Ethnography of Jewish Experience » cohensa

Sarah Cohen Blog 4

cohensa — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 19:22:30 +0000

The Holocaust is something that has probably been included in the curriculum of my formal education up through high school for as long as I can remember. I can regurgitate facts, dates, statistics, stories, etc. about the Holocaust with ease. With that being said, while I obviously think the Holocaust is a very interesting and sad subject, I was not entirely sure of what to expect from our class discussion on it. In particular, someone in our class made a comment that really resonated with me. This person said that they thought that the repeated discussion of the Holocaust has desensitized people to it. While I certainly agree with that comment to an extent, I believe it’s more about the context in which the Holocaust is repeatedly discussed that has had more of an effect on people’s sensitivity to the subject. More specifically, I think that the mythologization of it has more greatly contributed to people’s desensitization of the Holocaust.

As we discussed in class, this process of mythologizing includes utilizing certain images to represent the whole, i.e. a picture of the gates to Auschwitz, and the pattern of mentioning some elements of an event while excluding other elements. As I mentioned previously, my formal education through high school has always dedicated a portion of our course, usually, but not always in history class; and year after year my teachers mythologize it. The fact that it is constantly mythologized, however, only appears to be part of the problem. The other, and probably more important, part of the problem seems to be that the Holocaust is continually mythologized in almost exactly the same way. Thus, students, myself included, continually hear the same facts, dates, statistics, stories, etc. year after year, leading them to believe they have learned all there is to know about the Holocaust. As a result, many people have been turned off to learning about the Holocaust in general, and, thus, do not seek any further information.

This notion, however, is far from the truth. The mythologized knowledge attained in school seems just to be the tip of the iceberg. Since coming to college information about the Holocaust has not been crammed into my brain like it was in high school. In fact, I do not believe the topic had even been discussed until the fall semester of my junior year when I took Political Leadership. Partly due to the fact that I had not studied the Holocaust in quite some time, I felt that I had a renewed interest in it. Also, in this class the Holocaust was discussed in a way in which I had not experienced. Since the course focused on political leadership, the material concentrated primarily on how Hitler and the Nazi’s were able to accomplish all of the things that they did. As a result of learning about the Holocaust in this non-mythologized way and my refreshed interested in the subject, I decided to write my final paper, which was to be on the topic of our choice, about the Holocaust. Consequently, through the course and in the process of writing my paper, I obtained more information that I had never known about Holocaust than ever before.

Since taking Political Leadership, my renewed interest in the Holocaust has persisted. I continue to seek information that is usually forgotten in the traditional teaching of the Holocaust. The primary way in which I attempt to accomplish this is through documentaries concerning specific and usually “forgotten” areas of the Holocaust.

Sarah Cohen Blog 5

cohensa — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 19:22:15 +0000

Since I was raised in a Jewish household, obviously my family has never celebrated Christmas. While I have some Jewish friends, the majority of my friends growing up were either not Jewish or they were “half Jewish”, and celebrated Christmas. So, when I was younger during the holiday season I always felt left out. I would ask my parents if we could get a Christmas tree or wait until the last night of Chanukah to open all eight presents at once in attempt to emulate Christmas morning. My parents always tried to make a relatively big deal out of Chanukah for me and my brother when we were younger. They put up decorations, always made a point of lighting the candles together on all eight nights, and gave both my brother and me substantial gifts. Despite my parents’ efforts, I still felt left out.

As I got older, my parents gradually stopped trying to make a big deal out of Chanukah. One year the decorations were not on display. Another year, lighting the candles together for all eight nights became less important; if we missed a night here or there because there was a conflict, it did not matter as much. And lastly, the presents became less grand or diminished in number. Finally, when I got to an age when my father felt I could understand, he explained to me that Chanukah was really not an important Jewish holiday. He told me that Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Passover were the really important Jewish holidays. Looking back on this moment now, I understand more than ever that Chanukah really is not really an important Jewish holiday and why my parents tried to make a big deal out of it.

In my opinion, this American commercialization of Chanukah is just an attempt to make young Jewish children feel included during the holiday season. As a cultural outsider, it seems that in America Christmas has become almost entirely commercialized, and as a non-participant this is the only version of Christmas I know (and to be honest, it looks like a lot of fun.) As a result, somewhere along the way it became Jewish tradition to increase the hype surrounding Chanukah for young Jewish children. In my experience, however, its obvious the Chanukah cannot compete.

