As we discussed visiting concentration camps during Thursday’s class, I could not help but be reminded of some of my visits to Ground Zero in downtown Manhattan. Certainly the horrific events of September 11, 2001, are vastly different than the Holocaust and I am making no comparison between the two, but I can relate many of the topics that we discussed in class to my experience of visiting Ground Zero.

For instance, one student mentioned the strangeness of visiting a concentration camp that is only minutes away from a functioning town. How do people live and function normally when so many deaths have occurred nearby? On my most recent visit to Ground Zero, which must have been about seven years after 9/11, I was slightly perturbed by the surrounding area. It seemed that the businessmen and businesswomen walking past the destruction were too busy on their cell phones, checking their blackberries, or rushing to catch a subway to realize what they were walking past. It’s Ground Zero people, I thought. How can you walk past unmoved? I realized that these people have been passing Ground Zero everyday for years; some of them may have been present on September 11. Maybe they don’t look because they have seen it so many times and it has just become a normal part of their commute, or maybe they don’t look because it is too painful to do so, so they must look ahead and move on with their lives as if everything is fine.

Just as we discussed in class whether concentration camps were holy sites, my visit made me think about Ground Zero as a place separate from the rest of the city. Indeed, on my most recent visit, Ground Zero was not the primary destination in New York; my friends and I were doing other things in the city and spontaneously decided that we should go. We had to get off of the subway (costing us an extra fare), thus suspending fun/profane time in order to make this special pilgrimage to Ground Zero. We remained in this sacred space and time until re-boarding the subway for the South Street Seaport, where our profane time could once again resume.

It is interesting to me that my friends and I felt that visiting Ground Zero was something that we should do. It felt almost like our duty to pay our respects, to see again the devastation that had fallen on our city. We try to picture what it was like that day. We try to understand it, as if it is something too abnormal to understand logically.

Just as we discussed how the Holocaust, despite the death of 6 million non-Jews, has become Judaized, sometimes I think about 9/11 in terms of New York rather than the U.S. This feeling is difficult to verbalize, but sometimes when I am not in New York at the time of the anniversary, I feel isolated, like non-New York area residents cannot understand the significance of what happened. Rationally I know this is a falsehood, but sometimes I feel that I have more legitimacy to talk about 9/11 because I am a New Yorker. (I recognize that this sentiment is terribly obnoxious and immature, but at least I recognize it as such and hey, I am just fulfilling another NY stereotype!) I feel like it was something that happened to a small community and cannot be understood by outsiders. I certainly do not think that Jews feel this way about the Holocaust, but I have noticed that non-Jews often defer to Jews when discussing the Holocaust, because they believe that Jews, as members of that community, even if they are not descended from a Holocaust survivor, have more to say. Just as we sometimes fail to think about how the Holocaust affected millions of people, not solely Jews, I fail to remember that 9/11 affected not just New Yorkers, but most U.S. Americans.

Sometimes I worry about how my kids or my grandkids will think about 9/11. To them, it will be something that they learn about in history class. I worry that they will feel disconnected from it; it will just be another event, another fact, something to remember for exams but nothing that affects them personally. And sometimes I worry about this in regards to the Holocaust as well. I have had the privilege of seeing several Holocaust survivors give lectures, and I believe that this is the most effective way to learn about the Holocaust. Soon there will be no survivors to give lectures, and I worry that the Holocaust will be forgotten. As much as we might say “never forget” or “never again,” is this plausible?

As has been articulated many times, it appears that there exist several Jewish cultures rather than one universal Jewish culture. Considering this idea further leads to more questions about what constitutes a Jewish identity. For instance, does a Jewish culture have more in common with the surrounding non-Jewish culture than with other Jewish cultures? And if so, what qualities unite Jews with different Jewish cultures?

