Alef: The NEXT Conversation
Keeping the Faith
by Shauna Ruda
When I was 20, I decided to spend my spring break in Moscow, Russia
with NCSJ: Advocates on Behalf of Jews in Russia, Ukraine, the Baltic States & Eurasia, learning about the (re)emerging Jewish communities of the Former Soviet Union
On Friday afternoon, before Shabbat, I went with a group of 4 other young people to visit Olga, a 76 year-old woman left home-bound on her 10th floor walk-up apartment. Olga is visited every Friday afternoon before Shabbat, as a recipient of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee,or JDC’s, Hesed program.
We sat with Olga for an hour as she reflected on her life. In the end, she thanked us for coming. She told us that she was grateful for the food each week, but more importantly, she was grateful that the program restored her faith. “Faith,” she said, “is what keeps me alive.”
That moment was profound for me.
As humans, living in a world of material goods, some that really do sustain us, some that don’t, it’s hard to think in terms of our souls and what our souls need to continue moving forward.
So at that moment I decided that giving Jewishly was important.
Initially it was because of guilt:
There are nearly 200, 000 impoverished elderly Jews and 30,000 Jewish children in the Former Soviet Union who rely on critical nutritional, medical, and other assistance every year.
36,000 Jews impoverished by Argentina’s 2001 economic crisis.
25,000 Jews in Turkey who want to continue Jewish life by sustaining their Jewish education centers.
Over 90 Jewish communities across the world need to sustain themselves somehow and cannot continue without the help of the rest of the Jewish community
We are a community that makes up 0.2 percent of the world population. When I looked at Olga, I saw my own family – and the families of all of my Jewish friends: the new immigrants struggling to survive, or the people devastated by the Holocaust or pogroms or economic failures or failed governments. It was only through the little extra help of Jewish organizations that they were able to live and survive in this world.
And then, I thought about what Olga said – that faith kept her alive – and reflected on what that really meant.
Faith connects us, as Jews, to a 4,000 year-old history. The fact that we have even made it this long and gone so far says something about this religion – about our resilience. And if ever we feel weak, we can rest on the fact that Jewish people have been surviving for centuries.
And of course, there’s a deeply personal side. Being Jewish gives meaning through its purpose for each individual. In Judaism, we are all connected – regardless of the rules we create for ourselves. And maybe at times it’s hard to find a connection to each other – but deep down we feel it and we know it and feel the pain and the joy of each other.
My basic desire to give rests on my faith. Judaism says that we should choose life – to live in this world as much as we possibly can and so I try to. Judaism says be kind to your neighbors. Judaism says that we should give, that we should be aware of those less fortunate than ourselves, that we should never envy and always be thankful. So I learned to give, because I am Jewish.
There are a lot of people who need help in the world. I believe deeply that people should give based on what they feel moved by, and what they’ve experienced and seen. And, I experienced this woman – 76 years old, Jewish, in her apartment, sick – but moving forward.
It’s not the blood in our veins (we have converts), or a common language (modern Hebrew is only a century old) or land (we went through the bulk of diaspora without a Jewish state) – it is faith that has enabled us to continue as a Jewish people no matter are struggles. So I give Jewishly, because I believe in the power of faith.
For more on Jewish giving and tzedakah, read the other posts in this series: Tzedek in Parashat Ki Tavo and Supporting Jewish Causes.
Photo provided by the author.
Supporting Jewish Causes
by Tracie Karasik
There are too many evil people in the world looking to destroy, defame, or humiliate the Jewish people. And this sad truth is unfortunately not a novel one. For thousands of years, Jews have been easily targeted as the scapegoats, being blamed for all the problems in the world, persecuted for their beliefs or religious traditions, or had their reputation marred by those who lack tolerance and foster hate.
I feel that it is my responsibility as a Jew to be a champion of Jewish causes. I believe that it is an imperative responsibility as a Jew to preserve, to advocate for, and to give to Jewish causes primarily over those that are not.
That does not mean that I do not advocate for global, secular, or non-Jewish causes, because in its essence, the values of Judaism reflect that of tzadakah, righteousness and doing the right thing, and tikkun olam, repairing the world. Judaism, after all, teaches that performing both ethical mitzvot as well as ritual mitzvot are of paramount importance to the process of tikkun olam. Additionally in Jewish thought, carrying out acts of mitzvot includes giving to all of humanity, not just ourselves. In fact, most Jewish non-profit organizations provide aide to both Jews and non-Jews alike. However, I believe that there are causes worth fighting for, and that helping to ensure the Jewish future, caring for Jews in need, and supporting the land of Israel are foremost on my list.
