Great Press for the Shabbat Experiment

Check out this great press for the Shabbat Experiment on YLC's Blog Sameach!

YLC is the Young Leadership Council, the outreach arm for the Jewish Federation of Greater Atlanta, and provides a number of opportunities for young professionals to get involved in the community.

We're Actually Sephardic....

In a week and a half, I'm off to Greece with my mom, dad, brother and his fiance to explore the town my mom's family is from, Ioannina (pronounced "YA-nana"). To get started, I read a paper on the history of Greek Jews by one of my Hillel student leaders, Andrea Marcadis. Her family also happens to be from Ioannina. (Many thanks to Andrea. My paraphrasing below does not capture the depth of her research.)

Her paper is on the influx of Sephardi Jews to Greece after the expulsion from Spain in 1492. Upon arrival in Greece, these Jewish communities in some cases merged with and in some cases overtook the existing Jewish communities in Greece, called Romaniote. Romaniote Jewish customs were distinct from other global Judaisms. They spoke and prayed in Yevanic (Judeo-Greek), a Greek dialect written in Hebrew characters. They also built their synagogues in a distinct way, with benches along the walls, facing each other, in order to have a large aisle for elaborate parading with the Torah.

In the northern city of Thessaloniki, the Sephardic customs almost completely overtook the Romaniote customs. Nearly 20,000 Sephardi Jews moved to Thessaloniki and established 30 new synagogues based around their Sephardi traditions, naming each synagogue after the city in Spain from which they fled. The city which had once only had 500 Jews was suddenly home to 15,700 Jews, more than 50% of the population. The Sephardim brought with them Ladino (Judeo-Spanish). They looked down upon their Romaniote brothers who did not share the language, and called them "Gregos," a derogatory word that lumped them with the rest of the Greeks. The two communities formed a Jewish Federation, but due to the heavy volume of Sephardi Jews, it wasn't long before Ladino became the working language of the federation.

By contrast, in the western city of Ioannina, the Romaniote communities much more successfully retained their identity. Ioannina had long been home to a thriving Jewish community, and Jewish involvement in civic life made Ioannina an important commercial center for all of Greece. The Kahal Kadosh Yashan, or Old Synagogue, had housed the Jewish community for centuries, and the community spoke Yevanic (Judeo-Greek). After the expulsion from Spain, Romaniote Jews in Ioannina tried (unsuccessfully) to petition the chief rabbi of Greece to forbid other Jews from doing business in Ioannina. Instead, the head rabbis of Ioannina forbade the formation of new synagogues, so Sephardic immigrants chose to pray at the Old Synagogue and in Yevanic. Eventually, due to population growth, a new synagogue was founded outside the city walls, mainly by immigrants, though the synagogue adopted Romaniote customs.

Reading Ms. Marcadis' paper, I was struck at several of her findings, and sometimes even moved to tears. First, even in Ioannina, the Romaniote community adopted some Spanish words, namely the word libro, meaning "book." Haven't we Jews been called the "People of the Book?" Of all the words to be absorbed, the word "book" demonstrates a continued emphasis on learning, thinking, and engaged living. Second, consider the lives the Sephardic Jews left behind when they fled Spain. For 300 years (from the 700s-1000s), the Jews of Spain had been the world's most successful Jewish community to date, a golden age of thinkers, writers, religious scholars, and civic leaders--not unlike the American Jewish community today. It astounds me that 400 years later they would have to flee, and as Ms. Marcadis notes, sometimes bring with them the keys to their homes, as if hoping to soon return. This image is very moving. Third, the Sephardic immigrants thrived in the textile industry, an industry that followed my family all the way to my grandfather in New York in the 1950s.

Lastly, Ms. Marcadis cites some of the names of Sephardic immigrant families in Ioannina, and names "Koffina." My mom's mom's maiden name was Betty Cofino. She spoke Ladino. This leads me to believe that at least this branch of my family were Sephardic and not Romaniote Jews, and that they came from Spain before Greece. To read their history, to uncover their story--that they easily adapted to the existing Romaniote community in Ioannina, and yet retained their Ladino language--is to me a symbol of Jewish unity.

