The Passover/Exodus Narrative: a universal tale of freedomPassover is a time of asking questions, and I have a few. This year, though, the furor that surrounded Barack Obama’s pastor, Jeremiah Wright, and his sermons that dared to suggest that this Christian nation may actually be earning God’s wrath and damnation for some of its behavior, reminded me of an issue I’d first encountered in South Africa: The idea that the Passover/Exodus narrative of the Hebrews’ flight from Pharaoh and slavery doesn’t belong exclusively to any tribe, but is a universal tale of freedom into which suffering people everywhere are able to insert themselves. And also that even if your forebears were victims of injustice, you’re quite capable of being a perpetrator of injustice.

I think the Rev. Wright furor offered many white Americans an introduction they found shocking to the reality that the black Church in America has always connected viscerally to the liberation narrative of the Biblical people of Israel, making that narrative their own as a source of succor for their own struggles and trials. Martin Luther King, remember, spoke of going to the top of the mountain and seeing the promised land, knowing that he might not make it there. In other words, casting himself as Moses. And it’s an ongoing, vibrant tradition that gives the African American church its special vitality.

The ability of oppressed people to find themselves in the Exodus narrative of liberation is, of course, precisely the point of that narrative. The problem in Egypt wasn’t simply that it was the Jews who lived in slavery; the problem was was slavery itself. And the antidote to slavery advocated in the Torah (the five Books of Moses) — human community constituted on the basis of law and justice rather than political authority claimed on divine grounds — is a universal one; it applies, absolutely equally, to everyone, and everyone is invited, as Moses did, to challenge authorities that offer anything less.

The God of Abraham, proclaimed as the one true god, is obviously everyone’s god; he’s not a tribal fetish; he’s been invoked precisely to challenge the sort of tribal fetish deities that the Egyptians had used to rationalize their system of oppression. So, the Passover/Exodus narrative has powerful resonance to all people of the Abrahamic faiths (and possibly others) who may find themselves confronting oppression.

But those who feel threatened by others' demands for justice -- oppressors who cloak their own abuses of others in pieties of Christian soldierhood or the Star of David as the brand icon of an occupation -- get very uncomfortable when they realize that others see them as inheritors, not of the righteousness of the Biblical Hebrews' flight to freedom, but of Pharaoh's attempts to suppress the Israelites.

But throughout the Old Testament, the Jewish prophets are warning the Israelites to take nothing for granted. The mantle of righteousness cannot be inherited genetically (surely, the God of Abraham is not a racist who judges people by their DNA) or claimed simply through vigorous prayer and observance of ritual; it must be earned in one’s conduct in relation to others. Thus Hillel’s famous definition of Judaism while standing on one foot: “That which is hateful unto yourself, do not do unto others; all the rest is commentary.” In other words, it is only via the decency of your behavior in the world that you can be a good Jew.

Jews who commit injustices against others would be unequivocally condemned by the Jewish prophets, just as those who drop bombs on others or sentence them to death are plainly deluded when they claim to be guided by the inspirational example of Jesus. That, I think, is the essence of what Reverend Wright was saying in those passages that caused so much controversy — that God would damn, not bless, an America that committed injustices. To which I’d add, in line with Rami Khouri’s profound challenge to Israeli journalists at the height of the last Lebanon war, an injustice committed under a flag bearing the Star of David would be fiercely condemned by the Biblical Jewish prophets.

It was easy to see how little our Jewish genetic lineage did to make us really Jewish in the South Africa of my youth, where every Passover, we sat around seder tables singing, in a barely understood Hebrew, of the days when we were slaves, while the black women who lived in our backyards under a domestic labor system not that far removed from slavery, carried in steaming tureens of matzoh ball soup and tzimmes. We may have convinced ourselves that our DNA entitled us to claim this story as our own, but it was abundantly clear that in the South African context, most Jews had thrown in their lot with Pharoah, while the Israelites were working in their kitchens.

The mantle of justice associated with the Torah prophets, it seemed to me later, was nobody’s birthright; it had to be earned.

As a young activist heading out into the townships every weekend to meetings where communities were planning to resist eviction or burying those who had fallen in the fight against the regime, I was intrigued to hear the preachers and ordinary people couch their own struggles firmly in the narratives of the Exodus.

But around my own seder tables, the descendants of Pharoah’s slaves paid scant attention to the plight of those in their kitchens. They were discussing real estate and accounting scams — and, of course, how long it might be before “the schwartzes” (yiddish for “blacks”) would rise up and spoil the party.

If Hillel was right (and I believe he was) that Judaism is less about rituals and the minutiae of halachic law than it is about the ethical treatment of others, I can safely say that I learned very little of Judaism in the more than 200 hours of family Seders I sat through in South Africa. In keeping with thousands of years of tradition, we always kept a chair empty and a glass full in case the Prophet Elijah showed up. Looking back, I shudder to think what he would have made of the spectacle had he actually accepted the invitation.

