Alef: The NEXT Conversation
On Park Avenue
by Yoav Sivan
At almost 90 degrees at noon with 60 percent humidity on a Thursday, one may think the main difference between Manhattan and the Promised Land is that here Jews complain about the weather in Fahrenheit.
There is no better way to see the similarities between the two biggest Jewish communities in the world than observing how their members complain. Luckily God summoned a visit from a Jew from the Promised Land – Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu – to the Council of Foreign Relations on 68th Street and Park Avenue to help my cause.
While Netanayahu enjoyed the air conditioning and some refreshments at the Council’s New York office, two rallies took place across Park Avenue. It was 68th Street that parted the anti-Israel and the pro-Israel gatherings.
Walking down Park Avenue, I first encountered the anti-Israel rally. A handsome number of people, considering it was business hours on a weekday, were carrying signs that left little question as to their sympathies. A Palestinian flag gave some color to the otherwise severe scene.
Crossing the street toward the other rally, I realized it was a mirror image of the first. Both were dominated by a diverse group of Jewish people fervently supporting a cause about which they would refuse to compromise. “Israel wants peace,” blasted through a loudspeaker held by a kippah-covered redhead on the right bank of 68th Street. On the left bank, a woman in a blue t-shirt was holding a sign that read: “Palestinians hunger for Justice.” Thank God we all want the same thing.
“Bibi Sink the Ship Next Time”, read a sign on the right, adorned with two small flags. I approached the man, who together with the sign was waving a huge Israeli flag, probably larger than all the Israeli flags I have waved in my life combined. A proud Israeli? I wondered. He lived in Israel, he said, for four years when he was ten, but then his citizenship “expired.”
On the anti-Israeli side, the left side, of the street the best spot was taken by some 20 Hasidic Jews. There was no question about their Jewish affiliation (whoever is willing to wear a heavy black suit in such weather is a better Jew than me) and there was no question about their sympathies. Their “freedom for Gaza and all Palestine” placards, raised voices, and fierce eyes showed me that anti-Israel tendencies can unite Jews of different observance levels and backgrounds.
A photographer, an invested observer like myself, asked me for my take on this peculiarity. He didn’t like my theory that “they just have too much time on their hands,” so I tried to provide him with a description of their political reasoning. Some sects of Hasidim maintain that according to Jewish law, a Jewish statehood should be restored only by the Messiah. Since neither Herzl nor Netanyahu have established themselves as offspring of King David, they consider it heretical for Jews to take their national identity into their own hands.
My problem in understanding them, I shared with him, is probably my first theological reflection. Growing up in Netanya, Israel, I would pass through a Hasidic neighborhood on my way to school. Wearing shorts, I could never understand a belief system that would dictate that someone dress in a heavy black suit in this kind of summer heat.
I was probably about an hour on the scene, and while I did pass through the left bank, I spent most of my time on the right. I crossed back over 68th Street a couple of times to revisit the other side and to learn about the protesters positions, but I kept coming back to my own flag. On the right bank I had a nice conversation with a group of Israeli women, whom I approached after I heard them speak my language, Hebrew. They were like myself; our hearts are in the East, and we are at the ends of the West. (When I asked one of them whether she was a tourist from Israel, she said that it was Bibi who was the tourist.)
I was comfortable and felt welcome on the right bank of 68th Street, but not because I necessarily share their political goals (nor am I even sure what they are) or feel secure from anti-Israeli criticism. I felt at home there, as I feel at home in Israel, because I was among people who are unapologetic about the Israeli flag.
Crossing for a moment to the left bank, I got a pamphlet from a self-identified Jewish woman that read: “Israeli War Criminal Netanyahu: New York Says You Are Not Welcome Here!” Many organizations had undersigned the message. My favorite was “Jews Say No!” I think that both the right and the left banks could join this group.
Reading in the New York Times the next day I found out what Netanayhu said in his speech, but I realized that I had left the site while he was still enjoying refreshments and air conditioning at the Council. Neither I nor the participants waited to hear what he had to say before we complained.
That was an Israeli moment for me, as neither I nor my fellow Israelis-in-Israel ever waited to listen to what he, or other politicians had to say, before we complained.
