This week on TAL, another grand slam of an episode , but first a word on Howard Stern.

In Act II of TAL’s newest “Play The Part” episode, Ira Glass admits something known by fans of broadcaster Howard Stern for some time: Ira Glass is indeed an unabashed Howard Stern fan.  On Howard Stern’s Sirius Radio show a clip is often played between commercial breaks amongst the endless clips of talk show hosts, sports announcers and weathermen letting an expletive slip out on air, there’s an oft-played clip of Ira Glass on Late Night with David Letterman in which Ira is asked by Dave about his influences.  Wearing a dark brown two-piece suit, a matching brown tie and the signature Elvis Costello glasses (now arguably “Ira Glasses”) Ira says, “I’m a huge Howard Stern fan.  Public Radio audiences get a chilly, they don’t understand it, but there’s an overlap.  Everyday 8% of our audience switch between Morning Edition and Howard Stern.  He does a great show, and there’s things to learn from it. “

The subject is brought up in the week’s Second Act about a woman who realizes via an online quiz that her husband has Asperger’s.     It turns out though, that the suspicions which lead her to take the online test are shared by women across the world, who often upon hearing about the symptoms of Aspergers, believe their husbands have the affliction.  This is especially interesting in light of a tidbit I recently learned talking to singer/songwriter/social worker Sean Bonnette, who told me that Borderline Personality Disorder is diagnosed almost exclusively in women.  Moreover, months ago after watching The United States of Tara I learned that Multiple Personality Disorder is diagnosed almost exclusively in the United States.  The notion that psychological diseases can be contingent, on geographic location, sex, and the cultural zeitgeist is a odd one.  The husbaund in this story with Aspergers keeps a journal of more appropriate ways of dealing with situations that challenge him.  He mentions that one of the ways in which he learned to interact with people is by listening to and mimicking Howard Stern, the way he lowers his voice and slows down his speech when he means to be sincere, for example.  What Glass knows, which ostensibly the world may soon learn, is that Howard Stern isn’t quite the rude shock jock of the 1980’s, that most people expect.  In its later years, the Stern Show while still retaining many of its old characteristics especially in terms of sexuality, has become much more a show about personalities and human drama.  Fans as well as news anchors and sportscasters have espoused that Stern is actually the greatest interviewer alive.  With his upcoming role as judge on NBC’s top rated show America’s Got Talent, it will be interesting to see whether the rest of America finds themselves in agreement with Ira Glass.  Or will Stern, as the fill in for the tough, Simon Cowell-like Piers Morgan, become merely the hardnosed angry judge he’s expected to be and simply Play The Part.

Act I of this week’s episode dealt with an in debt man living in the Bronx, who after having been recently  fired from his job, finds himself faced with an interesting development in his life: a new candidate, suddenly the subject of massive media attention stemming from his bid for president, looks almost exactly like him. This man, Louis Ortiz, is quickly convinced to appropriate headshots, an agent and gigs impersonating Barack Obama.  However, impersonating proves to be his weakness and beyond a “Thank You,” Ortiz’s Obama falls flat.  Still, his world changes vastly as he begins to fall into the role of President Obama and a few overseas acting gigs as well as a cameo on Flight of the Concords become a major escape for him from his Bronx locale.  Unfortunately, the gigs begin to dry up midway through the Obama presidency mirroring almost directly the Left’s approval of our President.  With the recent developments in the Republican primaries, this aspect of Act I seems especially poignant.  In the end, Ortiz commits himself to bettering his Obama impression through practice and hard work.  Meanwhile, his success obtaining gigs will probably depend greatly on the results of the upcoming election as well as his own efforts as an actor.  Are those who’ve lost their initial passion for the Obama administration, playing the part as well, and if so, what does that mean for the next presidential election?  Perhaps this episode as much as it is about playing the part, is about people unable to escape a part bestowed upon them by the world at large, hoping for change, and a second chance.