I suspect he’d have dragged us over the coals in language not unlike that used by Reverend Wright. A friend once told me that his father, an Anglican priest, believed that whereas Christians had to work their way into heaven, Jews were basically on the guest list; our entry to Paradise was assured, by virtue of the fact that we’d been born Jewish. I thought that was a remarkably silly idea. Not only that; it’s remarkably dangerous, too, because it rationalizes moral laziness and injustice and violence committed in the name of a false righteousness. Unfortunately, I suspect, my friend’s father’s belief that as Jews, we are genetic entitlement to God’s favor, is all too widespread. Passover, and the universal tale of oppression and freedom it celebrates, is a good opportunity to burst that bubble.

[Cross-posted from Rootless Cosmopolitan]

Oh man, when I was in college, it was never, ever, not once, as cool as this: Last week, Mike Reiss, a writer and producer for The Simpsons gave a lecture at Penn State entitled, "The
Simpsons and Other Gentiles I Have Known" as sponsored by the school's Jewish Studies Program, Penn State Hillel and the departments of Telecom and Media studies. (Oh, to be a mouse in the corner!)

Today I Am A Clown: Krusty the Clown becomes a Bar Mitzvah.The Hillel director, Aaron Kaufman, has already heard Reiss speak twice before and brought him to Penn to speak in order to "increase the understanding of what it means to be Jewish, and to discuss the large pop culture element of being Jewish in the United States," the Collegiate Online reports. Despite the lecture title, Reiss began by talking about his experience growing up as one of the only Jewish kids in a small town. "I'm Jew ... ish," he said. "By that I mean I would never eat a ham sandwich... in a synagogue... on Yom Kippur... if anyone was watching."

He went on to mention the writing staff of The Simpsons "is fifty percent Jewish", and pointed out that three of the six cast members are also Jewish, including the voices of Reverend Lovejoy (Christian), Apu (Hindu) and Ned Flanders (Uber-Christian)-- the three voices done by Hank Azaria and Harry Schearer. Becoming a Bar Mitzvah on the show, Krusty's voice? Not Jewish. (Oh, and speaking of Harry Schearer! He and his wife, Judith Owen, are doing well sayeth the Boston Herald in their new show that just opened at the Jewish Theater of New England in Newton, Mass.)

Not much news in the way of what aspects of Jewish pop culture he specifically addressed. I assume he's glad nobody is toning down a Jewcy last name so much anymore before taking a crack at the entertainment industry, but I'd love to hear what he said. I'm immensely fascinated by the recent waves of hip-to-be-Yid I keep seeing and hearing about in the last couple of years. Really. Like want-to-get-a-grant-and-write-a-book-about-it fascinating. And, so I'm always curious what everyone else is thinking about it, though, it's not a quick conversation to just have. Sociological, cultural, blah blah blah. There's a lot to it.

Anyway. Another post for another day. It's almost Shabbes, so Shabbat Shalom to all.

PS, on the subject of popular culture, this guy is convinced his TiVo is Goy McGoyerson. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Like many of my religious friends, I have a crisis of faith about once a month. For the most part my crises aren’t serious, and they’ve never prompted me to pull away from the community or from observing any mitzvoth. If it was serious, though, if I decided to pull back from Judaism entirely, I know my family would be upset, and my friends would probably worry, but I don’t know anyone who would disown me or stop talking to me if I stopped observing Shabbat.

But if I’d grown up in an ultra-Orthodox community and I suddenly wanted to go secular—well, I’d have to give up on pretty much my entire past. Family, friends, calendar, social structure, I’d have to leave them all behind. And in my new secular life I’d have to learn new social cues, customs, and slang (that’s assuming I had decent English, which isn’t the case for many Hassidim who grow up speaking Yiddish). I’d also have a huge educational deficit. Math, science, and the humanities are a low priority in many ultra-Orthodox schools, which leaves the children with little more than a perfunctory understanding of arithmetic and phonics.
Before and After?
Leaving the fold, then, can be a huge scary thing if you’re from Borough Park, Willamsburg, Bnei Brak or Mea Shearim. And so it makes sense that there’s a group dedicated to helping people make the transition from uber-frum to mostly secular, right?

The group is called Hillel (I can’t find a website for them, but it’s not the same as the Hillel where you went for Friday night dinner in college), and they help young people who were brought up in religious homes get acclimated to the secular world. They pay for housing, and help with education, according to this article in the Jerusalem Post. The article mentions first that Hillel has trouble raising money in Israel because people see them as a “missionaries of secularism,” and then, as an example of a person helped by Hillel, they spotlight “David,” now a career soldier. David attended a secular cousin’s wedding, and then:

‘"That's when my interest in sex began. I used to play hooky from yeshiva and watch sexy movies. I also bought porno magazines."

Hillel helped him get in touch with other formerly religious youth who have become his best friends.’

Is it me, or does the Post make it seem like Hillel is just there to support horny teenagers who want to watch porn? Which, of course, is not what Hillel is about.

I’m not saying I think people should leave their communities because there’s an organization to help them go mainstream, I just think it’s worth it to acknowledge that for some people the ultra-Orthodox lifestyle isn’t the best choice. Jewish communal outreach is important, but don’t we also have to help the people who can’t or won’t live in the Jewish communities they were born into?

