you love, and you can do it all through basketball.
Some of our readers might not be so familiar with your story- Share a bit about how you got to where you are, today.
I grew up in Baltimore, Maryland, and my older brother played basketball, and was very good. He took me to the gym one day, and I kind of never left. I grew up in a house full of Jewish pride, where we were taught from day one that we needed to take our talents and use them for ha’Shem. I learned very young that my biggest talent was basketball, and my goal is to try to show the world that you could play basketball, play division 1, play professionally, and not play on Shabbat.
Tell us how it feels to be playing a sport largely invented by Jews. Do you feel like you’re a part of that tradition?
I know that there’s been a lot of great Jewish athletes, and I was raised to be a fan. I remember my father teaching me about Jewish athletes in ALL the sports. I remember, as a young kid, seeing them talk about Hanukkah on ESPN and thinking that was the coolest thing! I think everyone has their specific mission, and their special talent, and their own way, and for me it was being the best basketball player that I could be, and at the same time, not playing on Shabbat. I had the opportunity to play for the number one team in the word at the time, University of Maryland, they won the national championship. Let me put it this way – if I would have played on Shabbat, I would have a national championship ring today, but on the other hand, I have Shabbat today, and I don’t have a national championship ring, and to me that’s more important, because Shabbat will last forever.
You must meet a lot of aspiring Jewish athletes. Tell us about them.
Most recently I had an opportunity to speak with Dmitriy Salita, a Jewish champion boxer who doesn’t fight on Shabbat and I was very happy to hear that he saw everything that was going with me in the papers with Maryland and everything [Editor's note: Goodman refused to play for the University of Maryland's basketball team, as games took place on Friday night and Saturday, during Shabbat] and as a Jew it helped inspire him. On all levels, from elementary school kids, to professional boxers, to collegiate athletes I’ve been getting a lot of feedback and I hope my life story can help inspire them in one way or another.
How does it feel to be both an athlete as well as representative of the Jewish Community?
I think that’s what ha’Shem created me for, [and] I think Judaism teaches us that it’s really all one thing; that our job as Jews is to take something physical and make it holy. It’s not like when we play basketball we’re “not Jewish”, or that we’re only Jewish when we’re in synagogue. The way that we play basketball, the way that we work, the way that we eat, everything we do, there’s a Jewish way to do it. I’m not a Rabbi or a Sage. Obviously we’ve all made mistakes, and will make mistakes, and continue to make mistakes, and continually grow, but I’ve tried to make that my mission- that basketball and Judaism can be one thing. I love Judaism, but I feel a special connection, a closeness, with Jewish athletes. We understand each other and the things we go through.
-Alef
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Learn more about Tamir
Learn more about Haifa Hoops for Kids
Learn more about Maccabi Haifa
Tailgate Shabbat
By Bennie Cohen
From the beginning of time, back when college football started, there has always been tailgating. People got together in the stadium parking lots and in front of their homes (if they were lucky enough to live close to a stadium). For the most part, college football is played on a Friday night or Saturday, AKA: Shabbos time. Being a fan of college football, tailgating, and Shabbat, I decided to combine three of my favorite things and came up with “Tailgate Shabbat.”
To me, Shabbat is all about community. Mine consists of a bunch of buddies (mostly Jewish) from college, who get together for home games to see our beloved USF Bulls. We grill, talk, and welcome all to our tailgate (very Jewtastic if you ask me). For games that fall on Friday nights, it is important to myself and others to make sure we have a challah, candles, and wine glass complete with wine. Our menu will consist of: chicken, ribs, onion dip, beer, shrimp, anything that Publix has on sale, really. There isn’t any rhyme or reason to what we put on our grill; it doesn’t even have to be kosher, although we always have kosher options available (Hebrew National is not one of them). If you truly want a different Shabbat experience try a Tailgate Shabbat. Why Not??
You don’t need to spend Shabbat in your home, at your Synagogue, or even with your grandma. Shabbat can be spent in front of your favorite stadium with the people you consider family. For me, that’s what Shabbat is all about: community, and welcoming people into your home – people who wouldn’t have a place to go otherwise. Same goes for tailgating. When you open your tent and grill, you open your heart.
For those of you interested, here’s my favorite tailgating burger recipe.
Veal and Lamb Burger
- ½ lb ground lamb
- ½ lb ground veal
- salt and pepper to taste
- 1 clove chopped garlic (you can use dry garlic if you wish)
- ½ chopped Sweet Vadialia onion
Form into patties place on grill, DO NOT over cook.
Enjoy the goodness that is the veal and lamb burger.
Photo provided by Tedkerwin, licensed under Creative Commons
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