I’m excited to note that long time FaithHacker commentator ravads has started his own blog, and it kicks ass.

The Norotious R.A.V. has a fascinating post about the after-effects of being on the receiving end of institutional rejection by some kind of rabbinical organization. He talks about everyone from Rabbi Joshua in the Talmud, to rabbis who burned some of Maimonides’ work in Paris, to Mordecai Kaplan, and how being rejected can really free a rabbi in a lot of ways, and allow them to be as radical and free thinking as they want to be.
Rabbi Avi Weiss: troublemaker
The focus of the article is on Avi Weiss, founder and president of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah, and how his forward thinking modern Orthodox yeshiva has seen a lot of negative press, including a pretty rude response from the National Council of Young Israel. The Notorious R.A.V. thinks this negativity and rejection will be freeing in a lot of ways, and will allow Rabbi Weiss to continue with his important work.

To a degree, I agree. I definitely think that a rejection from NCYI can be seen as nothing less than a step in the right direction (more on NCYI on Tuesday), and I hope that Rabbi Weiss will continue breaking conventions and ordaining open-minded and well-educated rabbis.

But honestly, I’m embarrassed for Rabbi Weiss that he even put forward an application for ordainees from YCT to be members of NCYI. And every time someone tells me that YCT is really wonderful and liberal, and they even considered ordaining women, and they even have women in the beit midrash-- I want to throw something.

Almost doing something gets you no points in my book. Having women in a beit midrash but not giving them smicha is an insult.

Though I agree that sometimes rejection leads to freedom on the part of the rejectee, I think that’s kind of a cop out. Especially in the Orthodox movement we need people who aren’t afraid of what everyone else thinks. We need people who are so confident in their take on whatever halachic stand is at stake that they don’t check around to see if other people agree. We need people who couldn’t give a rat’s ass what some other movement does because they have their own convictions and that’s what’s driving them.

I know it’s easy to say this, and much harder to practice this way, but when someone stands up and says, “I know this is unpopular, but this is what we are going to do because I think it’s right,” it gets me all fired up in a way that getting a Dear John letter never will.

Prior to winning a Super Bowl ring as offensive lineman on the Dallas Cowboys (1991-92), Alan Veingrad spent five years as a Green Bay Packer (1986-90). He was often the only Jew in the locker room, and never really embraced Judaism until after he retired. Today Veingrad is Orthodox, and recently sat down with Newsweek’s OnFaith reporter Kathy Orton for an interview about what it was like to be a Jew in the NFL, and why he became more religious:
Alan Veingrad: from helmet to yarmulke

 

"I just felt as I was going to my rabbi’s house Friday night for the traditional Shabbat meal and I was driving with my family, and then on Saturday night I was going out with my friends and their wives and I was comparing the two ways of life. Friday night was so meaningful and so rich and so fun and so real and then Saturday night was so, what? What? What do we talk about? The next vacation you’re taking? That new car that you got? Your golf score? You’re going fishing and boating? Okay, there’s nothing wrong with all those things and I enjoy all of them. And I also like to go fishing and I like to exercise, and when I have the time I love taking my kids to Orlando to the theme park to do things like that with them. However, that is a very small part of life. The main focus of life is your relationship with God and growing toward that."

The Bible has nothing against polycotton T-shirts. Neither does it condemn lycra-Spandex combinations. But it does forbid the wearing of wool and linen jackets.

When I first started my year, I made a list of the Top Five Most Perplexing Rules in the Bible. One of them: The ban on wearing clothes made of mixed fibers. (Deuteronomy 22:11).It’s such an odd proscription, I figured there was zero chance anyone else in America was trying to follow it.

Of course, I was flat wrong.

My friend Eddy Portnoy – who teaches history at the Jewish Theological Seminary -- told me shatnez testers. Shatnez, he informed me, is the Hebrew word for mixed fibers. Specifically, wool and linen. That’s the forbidden combination, according to the Hebrew.

A tester will come to your home and inspect your shirts, pants, sweaters and suits to make sure you have no hidden mixed fibers.

I had my wardrobe tested by a shatnez expert. And he found that my wedding suit was, in fact, shatnez. I had to mothball it for the year.

Now it’s easy to chuckle at shatnez. And I did. But it also provides a fascinating entry point into a profound question: Should we ever follow completely bizarre and inexplicable traditions just because they have been followed for thousands of years? I think Zero Mostel sang a song about it in Fiddler on the Roof. Me? I don’t have no easy answers.

