This week we introduce issue #19: Israel.

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In one early Zionist song about Israel, Eretz, Eretz, Eretz, Ilanit sings quietly and with love about how small Israel is, about how it’s filled with flowers and children, and how the Eastern border kisses the Western border. “Eretz she nohav, hi lanu em ve av” – Israel that we love, she is to us our mother and our father.

Like any parent-child relationship, the Jewish people’s relationship with Israel can be extremely intense and extremely complicated.  Some love with unquestioning devotion, some fight back against the maternal bonds, and some, consciously or unconsciously, choose never to know their parents in hopes that there will be no emotional attachment.

No doubt about it, Israel as a state continues to court controversy. But let’s not forget that Israel also exists as a nation, devoid of political connotations but full of hot, dusty Tel Aviv summers and cucumbers from the Galilee. It is the country with which American basketball star Amare Stoudemire has so recently fallen in love and the land where Army service often includes late-night pit-stops to McDonald’s.

It is both home to a secular majority, some of whom petition for the right to import pork, and a religious minority that forces others to question the very essence of “Who is a Jew.” For all of these reasons and more, it is easy to both love and be frustrated with Israel, as children often are with parents.

For the next couple of weeks Alef will take a look at Jewish relationships with Israel at a particularly interesting time, a time when, despite public opinion sometimes turning against Israel, more Americans are continuing to make aliyah and Taglit-Birthright Israel continues to turn down trip applicants who want to see more.

For this issue, we eschew the big, global questions in favor of examining ties to Israel on an individual level.  Contributors write about what it means to have “an Israeli moment,” compare their Zionism to green shoots, describe Amos Oz-like picture-perfect snapshots of couples entwined in sunlit cafes, and detail the experience of being on the first-ever Birthright trip.

A relationship with Israel, like a relationship with parents, can be many things, but most of all, it begins with the desire to find out more, simply because it is an inextricable part of who the Jewish people are.

Photo by Wilson Afonso, licensed under Creative Commons.

Israel Posts:
Forgetting Tel Aviv
If I Forget You
The Earth is Not Quiet
The Magnet That Pulls At My Soul
On Park Avenue
A Piece of Land

By Emily Comisar

It wasn’t too long ago that I found myself telling someone: “My best Jewish year was 2006.” In 1999 I joined a synagogue, in 2003 I learned how to bake challah, in 2004 I attended Kabbalat Shabbat services every Friday night, and in 2009 I was hired to work at a Jewish organization. Yet 2006, the year that I stopped going to Hillel every Friday night and made the evening my own, remains my best Jewish year.

I don’t even remember what prompted the decision – maybe it was my return from a conference at Camp Ramah Darom in Georgia, or maybe it was just that my New York Times Jewish Cookbook had caught my friend Ian’s eye – but somehow the idea of hosting our own Shabbat dinner wormed its way into the backs of our heads and wouldn’t go away until we did something about it.

Our first Shabbat dinner was intended to be a one-time event. Ian played the role of welcoming host because his kitchen was better than mine. He prepared the dining room and did most of the cooking — I can’t take credit for much more than drinking wine, telling jokes, and maybe chopping a few vegetables. Little did he know that his home was about to become a Friday night revolving door as we quickly realized that the food and the adoptive family were too good to not replicate.

That was how the tradition began. The company constantly changed; significant others came and went, friends popped in and out. Some days we served a table of ten; one time the two of us dipped our bite-size chunks of challah into a giant bowl of guacamole and called it a meal. The only constant was that one thing to which you can never put a name. It was the thing that made you forget all your stress from the week behind and the hectic schedule of the coming weekend. It was that feeling that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. I cannot count how many Shabbat dinners we cooked that year – there were so many.

Upon my college graduation some months later, I relocated to Florence, Italy – a foreign town where I had no Jewish friends and couldn’t buy a challah in the supermercato. The dinners stopped and Friday night became just like any other night of the week. There was studying and celebrating, drinking and eating, sure. I chalked up my lack of that nameless something special to my immersion in a brand new culture. It wasn’t until I returned to the United States that I felt the big, gaping whole in my week.

Now I find myself in a city full to the brim with Jewish people where you can find challah in every supermarket. You can find Hebrew classes, JCCs, synagogues, temples, kosher restaurants, and Jewish colleges. I’ve tried a few of these things on for size, but they all fit a little long in the arm and short in the leg. All that I’m craving now is a home-cooked meal with a few of my friends. I think what I really need, again, is to reclaim my Shabbat.

Read more posts from Issue 18: Friday Night Lights.