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• Maryland Jews are pretty much alright with gay marriage.

Last year comedian/Jewcy contributor Adam Lustick challenged basketball demigod, Jeremy “Linnie Driver” Lin to a game of P-I-G. Someone one, guess who:

Last night was the third and worst episode of Smash thus far. Katherine McPhee got to sing some cover and look like a covergirl, there was a British-off by the show’s resident British dudes, Debra Messing got to where a few cardigans, Angelica Huston threw multiple drinks in her ex-husband’s face and so on and etc. Somehow an episode with multiple major plot developments felt like it went nowhere. At its worst, we now know, Smash feels like an hour-long trailer for the next episode. Yet in spite of, or maybe because of the episode’s lousiness, Smash’s bigness was on full display. There hasn’t been a show of this scale and production ambition in years.

Well, specifically, two years.

The first scene of the series was a glossy shot of Katherine McPhee, all sparkles and fake smoke, singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”* It was arresting, simply do to how unlike anything else it looked. It instantly reminded me of Lost’s famous first shot, in which Jack opens his eyes to see the post-plane crash carnage spinning around him. Explicitly and tonally, both these scenes couldn’t be more different, but they do share the trait of being different from everything else that has come before it as well.

In addition to this—and that both have punchy one-syllable names—there are some genuine similarities. Both share an uncommonly large cast set in a large “foreign” setting (Is the business of Broadway inherently a mystery that people care about? The show surely thinks so, dropping the word “agent” last night more often than any show I can recall, including Entourage). The first episode established nine main characters, with the a tenth added last night. Ten principal characters, six of which could be considered leads, is so obscenely many that it sends a certain message, this is a “big” show.

So far this largeness seems to be the main goal—quality will come later. In that way, it resembles later Lost, when the mythology took precedent over keeping the dialogue sharp and characters evolving. It’s here where each show’s biggest similarity rears its respectively Jewish head; both started as broad visions by their heavyweight creators, who in turn put it in the hands of others. Lost was J.J. Abrams’s response to ABC asking him for a scripted version of Survivor—Smash is the result of Steven Spielberg having the idea of creating a TV show about creating a Broadway musical that would lead to the creation, and success, of the actual Broadway musical (the man is dying to EGOT). Leaving both shows with more successful sets that scripts.

So far, for Smash it has worked to garner popularity, just like Lost had. Both Abrams and Spielberg are known for being populist visionaries and their respective shows are designed for a big tent. Smash waters down its dialogue so it always goes down easily (That last sentence, if paired with a wink, would be perfect for Smash—you’re welcome, Mr. Spielberg). It focuses, probably rightfully so, on broad character types—the young Mid-Western performer trying to make it in the big city, the uptight working mom trying to have it all, the untrustworthy British charm machine, the sassy divorcee—instead of subtle explorations of Broadway. Just like how Lost was confined to the rules of science fiction, Smash accepts the trappings of musicals.

Smash is not Mad Men. Subtly is spurned in favor of every character always telling the audience exactly what they are thinking, through song or not. To the show’s backers, that’s exactly the point, Smash is hoping to do little more than accompany your weekly serving of popcorn, oohs, and ahhs. I’ll keep watching for that purpose alone. That and I want to see what happens when they get off the island, Manhattan.

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• The Tel Aviv City Council approved a resolution to allow public transportation to run on Shabbat.

• Sweet and delicious Israeli granola.

• A Palestinian held in an Israel jail without charge, has ended his 66-day hunger strike.

Valentine’s Day and Linsanity are both, at best, tangentially related to anything in the way of Jewish culture, but their collective awesomeness (mostly Lin) collaborated to spill over into the Yiderati. Apparently, if you try hard enough you can actually connect anything, even Lin, to Judaism. Check out this post on ethnicity and basketball which reminds us, mostly, that normal people in the 1930s thought in pretty racist terms. Here, Jesse Eisenberg, of Zombieland and playing a Hasidic-Jew-pretty-badly fame, writes a great and playful satire of the Linsanity. David Brooks, in his new Op-Ed discusses his perceived tension (I don’t buy it,) between a religious ethos and a sports ethos quoting non-other than the giant of modern Orthodox thought, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik from his book, Lonely Man of Faith and his essay, Majesty and Humility.  Last in this category, and I’m still shocked by this, Dr. Ruth uses Lin as a way to talk about sex, of course.

