One such issue came up this past week. After our weekly board meeting, we all got an e-mail from one of our members which voiced her concern about an Israeli flag that we hang outside our space. Her argument was that this flag is a symbol which does not represent our members nor our mission on campus, which is to support the campus’ vibrant Jewish community. In response, some argued in favor or taking it down. Our experiences as Jews in America have informed us that the Israeli flag is hardly a benign symbol. If such a politically–charged symbol is the only one visibly representing Hillel to the campus, then perhaps it denotes that our organization accepts too narrow of a view of Judaism, one which isolates those who do not support Israel or who don’t want it to be associated with their Jewish identity. They also argue that it makes it more difficult to hold interfaith events, as this symbol to some people denotes a very specific set of political views that may be antagonistic to their own. In certain respects, I find this convincing: I want Hillel to be open to all kinds of Jewish identities. However, allow me play the devil’s advocate. I propose that our Jewish center should be a safe space for Jews to express support of and pride in Israel; some Jewish students may not have any other semi–public spaces where they can express these beliefs openly. Taking the flag down might therefore alienate Jewish students with these views who feel like they cannot come to Hillel to talk about them. Moreover, I believe that any meaningful interfaith discussion on these issues should accept that some people are proud of and support the existence of the state of Israel. Having these opinions does not translate into unwillingness to re–evaluate beliefs or accept alternative narratives as legitimate. If an Arab or Muslim student group were to invite Jewish students with these opinions to an interfaith discussion, they should also feel free to put out a Palestinian flag. Instead seeing these flags as hostile symbols, I challenge students to evaluate them more thoughtfully, understanding that discussion of controversial issues is meaningful and productive if they accept the validity of a multiplicity of differing opinions.

I look forward to a robust debate at our next board meeting.

It has nothing to do with the biblical notion that men can’t wear women’s clothing and women can’t wear men’s. That restriction doesn’t phase me. However, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having some things specific to males and other specific to females. Should we all be equal? Absolutely–in terms of salary, respect and the ability to handle most tasks. But there’s no denying that men and women are different, and that’s okay.

On the other hand, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with women wearing tallit, and I believe all Jewish women should have the opportunity to celebrate bat mitzvah, to count in a minyan, and to serve as cantors and rabbis if that’s where their life aspirations take them. But that doesn’t mean a kippah must be part of the equation. Can’t we exhibit our Jewishness in other ways?

Truthfully, the she-kippah just looks weird to me. I suppose kippot are kind of funny-looking accessories to begin with, but they fit well on the heads of most men I’ve seen wearing them. A woman in a hat can be simply stunning, and I really admire the way many women are able to don flattering head coverings, like the gorgeous scarves that I wish I could pull off. But kippot just don’t seem to be one of those flattering accessories. It’s not anti-feminist, it’s just aesthetically awkward.

Maybe this is how people felt when women first started wearing pants. Maybe I will eventually get over it. But for now, I’d like to stick to the beautiful colored scarves and the fancy floppy-brimmed hats to cover my head, and leave the kippah-wearing to our male friends. And I’d like to do so without being labeled as an anti-feminist.

Aside from being an aesthetically interesting space, with lots of ancient and ‘holy’ books filling the shelves and pictures of important, wise-looking rabbis adorning the walls, the Beit Midrash is a place to study Jewish texts from a modern, critical perspective, something that I imagine isn’t very common in a liberal arts environment. It’s a shame to admit it, but at the present time I don’t think there are any students at Swat who are currently studying the Talmud tractates in the Beit Midrash. My class is slowly (really slowly) working its way through Genesis right now, trying to read the texts from a modern, critical perspective. It’s hard work when you’re Hebrew is as bad as mine, but also really exciting. Reading the Torah in the original and trying to come up with valid, text-based interpretations (interpretations that do not rely on assumptions and information from outside of the text) has been one of the most rewarding Jewish experiences of my time in college. My prof pointed out to me the other day that the beauty and power of our tradition comes directly a result of the beauty, wisdom, and power of our texts. Ok, she didn’t use those exact words, but she did talk about how valuable the texts are. I’m not exactly sure what exactly the value is or where it comes from, but I’m inclined to agree. She noted that as liberal American Jews become less literate in the language, style, logic, world-view, and approach of classical Jewish texts, we lose an integral part of Jewish civilization, to our detriment. One can only go so far with vague concepts of Jewish identity, as well as modern Jewish history, Israel politics and advocacy, holidays and other ritual matters, before one runs into the problem of the source of all this tradition, which is to be found in the vast collection of text we have at our disposal. These texts usually take the form of an elaboration on, or an analysis or interpretation of the Torah, the fundamental text of the religion, and by extension, Jewish civilization. These texts, though old and written from a religious perspective that often is very foreign to modern sensibilities (like my own) is definitely worth looking into.

