1. A Hanukkah Hip-Hop Graphic Novel

2. Rabbi, can you teach me how to dougie?

Smith Magazine has teamed up with Reboot (the people who brought you the National Day of Unplugging and Sukkah City) to bring you “Six Words on Jewish life.” Submit your six-word memoir (www.smithmag.net/jewish) by January 4th for a shot at being included in the book and a guarantee at being on the website.

Not sure where to start? We’re so glad you asked.  Some of the staff at NEXT have teamed up to provide you a list of their own six-word memoirs:

Ruvym ~ Russian family, still fears nonexistent KGB

Terissa ~ Single?! You should meet my son!

Emily ~ Once Kosher-style Texan loves pulled pork.

by Joshua Einstein

My name is Joshua Einstein and I have been a MH (Moishe House) Hoboken resident for almost 5 years. It has been an incredible adventure in friendship, programming, and community building. When I first applied I was post collegiate and as an only child I really needed to get out of my parents’ house. As things worked out I would land a job and an MH in the same week. Most residents move into pre-existing houses, my roommates at the time and I were new to Hoboken and had to build an indigenous social network from the ground up. Sure, Hoboken has a shul and sure that shul had a Jewish club that was focused on social events in bars but we weren’t there just for drinks and shul just isn’t my scene.

See, I’m not against the concept of god. I believe there probably is a god. It’s just that as an agnostic I know there is no way for me to confirm that god exists. Moreover, the secondary questions of whether or not god gave anything to any group of humans seems rather pedestrian. Every religious group thinks god spoke to them and gave them something unique. As such, religion matters not to me, nor does theology, services, spirituality, the soul, prayer or religious tradition. In my almost 5 years in town I have been to the shul less than a dozen times, Baruch Hashem.

So what makes me Jewish? The answer is simply our people, history, and shared culture. The religion element is a historical addendum. Religious Judaism has been a convenient vehicle for the transmission of our shared culture, the propagation of our amazing experiment through history, and for the inculcation of Jewish peoplehood. In and of itself, religion has no value, that doesn’t mean I’m against people having religion, nor that religious people are inherently anti-intellectual or unintelligent. It does mean I do not plug into the religion of the Jews – Judaism.

When we moved to Hoboken I wanted to create a new Jewish community rooted in Jewish history and interested in exploring the world intellectually. We were in Hoboken to make a new Jewish scene and we were here to do it deliberately. To some degree we have succeeded. Part of intellectualism is a healthy dose of skepticism and the community we have built and been built by is definitely skeptical. Perhaps it’s our Greater Hoboken Area (GHA) origin’s (most of our community is from New Jersey with many others from the tri-state area), that comes with some inherent cynicism genetically pre-programmed into those in our region. It may be an outgrowth of the Jewish neuroticism that requires we look for a motivation behind mere meaning or the minority status of outsiders that makes Jews supra-naturally inquisitive. I know not the reason, but whereas many Jewish groups are obsessed with defining themselves by action, by posting a thin film of Jewish identity over the broad agenda of making the world a better place, we are just the opposite. The community we have created (and been created by) in Hoboken is in command of its Jewish identity, knowledgeable of our shared history, fluent in our culture and without the larger agenda of transforming the world.

As a contrarian and agitator I am naturally unsatisfied. It is as if my MH community has settled in an unhappy medium in which it is comfortable with intellectual challenges but uncomfortable when considering turning those challenges into actions. That the intellectual world does not exist in the abstract makes this a fundamentally untenable position. Moreover, it is also an anti-intellectual position because it is inherently and patently false. The question is how to connect our community’s inquisitive minds and intellectual notions with actions? How do we, at MH Hoboken, connect our salons, facilitated discussions, informal and impromptu debates regarding the economy, politics, homelessness, security, inflation, Israel – the Jew and the world around her/him, to some sort of action?

To this I do not have an answer. I welcome any and all suggestions.

Photo by pauldwaite, licensed under creative commons.