If we, as Jews, do not support each other than who will? What will be left of the Jewish community and of Jewish traditions if we, ourselves, do not stand behind and provide for each other? We must take a proactive and thoughtful approach towards supporting Jewish organizations and causes around the world. If not, future generations are at risk of losing the indispensable traditions, moral code, and incredible strength of community that have enabled the Jewish people to thrive and exist for over 5,000 years.
One critically important program that exists today, which has sent nearly 300,000 young Jewish adults from all around the world on a free 10-day educational trip to Israel is Taglit Birthright. This program has fostered the growth, solidarity, and reconnection of young Jewish adults to the land of Israel. If not for programs like Taglit-Birthright, supported by organizations such as the North American Jewish Federations, the Jewish Agency for Israel, The Birthright Israel Foundation, the Government of Israel, private philanthropists, and Jewish communities around the world, there would be a dramatic decline in Jewish relevance among contemporary youth, an increase in the division between Israel and Jewish communities around the world, and an even more dramatic rise in assimilation. In June of 2010, I was fortunate enough to participate in a Taglit-Birthright trip to Israel. I would like to share with you a little about my story and how it has affected me in a positive way, however, my story is just one of the thousands of young, Jewish adults who just like me were awarded the opportunity to go to Israel.
From beginning to end, it was evident that the entire trip was extremely safe, well planned, and structured with great care and thoughtfulness. During the trip, I especially felt especially connected to my Jewish identity while visiting Independence Hall in Tel Aviv. It was there that I listened to an actual recording from May 14, 1948, of the voice of David Ben-Gurion, who had declared the creation of the State of Israel from the exact location where I was sitting. Following that, the Hatikvah was played, and I not only felt like I was a part of one of the most significant events in Israel’s history, but that I was proud and grateful to be a Jew in Israel. Furthermore, one of the most significant moments in my life was experienced while in Israel, when I visited the Western Wall. The instant I laid my hand on the wall, feelings of pride and excitement mixed with empathy and awe filled within me, and I began to burst into tears. I felt my Jewish heritage stemming from thousands of years come alive. I felt a deep sense of gratitude to be able to be there as a living descendant of the strong lineage of the Jewish people. To be able to stand there in that moment, and touch a lasting remnant of The Old Temple, in a Jewish country, in which millions of Jews in history had only dreamt of being able to do, was truly remarkable. I felt a deep sense of accomplishment and humility.
Going to Israel not only strengthened my connection to Judaism, but has led me to feeling a much stronger commitment to living a Jewish life, raising a Jewish family, and supporting the Jewish community here and around the world. The continued support of programs such as Taglit-Birthright help to allow each new generation of young Jewish adults to understand their Jewish identity and motivate them to give back to the Jewish community and Israel.
Jewish causes need a place now more than ever. I believe that charity is a fundamental part of the Jewish way of life and that we need to invest in the future of the Jewish people or risk losing it all because of the lack of it. We are such a small percentage of the world’s population, and the survival and prosperity of the Jewish people rests on the amount of support that others can provide for it. I am committed to supporting Jewish causes primarily over those that are not because the future of the Jewish religion, its people, and its posterity depends on the present.
Photo by zeevveez, licensed under Creative Commons.
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Jews Gone Camping, Part 2
by Ruvym Gilman
And now I was going car-camping again, once more to a New York State maintained campsite in the Catskills. What was sure to make this trip different was the group’s commitment to having Shabbat while in the woods, do a hike the next day, and then go through a havdallah service on Saturday night. I wasn’t going to let any silly poem about how “Jews don’t camp” stop me from bringing my Jewishness straight into the dark, merciless heart of Mother Nature.
The weekend started off as only a Jewish weekend could, with an argument over food. I’m a big fan of ease and simplicity, which to me meant foregoing this whole idea of buying kosher meat in the City and schlepping it upstate in a cooler. Why not just buy some non-kosher meat up there? Why burden ourselves unnecessarily?