Furthermore, it is my belief that if another otherwise relatively inconsequential holiday consistently fell in such a close proximity to Christmas on the calendar instead of Chanukah, that it too would have inherited these Christmas-like traditions in attempt to reach the same goal, for little Jewish children not to feel excluded during the holiday season. Obviously there is no way to ever prove this theory because both of these calendars have been in existence for quite some time. Despite this notion, it seems that given the current situation it would be plausible.

Now that both my brother and I are in college, Chanukah has seemingly fallen off our family’s agenda entirely. The decorations have not been displayed in years, the candles get lit sporadically and with much less fervor, and this year, for example, my parents already gave me my “Chanukah present” two weeks in advance. All of these facts seem to support the notion that Chanukah’s buzz is a direct response to the hype of Christmas.

Sarah Cohen Blog 6

cohensa — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 19:21:41 +0000

Prior to today’s class discussion I had never heard of the group Women of the Wall. What I learned during class today intrigued me, so I decided to further explore this group. As mentioned in class today, Women of the Wall is a group of mostly religiously observant women who believe that women should be allowed to pray as a group at the Kotel, read from a Torah scroll and wear tallit. Currently, Israeli law prohibits women from performing these acts at the Kotel, and those who do so anyway are subject to a fine and up to six months in jail (Szymkowicz 1). As a law and policy major and someone who is currently pursuing a legal education, I found myself almost unable to grasp how the law in such a progressive country could explicitly discriminate against an entire group of people on the basis of gender.

I certainly understand the explanation given by Professor Staub, in which groups engage in logrolling with the religious political factions in order to create a majority; American political institutions also rely on this mechanism. While in politics it is often necessary to trade favors, I cannot fathom how the Israeli judiciary would uphold such a discriminatory law. Maybe it is my naive understanding of Israeli politics or me taking the American judicial system for granted; regardless, in 2005, a panel of nine judges ultimately ruled against Women of the Wall, five to four; this decision denied them the right to wear tallitot at the Kotel, pray aloud, and read from the Torah as part of their prayer service (Umansky and Ashton 27).

Earlier this year Nofrat Frenkel, a 25 year-old medical student, partook in a prayer ceremony organized by Women of the Wall at the Kotel. During the ceremony she donned a tallit and when she requested to read a prayer out loud the police were called (Jewish Woman Arrested). After the police temporarily detained her, she was eventually released on her own recognizance, but only after signing a statement agreeing that she would not return to the wall for fifteen days. For Frenkel and the other members of Women of the Wall, however, this is not over. If she is tried and found guilty, Frenkel faces up to six months in prison or a 10,000 shekel fine (about $2,650). And for what? Praying in a manner traditionally reserved for males.

What is possibly even more interesting is the response of the leader of the Shas political party[1], Rabbi Ovadia Yosef. He had no qualms voicing his opinion to this incident. He said, “There are stupid women who come to the Western Wall, put on a tallit and pray. (Cohen)” On the other hand, the Women of the Wall do have supporters. I think Anna Hoffman, chair of the Women of the Wall, best expresses this sentiment. She expressed that, “We need to try to get public opinion to say it cannot be an ultra-Orthodox synagogue. The wall cannot be a place where other forms of Judaism are not welcome. There must be more than one way to be Jewish in the Jewish state.” I agree with this statement, and believe that where a conflict between civil rights and traditional Judaism exists, that the former must win out. Thus, the Israeli government should reevaluate this law and all other laws which are rooted in traditional Judaism at the price of modern day equality.

References

Ashton, D., & Umansky, E. M. (2008). Four Centuries of Jewish Women’s Spirituality: A Sourcebook (Hbi Series on Jewish Women) (Revised ed.). Hanover, NH: Brandeis.

BBC News – Jewish woman arrested over shawl. (2009, November 18). BBC NEWS | News Front Page. Retrieved December 7, 2009, from http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/8…

Cohen, D. N. (2009, October 18). Woman of the Wall Arrest: A First-Hand Account â€“ Sisterhood Blog â€“ Forward.com. Blogs â€“ Forward.com. Retrieved December 7, 2009, from http://blogs.forward.com/sisterhood-blog…

Szymkowicz, S. (n.d.). Women Of The Wall. Jewish Virtual Library – Homepage. Retrieved December 7, 2009, from http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsou…

[1] The Shas political party primarily represents Haredi Sephardi and Mizrahi Judaism.