This question came to me as I was writing my previous blog entry. As I wrote about the henna ceremony, I realized that this ritual must seem very foreign to some Jews. This Jewish practice in North Africa and the Middle East is more similar to Muslim wedding practices that it is to U.S. American Jewish wedding practices. Indeed, I wonder if a U.S. American Jew would be able to distinguish between a Jewish henna ceremony and a Muslim henna ceremony. Similarly, we have studied how Jewish foods are vastly different in various regions, and are usually more congruous with foods of the local culture than with Jewish foods in other regions. Therefore, when the Jewish culture has more in common with the local non-Jewish culture than with other Jewish cultures, how can these cultures be related? How can there be a connection between cultures with such differing norms?

It seems that there are many things that do connect Jews with very different cultural norms. Most obvious is the fact that all Jewish communities share the same texts, although even this statement is somewhat misleading. Most Jews place a high value on the Talmud, but there are some who reject the Talmud and still consider themselves Jewish. Other Jews attach great importance to the Zohar, but it is of little concern to others. One could even argue that the Torah is not a cultural text for Jews who are atheists or other secular Jews.

A common history is another factor that could unite Jewish communities. However, the shared history of Diaspora communities only continues up until the point when these communities were forced to re-locate. Thus the most recent history of many Jewish communities is separate and distinct from others.

It seems that one of the greatest uniting factors in the Jewish community is the perception of shared ancestry or shared blood. Most Jews probably realize that the concept of shared blood is inaccurate because of intermarriage, conversion and other factors, but it seems that many Jews feel a familial connection upon meeting other Jews. When my group interviewed Bettina in Soc 313, I asked her if she feels a connection when she meets U.S. American Jews (Bettina is from Uruguay). She explained that she feels at ease with other Jews, like there is some intangible feeling of understanding. Although they have had vastly different Jewish experiences, they are still part of the same larger community. I am still not sure what this connection is, but it is apparent that there is a strong relation between different Jewish communities.

Throughout this course, we have seen multiple times how various cultural texts can be considered Jewish even when they are also practiced by non-Jews. The natural question that follows is: what is “Jewish” about such cultural texts? For instance, in Goldberg, we saw how both Jews and Muslims practice henna ceremonies prior to weddings. In the United States today, both Jewish and non-Jewish newborn males are circumcised. Plenty of non-Jews eat bagels and schmear and exclaim “oy vey!” when something startles them. So why is it that we associate these things with Jewishness? What is it about them that makes them Jewish?

Since we discussed Jewish music and Jewish foods several weeks ago, I have thought more about this question. As we mentioned in class, there is a similar debate among literary critics, regarding whether an author’s intentions are as important as they way in which the reader interprets a piece. In literature, I believe that a reader’s understanding of a piece trumps the author’s purpose. Although I do believe that an author’s meaning is significant, I believe that literature can affect people in various ways and one should not be discouraged from embracing his or her individual reaction to a piece.

My understanding of literature relates to my understanding of Jewish cultural texts. I would like to believe that something is Jewish if the audience understands it as Jewish. Participants in a henna ceremony may understand it as Jewish or Muslim, depending on their personal background. However, the actors in such a ceremony would most likely determine the nature of the ceremony by deciding whether to follow Jewish or Muslim traditions. In such a case, how could a participant deny that an event is Jewish, if the actors are performing it according to Jewish traditions? Or maybe it is up to each individual to decide whether the event was Jewish for him or her or not. For example, someone who is ignorant of Jewish traditions may go to a Jewish henna ceremony without understanding it as Jewish. For this individual, the event was not Jewish, although this does not preclude others from understanding it as Jewish.

Circumcision is similarly complicated. If a newborn male is circumcised in a hospital by a physician without the traditions of a Bris, but his parents want to understand the event as Jewish, do they have the right to do so? Certainly they can think of it however they want to, but I do not think that the rest of the Jewish community would view it is such. Therefore, can an individual really decide if something is or is not Jewish? Does it need to be sanctioned by the rest of the community or follow tradition?