But more passionate hearts prevailed, and after a delayed Friday night departure, I found myself at the campsite with five of my friends, under the glimmer of piercing starlight, surrounded by the distant spatter of conversation from neighboring campers gathered around fires. We got there at 10pm, just as “quiet time” was imposed by the forest ranger who came by to politely tell us that we could cook our meal, but that we just needed to respect the sanctity of the space.
From that point, we got things going pretty quickly – one of my friends who may or may not be a pyromaniac had the fire raging within minutes. Upon discovering that we were missing the ever-important corkscrew, a necessity for Kiddush, a friend suggested that we walk around to neighboring sites to see if we could borrow one. I shrugged off this idea, uncomfortable by the thought of bothering people about this, of having strangers (us) emerge from the pitch black in search of tools.
“Come on,” she said, “don’t be so shy.”
“I’m not shy, I just don’t want to disturb anyone.”
I was convinced to go anyway, and after fumbling around in the dark for a little while, we came upon two men seated at their fire.
“Hello there!” she said as we approached.
One of the men, seemingly startled, most likely just drunk, stood up to meet us. We told him of our predicament and he went digging in his tent for a corkscrew.
“You don’t see those right there. I don’t have anything here,” he said as he riffled through a pack filled with prescription pill bottles and at least one machete-sized knife.
I gave my friend a “I am so annoyed that you made me do this” look.
Eventually he found what we were looking for and insisted on following us back to our camp because, so he claimed, the corkscrew was a prized possession of his.
Despite my discomfort with the situation, we led him to the campsite. When we got there we made some introductions, and as soon as we had a couple of bottles open, one of my friends moved straight to pouring out some wine.
“What’s your name?” he asked the man.
“Carl.”
“Well, nice to meet you. Here, have some wine.”
Carl took the cup offered to him.
“And now,” my friend continued, “we’re going to do a quick blessing over it.”
Carl looked confused.
“So you know, we’re Jews,” my friend offered as explanation. “It’s no big deal.”
“All of you?”
Everyone nodded enthusiastically. I was more hesitant in making the admission.
“I’m fine,” mumbled Carl.
My friend went through the blessing quickly and we all said “l’chaim.”
A “salut!” was what we got in response.
A moment later we heard another voice approaching the site.
“Carl, you there?”
“Hey Vince, get over here, all of these guys are Jews. I’m doing something Jewish.”
Carl and Vince only stayed for a few more minutes. They promised to come back the next day for havdallah but we didn’t see them for the rest of our time in the woods.
The remainder of the weekend went down without anything dramatic happening. We survived our hike and had another great meal on Saturday night. One girl who was having her first camping experience, kept shouting “Oh my God! I love camping!” at random points throughout the evening. I would have liked for her to chill out, but who was I to temper someone’s excitement?
The next day we stopped at a diner on our way out of town. This has, perhaps, become my favorite part of these sorts of weekend camping trips – the opportunity to unwind and converse while you’re on the cusp of having the experience end, just as you’re about to cross back over that line that separates life in the City from the time spent cooking and sweating and sleeping in the woods.
We usually sit for at least two hours, drinking endless cups of coffee and picking at the toast even after its cold and the butter has soaked straight through to the porcelain plate. On this particular occasion, while sitting there on the diner’s patio, we struck up a conversation with a woman walking her dog.
“He’s a show dog,” she told us, gushing with enthusiasm at the opportunity to tell us the dog’s story, about his pedigree, about his as-yet-unearned medals and awards, the ones he was bound to win sooner or later. “Chow-Chow and I were featured in the February 2010 issue of Kibbles,” she added.
We looked at her blankly.
“You know Kibbles don’t you? It’s the premier dog magazine in America.”
In that moment, I was overcome with a sense of clarity, of certainty about the world and the way it worked, about my place in it.
“Even if it’s just car camping…Jews camp,” I determined. “But they definitely don’t do dog shows.”
Photo provided by the Author.
Ruvym is on the Alef editorial board. In addition to his fondness for camping, you can find him discussing traveling in Israel, foreign languages, Russian accents, and fur coats.
The First Cut is Always the Deepest
By Emily Kapit
First comes love (one hopes), then comes marriage (one’s parents hope), then comes “your-name-here” in the baby carriage (it’s shocking how soon the pressure for this starts after the wedding; you know, like at the post-wedding brunch). However, the second you announce the impending arrival of a baby, you might as well simultaneously open an umbrella to fend off the deluge of advice, expectations, and opinions.
“You’re gonna get a nanny, right? You can’t expect to raise a baby on your own can you?”