Nosson Zand, more popularly known by his hip-hop and Internet handle Niz, is a bona fide Orthodox hip-hop phenomenon -- you know, along with Ta-Shma and Y-Love and (me, I guess?). Besides the questionable and debated Jewish appropriation of hip-hop culture, we can argue that Eminem and one of the Fat Boys did the same thing and save that for another blog post. The fact remains, some of these young gentlemen (and I wish I didn't have to say "gentlemen"; the only Orthodox female M.C. I know is the Bay Area's fabulous Rebbitzin Queen Esther, who has been working on her album for, what, 11 years?!) are on top of their game, both lyrically and deliverically -- they're dropping some pretty impressive stuff.

But Niz has Eminemed (or Fiddy'd?) his game once again, and not in a half-assed way: he's playing the starring role in Song of David, a movie about a yeshiva boy who, after being turned off from yeshiva, immerses himself in hip-hop culture. That's about all I've gleaned so far from the summary and preview, which you can find on the movie's website.

I have to be honest -- I'm skeptical. These things often don't get made in the Orthodox world unless you've cleaned the emotion right out of it. But I've also heard great things from Niz, and I trust his talent, and I'm pretty excited to see this movie. And you know I'm gonna let you know about it.

And the award: goes to....Okay, okay, so a couple of shitstorms this week. We're a discussion-ey people, these things happen. Predictably, I sat down to write a post about Benjamin E coming to Tamar's defense over the Shomer Negiah post and breaking things down into smaller units of discussion to keep the fight clean and productive, and Tamar's subsequent declaration of love to Benjamin E. Comment of the Week Gold, let me assure you.

But, I realized nobody really touched the anonymous comment that not only missed the point of the comment it was in response to, but named Conservadoxy invalid Judaism, and rather boldly marched into the territory of what movement of Judaism one feels they are a part of versus being declared unfit to be in the movement of Judaism one feels they are a part of. While there is a lot to discuss there, well, there is something not-quite-right to me about declaring an anonymous comment the comment of the week (Oh, I'll catch it right in the face for that, I'm sure).

Hang on, hear me out. I don't mean anything mean by it-- anyone has the right to post anonymously if they'd like, but I think there's something to be said for leaving your name. In a way, when I see an anonymous commenter leaving something really ballsy, I feel for them. I can't help but wonder if the commenter is able to be assertive in their real life. Unfortunately, in my experience a lot of us take anonymous comments rather lightly because somewhere, we're thinking, "Forget it. If s/he really meant that, s/he would have claimed it." It's easy to say something potentially volatile if nobody knows who you are, but some part of me questions the motive for posting anonymously. Do you not really believe in what you're saying? Are you afraid someone will be angry with you if you say what you really think? Just things I wonder about, because I can't possibly fathom the motivation for posting both aggressively and anonymously. I'm mean that. What's the worst that could happen if we all just said what we thought, you know, as ourselves? Really, I'm trying to nudge/encourage more than I am out to rag anyone.

But, I'm getting off task here. The real shocker to me, and thus, the Comment of the Week is that it was not until the eleventh comment that someone inquired about the Shomer Negiah panties. Respectful, eyes-averted, modest hat tip to Soccer.

So, sometimes you find yourself someplace in the world without a clue as to what, if any, Jewish community is around you and once you're there, what are you going to do, walk around the street asking? Well, you might, stranger things have happened, of course. Or, you might not even think to look around some places for other MOTs, wrongly assuming we'd be nowhere in sight. However, in all my travels, I have been pleasantly surprised, again and again, to meet and befriend our peeps all over the place.

So, sort-of-regularly, I'm going to do some of the homework for you and focus on different Jewish communities here and there we don't often hear much about. Yes? Great. And to start things off, we're heading to Omaha to catch up with the 6,500-member community.

Omaha: A nice artsy, progressive, Jewy place to visit. Who knew?

Now, I visited Omaha a little over a year ago for the first time--the (Downtown) Omaha Lit Fest is a great time, by the by-- and decided I loved the place with its art and culture, like this wonderful progressive stronghold in the middle of, well, fields.

To travel deeper next time you find yourself in Nebraska, see who you can find of the Jewish community of Omaha-- touch base with The Jewish Federation of Omaha, swing by the Omaha JCC, hit this site that the Federation offers for answers to questions like, "Can you keep kosher in Omaha?" (yes), "Are there any Jewish Day Schools in Omaha?" (yes) and get the scoop on the choices of shuls in Omaha: Temple Israel (Reform-- and they have a gift and Judaica shop), Beth El (conservative-- and they have a gift and Judaica shop, too), Beth Israel (orthodox), a Chabad center (where just last month a challah-thon took place!) and Beyt Shalom (reconstructionist). Then, there's the Kripke Jewish Library, and since you're there, pay a nice little visit to the Rose Blumkin Jewish Home for the elderly (they have a mikveh you can use there, if you call, fyi) and to the Friedel Jewish Academy to meet b'nai Omaha.

Go get your shalom bayit on, wherever your travels take you.