One of the rabbis at the camp where I worked this summer told me that though I know nothing about it and might not be able to read it unaided at this point, the Babylonian Talmud has been the primary influence on all of Jewish life after its publication around the year 500 CE. Most of our modern interpretations of the Hebrew Bible, our traditions and rituals, and our spirituality and mysticism come from the (Babylonian) Talmud. I guess I won’t know if she’s correct until I read it myself. Man, that’s going to take a long time.

While I cannot determine which activities and lessons educationally benefit students most, based on my recent observations I have found this half an hour of trope study to be time well-spent. I was originally doubtful of its potential, slightly frustrated that there were only forty minutes each Wednesday for me to teach the children traditions that have taken generations to form. Yet to my surprise, my students have retained the trope names and sounds better than they have the Hebrew alphabet.

Perhaps they are impressed that the new, young Rabbi takes this time to study with them. Or perhaps their still developing minds connect well with the combination of the learning tools provided – the notes on the piano, the diagramed sheet music, and the hand gestures that mimic the motions of the trope. They are just as rambunctious during this time, shouting out names and laughing amongst themselves, but somehow, by the end of the day, they can accurately recreate a mercha or a soph pasuk.

At the Jewish Day School that I attended, by sixth grade we were taught to rotationally read Torah each week at the Monday school wide services. I remember learbubg to read the Viahavta according to the tope of each word – and realizing that my memorized version of this prayer had come to follow a very different tune. Prior to my Bat-Mitzvah, I began to meet weekly with a Trope tutor from my community, reinforcing for me were the Torah and Haftorah tunes that I heard each week at synagogue. Despite this foundation, however, my un-musical mind still draws a blank for certain notes, as I try to mentally sift through Beshalach, my Bat Mitzvah portion, to identify that sound.

Yet it seems that this early exposure to the tunes of the Torah is worthwhile in a religious school setting. My energetic students are attentive during their trope class, eagerly retaining the sounds and then comparing their favorite notes amongst themselves. The Rabbi soon wants to apply this knowledge to a text of Torah, and I wonder whether this can be successful as they still confuse a delat and a reish. Regardless, I think that this early introduction to reading Torah can serve as positive reinforcement for future involvement. Perhaps for some this conduit for connecting to Judaism will motivate them towards further study, while perhaps for others just the hearing of these tunes will remind them that they had actually enjoyed something at the ‘un-cool’ Religious School. It is a difficult task to develop a curriculum that offers the array of Jewish tradition during only two or three afternoons a week, to give the students lessons of substance without alienating those who connect differently. Yet for those students lacking a consistent rhythm to their day, it seems that a weekly lesson on the old tunes of the Torah can offer an attainable means for self-expression.

The author compares the American economy to a new board setup, dealt crisp by the banker. Wouldn’t it feel nice to begin the game with the fresh air of optimistic possibility, bills in hand, ready to buy unclaimed land? But we must make the metaphor accurate, explains Mark Rank. You, Player 1, you get to start with a whopping $5000 and some deeds already in hand. Player 2, you’ll be at the standard $1500. And Player 3, you are stuck with $250. Ready? Get set? Go!

So who’s going to win? Rank makes the point in his book that it is possible, feasible, just barely plausible, that someone born into disadvantage could rise above the circumstances and win. But it’s about as likely as winning Monopoly in the previous example. In the United States, we tend to focus on the personal qualities of the losers: “Oh, he should have been more excited about buying Boardwalk. And she should have given up landing on Community Chest a while ago.” We forget that the game is set up to produce losers. No matter how good we are, someone’s got to lose. As Faigy put it in her recent New Voices blog post: “Where is the net benefit of social justice work in a system that must replace those who are upwardly mobile by moving others downward?”