For Valentine’s Day, I’m going to take this opportunity to introduce Esther C. Werdiger: a Jewish, talented, rising comic artist whose humorous and intelligent comics appear regularly on The Hairpin. More in the vein of great Valentine’s stuff – 10 of the greatest kisses in literature, yes please; McSweeney’s has a video of a love competition held by a Stanford MRI lab in which participants have five minutes to neurochemically love someone as hard as they can. I won’t lie, I was skeptical, but it’s an oddly brilliant and endearing video. Someone put together a great list of “dirty” love letters from famous authors. Lastly, an insightful excerpt on seduction from Pascal Bruckner’s upcoming book entitled the Paradox of Love.

Speaking of Valentine’s, I’m falling in love with The New Republic’s series in which they unearth old New Republic articles. This week they give us Upton Sinclair reviewing a book on Hitler and Lionel Mordechai Trilling on Willa Cather, which, obviously, is a great essay.

Ethan Bronner, a great journalist, stepped down as head of the Jerusalem section for the New York Times. Bronner, criticized by both sides, and called, a while back, to step down because his son chose to go into the Israeli army, I thought, did a great job with an impossible job. For one last hurrah here’s an interesting article from Bronner about a resurgence in Holocaust interest. In that vein, apparently, Israel has a great exhibit about the capture of Eichmann capture on display in Tel Aviv. If you live there, check it out, if not check out this article.

One a final note, in recent weeks with Oprah visiting a Hasidic community and the publication of Deborah Feldman’s memoir, there’s been a lot of discussion about the Hasidic community. This roundtable discussion from unpious.com is a refreshing conversation from people who actually lived inside the community. To end on a slightly more playful note, the New York Times has a slideshow of photographs from a Hasidic wedding in Israel.

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• Tributes are pouring in for the late New York Times journalist Anthony Shadid.

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If you don’t know Deborah Feldman yet, you will soon. (Read here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.)  With a publicity onslaught rarely seen on the arrival of a new writer (The View!) we are bound to hear more of her in the upcoming weeks. In short, Deborah Feldman grew up in what many would call the misogynistic, insular world of Satmar Hasidim. Married at 17, Feldman then left the community to live the life of an independent single mother in NYC. Hermemoir , entitled Unorthodox: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots is not necessarily unique, her stye, at certain points well written, at certain points displaying basic mistakes of craft, both merit some attention, especially in the young adult crowd, but its ferocious reception strikes me as curious and worthy of analysis. I believe the hoopla speaks to a certain cultural shallowness in our understanding of religion and our definition of freedom.

For generations now, we’ve been living in a time in which religious transformation signifies somewhat the norm. Pulling apart the pieces, or dismantling, or wiping off the dirt of your religious personality (the different metaphors matter,) involves inner turmoil. Not to say the transition must entail sadness, or a mourning period, but a religious connection, especially one which entrenches itself deep in your inner psyche, requires precise, long surgery to remove, and surgery is always a trauma of sorts. Consequently, despite their prevalence, stories of religious transformation can be interesting, insightful, harrowing when approached with humility, sophistication, and a deep understanding of the larger mechanics at work, an understanding that requires time, thought, and patience.

I know that in the world of books, just as in every other world sensationalism sells. The masses seek out gossip, especially of the insulated religious kind (who amongst us doesn’t enjoy a small romp on the high horse of self righteousness, especially against religious extremists?) and young adult audiences  just want to know that no matter the situation you can do it, on your own, you can achieve and accomplish your dreams, which is no small lesson, and one that bears repeating. For me though, I know that Feldman can accomplish much more than a simplistic vision of unambiguous stories that appeal to something visceral in us all.