Photo by roland, licensed under Creative Commons.

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 Ariel Joseph, Esq.

Being an American of mixed-heritage, I have always found dating Jewish women to be a somewhat…complicated endeavor. Sure, my mother was of Jewish heritage, as was her mother, but neither of them married Jewish men. Consequently, in addition to being Jewish, I am Irish, Czech, German, African, Indian, and Carib. Although most people can tell that I’m multi-racial, I am most often categorized as “Black,” at least until people learn that I am part Jewish, at which point I become a “Black Jew.”

I have learned that I am a culturally confusing package for most women, but for Jewish women in particular I seem to create a disruption in their schemas that make our relationships short lived. After much personal analysis and discussion with friends, family, and mentors, including Jewish community leaders, I have come to the conclusion that this is due to a cultural condition that I call “Black Jew Syndrome” (or BJS).

BJS can be broken down into three distinct stages: (1) The Infatuation, (2) the Internal Conflict, and (3) the Reconciliation. Before I investigate BJS in more detail, it is worth noting that I have always been attracted to members of the tribe; indeed, one out of every three women I have dated has been Jewish, so I have significant experience with this issue.

Stage One: Infatuation:
The Infatuation stage is marked by a strong interest/attraction, not unlike that shared by most new couples. What makes it distinct from other new relationships is the fetishization of the Black Jew for his “otherness.” Whereas in “regular” intra-racial relationships both partners engage in physical intimacy for the purposes of attraction, fun, and potential procreation, if an interracial element is added, sex changes.

I have dated women from many races and cultures, and the majority of time I would categorize sex with them as being “normal.” With Jewish women, however, the tone I hear in the bedroom changes. The fact that I’m Black seems to overwhelm other aspects of who I am and I have often times felt objectified. This isn’t always a bad thing, yet the Infatuation stage, unfortunately, almost always leads to stage two.

Stage Two: Internal Conflict:
After the initial obsession begins to wear off, the reality that she’s dating a “Black guy” begins to affect the average Jewish woman’s perception of the relationship. While she will usually continue to date her darker skinned companion at this stage in the relationship, dates in public begin to dwindle in number and any talk of meeting the family is usually put off.

I have witnessed this occur multiple times in my life. In fact, I once confronted a girlfriend with my concerns about the Internal Conflict when she began showing symptoms of it, and was surprised by the earnestness of her response.

“I can date you,” she said. “I just don’t think I can be in a serious relationship with you.”

“Why not?” I asked. “I mean, don’t you like me? Aren’t you happy being with me?”

“Of course I’m happy with you,” she replied. “I’m thinking about marriage, though, and I know my family wouldn’t be happy if I married a Black guy”.

“But my mom’s Jewish…” I told her. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Maybe with my parents, but my grandmother would keel over if she knew we were together. She wants 100% pure-blood Jewish great-grandchildren, and I’m sure my parents want 100% Jewish grandchildren themselves”.

The fact that I was both Jewish and Black created a genuine conflict in her. She enjoyed dating, sex, our conversations, and was happy with me as a person. Yet BJS took over and began causing her inner turmoil. She liked me, yet my race made it difficult for her to truly see me as a long-term prospect. I was fun to be with, but she had problems seeing me as boyfriend material.

Stage Three: Reconciliation:
The final stage of BJS manifests itself through an acknowledgement on the Jewish woman’s part that she needs to move on and find a guy that she can feel comfortable taking home to her parents and grandparents. If you are a Jewish woman or have dated Jewish women, you know exactly how intrusive Jewish parents and grandparents can be about who their descendants are involved with. Admittedly, Jewish people have a (somewhat) legitimate desire to see their offspring continue the Jewish bloodline. However, in my experience, it is their desire for Jewish offspring that is the primary cause of BJS. Jewish women I’ve dated usually arrive at an understanding, or Reconciliation, regarding their feelings toward me as a Black Jew based, in large part, upon what their parents or grandparents desire. Unfortunately, due to fear of disappointing their parents, this Reconciliation almost always ends with our relationship ending.

The Reconciliation stage does not seem to be an easy place to be for the Jewish women I’ve dated, and I don’t hold a grudge against them for choosing their families over a guy they’ve known for two or three months. That said, it is frustrating and demoralizing to be devalued due to the color of your skin. Perhaps when the “Greatest Generation” is gone and the “Boomers” become the oldest people in America, we will begin to see more tolerance from more Jewish matriarchs and patriarchs. For now, I just hope to find a woman who doesn’t give a fuck about the melanin in my skin, even if her family does.

