By Ruby Marez

I started writing this intro after a particularly horrific experience. I had just broken up with a Hispanic guy after he told me he didn’t want to join me and my Israeli friends on a trip to Coney Island because he didn’t want to “go to the beach and hang out with Shylock and Company.” My jaw had never dropped harder to the floor. Not knowing he secretly harbored resentment and prejudice towards Jews I was stunned, horrified, and in a panic. Without a second of hesitation I told him off and dumped him right there for perpetuating anti-Semitic stereotypes, callously dismissing and putting down my friends, and mostly for disrespecting himself.

You might think this situation would send me running back into the muscular arms of my “chosen men.” While it may seem “easier” to marry someone Jewish to avoid a situation like this again, that is not the reality. No matter who I am with, if he harbors any prejudice towards any group of people, I am immediately disgusted.

When I asked my dad about marrying a non-Jewish Puerto Rican woman, he said that for him it was a non-issue, that she did everything she could to learn about Judaism to pass it on to her kids. My Puerto Rican mother, who became the leader of Shabbat in our household, says she was not intimidated by my father’s differences but rather intrigued.  She embraced them and together they made their own special blend of culture and faith.  In our house we had fusion food before it was a chi-chi, overpriced concept. Latkes with rice and beans was my lifestyle (and it was delicious). This taught me the simple (and slightly corny) lesson of “don’t hate, celebrate.”

My monologue comes from that lesson along with my struggle to accept who I am and where I came from. I wouldn’t call myself an ethnic Jew because it sounds redundant…I would say I’m a multi-cultural Jew. A tapestry of several shapes and colors; a mixed salad with many different flavors. I am a Jew of European and Sephardic descent and Hispanic, and 1/8th African and from the mid-west, and a woman, and a brunette, and a wise-ass, and an actor, and a writer, and a comedian and at times, a lil’ crazy. I’m a friggin’ United Colors of Benetton ad-campaign.

As Agueda Ramirez, my best friend and fellow actor/writing partner said to me, “You’re a party mix. You’re not just potato chips. You’re a Dorito with a pretzel stick with a peanut, with whatever else is in party mix. Some people don’t like mixing their chips with their party mix. And that’s okay. You just keep being party mix.”

I-am-party mix. Dig in.

Read more posts from issue #16: Diverse Jews

Ruby Marez is currently living in New York City and pursuing her self designed Masters from Antioch University-McGregor in acting and writing. Come see her writing and acting skills in her upcoming sketch show, “Internet Stalkers: We’re Not Creepy!” at The Magnet Theater.  Ruby is one member of the duo improv team RuBin,  They host and perform a duos-only improv show on the last Monday of every month at The Creek in Long Island City. Ruby also performs musical improv with Los Banditos Del Canto (The Bandits of Song) all over the city. Become our fan on facebook!

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

No one makes Christmas dinner like my dad. Turkey, brisket, stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, brownies…my mouth waters just thinking about it now. Best Kosher Christmas dinner you’ve ever tasted. Just because it’s Christmas dinner doesn’t mean it has to be treif too, right?

It’s hardly breaking news that a Jewish kid grew up celebrating Christmas and Hanukkah. But, when you’re Jewish and your maternal grandfather is an Episcopalian priest, Christmas takes on a particular significance. I have incredibly fond memories of going to church on Christmas, singing Christmas hymns, and being proudly introduced as the priest’s granddaughter (a very important association, I assure you). I can sing multiple verses of Silent Night from memory, and I bet I know the nativity story as well as most Christians.

Despite the years spent visiting Santa in the mall, going to church, and decorating our Christmas tree, there was never any doubt that Judaism was the guiding tradition. When my parents got married, my grandfather (the priest) told them: “Pick one religion and raise them right. Don’t do any of this wishy-washy crap.” So my sisters and I went to Jewish schools, spent most Saturdays at shul, and can chant Torah with the best of them.