The game, it seems, is global. In The Impact of Water Privatization on South African Women, Meredith Throop talks about an incredible phenomenon. Women who traditionally had gone daily to fetch water for their families suddenly found themselves counting money and allowances from the government. This cut down on sharing. No longer could I help you fetch your water on days when you were sick; my allowances only covered my and my family. No need to guess who inspired the privatizing of the water supply.

So, as Jews, why should we care? Well, aside from Rabbi Hillel’s universal morality that encourages me to do unto others as I’d want them to do unto me, our Jewish texts encourage cooperation and community. Leviticus 25:35 teaches us that “If your kinsman becomes boor and falters with you, you should strengthen him; whether he is a stranger or a settler he should live with you.”

How can we change the game, you ask? It’s larger than any of us. Countless brilliant souls have struggled and failed to redistribute our monopoly money. I strongly encourage you to avoid bashing your head against the walls of inequality that continue to exist in America. Instead, I’ve chosen to take the words of the Torah to heart. As part of an intentional community in St. Louis, I have chosen to live with friends and strangers in a cooperative environment. We strengthen each other, we fetch each other water, and we acknowledge the paradox that tells us that some Americans must lose in order for others to win. If you are interested, investigate your local co-op opportunities! In the meantime, consider a rainwater catchment system for your hotels on Park Place.

I’ve never seen a “Jewish Street Cred Report” before, and was a bit surprised to see the hip-hop magazine XXL put one up on its website. While XXLMag.com blogger Bol has posted notes stating, “It’s wrong to hate Jews,” the homepage of his website, ByronCrawford.com, proudly declares, “Boycott Israel!” As an American Jew, I find it hard to reconcile one without the other, modern Jews without Israel. I’m not saying the two are inseparable, but they do often go hand-in-hand, as well they should. My stomach churned just now, reading the slogan on that website.

Anyway, the XXL report on “Jewish street cred” gave different rappers up to five Stars of David, depending on how “Jewish” they and their associates were. Typical Jewish stereotypes, like wealth, Yiddish, and others, were used to give these artists their rankings. Ranked number one was Harlem rhymer Cam’ron, well known from his days as a member of the Diplomats group, who worked closely Alan Grunblatt, a Jewish man who is now head of Rock and Urban at E1 Music. Cam also spouted Yiddish lyrics in a video entitled, “Here’s Cam’ron (You Little Yentas).” For these associations and more, Cam was given the maximum ranking of five Stars of David.

I cringe at reading what I just wrote. To begin, why rank how “Jewish” rappers are? In a day of failing hip-hop, with nonsense like Soulja Boy topping the charts, is that really what you need to worry about? Being Jewish, one may think, means lacking “street cred.” Therefore, the rappers who are more Jewish in their associations are more acculturated, farther away from the “hood” mentality that is hip-hop. Indeed, many of the rappers ranked on the list, like the Caucasian Asher Roth—whose father is Jewish—and the aforementioned Soulja Boy, are ridiculed by some hip-hop enthusiasts for being “fake” or not “street.”

It is also callous to use a Star of David, which, for many Jews, is a holy symbol, as a means of categorizing people. The symbol of Israel, for all that the Jewish people fought, as a way of ranking just how mainstream rappers are is foolish and cruel. The stereotypes that XXL employs to rank just how Jewish the rappers are also derogatory. Heavyset rhymer Fat Joe, originally from the Bronx, lives in Miami—associated with retirement homes and elderly Jewish grandparents—which XXL thinks makes him “Jewish.”

XXL blasts industry entrepreneur Russell Simmons for having Jewish associates, saying “Uncle Russ knows that having Jewish friends is good for business. (Just ask Lyor Cohen and Rick Rubin).” Yes, many Jews have been good businessmen, including the aforementioned executives. However, Rubin is a creative talent in his own right who helped the Beastie Boys, among others, come to fame, while Cohen is currently the Vice Chairman of Warner Music Group. They’re not prominent and successful because they’re Jewish, necessarily; they are smart, savvy individuals that had to navigate the music industry just like other people did and create a niche for themselves, earning their own success.