Photo by Charles Williams, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from issue #16: Diverse Jews

By Violeta Flemenbaum

“Borei pri, ya lo comi” which translates to “Borei pri, I ate it”, and so we begin to eat our Shabbat dinner. My husband always says this at the end of Ha-motzi. While some people may find this strange, we don’t! After all, Ari and I grew up with Spanish as our first language. He’s the son of Ashkenazi Jews from Colombia and I’m the daughter of Catholics from Mexico.

It seemed only natural that we gravitated toward each other and eventually married. We had so much in common: being made fun of at school for being Hispanic (Ari went to orthodox Jewish schools while I attended Catholic schools) and we both grew up in households where Spanish along with heavily accented English was spoken. I was already on the path to conversion when I met Ari but that’s a story for another day. Eventually we married and are the proud parents of 3 amazing children.

Our Latino upbringing infused a respect for G-d and family that my friends who are not the children of immigrants have a hard time understanding. For example, if either of our parents invites us to dinner at the last minute, we are obligated to join them despite any other plans that we have already made. Latino parents, regardless of what religion they practice, always stress the commandment “Honor thy mother and thy father.” They practically beat it into their children’s mentality. When it comes to G-d, you are expected to follow the rules. When I converted, I had no problem with kashrut or mikvah because in my heart I felt it was the right thing to do.

When Ari and I started our own family, the first thing on our list was to find a name for our son that worked well in Hebrew, Spanish, and English so we named him Gabriel. Next came Natalie (I know, I know but I just couldn’t pass up this exquisite name). We call her Tali the majority of the time. Then came our precious Daniela.

If you come to our house around any mealtime, you’re likely to find us having lox and bagels with huevos rancheros, or brisket with a side of tortillas. For Shavuot I like to make “pastel de tres leches” (three milks cake) which is a common dessert in Latin countries. You’re also likely to hear Fortuna and the New Orleans Klezmer All-stars on our CD player. Our kids are well aware of their rich cultural heritage and they will proudly exclaim that they are “Hebrew-Spanish.” Is our family Jewishness a little different than what you’d might expect? Sure, but we wouldn’t have it any other way! L’Chaim and Salud from our familia to yours.

Photos by cbertel and grongar, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from issue #16: Diverse Jews

By Meredith Druss

Sitting on the beach with my parents and sister this weekend, I asked my mother about her experiences being a Taiwanese woman who had converted to Judaism and raised two daughters Jewishly. My mother’s answers mirrored many of the feelings I have: “People are curious and pay me more attention when they see me in a Jewish space,” and “often I’m asked to explain myself but when I say I married a Jewish man and converted, they’re fine with that.” In my personal favorite of her responses she said, “everyone is welcoming, they see my energy and enthusiasm, and are happy to see me so involved.”

Together, riding the high of how open and welcoming Judaism is for us converts and half-Asians, we weren’t prepared for my dad’s question:

“If you were dating an Orthodox boy and he asked that you convert under Orthodoxy before marrying him, would you do it?”

Immediately, my mind reverted to my impertinent ten-year-old self who used to sass mistaken pure-breds who dared to call me a “half-Asian, half-Jewish girl.”

“I’m half-Asian, full-Jewish,” I’d retort, proud to educate on the difference between ethnicity and religion.

But am I really?

Having an Asian mother means it’s doubtful that my maternal line is Jewish through-and-through. While there are some Jewish communities in China (the Kaifeng Jews), Wandy Wang wasn’t from one, and to some, I realize, her Conservative conversion with intent to marry my father doesn’t cut it. So if mom’s not Jewish, then neither are the kids.

Bam.

What do you say when your own father asks if you will admit that you’re not really Jewish in order to marry your hypothetical Orthodox future-husband?

A fighter by nature, I laid it into him.

“It’s an affront to my identity! How dare anyone question my Judaism, do people question if you’re actually from Caucasia?! If this hypothetical fiancé won’t marry me unless I convert, what’s he doing dating non-Jews in the first place?”

My mother also took it personally.

“Judaism is a way of living.”

She argued that if I knew my mother to be Jewish, and lived Jewishly – the following of tradition, the observance of ritual, the commitment to certain beliefs – then I was already Jewish. Judaism isn’t something that someone can take a DNA test to determine. It doesn’t show in bone structure or the face.

“If Meredith continues to do all that, why would she have to convert?”

I affirmed my mother, “Should I be asking proof from my potential Jewish suitors that their maternal ancestors are Jewish or Orthodox-converted all the way up to the matriarch Sarah?”