This week…

1. The New York Times reports on a new Jewish edition of the New Testament, edited by a Brandeis University Professor.

2. Tablet presents comics by Jewish women about comics by Jewish women.  Was that tongue twister enough for you?

3. Speaking of Jewish women, the Latitude blog of the International Herald Tribune discusses the issue of what it means for religious Jews to hear a woman sing.

Pita photo by VirtualErn, licensed under Creative Commons.

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:

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.

The High Holidays are behind us and we’re ready for a fresh start in the new year!  Send us any links you think we should add:

1. Shouting out to Moishe House Rocks! – a recipient of a Jewish New Media Innovation Grant.  Check out their video on the Havdallah service for the end of Shabbat:

2. The discussion and debate over Jewish I.Q. continues as Israel adds to its already long list of Nobel Laureates.

3. And for you film buffs – a history of the Silver Screen…in Yiddish.

By Ari Averbach
This post originally appeared on 10-29-2010

The day after Vanessa and I met at a bar (ugh, I know, right?) I got an email from JDate – “We Found You a New Match!” and it was her. No joke. Now, I would take this as a sign, except that JDate sends out this same email every day. Each time with a new match, or with 6 new matches, that might fit into your general parameters for your dream partner.

“She’s Jewish and lives within 100 miles of you! Click here to find out more!”

It doesn’t take much science. (Granted, I know some very happy couples who met on JDate — but let’s leave the tales of fate via JDate for another story.)

So, yes, against everything I thought I believed in, I met Vanessa at a bar. Not only a bar, but a bar called Big Foot Lodge. She was there with what looked like a support group for severe burn victims — turns out they had just come from ZombieFest and were covered in make-up. Vanessa, filled with gall and spunk and half a beer but not wearing any crazy make-up, came up to me insisting she knew who I was. We talked for over an hour. My roommate, who was watching all this, texted me, “For the love of gd, get her number!”

I did.

Our first date was super. Our second date was a shiva call. Third date – I picked her up from the airport and dropped her off at work. Now, it’s been years since I’ve been in a real relationship, but this seemed odd to me. I didn’t think we were playing the game correctly. I realized that I was spending all my free time with her, and talking only about her at all other times. I met her family, she met mine, they met each other. Fretting aside, there were no hitches.

So, here’s what I’ve learned about relationships in the eight months we’ve been together: nothing. There aren’t Relationships (capital R), only relationships (small r). Sorry if that sounds didactic, but they are completely personal. I have two friends who started dating their significant others at the same time I started seeing Vanessa, but decided to move at a different pace. There is nothing about our relationships that is alike, except that we are all happy.

At the beginning, we would compare notes about the juicy details. Have you said I love you? You used the word Girlfriend? You met her parents? What’s third base?

Over the months, the questions morphed into more serious matters. Have you lit Shabbat candles together? Which synagogue will you guys attend for Rosh Hashanah? Whose parents are going to relinquish break-fast so everyone can be one big family?

These are the questions that will hopefully speak of our futures. They are Jewish questions, sure, but more importantly they determine who we are and who we want to be – as individuals and as a couple. Our comparisons have taught us that there is no universal overlay – we are not in a competition with a finish line. The goal cannot be meted out in a rubric to determine what the relationship should look like. Luckily for me, Vanessa and I are figuring out how to answer these questions each step of the way.

Photo by Stefan Baudy, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from Issue #22: Couples.

by Alef Staff

Moishe House, G-DCAST, and Birthright Israel NEXT have teamed up to bring Jewish life how-to’s to the web. In honor of Sukkot, here’s one on how to build a Sukkah.  Find more videos on MoisheHouseRocks.com.

Originally published to Alef on 7/9/2010
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 Shawn Shafner

“I think I’m going to start wearing diapers.”

For two weeks last December, this phrase was my favorite conversation starter.

I really thought it was a great Hanukkah gift for myself, one with profound psychological and sociological ramifications. Plus I could write off the Pampers as a business expense. Because when you run The POOP Project you can do that.