But no matter what we did for Hanukkah, Christmas was the main event in the month of December. Over Thanksgiving this year, my 15-year-old sister bluntly quipped, “Christmas is clearly the superior holiday.” I sorta agree. Don’t get me wrong, I love Hanukkah as much as the next latke, but compared to the rest of the Jewish calendar, Hanukkah is nice but relatively unimportant. It’s hardly surprising that it would be over-shadowed by one of the most important holidays of the Christian tradition.

Now, come April, in the unofficial contest between Passover and Easter, my sister will tell you that Passover wins, hands down. And if you thought Kosher Christmas dinner was weird, just wait til you’ve experienced an Easter feast that is Kosher for Passover.

Photo by The Shifted Librarian, licensed under Creative Commons.

In the spirit of the new year, we thought it was time to try a little something different.  So, we poked our heads up out of the snow (yes, we’re covered in it too), and took a look around at what else is going on in the Jewish world.  You’ll never guess what we found; all over the internet, members of the tribe are not shy about sharing who they are and what’s on their minds.  Today we bring you stories about hummus, yoga, music, and the media — but who knows what else we’ll find to stuff into The Weekly Pita.

…

1. Interview: Shohat’s dreams – The Jerusalem Post

2. Israel to U.S: “We also have humorless Jews” – HEEB

3. Is Yoga Kosher? – Tablet Magazine

4. A History of Israeli Cinema – Zeek

5. Israel aims for new record in the Middle “Eats” hummus war – Israel21c

Photo by VirtualErn, licensed under Creative Commons.

Having recently been plunged into a world of Judaism previously unknown to me, I have struggled to grasp many of the defining terms in the culture and religion. Everyday life was a world where words like mencsh and cholent, unfamiliar holidays, like lag b’omer and yom hashoah and prayers like the birkat hamazon and modeh ani are foreign. As a result, I thought my lack of knowledge of Hebrew and yiddishisms excluded me from being in the club, made me think that maybe I wasn’t Jewish enough,  made me feel as though I wasn’t part of the Jewish “inner circle.”

But then, something amazing happened. In a courageous leap of faith, I decided to declare my ignorance over a plate of cholent. Timidly, and slightly abashed, I asked “what is that?”

Much to my surprise, that question, (which comes out in various iterations multiple times a day), evoked an unexpected response. No one asked how it was that I had never tried cholent. No one burst out laughing and I wasn’t shunned. Instead, the people sitting closest to me smiled and explained that cholent, is a Jewish stew, usually eaten on the Sabbath.

“Oh,” I replied, as I smiled and took a bite. “It’s good.”

I have learned that some people connect to their Judaism through a shared culture. Lighting the Sabbath candles, holding Passover seders, making latkes…these are all parts of our shared heritage. While my house sang the kiddush, but didn’t do havdallah, and while we had bacon with breakfast on the weekends, but never had cholent, I now realize that what I do or don’t do will not make me any more or less Jewish. But asking the questions will. You see, when I asked my fellow diners what cholent was, we shared one of the strongest Jewish traditions there is – the passing of knowledge.

Photos by Aoife city womanchile and rusvaplauke, licensed under Creative Commons.

We’re standing in the back of a small New York establishment, learning the finer points of how to eat Herring, when Niki Russ Federman looks up at the portrait of her great-grandfather, Joel Russ, hanging on the wall of her shop, Russ & Daughters.

In a sense, this is true.  Today both a pastrami-on-rye as well as bagels-and-lox are celebrated, if not revered, by American Jews trying to connect with the tastes of Eastern Europe’s “Old World” Jewish communities by eating what they call “deli” food.  And, while ordering a brisket sandwich can be a delicious way to commune with the past, you simply can’t appreciate “Old World” food without understanding the distinct “appetizing” history, and terminology, of  bagels and lox, smoked salmon, herring, and fancy cream cheeses; the food Niki’s great-grandfather Joel sold from his pushcart 95 years ago, and the food that she still sells today, in the store that bears her family name.