As I dream of the future of a Jewish Student Union at Emory--a federation of Hillel, Chabad, Meor, Emory Students for Israel, AIPAC, SHOAH, AEPi, AEPhi, ZBT, Kol HaNesher, and other groups--I am inspired by my mother's Spanish-Greek ancestors. I look forward to learning and seeing more while I am there.

Why Do You Let Me Stay Here

Cross-posted at TheShabbatExperiment.
This was my week to devise our group assignment, and I had more difficulty than I'd expected. I haven't looked at other people's responses yet, so I'm not sure whether or not this task resonated, but I thought it was simple and fun enough. I'm interested to see whether it was meaningful (depth vs. breadth and all that crap....)

Here's the video I watched without sound:


I chose this video kind of on a whim. I think it might have been the last song on my iTunes Genius. But I really like the song. From what I can tell, the video doesn't really reflect the lyrics. Zooey Daschenel is adorable as ever, but the video makes me think of a haunted hotel tour in Chattanooga, TN. Though I know he does much of the music for the duo, but I was surprised to see M. Ward in the video, since we rarely hear his voice. I really laughed at the part when all the little Zooey Daschenels were all dancing around the big Zooey Daschenel--it reminded me of Gulliver's Travels.

In the end, I'm glad there is good music to listen to. I think I liked the song more before I saw the video. 

Silent Films

Cross-posted at TheShabbatExperiment.
Here is Group Gimmel's task for find silence:

Find silence. Find a YouTube video you've never seen before and watch it without volume. You might want to find a music video, or a friend's footage from her trip to Asia, or clips from a favorite TV show, or someone's old home videos. As you watch, narrate in your head what you think might be happening. Then watch the video with sound to see what you missed. Feel free to repeat until you discover something surprising, or awesome, or breathtaking, or hilarious. Share your favorites on the blog.

We Hate Yom Kippur

The holiday of Jewish guilt is upon us again. And this year, it falls on a Saturday! While the rest of the world is enjoying the last sunny weekend of fall, Jews across the world will stuff their necks into dress shirts to atone for our sins. And to gripe.

Rivals--A Rosh Hashanah Sermon

I delivered the following sermon (audio and text below) at the Reform service, Rosh Hashanah morning 5771 with Hillels of Georgia.

In the summer, I work at a Jewish camp in Cleveland, GA, Camp Coleman. It’s been my home for 16 dazzling summers. Down the road from Camp Coleman, only about 3 miles away, is Camp Barney. Camp Barney is also a Jewish camp, run by the JCC of Atlanta.  And every year, the staff at the two camps square-off for a basketball game. It’s one of the most anticipated events of the summer. In the unlikeliest of locations, four-hundred Jews pack the bleachers of the White County Recreation Center to watch the game, Barney on one side, Coleman on the other. Barney dresses in all blue; Coleman wears tie-dye. Barney bangs on a drum; Coleman cheers their faces off. Tempers flare. Players get injured. Fans get in each other’s faces. It is easily the biggest rivalry I have ever been a part of—bigger than Florida-Georgia, bigger than Yankees-Red Sox, bigger even than Emory-Wash. U.

And it strikes me as funny. Here we are in the middle of rural Georgia, miles from any organized Jewish community, and the two Jewish camps hate each other. Why? We all come from the same cities. We all go to the same schools. We all listen to the same music. We all get really excited about basketball. We all love camp. So, in the words of the prophet, “Why can’t we be friends?”

We read on Rosh Hashanah two stories about exactly that—rivalry. Maybe the ancient Rabbis, in their wisdom, knew that football season was a good time to consider the topic. Let’s focus on just one of those stories, about Penninah and Hannah. I’ll give you a little background.

Penninah and Hannah are married to the same man. Penninah has been able to conceive with him, but Hannah has not. And though their husband claims to love Hannah best, he gives more of himself to his fertile wife, Penninah. For this, Penninah taunts Hannah to the point of tears, until Hannah prays that God grant her a son. God hears Hannah’s sorrow, and she gives birth to the prophet Samuel.

Feel for a minute the deep-seeded family rivalry—a love-triangle, favoritism, deceit, envy, contempt. You can imagine the emotional scars this story must have left on its characters. It reads kind of like a soap opera.