Think about it for just a moment: adults are wearing diapers. Right now. 2 million men and 11 million women across the USA, according to one study featured by the National Association for Continence (even bladder control has its advocates). Granted, a good chunk of that number are in nursing homes, where the diaper is standard uniform for over half the residents. Still others are joining you at the office for water cooler conversation. Do they carry a spare pair in their briefcases and purses? Are they peeing freely at meetings while you’re scribbling frantically? Where does the soiled nappy go when it’s old and done?

Of course, it’s no laughing matter for those dealing with this issue. The diaper carries with it great stigma. Even the toddler knows that she who wets her pants is “a baby.” To be potty trained—to gain the physical ability to withhold poop and pee and also consciously release it in a socially ordained place and time—is the primary threshold to civilized adulthood. Those who wish to follow the rules but are physically incapable must adapt means of hiding their deficiency. Those who choose to excrete outside of these bounds just don’t get invited to parties. Or anything else, for that matter. It’s a fundamentally subversive act.

So what would it mean to pee in public? Could I even perform such a feat? Could I actually sit on the subway—or stand for that matter—and will my body to release urine, even into an absorbent adult undergarment?

I soon found myself standing in the aisle at Duane Reade staring up at products called “Poise” and “Inspire,” lofty ideas undermined by adjectives like, “adjustable,” “ultra thin,” and “super plus absorption.” I was waiting to see the in-house doctor because I’d started having pee problems.

In an ironic twist, I had suddenly joined the 1 in 5 Americans over 40 with overactive bladder, except I was only 27. And I really had to pee. Always. On my ride home to Brooklyn, I was stopping off at Atlantic to go in the Subway Sandwich Shoppe and not on the Subway train.

The doctor asked me questions, poked and prodded Sr. Pepe, and took a sample of my urine. There were traces of blood. I left the doctor with an eight-day course of antibiotics and a six-pack of Depends for Men in designer fashions. Because if you’re going to wet yourself, why not do it in style?

An hour later I was celebrating the first night of Hanukkah with 7th and 8th graders in Hebrew school. They begrudgingly sang blessings to consecrate the juice, the challah, the latkes, the candles and the occasion, droning melodies deeply ingrained into their teen brains. But not a student knew about the bracha I was there to teach, the Asher Yatzar, or why it meant so much to me that night.

Asher Yatzar is primarily known as the blessing one says after using the toilet, but it’s also incorporated into the morning liturgy and thought of as a healing prayer alongside the m’sheberach. The basic translation is something like this:

“Dear God, thank you for making an intuitive body with many holes and openings. We all know that, if the closed holes should ever open or the open holes ever close, we would really be in trouble. So thanks for that, and all the other healing miracles in the universe.”

In today’s world, we tend to focus on what’s coming in and ignore what’s going out. We are fixated on incomes, identified as “consumers,” and obsessed with food. We seek out exotic delicacies to satisfy our organic-local-macro-paleo palates, and teach our children how to sanctify meals through invoking a higher power. The final byproduct of our relentless quest is taken for granted, shuttled underneath the floors and city streets, pushed to the subconscious fabric of our social lives, and relegated to the shameful outskirts of infant and elder. And then suddenly there’s blood in your urine and it all comes bubbling to the top.

Eight candles, eight days of pills and eight itchy diapers later, the open hole somewhere in my body finally took to closing. It was indeed a Hanukkah miracle.

Yet during the whole ordeal, I never once actually took advantage of the absorbent underpants. I always raced to the safety of the toilet instead. What if it overflowed? What if it smelled? What if I had to walk around in it for hours? So I didn’t unearth any profound psychological or social revelations. I don’t even know what it all means.

But I do know that there are two clean pairs of designer Depends for Men waiting in my dresser drawer. Any takers?

Shawn Shafner is The Puru and creator of The People’s Own Organic Power Project. His one-man show, “Eat $h*t: How Our Waste Can Save the World” premieres Oct. 19 at Dixon Place in NYC. Learn more at www.thePOOPproject.org.

Photo by simplyla, licensed under Creative Commons.