In some ways Russ & Daughters, one of the last of New York’s “appetizing stores” is an anomaly: an American store devoted to the particularly Old World specialty of forshpayz, the cold appetizers many Jews ate before their full meals. That Russ & Daughters exists today is both a testament to the quality of their lox, and the dedication of their many fans, both young and old.  Niki tells a story of hiking a trail in California, only to be stopped, chatted, and ultimately thanked by fellow hikers who noticed her Russ & Daughters t-shirt.

“It’s not just about the food,” she explains. “There are all these stories wrapped up,” She notes that most encounters, like the one on the California hiking trail, follow the same pattern: “[people say] ‘Oh, I love that place. And then they tell a story.’” It’s these stories that makes Russ &  Daughters so special,  infusing the shop with an air of authenticity and Old World street-cred, and earning Russ & Daughters’ blog, Lox Populi, a webby award this past year.

As we browse toward the back of the shop a customer turns, and without prompting, remarks that he comes to Russ & Daughters because it represents a “living food tradition” in a way that grocery stores can’t. Introducing himself as Mark, he goes on to order pickled herring, mustard dill herring, and a little bit of bright yellow curry herring as well. We chat for several minutes, and Mark explains that he sees the food at Russ & Daughters as a form of soul (sole?) food.

As I turn to examine the jars of jams and jellies lining the back wall Mark begins to leave, but is caught by Niki who gives him a big hug. While the the name of the shop refers to Joel Russ’ children, it’s clear that in Russ & Daughters everyone feels like family. We ask Niki about her own familial connection to the Old Country. She explains that she has “herring in her blood” and that working in the shop, surrounded by the food eaten by Jews for centuries, “reinforces who we are in the most primal way.” And, how does Niki feel about the portrait of her great-grandfather Joel looking down over the counter?

“I like that I have to think about him all the time.”

Before we leave, Niki gives us a Holland Herring to sample. Almost entirely uncooked, and covered with diced onions, this is forshpayz “in the raw.” As we sit together eating the fish, I hear other customers toward the front of store laugh, and wish us L’chiam, “to life!” It may be 2009, and we may be on New York’s Lower East Side, but it’s clear that the spirit of the Old Country is alive and well. We can practically taste it.

Thumbnail photo by J_bary, licensed under Creative Commons.

Throughout college I really started to define my Jewish identity. As an underclassman I attended some meetings of the University’s chapter of STAND–an anti-genocide group that focused on Darfur advocacy. After my sophomore year I was fortunate enough to go on a Birthright trip and visit Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial, in Jerusalem. We spent hours winding through such a tragic part of our past—reading compelling stories and being drawn into powerful photos. I vividly remember exiting the museum onto a cantilever suspended over trees and wild flowers looking out onto Jerusalem.

Although the view evoked a sense of safety and pride at first, this was quickly replaced by thoughts of the thousands of children starving to death in Darfur that I had learned before my trip.  Although I was involved with STAND and local community service groups on campus before my trip, it was never with the connection to the concept of tikkun olam–healing the world.  That I discovered that moment staring out at Jerusalem.

I returned home understanding that my being Jewish isn’t determined solely by the classes I attended as a kid or how I observe the religion, but also by how I relate to Jewish morals and values. This discovery reformed my motivation for helping those malnourished kids in Darfur and being involved in local community service.

Read more…

Steven Weinberg is the co-founder and CEO of Will Work For Food.

…

Between Sukkot and Thanksgiving be on the look out for other stories on food issues in our own communities.  Learn more about Harvest to Harvest.

Photo by delayed gratification, licensed under Creative Commons.

I grew up in St. Paul, MN on a typical Midwestern diet. Dinner usually included meat, a vegetable, and a starch. It was nutritious and easy for my parents to prepare after a long day of work. We didn’t keep kosher, and except for the occasional hamburger fresh off the grill, I never enjoyed meat that much. I’ve also always been a huge animal lover, especially cats and dogs.