I met with Feldman before and after I read her story. Sometimes, I wonder about the choice to publish the book. Feldman wrote her memoir in the immediate wake of tearing away from Satmar, and because of that, the choice to publish this book strikes me as choice in the infancy to childhood stage of religious transition. It feels as if Feldman forgot not to send that angry letter we write, and then put in our desk drawer, and wait a week to send until our anger abates. The end of her book displays a picture of her, sitting on a bench, looking flirtatious, in pants, while smoking a cigarette….Freedom! Albeit, an empty looking one.

Besides the book itself, the publicity surrounding of the memoir is the type that makes me sad the way the insistence of a GoDaddy.com commercial makes me sad. Some of the publicity stunts, and some of what she says in interviews sound downright sensationalist and self aggrandizing. For example, the hyper-sexualized NY Post spread reeks somewhat of an antiquated idea that the antidote to the obsession with modesty displayed by Hasidic sects lies in the opposite choice of focusing even more on sexuality, which in the end of the day, still treats women as an objects. I feel no need to defend the Satmar community, and I don’t believe, necessarily, in the worry of airing dirty laundry. However, I feel that this book deserved a greater gestation period to mature. It bespeaks little understanding of the conceptual background from which she came, or of the life she chose as a replacement. Feldman writes from the early stage of religious transformations, a world in which her personal wisdom is something taken for granted, not earned.

In private conversations, though, Feldman speaks intelligently, almost in a lamenting tone about the price necessary to pay to sell books, mainly the sensationalist tone adopted in the latter part of the book title: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots, or the title of the NY Post piece: “Woman Breaks Free!”, or the title of an ABC News piece: Hasidic Hell. For the most part I choose to assume that her publicist desired to create a public persona of Feldman as some kind of forward thinking, independent woman/sex symbol because otherwise, I don’t know how to spin a desire to see oneself as Kardashian-esque as sophisticated, or forward thinking. In fact some of the NY Post interview smacks of a certain kind of childish understanding of freedom as the freedom to do whatever you want as opposed to the freedom to search for your own version of the good life.

When you read the book, or talk to her, or read one of her interviews, you cannot discount her courage, her vision, her tenacity, independence, and bravery, but in many ways, these come off as largely the sounds and rumblings of a once powerless, victimized teenager, raging against her machine, instead of a sophisticated, calm look at an important transformation, or the larger social issues at work. Part of the immaturity stems from the realization that just because you break free from a repressive culture doesn’t mean that you immediately, or even slowly, become a different person. Tact, nuance, and subtlety come from a long time of struggling with ambivalence, the ambivalence of modern living.

I think the larger problem will lie in the inevitable, staid, tired cultural backlash. Some will see her story as a heroic escape that speaks of the larger ills of religion; a true American hero, right here! To them, the simple response is that this story, worn out with time, demands complication, not repetition. Others will see it as airing dirty laundry for narcissistic purposes, which I do disagree with because these types of stories do deserve their space, but both of these viewpoints stagnate our conversation about Hasidim. We treat them as angels or demons but never as humans.

Few books get written with the warmth and wit of an insider, detailing the range of experiences, both horrific and holy, the devotion, kindness of its members along with the insularity, intolerance, and mistrust. The world needs less of a tabloidesque, pandering view that caters to our need to feel superior, and more of balanced, nuanced understanding of that which we find strange, and yes, perhaps oppressive. I know, or trust, that Feldman, a talented writer, will take on this more mature task with time. In fact, I know that she hopes to open up a center for similar Hasidic women with some of the profit from her books. Perhaps the ends do justify the means. Regardless, for now, we get to sit back and watch the show. Good Luck, Deborah.

Judy Blume’s 35-year-old classic Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself avoids the main problem of Holocaust fiction: sanctification.

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