I didn’t really answer the question. Defensively, I said “no” to my father only to stop the conversation. Sure, if it made things easier, why wouldn’t I convert to Orthodoxy? But then, would converting mean that I’d be acknowledging that I am not a Jew now. Who’s the one that needs to compromise here?

The greater question in all of this is that of religion vs. ethnicity. Is Judaism my ethnicity, a way of life and a group of people I happen to have traditions and beliefs in common with; or is it my religion, the way I service and worship G-d? In modern day terminology, we throw around the phrase “cultural Jew” to identify those of us that are members of the Tribe but don’t follow strict religious observance. Then, of course, there are religious Jews. Somewhere along the line, you can’t be a cultural Jew if your mother/grandmother/great-grandmother, etc. was not recognized as a religious Jew in her conversion….If I’m somewhere in the middle (a cultural Jew who believes and worships G-d and follows moderate observance levels), what’s my new categorization now? Half-Asian-Half-Ethnic-Jew-Three-Quarters-Religious Jew (…but only if you approve of Conservative conversions)?

Let me tell you, I can’t wait for the day when I can say, “I’m Jewish and I’m Asian” and no one will blink an eye.

Photo by Beige Alert, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from issue #16: Diverse Jews

]]> http://alefnext.com/diverse-jews/half-and-half/feed/ 5 http://alefnext.com/diverse-jews/alef-profiles-y-love/ http://alefnext.com/diverse-jews/alef-profiles-y-love/#comments Fri, 02 Jul 2010 18:09:04 +0000 Emily.Comisar@birthrightisraelnext.org http://alefnext.com/?p=7398

By now, most of us aren’t strangers to Jewish hip-hop. Take one look at Yitz Jordan and you might not expect him to be a member of the tribe, but this convert to Orthodox Judaism is making his mark by tapping into his adopted culture and putting an interesting twist on a musical tradition.  Not on your radar yet?  Take a look at an interview with Y-Love (Yitz Jordan’s stage name) to learn about how this Jew-by-choice-of-color found his way into the American Jewish community to become one of the many voices representing the diversity of the Jewish people.

You can find Y-Love now in Punk Jews, the documentary series about individuals who express their Jewish culture in some pretty unconventional ways.

Punk Jews from Jesse Zook Mann on Vimeo.

“I think ‘Punk Jews’ is a facet of perhaps the most significant movement in Judaism in the past 100 years, that is, a generation of Jews disillusioned with the Judaism they see in their communities but determined to maintain a connection to the Jewish nation, tradition, and Judaism.  ”Punk Jews” is a documentary about a movement which is seeking to rebrand G-d and Judaism in the eyes of the future generations of Jews, a movement which I’m very happy to be a part of.  I hope that this generation sees the end of disillusioned people “leaving Judaism” and the beginning of people redefining and maintaining their own connections to it.” – Yitz Jordan aka Y-Love

Read more posts from issue #16: Diverse Jews.

By E2

E2’s literary genre is something unique: Pin@y Piyyutim(see more on his YouTube Channel and Website.) As a member of the Filipino Jewish Community, E2 writes poetry that reflects the experience of having a multi-ethnic heritage.

Anghel Ha’Bris

“Gurong Hudyo Menachem Mendel of Vorki say, Three things are fitting for us: upright kneeling, silent screaming, motionless dance.”

Just when you think
To daven for the possible dream
Be in awe

More than any
Man made weapons of más
Reconstruction

Above the Bamboo-
Cypress forest
Where stars navigate

Weather Warfare
Counter clockwise
As east wind, refining fire & stone river

Sacrificial priesthood, harsh justice & shevatim honor
Pillars of darkness, thick smoke & loud rain-clouds
My heritage, My people & the work of My hands

Moshiakh ben Efrayim, She’China @ Sun of Mercy

Masaya Menorah
Trembles like balmy lightning-
Manna slung over the shoulder

From Har Baguio to Har Ha’Báyit
Back to back
Back and forth

The Horah-Eskrima
Overture: Entertwining fingers
Singkil with Arkipeleghost

Is when ha’mishmarot
{When Bahay Yosef — The Revolutionary Rainbow — K’ruvim}
Begin

To spread or not to spread our wings

Image provided by the author.

Read more posts from issue #16: Diverse Jews.

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It is more than just a mere coincidence that Alef’s 18th issue highlights the celebration of Shabbat. In Judaism, the number 18 has significant meaning. Based on the system of gematria (assigning numerical value to letters), the Hebrew letters of the word “chai,” meaning “life,” are quantified by 18. Chai, in turn, is an all-encompassing word that the Torah reveres.