Photos courtesy of Michael Priest Photography.
Mishnah of Sighs
by Jake Marmer
[Editor's note: Jake Marmer is one of Alef's favorite poets. His work has appeared in Mima'amakim, Blue Jew Yorker, Zeek, Jewish Currents, The Forward, and other publications. He has performed extensively in New York and Jerusalem with various jazz personalities. The following poem is part of his Talmudic Jazz Poetry cycle - an attempt to re-evaluate the Babylonian Beit-Midrash chaos through the jazz prism. You can see more of Jake's work here - Alef]
***
There’re 28 fathers of sighing, 350 grandfathers, and so forth all the way back to the infinite forefather of sighs, rocking the newborn world in his gentle cradle of misery.
These are the types of sighs: kishkes twister; ten pound groaner; grandiloquent cosmic wheeze; gestalt toothache sigh; Russian mantra of oy which is longer than ohm, has paler skin and brooding sweat is its passport to mid-air; old goat sigh of one last party; sigh that flows seamlessly into a fart; operatic Cyclops growl; my-misery-is-bigger-than-yours; there-twenty-eight-colors-of-redemption-but-where-is-it; sigh split into voodoo spaghetti in the corporate mouth; the speech-loosing bitch-ass-flggg-what-doodles-I-don’t-know sigh.
Rabbi Gershon used to sigh so hard, clothes would fly off the body of Elohim, and the whole yeshiva of Yavneh would have a day off. When Rabbi Zusha sighed, the flesh would tear off god’s bones, structure of the world revealed and all books unwritten. But after Rabbi Nachman had a go, there’d be nothing left – only the garlicky rabbinical breath of salvation. The next week, his students would recreate god, in their own sleepy image.
Read more posts from Issue #14: Why We Kvetch.
Alef Interviews: The Kvetcher!
We at Alef take our Kvetching seriously, but not nearly as seriously as David Kelsey. David Kelsey is the author of the blog The Kvetcher, which he has maintained for five years. He has been published in numerous Jewish and New York periodicals including the Forward, Heeb, and The Villager. Kelsey has been through numerous incarnations, including baal teshuvah, a Jewschool editor, and Jewcy blogger – none of which worked out. Because of his desire for tikkun olam, Kelsey is currently a substitute weekend waiter at Yonah Schimmel’s Knishery. We talked to David about life, family, and just what makes him “The Kvetcher”:
***
First off – Why “The Kvetcher”?
My grandfather, may he rest in peace, used to call the remote control a “kvetcher,” and demand I hand it to him when he didn’t like what was on. I can’t change communal policy just by flipping a switch, but I often wish I could.
So, it sounds like you come from a long line of Kvetchers. Tell us a little more about your family, and how they Kvetch.
My maternal grandmother is from a Forward and Arberter Ring social-democratic family. She married my grandfather, an Eisenhower-loving Republican (“Eisenhower-loving” as in “not a Neocon”). They spent the rest of their lives nitpicking and arguing over whose preferred government representatives were more mentally, morally, and emotionally challenged, and assigning them disparaging, often Yiddish-inflected nicknames. Only a mutual dislike of Arafat—to his credit–united the family. And that may very well be why I’m politically confu…conflicted. I meet Jews who are peaceful and secure in their political party affiliations. I can’t imagine. I have an inkling about how the products of intermarriages must feel among the affiliated
What are your favorite topics to kvetch about? Anything you think you’ve kvetched-to-death?
Well…I’ve kvetched heavily on the haredi vision of theocracy for Israel as espoused by Ohr Somayach, on NCSY’s deceptive recruitment of teens from our public school system through their Jewish “Student” Union (JSU.org), and on our communal pro-amnesty and mass immigration policies set unilaterally by HIAS. Generally, I prefer to focus on positions contrary to the organized Jewish world where the opposition is not—in my opinion–given sufficient airing. Kvetching is an antidote to the Jewish triumphalism often preferred by the Orthodox newspapers and the Federation subsidized periodicals.
What, if any, is the connection between “Jews” and “Kvetching”? Are Jews naturally more prone to complaining?
