By Vanessa Prell

I am deeply fond of the Yiddish Passover songs that are all about repetition. My grandparents refused to speak Yiddish, so I didn’t learn these songs until college; for me they are associated with raucous celebration and friendship rather than some relative droning when you just want to be done already. I love the endless cycling of Chad Gad Ya, the table smacking that accompanies Echad Mi Yodea, and the way both songs increase in tempo and volume until they end in a shout. Perhaps this is why I find it easy to express myself in this format.

I am a young Jew with a deep commitment to my faith and social justice.
I am a young Jew from a non-Jewish mother with a deep commitment to my faith and social justice.
I am a young Jew of color, from a non-Jewish mother, with a deep commitment to my faith and social justice.
I am a young Jew of color who is read as white, from a non-Jewish mother, with a deep commitment to my faith and social justice.
I am a young queer Jew of color, who is read as white, from a non-Jewish mother, with a deep commitment to my faith and social justice.

If you are having trouble following, let me provide you with this . . . transliteration.

I am one of the cadre of 20-somethings who are observant. I am more religious than my parents: wearing my kippah all the time, attending services weekly, keeping a restful Shabbat, (mostly) separating meat and milk, saying the Shema nightly, and serving on the board of my Synagogue. Judaism serves as my touchstone in my busy life and my inspiration for my social justice day job. You have probably seen this narrative in the New York Times or The Forward. Familiar, right?

Now let’s add a layer. I was raised Jewish by my Ashkenazi father and my lapsed Catholic mother. Though I know they had to promise to raise their children Jewish to be married by a reform Rabbi, my parents took their duties seriously. I attended weekly, and then bi-weekly religious school, became a Bat Mitzvah, sang in the Temple choir, and assisted in the religious school. My mother, though she has no Jewish education, lit Shabbos candles in the candle holders I made myself, ate matzo with us on Passover, and presented me with my first Tallis. Though most Jews in the world would not consider either of us Jewish, her devotion to our ritual taught me as much about how to be a Jew as a quarter century of services with my father did. It was my mother who taught me not to be afraid of struggling to find out what Judaism means, and how it is part of me.

But my family is mixed in more than just its faith traditions. I am a Jew of color. My father’s family is from “The Old Country” (i.e. Eastern Europe), arriving in North America in the early 1900s. My mother’s family is Chamorro – native to Guam – with records dating as far back as there was written language on the island (about 450 years). Unlike many Jews of color who were born Jewish, my family of color does not have any Jewish traditions. As far as I know, my brother and I are the only Jewish Chamorros! What does this mean? I struggle with my desire to learn Hebrew and my desire to learn Chamorro. I wonder if I should move to Guam and learn the weaving, food, and the dances of my people. Yet I wonder how I can do this when most of the island food is treyf and Catholicism is central to the community. I am still trying to figure out how to get my two cultures to build on each other instead of competing with one another.

Now take both these cultures and conflicts and put them in a surprising package. I am not who most people think of when someone says “person of color.” My skin color is in the range acceptable to whites, I do not have astonishingly oval eyes, or kinky hair. I am very much my father’s daughter: light-skinned, broad shouldered and squat, with brown hair and hazel eyes. I have my mother’s tiny stature and the Dueñas family behind, but that’s as far as the resemblance goes. Especially now that I buzz my hair and wear mens’ clothes, I’m not the standard representation of Island Girl. My appearance means that most of the world has no idea I’m not white. People assume I’m from a stereotypical Jewish household: the clucking Jewish mother, the academic Jewish father, and doting Yid-ly grandparents. Unless I explicitly say otherwise, the complexity that makes me who I am is invisible. Among other people of color, including Jews of color, there is another kind of invisibility: sometimes my own people don’t recognize me as one of them. I cannot change how I am read, but my appearance frames how I understand my race.

What does all this mean, for me and for Judaism? I cannot say for sure, but I know that it is just part of my journey, and our journey as a people. I hope that in my lifetime I will see Judaism grow to embrace the complexity of all the members of our tribe: Jews of color; queer Jews; Jews with non-Jewish parents; and even young queer Jews of color who are read as white with a non-Jewish mother.

Photo by TheFriendlyFiend, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from issue #16: Diverse Jews

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 Richard Skeen
This piece originally appeared on Alef in Issue #1: Old Country.

Unlike most of my Jewish friends, I didn’t have a Bubbe who regaled me with stories of the “Old Country.” I loved my grandmothers, but they were modern and American (one was actually a part-time rancher!) and simply didn’t fulfill my longing for Jewish tales of sad, forbidding places that, in my mind, represented the soul of the Jewish people. I wanted a personal history full of daring escapes from menacing Cossacks, of warm borscht soup and klezmer tunes, wise old Rabbis and alien-sounding names. I wanted Russian roots to enhance my Jewishness and figured a Bubbe was the ticket.