What about if I go to the bagel store with a friend on a Sunday morning? We both order bagels with cream cheese, and when she sees how much cream cheese the worker but on her bagel, she says “oy vey!” Although I am not Jewish, I might recognize this event as very Jewish. Or I might completely fail to understand it as Jewish. My friend who may or may not be Jewish has a similar ability to understand it as Jewish or not. But if we are both non-Jews, can we do something like this and consider it Jewish? Is the presence of a Jew necessary to make something Jewish?

This blog entry consists of many more questions than answers, but I think that it is okay to be asking these questions. I think it would be more problematic to have definitive ideas about what makes something Jewish than to be open to questioning such events.

Although I am not an expert on the character Lilith, as a member of American society I feel that my understanding of her is important, at least in representing a popular understanding of her and her role in Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. As Sabar explains, Lilith, Adam’s first wife, wanted to be positioned over Adam during intercourse, claiming that since they were both made from the clay of the earth, they were equal. Adam refused to accept these accommodations; he felt that he was superior to Lilith, and therefore, that he should lie on top. As a result of Adam’s refusal, Lilith left him. Furthermore, Lilith’s refusal to return to Adam, who surely would have continued to insist upon her inferiority, transformed her into a demon.

I was fascinated upon learning about this story in “Religion and Modern Culture,” a religion course taught by Professor Donaldson. To me, the story of Lilith represents that of the first feminist, the first woman to demand equality in a relationship. However, just as might occur today, because Lilith refused to be subservient to a man, she was cast aside, labeled a demon, or as we might say today, an “ice queen” or a “bitch.” The man, on the other hand, found a new woman, Eve, one that accepts her role as the subservient partner. This story sounds all too familiar, or perhaps, all too much like an episode of “Sex and the City.” Not only do I find this story problematic, but I also find problems with the ways in which Lilith is represented as a result of her actions. Lilith became a demon whose purpose is to harm newborn babies; in others words, women who demand equality threaten our social system and the birth of future generations, much like some argued only decades ago that women having full time jobs (i.e. equality) would cause a population decline or ruin our family values. Additionally, Lilith is a figure that women themselves are frightened of and that they must take protective measures against; sisterhood itself has been destroyed because of the ways that Lilith is represented. Representations of Lilith as a demon only serve to perpetuate the idea that women who demand equality in a relationship are evil and attempting to overthrow our social system.

It seems to me that this story shows how, since the creation of the Earth, there has been a constant struggle for power between men and women, one that men always win. Is the purpose of this story to show that men are indeed superior to women, and women who challenge this system are deviants worthy of expulsion from society? Sabar claims that the purpose of this story was to legitimize the use of amulets, but I question whether there were additional, more chauvinistic, motives for writing this story. It would be interesting to see how modern progressive Jews, Muslims, and Christians reconcile their faith, which involves such patriarchal designs, with their demands for equality, an idea that, according to the story of Lilith, seems to be disregarded in the Bible.

As I wrote up my fieldwork assignment, countless questions about Jewish identity came to mind. As I said in my paper, it seems as if each individual has his or her own criteria for qualifying Jewishness. It seems that more observant Jews require more traditional requirements, for instance, a Jewish mother. Upon pondering this trend, I realized that that my father’s maternal grandmother is Jewish, which raised the question, is my father Jewish? My father would not identify himself as such. He was raised Roman Catholic by Italian-Roman Catholic parents, attended Catholic elementary school, and called himself an outcast in his predominately Jewish childhood neighborhood. His mother considered herself Catholic, not Jewish. But it seems to me that, by Jewish law, he is Jewish. Can someone be Jewish even if they do not consider themselves so?

I suppose this depends on whom you are asking. My guess is that less observant Jews, those who do not take much heed in the Jewish mother rule anyway, would reply that yes, my father is technically Jewish, but he is not practically Jewish. But what about those that believe that being Jewish means being a descendant of Abraham, inheriting this identity through the matrilineal line, what would they say about my father? Do more observant Jews feel that one must believe in the teachings of Judaism to be Jewish, or that being Jewish is primarily about being a descendant of Abraham? If the former is true, then my father is not Jewish. But if the latter is true, then my father is Jewish.