Kvetching is a favored form of Israelite protest from time immemorial, a stealth resistance that is relatively less lethal than open rebellion. As the Jews complained to Moses right before the sea split, “There weren’t enough graves in Egypt that you brought us out to die in the desert?” Open rebellion is often a path to communal excision. Think Korach or Spinoza. But kvetching is more or less tolerated, provided it isn’t directly against God.
Is Jewish kvetching any different from other type? Is there such thing as uniquely “Jewish” kvetching?
It’s related to Jewish humor. Jews are a sarcastic people. We are not a violent people, but when it comes to verbal excess, we’re the worst offenders. We’re very serious about it. For instance, when I published a first-rate kvetch for Jewschool, other writers there would congratulate me by saying it made them “saddened” or “disappointed,” and suggesting that I “should apologize.” Blogging and social networking are critical tools for the craft of kvetching, both because of the feedback mechanism, and the competitive nature of the outlet.
Will you ever stop kvetching?
To live is to kvetch. That’s why old people kvetch so much. They are praising God that they are still alive.
Where do you see the future of kvetching?
Jewish demographics are miserable, and yet… I’m bullish on kvetching. Particularly since the Orthodox are growing the most, and they are the least willing to discuss problems in their community’s own periodicals (with the exception of The Jewish Star), I think the future is quite bright for kvetching.
-Alef
Read more posts from Issue #14: Why We Kvetch.
Complainers of the World, UNITE!
By Yael Shy
One of the first lessons I learned as a child in a large, unruly family, is that nobody likes a complainer. I was told that if I didn’t stop whining about situations not being fair, or about not getting what I wanted, that I would never be happy in my life and that I would grow up to be a miserable person who nobody would like. It was a scare tactic employed by harried parents and teachers, and it worked. I learned to stop voicing my complaints. I tried to be happy with what I was given. And it did make most people like me – or at least find me nonthreatening.
The problem is that it also caused me to repress my needs and desires and to see those that surfaced as unflattering, and repellent to others. Standing up for myself, asking for what I wanted, and critiquing the status quo all were strictly off-limits if I ever hoped to win the love of others. So I didn’t complain if a waiter brought me the wrong meal. I didn’t complain if I was unjustly reprimanded at work. I didn’t complain if a guy I was dating for a year still wanted to “keep his relationship options open.”
Only, like all things in the world that are shackled and repressed, my desires and needs started rebelling against me in inconvenient and often disturbing ways. I started snapping at customer service representatives and telemarketers. I started having dramatic “melt downs” in order to passive-aggressively force friends to take care of me. I knew things were really bad when I was hooking up with yet another “options-open” guy and, in the middle of the action I took a swing and punched him in the face. The second after it happened, we stared at each other in mutual shock and horror. “Whoa,” he said, while moving his jaw around to regain feeling. Whoa, indeed.
So I began to reconsider complaining. It was true that chronic complainers were difficult to be around. We all know the types who unrelentingly complain about the weather, their jobs and their relationships until we would rather pour hot lava into our ears than hear another word. But I realized that these people complained because they felt powerless and stuck and were afraid to change the circumstances of their lives. They complained instead of acted.
I’ve slowly come to see that the impulse to complain – whether or not I follow through – is a valuable gift. It is my body’s way of saying that something is not right when it usually isn’t. It is a surefire indicator that I am going to have to speak up and ask for what I want, demand more out of my relationships, figure out a way to change the status quo – or else risk the misery (and potential assault arrest) that is the fruit of repression. Since I’ve learned to recognize and respect it, my urge to complain has become a reliable guide towards finding my voice and becoming an active agent in my life.
I’ve also found that these internal lessons about voicing complaints also translate to the wider world of advocacy and social justice. When people are suffering, the environment is in crisis, and our systems are broken, we can let the urge to complain lead us to what needs to be changed. Bestselling author Barbara Ehrenreich has recently written about this in Bright-sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America (Metropolitan, 2009). She dedicates the book, “to complainers everywhere – turn up the volume!”
Sounds like a plan to me.
Read more posts from Issue #14: Why We Kvetch
Photo provided by Lincolnian (Brian), Licensed under Creative Commons
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