I was recently at a Shabbat meal with a bunch of people from a mix of backgrounds, everywhere from pretty frum, to ‘not particularly interested in Judaism Jews.’ It was a really nice meal, marred only by a slightly awkward moment when a member of the latter group said, “So, are any of you guys shomer negiah?”

The question was followed by a long uncomfortable pause as half of the members of the discussion considered hiding under the table.

On the one hand, this question doesn’t bother me that much. I mean, I am actively not shomer negiah. I enjoy men almost as much as I enjoy Torah. I think tongue kissing is one of the greatest uses of free time, and I have yet to find a way to kiss a boy without touching him. On the other hand, depending on what company you’re in, saying, “I’m WAY not shomer negiah,” is equivalent to saying, “I’m a ho.” And even if you’re not concerned about the other people present judging you, there’s a possibility that they could extrapolate something from the fact that you are shomer negiah that might be misleading. You might, for instance, be a baal teshuva who’s taking on mitzvot slowly, and though you’ve taken on shomer negiah, you’re not yet fully Shabbat observant. If someone who heard you say you’re shomer negiah then saw you get in a car on Shabbat they might figure you were lying, and your credibility would be damaged. You also might not want to advertise the fact that you’ve sworn off sex. These things can be personal.
How 'Bout Them Yankees?: smooth operating
My point is basically that there are some questions that you should probably not ask other Jews in public settings. It’s like asking someone’s salary, or what they got on their SATs. I’ve actually heard some rabbis say that asking anyone a public question about their observance is verboten, and I’m kind of on board with that. But here are some definitely touchy questions to stay away from:

Are you shomer negiah?
Duh.

Are you shomer Shabbat?
This is a problem because it could end badly, and also because they might say yes, and then later you find out that they don’t keep Shabbat up to your standards or vice versa.

Do you keep kosher?
Again, what does this even mean? There are different opinions, so even if someone was comfortable enough answering, the answer might not be helpful.

Why don’t you daven at X?
The answer could easily be, “My ex-husband davens there, and it’s awkward for me.” Whoops.

Don’t you think Rabbi X is an asshat?
What if they don’t?

Do you go to the mikvah?
Why not just ask what brand of tampons she uses?

These are all questions that you might be able to ask privately without offending. And if it’s the rabbi of the community, though it’s still probably in poor form to ask publicly, his or her answers are more likely to be in the public domain than those of Joe Schmoe who you met at shul.

Then again, if the meal is going poorly, and somebody just made you cry, I say bring out the big guns:

“So, how’s your sex life?”

I’ve been heavily involved in Jewish communities pretty much since birth. I’ve always kept Shabbat and holidays, I keep kosher (whatever that means), and am committed to Jewish learning, education, charity and social justice. To me, these things are normal, and also not nearly enough. I spend a good portion of every day thinking about how much more Jewish I could be acting at any given moment. I could be wearing a long skirt, and a higher neckline. I could watch fewer movies and spend more time with the Talmud. I could keep kosher in a stricter manner than I already do, spend all day every day working on social justice projects, move to a city with more Jews, become a Chabanik, or a million others things. But somehow, even though I’m incredibly conscious of how un-Jewish my life is, in so many ways, people—especially Jews—have a tendency to ask what I do, and then respond, “Oh, you’re one of those SuperJews, aren’t you?”
SuperJew To the Rescue!: He sics pagans with frogs! Splits seas! Brings water from rocks!
I wish SuperJews got super powers. I wish, for instance, that we could stop time, or fly, lift phenomenal weight, or be impervious to injury and pain. At the very least I’d like to have all of Jewish law memorized and fully accessible for any discussion at any time. So far, I haven’t found that to be the case. As far as I know, being a SuperJew means you have an enormous guilt complex/insecurity, and/or get several copies of the local Jewish Federation magazine or newsletter every month. It’s not the most exciting lifestyle ever, nor does it generally feel super in any way.

When someone calls me a SuperJew I feel awkward for both of us. Part of me wants to protest that I’m not that Jewish, that I could be so much more hardcore, that I still do normal things like go out for drinks with my friends, obsess about television shows, and go on bad dates. And I feel weird knowing that this other person thinks of me as such a religious fanatic, when I see myself as 75% heretic and 25% hopeful. Even if this new superlative was added in a way that’s obviously complimentary it makes me cringe. I am very conscious of just how unsaintly I am, and being called a SuperJew only makes my flaws stand out in greater relief to me.

The other word that consistently makes me cringe is pagan, as in, “I’m not as religious as you. I’m pretty much a pagan.”