(Check out This American Life episode number 268 for a great story about leaving a Hasidic upbringing behind).

Shabbat PreparationsToday I was in a very interesting conversation… about how the Jewish community can best involve and engage men in religious/cultural life.  Because evidently the Jewish community has discovered that men don’t want to get involved.  Needless to say, the conversation went a lot like this.

“We could invite them to join a book club?”

 “Nah, men don’t like to join stuff.”

 “So, maybe we could just get their wives to come to something, and they’ll drag the men along.”

Which pretty much defeats the purpose, right?  But what can you do?

I spent years with Hillel trying to drag people into affiliating.  To get people to show up to programs, and give us email addresses and phone numbers.  It rarely works in great numbers. People don’t like being dragged.

At the same time, I’m thinking about how much it bugs me that women ARE the force behind most Jewish programming.  They organize, attend, bring food, drag the kids. They oversee educational efforts and sit on committees.  Honestly, I do believe that, by and large, they make the Jewish world happen.

But they aren’t in charge.

I want to get the numbers on this (number that were thrown around in the conversation that inspired this post).  I think it’s upsetting. Men like to run things. Men are rabbis, board presidents, executive directors, and (I’m not talking about you, Tahl) editors… but my gut says that it isn’t Daddy waking everyone up for services on Saturday morning.

So, dudes, why are you so lazy?  Why do you want to steer a ship you aren’t really riding (statistically) anyway?

The first time I found myself in a synagogue with a Mechitza, I was pretty confused.  My father had brought me to Shaarei Tfiloh because he’d heard  they were having trouble getting ten men together to pray, and he  wanted to help.   The community that had once belonged to the synagogue was mostly gone or dead, and as an Orthodox shul in a no-longer-Jewish-neighborhood, there weren’t enough Jews who could walk to the building anymore.  So it was dying.

There I sat, peering at my dad from afar, trying to figure out what was going on.  I didn’t figure it out of course. I was offended by being separated and left alone.  It seemed archaic and chauvinistic to me.  So I avoided seeing  another Mechitza for years and years.

But then in Iowa, we had one at Hillel, because we had an orthodox service on Saturdays… and I had to rethink the wall.  I had to try and find a way to see it as something besides a burka, a chastity belt, a ban on birth control.

I never fully came to a place of embracing the Mechitza, but I’ve since discovered that there are ways of thinking about it differently.  It no longer upsets me to be around one.  And there are resources out there… considered feminist voices supporting the Mechitza.  I wanted to point you to a few of them today.

A synagogue in Jerusalem
Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance
A blogger worth meeting, and another one
And oh, hell… it looks like someone already made a list!

Now… maybe tomorrow we’ll talk about the Mikveh…

From The NY Post today:

Pace University administrators threatened to sic the cops on a Jewish-student club if it went ahead with plans to screen a critically acclaimed film about radical Islam, the head of the group charged yesterday.

Michael Abdurakhmanov, president of Pace Hillel, said two deans warned that showing the documentary film would implicate club members as suspects in two hate crimes involving the desecration of the Koran at the university's lower-Manhattan campus last fall.

In addition, Abdurakhmanov said an assistant dean physically restrained him as he attempted to defend the film and his group in a meeting with administrators.

"The message was pretty clear, if you show this film, you're going to incriminate yourself," Abdurakhmanov said.

In September and October, copies of the Koran were found in toilets in men's rooms on the Manhattan campus. Those incidents were followed by the discovery of a swastika scrawled on a bathroom wall and a Hillel event poster.

Hillel had planned to screen "Obsession" during Judaism Awareness Week in November. The school stepped in after receiving complaints from Muslim students that the film negatively portrayed Islam.

The bad news is the film won't be shown and all the people associated with showing it will be prime suspects in the Koran-in-the-toilet-cum-swastika incident. The good news is NBC will get an episode of Law & Order out of it.

Not to be outdone by Jesus-infused guitar riffs, the Jewish world has begun rocking. In fact, if you google the phrase “Shabbat Rocks” you’ll find that more and more synagogues are bringing thumping basslines and drum fills into the sanctuary.

And while I’m not sure that “Reb Jason” is in it for all the right reasons when he says, “It’s a pretty amazing thing for me to hear kids listening to my CD in the car instead of someone like The Black Eyed Peas or Gwen Stefani…” it’s certainly true that people seem to be responding to this brand of up-tempo contemporary worship. Especially the kids. The kids dig it. The kids think Shabbat Rocks.

In fact, my old boss at Hillel has taken a new job, creating programming like this around the country. And I bet he’ll do a kickass job at it.

I’ll admit… it creeps me out a little. Because I always hated Christian rock and “fun” religion. The young lifers I went to high school with. It feels manipulative and a tad cheesey to dress up your faith in temporary trends… like grownups who wear “cool” clothes and say things like “yo” and “dude”.

But all my bass (heh heh) instincts aside, I should give this movement a chance, and recognize that anything that gets kids learning is worth it. Anything that makes religious life meaningful is a good thing.