So it wasn’t too surprising that I eventually went vegan. I went to a concert with Travis in 2008 after meeting online at last.FM, a social networking site for music junkies. He was a friendly, basset-hound owning, punk-rock loving boy and we hit it off right away. I was still eating meat, dairy, and eggs at the time. We both had a passion for food, and he introduced me to amazing vegan cuisine I had never heard of before. There was tofu scramble (pan-fried tofu with mixed veggies, a delicious breakfast substitute for eggs), Luce’s Pizza (topped with mock meat and fake cheese made of cashews) and tempeh bacon (another breakfast fave), among many others. A new world of food opened up for me, and I started thinking about things differently.

First of all, vegan food wasn’t that bad. It was actually amazing! The new tastes and textures were unlike anything I had experienced. Those who think vegans eat grass and bark are dead wrong. Learning of the torture farm animals (including dairy cows and egg-producing chickens) face in factory farms, I also realized how hypocritical it was for me to proclaim my love for animals and then eat meat and dairy. So in July 2008, with Travis’ support, I made the jump to veganism.

For a while, it stuck. I took my friends to posh vegan restaurants in New York City. I learned how to cook a stellar vegan pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. I was proud of my decision to stand up for animals. I even held it above the heads of my Jewish coworkers who scoffed at my veganism – by not eating meat, dairy or eggs, I was technically keeping strictly kosher. Hell, maybe I was even a better Jew than they were!

Then, after almost a year, it started to wear thin. I became sick of soy cheese, rice and veggie burgers. I missed cheese, omelets and mayonnaise on sandwiches. After some serious reflection, I made the decision to stop being vegan when I went to Israel in June. The fresh foods of Israel were all around me, and I immersed myself in the tastes of Israel’s delicious shakshouka (egg dish), fresh cottage cheese, and rugelach.

Now, I’m a vegetarian. Maybe I’ll eat meat again someday; I’m not sure. But being a vegetarian seems right to me. It also seems like the Jewish choice for me. One of the laws of kashrut dictates that animals should be killed with one stroke, as smoothly and painlessly as possible. Though I don’t eat meat, I am proud to be a part of a tradition that strives for the humane treatment of animals.

Click here to read more about our “Why I Eat What I Eat” series.

Article photo licensed under Creative Commons

Thumbnail photo by Rusvaplauke licensed under Creative Commons

When my parents got married, they decided to keep a kosher home so my grandparents could eat there when they visited. So it’s always been second nature for me to have some sort of dietary restriction. Growing up, I always found it a little odd when my friends’ parents could just drop by the grocery store and pick up food rather than drive 30 minutes to go to the kosher butcher. To this day, my mother still comments that the neighbors have it so much easier than she does when it comes to eating meat.

Though we kept a kosher home, as soon as we left the house, we were able to eat whatever we pleased. When I was four years old, I went to a neighbor’s house for lunch and came home asking my mom to pick up some ham for a ham and cheese sandwich. She quickly explained to me that we don’t eat ham at home.

Not too long ago, my best friend since middle school came to visit my new home in New York. I mapped out the kitchen for her so she wouldn’t mix up the dairy and meat dishes, and she was shocked to see that I still kept kosher. But it has become second nature to me now. I don’t daven (pray) three times a day the way some observant Jews do, but this is my way of keeping in touch with Judaism on a daily basis.