Simmons also created a Public Service Announcement trying to end anti-Semitism in America, which XXL claims is just for business. Simmons linked with famed rapper Jay-Z to create the PSA, which is not a business endeavor. Bringing Jay on board will get more people from his fanbase, who know him as an artist, on board with his righteous message. If Simmons and Jay-Z are in a position to help end a form of racism, how can XXL legitimately criticize them? Their reasons are their own for doing what they do. They’ve already got their business credibility with what XXL would deem the “Jewish” executives, so they hardly need to pander to anyone in that arena. In addition, Simmons has also created PSAs advocating against dogfighting. People may claim that animal abuse is not serious, but it is. In a different, and important way, anti-Semitism is still a danger today. Give Simmons some credit for addressing issues that are pertinent and deadly today, for trying to help the hip-hop community that he worked to build not impale itself on racial hatred. He is helping people, one step at a time, erode racial barriers, which XXL is trying so hard to keep up. Give it up, guys. Follow Simmons’s lead and quit the racism.

This past Thursday, Israelis commemorated the fourteenth yahrzeit of Rabin. Official ceremonies were held all over the country, from the Knesset to local elementary schools. Rabin’s murder is a very sensitive subject among Israelis; the murder only exacerbated the growing split between right and left wing that was running rampant at the time. Every year, on the anniversary of Rabin’s death we are reminded of that split, of how grave disharmony and disrespect between Israelis can be.

There are a lot of lessons that can be learned from this tragic event. I think the most important lesson one can learn from this is that of tolerance. It is said that when you have two Jews arguing, you will have three different opinions. People in general and Jews in particular, have different ideas, different perspectives and different beliefs from one another. If you take a good look at the Talmud, you will see that it is riddled with machlokot, arguments, between the different sages.

Unfortunately, we live in a time and place that sometimes, the differences of opinions can mean the difference between life and death, living peacefully, or being evicted from my home. Politics is, and has always been, a point of contention between right and left wing Israelis. However, just because I don’t agree with others’ opinions, doesn’t give me the right to murder them or cause them harm. I also don’t agree with Rabin’s politics and policies (not that I understood them when I was in third grade). In my opinion Oslo was a sham and in the end did more harm than good. However, even I will admit that Yizchak Rabin probably did more for the Jewish nation, and Israel in his lifetime than many of us can hope to do in our lifetime.

Tolerance- hopefully we have all learned this lesson, and will never have to go through another tragic event like that again.

Last week, I attended a fantastic Shabbat service and dinner with dozens of students from all around Manhattan, through NYU’s Bronfman Center for Jewish Student Life, which I cannot gush about enough. (They’re fabulous.) It was a wonderful experience and full of people from all different backgrounds and every possible kind of observance. But in the midst of all the wonderfulness, I heard something that really irked me.

A girl beside me began talking about Chabad on campus. She said, “I love Chabad. I grew up with Chabad, because I came from an area where there are no synagogues.” I was intrigued, wondering if she came from a really rural area in the Bible Belt. She continued, “I mean, there are reform and conservative congregations, but there are no religious Jews in Orange County, California.”

Even though I don’t necessarily identify with a particular denomination and definitely don’t do all the “right things” all the time (pass the fried shrimp), I was outright offended by this declaration. Since when are reform and conservative Jews separate from religious Jews? I’m sure there’s a reform rabbi somewhere who takes her religion a hell of a lot more seriously than a disenfranchised young Orthodox Jew. A person’s affiliation with a particular denomination says absolutely nothing about his or her affinity toward the religion; it speaks only to the way he or she expresses it.

In fact, I fully believe it is possible to be a strongly religious person with no loyalty to a synagogue at all. Especially in Judaism. Don’t we teach about the importance of things that are deeply personal, like building your own Jewish home, praying silently, and acting out the mitzvot, among many other things? Being a good Jew isn’t about which seminary the rabbi you most respect attended. It’s not about the siddur that you read from on the High Holidays. You can be a religious Jew no matter what variation of Judaism you subscribe to–that’s one of the most beautiful things about Judaism. It’s about taking what matters most to you and making it part of your life.

Judaism is a journey, not a destination. So Whether a Jew begins his religiousness in Orthodoxy and becomes more Reform in his ways, or a Conservative Jew spends her whole life adhering to the same sets of rules, regulations, and beliefs, or a Christian converts and finds a home in a Reconstructionist synagogue, the religion is about the journey and about what each Jew makes of it. Don’t ever try to define levels of religiosity based on denominational subscription. We as Jews should know, nothing should ever be that simple.

Shabbat Shalom to all the Jews out there, no matter how you identify.

This can be compared to the boy who said to his friend, “Hey, that doesn’t affect me, I’m only half Jewish!”