I guess the ancient Rabbis, when they chose for us to read these stories on Rosh Hashanah, were trying to tell us that rivalry is a part of life. We can’t avoid it. It’s like friction—even on a glass plate, there’s still a trace. And like friction, rivalry is not always a bad thing. The same friction that causes a rolling marble to eventually slow to a stop allows a rolling tire to push against the road and speed away.

Sometimes rivalry can spark genius. Think of Lennon and McCartney. Or 2Pac and Biggie. 2Pac said it himself: “Can u c the pride in the pantha / as he glows in splendor and grace / Toppling OBSTACLES placed in the way / of the progression of his race.”

Sometimes we need a rival to give us the kick in the pants we need to get moving. Think of Charlie Brown and Lucy. Think of Apple and Sony. Do you think the MacBook Pro would be as great as it is if it didn’t sometimes have to look around and wonder what the Sony VAIO was up to?

Our sages taught that in order to learn, we must acquire a study partner. Someone to bounce ideas off of and to challenge our flimsier arguments. Educational psychologists will tell you that having a study partner helps students probe deeply and think critically. A sounding board. A fact checker. Someone to point out the holes in your argument and challenge you to fill them. Of sorts, a rival.

Funny then that the word for these study partners is chevruta—Aramaic for friend. Chevruta is a little more complicated than friendship. In chevruta, your partner needs to push back, give a little resistance, a little friction.

Indeed, our ancient namesake, Rabbi Hillel, is most famous not for his copious legal writings or his role as head of the Rabbinic assembly, but for debating against his rival, Rabbi Shammai. Think the Lincoln-Douglas debates.

There’s a great scene in Fiddler on the Roof where Tevye is listening to an argument. One side claims, “You can’t close your eyes to what’s happening in the world,” and Tevye responds, “You’re right.” The other side asks, “Why should I break my head about the outside world?” and Tevye responds, “You’re right.” Puzzled, and curious, an onlooker asks, “Tevye, he’s right and he’s right? They can’t both be right!” To which Tevye responds, “You know—you are also right.”

Judaism for centuries has obsessed about the right way of doing things. Do we light the Chanukkah menorah starting with one candle or with eight? Can the same cash register be used for selling meat as well as milk? Can gay and lesbian Jews become rabbis? What we forget to notice is neither side is ever right or wrong, that rivaling ideas have coexisted for centuries. While my father’s grandparents in Austria were busy disposing of their grains for Passover, my mother’s grandparents in Greece were cooking rice to prepare for the holiday.

So what does this all mean? Ashkenazi AND Sephardic. Hillel AND Shammai. Apple AND Sony. Lennon AND McCartney. Penninah AND Hannah. Camp Coleman AND Camp Barney.

It means there’s no one right way to be a Jew. I hear it all the time: I’m a bad Jew, I don’t do this, or I’m a bad Jew, I don’t do that. I’m here to tell you: THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A BAD JEW. Picture a five-legged stool, or a fork with many prongs—this is Judaism. It’s not just a religion, it’s not just a history, it’s not just a set of values. It’s whatever you choose it to be.

So I’m here to be your rival. I’m here to challenge you. If you had unlimited resources and unlimited time to build a new way of expressing your Judaism, what would you do? Would you found a Jewish hiking club that spends weekends in the mountains? Would you organize your friends to read and think critically about editorials from the Israeli press? Would you start an online dating community for gay and lesbian Jews? Would you organize an interfaith group to fight poverty and hunger? Would you start a Jewish yoga studio? A Jewish book club? A klezmer-funk band? A Jewish meditation group? A silkscreen company that prints clever Jewish t-shirts? Would you organize your friends to devise new, creative, interactive ways of celebrating Shabbat? Would you commission new Jewish art? Would you explore the overlap between Jewish thought and quantum physics?

This New Year, acquire for yourself a rival, a friend who’s willing to push you. Together, do something Jewish you’ve never done before, something that speaks to you, something that challenges you. Make for yourself an experience that can’t be compared, that’s rivaled by none.

Camp Coleman might never love Camp Barney, but they sure do make us play good basketball.

Shana tova.