Are you a committed Wiccan? Do you have big crazy parties on the summer and winter solstices that involve everyone sitting in a circle, holding hands and chanting? If not, then I don’t count you as a pagan. If what you mean is that you don’t keep Shabbat, or you hated Hebrew school, or you love shellfish, or you’re married to a Muslim guy, or you enjoy bondage, or you think the Torah is a blasphemous and racist book, you’re not a pagan. Not liking Judaism, or not practicing Jewish rituals doesn’t make you a pagan, even by the strictest interpretation of the Torah. Plus, I’ve met some pretty intense practicing pagans, and I bet they don’t like you tossing their religion around when you actually don’t give a shit about magick or a Horned God.

I get that people who label others as SuperJews, and themselves as pagans are often do so as a defensive mechanism, but I’ve spoken to some other SuperJews and pagans, and we’d like it if people would stop it with this weird labeling. It’s neither humble nor flattering. How about giving the benefit of the doubt to whomever you’re talking to, instead of assuming she’s going to judge your religious practice?

Unless of course you have the ability to impart superpowers in whichever Jews you deem fit, in which case, give me a call.

Mashiach Now!:: only You can prevent false messiahsWhen my younger sister, Grace, took up Israeli dancing a few years ago, I was thrilled. What could be better than the blending of Jewish culture with exercise and socializing? She initially encountered and took her first lessons during a summer session at BCI, and upon returning home, immediately began dancing two nights a week with David Dassa and a motley Jew crew. Her new friends had names like Orly and Lior, and if I'm not mistaken, there were a handful of Sara(h)s and Rachels and even an Ezra. Grace regularly demonstrated her newly learned moves to me, dancing to burned CDs of her favorite songs in our shared living room. "Yemenite left and pivot turn together," she'd chant as she danced, still something of a novice. One day, in the course of a conversation about the latest goings on with her "dance" friends, she mentioned that a girl she'd become especially friendly with--one of the Sarahs--had said something befuddling while the two were shooting hoops. For the past few months, they'd been attending Friday Night Live together. Now Sarah wanted to know where else my sister attended services.

"At our family temple," Grace had replied. "Temple Israel of Hollywood. What about you?"

Sarah had clammed up, slightly, and then brought herself to say, "Ahavat Zion. It's a Messianic shul. You should come with me, sometime."

"Oh," said Grace, because she didn't know what else to do.

***

Continue reading...

Chabad Telethon: not about soupMy friend Brad, a Zen Buddhist Monk, emailed me a few days ago with this:

"Oh & for your Jewish blog, here's something I was thinking about. As a gentile I am slightly freaked out by all the Chabad Telethon banners all over town. Not seriously freaked out. But here's a whole telethon on a major station about something I have never even heard of. Chabad might be a type of soup for all I know! Maybe a column on "things that weird out our gentile friends." Explain to us what the hell is going on with those table cloths you see guys wearing on their shoulders on Saturday mornings (actually, I know a bit about prayer shawls, but maybe most of us goyum don't). That kind of thing."

It's funny, because having grown up in Los Angeles, I always took this kind of stuff for granted. Up through about 12th grade, most of the people I knew were Jewish. Even in college in Portland, Oregon, a large number of my friends and classmates identified as Jewish, or "part" Jewish. The first time I felt really alone as a Jew was when I went backpacking through Europe by myself. One night in Corfu, Greece, after a rip-roaring good time with a group of fellow globetrekkers and a bottle (or two, or three) of ouzo, a part of me surfaced that I'd never encountered before. I began to feel my aloneness in the world, and became miserable at the idea that none of the people I was with could possibly, really, truly understand me, and that a few of them probably hated me blindly and by default. Being that I was soused, I expressed these sentiments to the group, loudly, and with pathos.

That moment of solitary (and embarrassing) self-pity was diffused when, after a beat of shocked silence (I really put on quite a show) other travelers began to say, "I'm Jewish, too," and "I'm half Jewish," and "My grandma on my mom's side was Jewish, so..." Then we all sang that song that goes, "Wherever you go, there's always someone Jewish. You're never alone, when you say you're a Jew," and Israeli-danced our way into the ocean for a midnight swim. Just kidding. But really, everything up until the singing and dancing bit happened.

Anyway, I guess my point is, having grown up in such a Jew-drenched city, I don't often consider how we appear to non-Jews. Not only that, but frankly, there are so many different Jewish cultural and religious communities in Los Angeles, sometimes I think we don't even know what to make of each other. The Hasidic Jews all in black, the Kabbalists all in white, the Persian Jews, the Israeli Jews, the Moroccan and Tunisian Jews...it's a never ending story. So, I sort of don't know how to explain Chabad and their Telethon to Brad, other than to say that Chabad is one of the largest branches of Hasidic Judaism, and that their Telethon raises a buttload of money for non-sectarian educational and social service programs. It's pretty straightforward to me, but maybe not to a gentile.

What aspects of Judaism, whether cultural or religious, have you been asked to explain to non-Jews? Were you happy with your answers? Were they?