Sarah Cohen: Reflection 3

cohensa — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 18:07:16 +0000

Since I grew up a Jewish household, over the years I have attended countless services at our synagogue, Beth Judah. As I have sat in the same seats my family has sat in for as long as I can remember, I participate in the service. I know the majority of the words to most of the prayers (and when I don’t I refer to the English transliteration), the melodies, and the cues indicating when to sit or stand, etc. As I partake in the services, I never really thought much about the music, or where it came from. I always assumed that these were traditional songs, prayers, and melodies that Jews had always sung.
After reading the chapter on music in The Jewish Cultural Tapestry by Steven Lowenstein, I realized two things that I did not know before. First, I learned that I was not alone in my belief that these songs originated in “great antiquity” and that other Jews mistakenly believed that their ancestors traditionally sung these same songs. Who would have thought the ever popular melody for “Sholom Aleichem” was written in New York City less than 100 years ago? In addition, I also discovered that throughout history Jews had borrowed musical elements from other cultures and religions. In turn, this really begs the question, as mentioned by Lowenstein, of what is Jewish music. As a “cultural insider”, I found this question very interesting and also much more difficult to answer after this chapter brought my inaccurate beliefs to light. This question of what is Jewish music parallels the large question of what does it mean to be Jewish, and the answer to both of these questions seems unclear.
Within this practice of borrowing religious musical elements from non-Jewish cultures, I found two instances of this, referred to by Lowenstein, particularly interesting. The first of these cases deals with the song “Eli Zion”, which in the Ashkenazic tradition concludes the dirges sung on Tisha B’av. “Eli Zion” has a similar melody to two Christian hymns, one a Latin Christmas carol, and the other sung by the pilgrims to the shrine of St. James of Compostella in Spain. I find it very interesting that a song associated with the saddest day in the Jewish calendar, is also associated with joyous occasions in the Christian tradition. Furthermore, Lowenstein’s hypothesis that perhaps Jews deliberately choose melodies of Christian hymns associated with happy occasions for such a solemn Jewish holiday reveals a possible implicit tension between the two religions.
In addition to the example mentioned prior, the fact that the opening bars of the Ashkenazic melody for the Hanukkah hymn “Ma’oz Zur” are identical to the opening bars of Martin Luther’s “Nun freut euch lieben Chisteng’mein” surprises me quite a bit. It would appear that either Martin Luther borrowed his opening bars from the opening bars of “Ma’oz Zur”, or vice versa. This is rather perplexing considering that Martin Luther was openly anti-Semitic, writing the book entitled The Jews and Their Lies. It seems strange that any Jew would want to borrow anything from anyone so anti-Semitic, nor does it seem plausible that anyone so overtly anti-Semitic would want to borrow something from a people that he so deeply despises. A coincidence maybe? Possibly, but that does not seem to be the most likely explanation.
After reading Lowenstein’s chapter about Jewish music, I feel that I have learned much more about it than I had previously known. It is somewhat ironic that in my five years of Hebrew School no one ever taught me that most “traditional” Jewish practices and customs, including Jewish religious music, are not really dated back to ancient times, as I had always imagined.