But what about my great-grandmother’s mother? Was she Jewish? What if she was a convert? What about her mother? I do not know anything about these women, and, as Lowenstein notes, no modern Jew can actually trace his/her ancestry to the Biblical era. So would it be safer to assume that, somewhere down the line, one of my father’s matrilineal ancestors was not Jewish?

My father does not consider himself Jewish. Nor is he battling with the question of being Jewish. But for many, I can imagine that discovering that you are not, according to somebody, Jewish, could be devastating. What if you have considered yourself a Jew for your entire life, to one day find that someone rejects you for who you believe you are? When we create criteria for an identity, it necessarily leaves somebody out (except “human beings” perhaps). But what about those on the boundaries? What happens when the boundaries shift in accordance with each individual’s criteria? When someone considers another a Jew, but someone else does not?

Identity is highly complex, especially when we try to apply our understanding of identity to somebody else. Perhaps it is best if we leave it up to individuals to decide who they are.

Today’s class sparked many thoughts for me. Ilana Pardes’ discussion of the birth of Israel, as we discussed in class, attempted to view the Bible without any preconceptions of its meaning, purpose, or direction. Rather, she viewed it as a piece of literature. As a result, I was reminded of a course I took in high school, “The Bible as/in Literature.” This was a course taught in the English department and taken by students from various backgrounds. We studied the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible as well as the New Testament. But rather than learning the Bible’s Stories as factual or as God’s message to humans (this was, after all, public school), we looked at God as a character, sought meaning through literary devices like symbolism and metaphors, and, most importantly, studied the purpose of each story (for instance, what lesson was its writer attempting to impart?). This fascinating course was made all the more so when one studied the attitudes of its students, both before and after the course. For many, it confirmed their belief that religion is “made-up” for the purpose of giving people a point of reference, or to explain extraordinary phenomenon that can otherwise be explained by science. However, for many, the course served to reinforce their religious beliefs. This is somewhat surprising, because the course would seem to prove the Bible as a means to establish a secure and uniform culture, rather than to teach religion. I think that this results from the sense of community that many religions rely on. By learning about a common history and sharing knowledge of something with others (in this case, Bible stories), one is drawn into a community who shares such understandings. For many of the students, learning about the Bible as a young adult served to reinvigorate beliefs that they learned as children. When I finished reading the Pardes piece, I wrote a note to myself: “how do conservative Jews feel about such a reading of the Bible?” This question was actually rhetorical, my point being that I am sure that conservative Jews would not like such a reading. However, upon reflecting about my experiences in high school, I think that this question is a lot more complicated than I initially thought.

I was also very interested by Professor Staub’s question regarding our view of Ancient Israeli culture as being factual or as an imagined culture. Last year, I took “Nationalism, Consumerism, and Gender” with Professor Sweeney. In this course, we discussed the creation of national identities, and many academics suggested the idea of a common history or common origin was a common characteristic of nations. Many characteristics or practices that we assume to be indigenous to a given culture have actually developed from something from very different over time. Others have been consciously created in order to promote a sense of unity. My favorite example is kilts, which most of us understand as a traditional article of Scottish clothing. In reality, the kilt only became a national icon in the nineteenth century. It was worn in the sixteenth century by men and boys in the Highlands, but was popularized following Scottish Diaspora in the early nineteenth century as a symbol of national identity. Kilts serve as an example of how objects or practices that we understand as meaning something today may have had a very different meaning in the past. Although I am not familiar enough with the research performed by scholars to judge the validity of our current understanding of Ancient Israeli culture, my education has taught me to be wary of accepting our common perceptions as truth.

I also just wanted to mention The Red Tent, by Anita Diamant, an interesting novel that reexamines the story of Jacob and the life of his daughter Dinah, as well as those of Leah, Rachel, Zilpah and Bilhah. Although I read it years ago and cannot remember many details, I think it is an interesting example of how people can have different understandings of Biblical texts.