Soon after arriving to New York City from Oregon, I found a Jewish girlfriend with Old Country Russian roots, at least on paper. While I imagined that her deep brown eyes carried generations of Lithuanian Shtetl wisdom, and her brooding moods were by-products of oppression and pogroms, the truth was a little tamer. And her mother, the Bubbe I’d hoped to score in the match, was anything but: an Upper East Side contemporary art dealer, she had little interest in things Jewish or Perestroika.

With time, my Bubbe-longing faded. But it all came back in a flash when I discovered my perfect woman – Regina Spektor. In a faux KGB hat and a wicked smile – compelling if not quite beautiful on the cover of her Soviet Kitsch album – it was love at first sight. And her music – brilliant, quirky, funny, and wise – immediately struck me as, well, as something that could only come from a Russia-to-the Bronx (with a couple of years in a New Jersey Yeshiva) soul who had serious “Old Country” cred. Part of the anti-folk scene, Spektor’s songs are full of funny language and Jewish references. She uses a heavy New York accent on some words as an ode to the City, and her lyrics on songs like Samson and Laughing With are almost Dylan-esque in their biblical knowing. I was smitten, Spektor was part Russian-Jewish temptress and part Old Country Bubbe, always easily available on my iPhone. My desires were fulfilled.

Fortunately, Spektor’s talent justifies my crush, including the frequent Facebook uploads and disproportionate presence on my play lists. And truthfully, my wife may even understand, because listening to my former-Soviet crush while I prepare Shabbas cholent is almost as good as having my very own Bubbe.

Photo by jmtimages, licensed under Creative Commons.

Jews doing Christmas music is hardly new. We have, after all, contributed everything from Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas” to “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer,” testament to both the vast appeal of the holiday to Americans and the ability of Jewish immigrants to become a part of the American mosaic. Jewish contributions to the Season’s music is so prevalent that over the weekend, “Prairie Home Companion” host Garrison Keillor suggested we stay out of the Christmas music business.

In the nick of time, Bob Dylan has just released “Christmas in the Heart,” an album offering his take on the Christmas classics that is something both unique and peculiar, and may solve the hub-bub in one listen.

The Jewish people have claimed Bob Dylan since his beginning. Dylan’s history, lyrics, and discography have been passed from father to son and knowing boyfriend to girlfriend for decades. Such a Jewish story: young Robert Zimmerman from humble Minnesota (yes, the same place as the very non-Jewish Garrison Keillor) emerges in the coffee houses of Greenwich Village, and unleashes a barrage of brilliant folk music of protest, winning fans and critics alike. Jews (and millions of others) have loved his songs demanding justice,  were electrified when he defiantly plugged in, and were amazed as his lyrics danced between Biblical allusion and profane love with such ease and profundity.

As his cannon grew, we applied a Talmudic search for meaning within his mystical and elusive lyrics. And like the wicked son of our Haggadah, we indulged Dylan’s flirtation with Christianity (and the abysmally bad music of that era) and forgave his Victoria’s Secret commercial as well as the numerous dud concerts and occasional dud record.  But Dylan’s dreadful new “Christmas of the Heart” album is either unforgivable, or a bad joke. Or both.

From the get go, Dylan singing Christmas classics seemed doomed. Many Jewish fans were perplexed, and I suspect Christmas traditionalists were concerned (xenophobic, sure, but Garrison Keillor has a point). His sandpaper-gruff, wavering voice, isn’t exactly egg-nog smooth or Mel Torme cool (yep, Mel’s one of us too), but now that we’ve listened to his offering, it is clear Dylan has taken a bad idea and turned into an absolute “Polar Express” train wreck. “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” manages to be creepy and shrill, kind of like dating Sarah Silverman when she’s 70. “I’ll be Home for Christmas” feels like a menacing threat from a rehabing Uncle, while most of the other tracks seem better suited as a soundtrack for DrunkHistory than something you’d listen to while hanging those cute felt stockings. Even Dylan’s original “Must be Santa” is so bad – albeit kind of funny – I am tempted to out the Santa-secret to a bus full of second graders to get even.

Or is getting even the point? For 45 years, Dylan has provoked, trail-blazed, and surprised everyone in his path. His most recent albums have explored our nation’s rich and diverse musical heritage and shed brilliant new light on American roots music.  It is quite possible that by offering his take on traditional Christmas fare, Dylan is both playing a wickedly funny joke on a fan base that has always tried to own him and offering commentary on what is, and isn’t, good Holiday music. “Christmas of the Heart” is so wildly unpleasant and off, it may just be the perfect gift for those fretting about the Red & Green Holiday not being “Christian enough.” Finally a secular, Jewish American artist gets the Holiday wrong….and if Garrison Keillor is right, not a day too soon.