Sarah Cohen: Reflection 2

cohensa — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 17:57:12 +0000

While I grew up in a Jewish home, attended Hebrew School, and became a bat mitzvah, I am by no means an observant Jew. In fact, other than my grandfather’s funeral in August 2008, I cannot recall the last time I attended synagogue. Despite my lack of observance, I always thought I had at least a basic understanding of Jewish history, practices, culture, etc; until I took this class. While I have gained a lot of new and/or corrective knowledge in the classroom, my lack of knowledge was driven home outside of it. A fellow Jewish Experience classmate, who is my roommate no less, had very limited exposure to Judaism before taking this class. Needless to say, as a result she had a hundred questions, and the first and most convenient person to ask was me. I was able to answer some of the “easy” questions, but I could not completely answer the overwhelming majority of her questions. Many times I knew of something, or when something was used, but could not explain it.
In an effort to avoid further confusing my fellow classmate, I did not try to attempt to answer questions I could not coherently explain. Despite my verbal restraint, internally I just assumed that all Jewish practices must stem from the Bible. Obviously after seven weeks in this class, I know that my previous thinking was not only entirely incorrect, but in fact it could not be farther from the truth. I guess it is just easier to believe that if something is tradition, it must have been that way forever, without even second guessing where it really came from.
In the process of attempting to shed my previously uninformed beliefs, I learned just how many “traditional” Jewish objects, practices, etc. actually arose as a result of rabbinic interpretation and reinterpretation because the Bible only makes brief mention of them. The first example that comes to mind is the Mezuzah. I do not know a single Jewish family whose doorpost does not display one. The Bible, however, only briefly mentions it in the book of Deuteronomy when it says, “And you shall write [the words that I command you today] on the doorposts of your house and on your gate”. It was not until a couple weeks ago, however, until I actually understood how and why Mezuzah came into existence. Furthermore, I always assumed that every aspect of Judaism had some sort of significance, so I applied this to the Mezuzah as well. As a result, to me, the most interesting thing about the Mezuzah is that its placement is affixed at an angle simply because the rabbis were unable to agree whether it should be horizontal or vertical, so they compromised. It seems too simple to be true, but clearly not everything in Judaism has to possess great meaning.
The other piece of information that really surprised me is that the Star of David does not derive from antiquity, but rather is a relatively new Jewish symbol. How could it be that the symbol most commonly associated with Judaism only became popular during the seventeenth century? This fact surprised me. In addition, many other “Jewish” things were developed in much more recent times than is commonly, and mistakenly believed. Learning this led to me reevaluate my preexisting Jewish knowledge, and encouraged me to want to learn more about the origination of other “traditionally Jewish” practices, objects, customs, etc.

Sarah Cohen: Reflection 1

cohensa — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 21:41:31 +0000

     During the course of our class discussion about what “being Jewish” means, someone put for the traditional thought that someone is only technically Jewish by matrilineal descent. Within this dialogue, it was mentioned that a “Cohen gene” existed, and that a Cohen could actually be identified by genetic testing as long as his or her father is a Cohen. As a Cohen, and the daughter of my Cohen father, this idea fascinated me. I decided to do some research on my own, so I read the section about Appearance and Ancestry in Lowenstein’s book and turned to the internet for more imformation.
     According to Lowenstein, the status of Cohen (Jewish priest) can only be acquired via patrilineal descent. In a study of Y-chromosome DNA, a group of scientist discovered a statistically significant difference between Jewish males who claim the status of Cohen and those who do not. This study revealed that only 1 out of 68 priests, compared to 22 out of 120 non-Cohen Israelites, have a positive YAP gene on the Y-chromosome, which holds true for both Ashkenazic and non-Ashkenazic Jews. Lowenstein asserts that, “If these results are confirmed, they provide graphic confirmation of the validity of traditional family claims to priestly status” (220). After reading this short paragraph on the subject, I wanted to know more. (After flipping to one of the title pages of the book I realized there had to be more information available on the “Cohen gene” since Lowenstein published his book in 2000, almost a decade ago.)
     So many questions began to run through my mind. Could scientists, through genetic testing, really establish that all Cohens are actually the ancestors of Aaron? Could this line really have been maintained since the days at Sinai? If so, exactly how many years has this line continued virtually uninterrupted? How many people self-identify as a member of the Cohanim, but are not actually descendents of Aaron? In order to obtain some answers, I turned to the always trusty Google.
     My internet research provided me with answers to some of my questions. Apparently, with the help of mathematical models, scientists estimate that this last common ancestor of the Cohanim lived between 2,100 and 4,280 years ago! Even more interesting, I came across a relatively recent study conducted by Michael F. Hammer, a population geneticist in the Arizona Research Laboratory’s Division of Biotechnology at the University of Arizona. In their July 2009 edition, Human Genetics released his findings in an article entitled “Extended Y chromosome haplotypes resolve multiple and unique lineages of the Jewish priesthood”. The results of his research indicates that the Cohanim was established by several unrelated male lines rather than a single male lineage dating to ancient Hebrew times. While the thought of all Cohanim sharing one common ancestor is incredible, it is difficult for me to wrap my head around some 2,000-4,000 years later. Despite their anticlimactic nature, Hammer’s findings seem much more plausible.