Then there is my friend, Hilary, who tapped the boy on the back and said, “Well I’m full Jewish, so watch what you say.”

One’s perception of looking at life as half full or half empty can be related to their pride. If one is optimistic, they will most likely have a lot of pride, for that is what leads them to be so optimistic. However, individuals with little pride would be pessimistic. This example of responses to an anti-Semitic comment showed the different outlooks.

One’s attitude can dramatically impact how they approach situations and interpret their experiences. It is usually easier for someone to be passive and to not represent who they are. This is because once you show your pride you must stand firmly behind it.
Standing up for Jewish pride is particularly hard, because there is so much attached to this. From your position on Israel to anti-Semitism in general, it is challenging for one to defend their position on being Jewish. However, I feel like it is important for Jews to know their stance on relevant issues to our people. Being prepared for these situations can make them all that much easier to be in. If you consider yourself Jewish, I think it is important that you know what that entails and what you believe. Knowing what it is you are labeling yourself with is really important for all aspects of life. It is worth it to have a stance on things and to have a reason for your actions.

Instead of taking the “easy” way out and either not responding or just being passive, why don’t you try to stand up for what you believe in, if that is the case. Additionally, you shouldn’t just be a follower and go along with what your friends believe. You should have a reason for whatever you are passionate about, and consider Ben Franklin’s quote, “If passion drives you, let reason hold the reins.“

This expression seems to show up in situations where one could be vulnerable, such as my example. The girl who spoke up took a risk, knowing that she could be teased even more, whereas the boy took the passive look in order to avoid being teased further.

Next time this situation happens to you try being the proud and aggressive individual, rather than the weak and passive one.

So even thought I take issue with a lot of the social and theological positions of Orthodoxy, I am a closet-Hasid/Charedi lover, and consider myself pretty well-informed about ultra-Orthodox theology and practice, for a secular guy. Just as I obsessively read about and watched sports in high school, I suppose in attempt to live out a fantasy of sports-stardom I’ll probably never live out in real life, I now scour the net for weird Orthodox websites, trying to get a peek at a world I’m far away from but somehow attracted to. Can’t tell you how many Chabad.org articles and videos I’ve read and watched. I just think they’re really cool; I also regularly read frumsatire.org and aish.com and a few others, and have now googled enough yiddish/Ashkenazai-pronunciation Hebrew terms to understand what’s going on most of the time. Those Chabadniks are really good at outreach, that much I can say. And I suppose from Chabad’s theological perspective, even the mere act of reading and watching content on their website is a mitzvah, because it’s studying Torah in some very superficial manner. I consider myself to be dawgs with my campus Chabad shliach and I’ve also taken two of those weekly “Jewish wisdom and leadership” classes offered on college campus around the country by various Orthodox-outreach organizations, and thoroughly enjoyed both. But I’m not about to become a bt…probably.

‘Bt’ is an abbreviation for ‘ba’al teshuva’, a Hebrew term which means, ‘master of returning/repenting’ and the moniker denotes people who have did not come from religious Jewish backgrounds and ‘returned’ to the tradition later in life. Guys like Matisyahu, Senator Joseph Lieberman, Jack Abramoff, and whole lotta prominent rabbis consider themselves ‘bts’. I took a weekly night class my freshman year with a Charedi rabbi who had ‘gone frum’ after graduating from Swarthmore, and then spent a dozen or more years studying in yeshivas in Israel, and then came back to the States to spread Torah wisdom to secular kids like myself. With my Jewish education at the time consisting primarily of 1 semester of Biblical Hebrew, bar mitzvah tutoring, and years of liberal Jewish camp, the class really blew me away. I loved hearing this rabbi lecture on the mysteries of Kabbalah, and how all of recorded Talmud was actually oral Torah revealed to the children of Israel at Mt. Sinai. And I didn’t (and still don’t) believe a word of it. In fact, in spite of my weird fascination with Orthodoxy, and a couple of years of classes which have (I hope) made me slightly-better educated Jewishly, I’m not much more observant than before. Does that mean I haven’t really learn the lessons of ‘Torah wisdom’ that I’ve supposedly been learning? Plato (famous for his idealism and a ‘to know the good is to do the good’ approach) would probably say that I haven’t and so would the Orthodox religious scholars I’ve met and learned from.

Does anyone else feel fascinated by Orthodoxy without actually committing to it or even changing Jewish practice or theology substantially?