I met my boyfriend, Jonathan, at a NEXT Shabbat meal he hosted.  I had been looking for a Shabbat meal, and he had generously opened his home to people like me.   Over the course of our relationship,  I brought up the question “would he ever keep a kosher home?”   He had started working at Hazon, a Jewish environmental organization, and had already begun to consider giving up shellfish and pork himself. He agreed that, yes, he might, but countered with a question of his own: Would I buy kosher, organic meat? To me, it made no difference. I already paid more money for meat than the average Joe, so what was an extra dollar or two? After joining a Tuv Ha’Aretz through Hazon, a Community-Supported Agriculture program enabling the Jewish community to support local, sustainable agriculture, and having learned more about the shocking state of the meat industry in America, I quickly began to think that we should not only start keeping kosher, but also “keep” organic. Jonathan’s interpretation of the traditional kosher laws made him think that kosher food can’t really be made in a factory farm, because of humanitarian issues that may be violated there.  I admit,  it does seem exceedingly hard to train undocumented workers to say the proper Hebrew prayers before schecting (ritually slaughtering) animals, all while having INS or ICE agents watching them closely.

Jon and I have found some fun ways to keep organic- kosher, our own way, together; We only eat meat on Shabbat and holidays; we pick up fresh, locally-grown produce from our CSA and the farmers market, and we make weekly trips to Whole Foods.

Some people may think that keeping kosher makes life difficult and boring. I’ve heard countless comments on how dried out and bland kosher meats and organic products can taste. I get tired of fielding questions like, “But think how amazing cheese would taste on that roast beef sandwich?”  I have a sneaking suspicion that these critics are picking the wrong products off the shelves, or dining with the wrong chefs, because if you look for it, delicious, kosher, organic foods are all around.

Click here to read more about our “Why I Eat What I Eat” series.

Photo by sea turtle, licensed under Creative Commons.
Thumbnail photo by Ilovebutter, licensed under Creative Commons.

A brief summary of my religious history: I was born a Jew. My father has been Jewish all his life and my mother converted from Lutheranism in her mid-twenties (that I was not aware of this until my mid-teens is beside the fact).

Growing up, I always liked being Jewish because it made me different, especially living in certain school districts where members of the Tribe were few and far between. But when I went to private school in Dallas, I discovered that I was no longer any different than 30% of my eighth grade class. It became obvious to my thirteen-year-old brain that I either needed to find a more tangible link to Judaism or I would have to be Agnostic. This is why dissecting fetal pigs in biology class seemed as good an excuse as any to give up pork products and call myself “kosher-style.” College in Chicago, of course, offered me the opportunity to interact with a whole community of Jews my age in a much more significant way, and as I matured a little, my steadfast eating habits took on a different, more spiritual meaning.

This story, however, does not tie up so neatly. Moving to Florence, Italy in 2007 put me face to face with a cold, hard truth: virtually every Italian restaurant and market seems to specialize in some sort of pork product. They eat it crude and cooked, sliced and ground, rolled into sausages, on pizzas, and in pastas. It might as well be on the flag. Keeping my anti-pork regimen was not terribly difficult, as long as I was satisfied eating vegetarian, which for the most part I was. So to be clear, when I started re-thinking my gastrono mic choices that were already ten years in the making, it was not solely to do with the plethora of offerings on every street corner and in every supermarket.

I don’t believe in crises of faith. I figure that if you believe in something, you should believe in it enough that random acts of life don’t completely blow it all away. That being said, I do believe in spiritual evolution. The more time that I spent away from my Jewish safe haven in Chicago, the more I evolved – not necessarily for better or worse, but just in a different direction.

Eventually I realized that I didn’t really know why I refused to eat pork. The presence or absence of it in my life didn’t seem to have an effect on the rest of my religious beliefs and, given that I didn’t really keep kosher aside from this particular item, it just no longer made sense.

That’s how I decided to try the other white meat. It started with a little bit of pancetta in a spaghetti alla carbonara, a little bit of sausage in a calzone. I don’t know if, after ten years of abstention, I’ll ever bring myself to eat a sandwich sliced freshly off the roasted animal, but with small steps I tried new things and even got a little closer to my host culture. I’ve always thought that there was nothing more revealing about a people than their food.

Photo by Justin Belcher, licensed under Creative Commons.