Yet, as citizens of a modern society, it is rare to find a moment to just appreciate a weighted word for what it’s worth. Quicker than email replies or text messages, our minds are continuously scrutinizing and scurrying from one point in life to the next. Our work, families, and every external piece of our daily routines keeps us locked in an endless cycle of movement that makes it hard for us to just stop to take heed of our world.

So, in celebration of life, we look toward Shabbat. Not only is Shabbat a traditional day of rest, it is also a joyous occasion that reminds us of the simple goodness of our own lives. Whether you participate in a rich, cultural tradition of Judaism in Israel, or find yourself at home, alone with a deli-made challah, Shabbat is unique in its message of peace: It tells us that recognition of rest doesn’t detract from a fullness of life–it enhances it. Shabbat also gives us a designated time every week to be thankful for something as simple and abounding as life itself.

With all of this in mind we present Issue 18: Friday Night Lights, where we will share the sentiments of this sanctified day through stories from people who have found unique and personal ways to relate to Shabbat, even if that means developing some very non-traditional approaches. We hope that these stories serve as an inspiration to you to try to find some time in your own life to collect yourself, discover a sense of calm, and then carry on.

We should also add that if you are a Birthright Israel alumnus interested in transforming Shabbat into a new or revived tradition for yourself, please consider signing up to host a NEXT Shabbat meal through Birthright Israel NEXT.

- Alef

Friday Night Lights Posts
The Best Year
Friday Night in Israel
Unplugging
Keeping Shabbat
Oh Yes, Oh Yes, Oh YES!
Evolution of Shabbat
Tales of a Rabbi’s Kid
Cartoons for Shabbat
The Evolution of a Shabbat Guest

Photo by Jordan Chark, licensed under Creative Commons.

Extra special thanks to guest editor Katherine Bruce for her work on this issue.

By Richard Skeen

Alef editorial meetings are usually lively and opinionated (would you expect anything different?), but in a recent meeting where we decided to extend our Gay Pride issue an extra week, the difference in our views struck me as a story within a story. The debate was around how much of our audience – young Jewish adults – cared enough about Gay Pride stories to sustain another week. While traffic and participation suggested the theme resonated with many, some from our team argued that Gay Jewish identity was no different than any other Jewish identity, and shouldn’t get an extra week. How central, in the context of Jewish identity, is Gay Pride?

Today is the Gay Pride parade in lower Manhattan, my old neighborhood. While dropping kids off at Summer camp precludes me from actively participating, this day always brings me back to fond memories of my first New York home. I lived just off Gay Street (named after the Captain, not the identity, but still…), two blocks from the Stonewall Tavern (the birthplace of the American Gay rights movement – think Paul Revere, but riding in leather chaps) in the heart of Greenwich Village. My neighborhood, like the fashion magazine world I worked in, was bursting with LGBT folks drawn to the lack of prejudice and the vibrant scene of the Village. And while I was a floundering heterosexual, I was a huge beneficiary of living amongst my Gay neighbors: from top flight gyms and restaurants to colorful and clever stoops and doorways, the wide array of boutique shops to a happy-vibe on the sidewalks, the huge Gay presence created a kind of utopia and richer life for all of us.

While the various Jewish denominations take different views on same-sex marriage and the kind of love permissible under Halacha (Jewish law), our people have a better track record than most when it comes to Gay rights. Certainly among young Jewish adults, full acceptance of, and support for gay rights is common. Israel’s gay-rights record is well ahead of the curve, and Tel Aviv is among the top Gay vacation spots in the world. But is that good enough?

In a recent essay about the importance of including the LGBT community completely into the Jewish community, philanthropist Lynn Schusterman argues that despite much progress, we are still behind where we should be in providing an inclusive environment for all Jews: “In an era when all Jews are Jews by choice, our community and, in turn, our nation benefits from every source of Jewish vitality and strength, including the creativity and vibrancy of LGBT Jews.”

Though still new, Alef has explored many kinds of Jewish identity, and the issues confronted with being Jewish in a world that is pluralistic and complicated. We have learned a lot, been inspired and come to realize the huge value in the vast diversity of the contemporary Jewish experience. We recognize that many issues are nuanced and complex, but we are sure that the Jewish community is richer for having participation from the LGBT community, and hope that all of Kol Yisrael will work to grow that participation. We think this is important, and we hope you do too.

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Photo by sgt fun, licensed under Creative Commons.

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Read more posts from the Gay Pride issue.