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Richard admits his crush on Jewish songtress Regina Spektor in Issue #1: Old Country.

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Photos by Badosa, Cliff1066TM, Duncanh1, and dwhartwig, licensed under Creative Commons.

As Chanukah comes to an end, it makes me think about what I used to do as a kid with my family.  I admit it – I’m definitely guilty of getting way too excited about Chanukah.  Growing up, the highlight of the holiday season for me was when the radio stations started playing Adam Sandler’s Chanukah Song.  I got so excited and if I was fast enough, I would record it on a cassette tape (remember those?).  I would play that song over and over again until my parents practically begged me to find something else to do.

You see, The Chanukah Song was much more to me than just a fun song to sing along to on the radio (or on my cassette tape, for that matter).  With each version that came out, Adam Sandler listed celebrities that were Jewish and celebrated Chanukah just like I did.  As a kid, I loved hearing about all of them;  I would take pride in bragging to all my non-Jewish friends about how many awesome famous Jews there were.  Honestly, I think I wanted my friends to be jealous of me for celebrating Chanukah instead of have the Jewish kids be jealous of them for celebrating Christmas.

Adam Sandler has always been my favorite (which, of course, was why I loved the song so much).  In most of his movies, he plays a Jewish character—the name Sunny Koufax, in Big Daddy, bears a strong resemblance to that of Jewish baseball player, Sandy Koufax.  Sometimes the Judaism is even more overt–who could forget the scene in I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry when he insists that a yarmulke be worn for the wedding, so as not to disappoint his mother.  Always so proud to be Jewish, Adam Sandler is an amazing Jewish role model.

It has been quite a few years since the third version of Adam Sandler’s Chanukah Song came out, and I am dying for a new one.  Come on Adam – give us Jews what we need!  I will anxiously await every Chanukah season for number four.

Photo by Ihdren, licensed under Creative Commons.

1. The Leevees – “How Do You Spell Channukkahh?”

2. Nefesh B’Nefesh – Hanukkah Flash Mob

3. Max DeArmon and Regime Change Music – “Light ‘Em Up”

4. Dan Saks – “Ocho Kandelikas”

5. Eric Schwartz – “Honika Electronica”

Photo by Ferrari + caballos + fuerza = cerebro, 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.

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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.

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The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is over, the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center has been lit, and the tourists are out in full force. It can only mean one thing: the winter holidays are upon us. It is a time of eating and drinking and a time of embracing family (or avoiding it). But for the Jews – a people who have always had the task of juggling tradition with their status as “outsiders” – it’s also a time of multiple identities. While Hanukkah (regardless of how you spell it) remains reserved for members of the Tribe, there is no question that secular versions of Christmas have pervaded some Jewish communities, and provided a nice celebratory stepping stone between the festival of lights and the New Year. After all, Jewish composer Irving Berlin didn’t have to reject his status as the cantor’s son to dream of a “White Christmas.”

So how do we juggle our Jewishness with our love of Christmas carols? From evergreens and poinsettias to dreidels and gelt, our traditions seem to run the spectrum of ways in which we celebrate the holiday season. In this issue of Alef, we’ll hear stories about everything from Kosher Turkeys on Christmas to New Years resolutions made not once, but twice. Join our discussion about how we celebrate being Jewish during this – in the words of Andy Williams – “most wonderful time of the year.”

-Alef

Photo by Rob Blatt, licensed under Creative Commons.

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The Holiday Season Posts:
Hanukkah Music: A Video Tribute
Growing up with Chanukah in (718)
Waiting for Adam Sandler
My Guilt-Free Holiday
Happy Holidays, From Alef
Kosher for Christmas
Tropicana Christmas
‘Tis the Season
Tangled up in Bad
The Jew Who Loved Christmas
Italian-Jewish for the Holidays
The New Years Tree
New Years Resolutions
A Decade’s Send-Off
The Importance of Lights in Winter

So, when we heard Israeli funksters Soulico, imagine our surprise when the only way we could describe it was “world.”

Hailing from Tel Aviv, Soulico throws funk, reggae, hip-hop, traditional Middle-Eastern folk, and anything else they can get their hands on into a musical pot, ending up with a delicious cholent of sound.  Take a look:

Want to check out Soulico live?  They’ll be in New York city on Sept. 9th and in Cleveland on Sept. 12th!

-Alef