“In my day, you put a sleeping baby on its back, then it was to be on stomach, now it’s back to the back. I don’t get why they ever changed!”
“Here’s the name of my mohel; he’s the BEST. Why, he did my little David and…”
Now, I know that people usually mean well when dispensing tidbits of “helpful” information and I’m all for taking in some suggestions on pregnancy and child-rearing when the time comes, but there is one Jewish tradition (or is it a rite of passage?) that I’ve found myself questioning over the last few years.
It all started with Elisa Albert’s collection of short stories How This Night is Different. The first story, “The Mother is Always Upset,” depicts a new father trying to handle the early morning brit milah going on in his home eight days after the birth of his baby boy. The sleep-deprived character is simultaneously trying to deal with the hoards of people gathered in his house (all of whom have been waiting around for the short service to begin) while also attempting to track down his wife and newborn son. As the story goes on, you come to find out that the mother and other characters question the necessity of a bris and deem it a “barbaric ritual” that has no true “medical reason” and is “painful and invasive.”
Truth be told, I’d never thought about a bris that way; isn’t this just something we, as Jews, do? Apparently, yes. G-d said to Abraham, patriarch of the Jews, “This is my covenant, which you shall keep, between me and you and your offspring after you: Every male among you shall be circumcised. You shall be circumcised in the flesh of your foreskins, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and you (Genesis 17: 9-11).” And if you don’t do this? Well, there’s a punishment ready and waiting just a few verses down: “Any uncircumcised male who is not circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin shall be cut off from his people; he has broken my covenant (Genesis 17:14).”
Yikes.
I should go ahead and make two points clear before continuing: I am a) not pregnant nor expecting to be anytime soon; and b) not necessarily saying that I would never do a bris should I be blessed to have a baby boy years down the road. What I am saying, though, is that I am simply questioning the tradition and its place in our modern world.
The first order of business is to state that though I consider myself Jewish from both a religious and (decidedly moreso) cultural perspective, my biggest beef with the religious side is this persistent feeling of “Well, G-d said we should do this so that’s why it’s done.” While I absolutely, undoubtedly, and unfailingly support other people’s decisions to be religious and follow more of the traditions passed down through countless generations, I personally feel strongly about needing some hard evidence supporting the need for a tradition before agreeing to do the same on my end (especially when knives and blood are involved).
Bar and bat mitzvahs to symbolize the age at which young Jews enter adulthood and are responsible for their actions? Sure, it’s a great rite of passage for kids and I love the idea so long as it does not turn into a competition of whose parents can throw the best shindig. The groom veiling his bride before the wedding to ensure that the woman he intends to marry is really under there? Absolutely—badekens are a sweet throwback to the Biblical story of Jacob planning to marry Rebecca but “accidentally” marrying Leah when their father substituted her at the last moment. Taking a knife to a defenseless baby days after its birth? Just because G-d said so? I think I need some additional convincing on that one. Also, will my child be cast out of the Jewish people if he’s not circumcised? I ate shrimp for lunch two days ago—should I be cast out as well?
Medically speaking, the jury is still out on the necessity for a circumcision. As this early 2010 Washington Post article shows, the practice of circumcision is a hotly debated topic in both medical and religious circles (which I imagine overlaps with some regularity). Some supporters of the minor surgery say that it does, indeed, cut back on the risk of STDs and penile cancer. In 2005, however, the American Academy of Pediatrics reconfirmed its 1999 policy on the matter, which is that they do not believe the evidence supporting circumcision was strong enough to endorse it as a regular surgical routine. Given that I am looking for facts to help me decide my stance on the matter, turning to the medical world does not seem to be overly helpful at this time.
Honestly, and unless the medical community comes up with overwhelming proof of a circumcision’s necessity, the one point that would push me toward honoring the ritual (other than obviously discussing the matter with my husband and coming to a decision with him), is not wanting my child to be “different.” Well, that and not wanting to upset the masses of family members who may attack me with a mohel’s scalpel should I decide against a bris. Either way, perhaps hoping for girls is my best bet for avoiding the topic altogether?
Photo by Arria Belli, licensed under Creative Commons.
UPDATE: Since we first posted this piece in January, the circumcision debate has once again come into the spotlight (or maybe it never left?). Tablet Magazine reports on a San Francisco ballot measure prohibiting circumcision and it has started quite a conversation.
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