Ethnography of Jewish Experience » Nah

Hannah Helfman Blog 4

Nah — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 22:00:37 +0000

The relationship between Jews and Muslims has always interested me. In a place like Israel, where both are predominant groups, differences seem to be emphasized. But in my personal experiences in (largely Christian) America, I have felt a unique bond with my Muslim friends. Especially during high school, when I attended school as one of the sole Jews, I felt a special connection with Tehmeena, who emigrated from Pakistan about seven years earlier. My first distinct memory of relating to her as Muslim specifically was during ninth grade English, during the “Bible as Literature” unit. Several of the stories were introduced by having the students reconstruct what they know of that part of the Bible, making a point about different and amalgamated versions of Scriptures. Once we moved to the Greek Scriptures, Tehmeena and I would awkwardly sit next to each other as the rest of the class authoritatively pieced together stories. For the rest of high school, we would often discuss religion, usually in the context of celebrations or lifecycle events, even if only because we were both the “outsiders” in our active Christian neighborhood. We loved finding variations in our religions and traditions that resembled one another, such as modesty and dietary restrictions. I remember her explaining how some of her extended family lives with her, specifically when her brother’s new wife moved into their home. She also told me about her parents’ rules prohibiting her from attending school dances or dating in high school. During my senior year of school, my sister, who was studying abroad in Israel for the year was becoming more and more tznius, observing the Jewish laws of modesty, Tehmeena, because of her ethnic and religious background, was the one person who seemed to have an understanding of the basis such a religiously strict life. When her sister got married our senior year, she showed me pictures from the wedding and her hennaed hands, which at the time I thought was extremely cool and indicative of her specific culture and religion. Now, I cannot wait to see her over break and share information we have discussed in class about Jewish cultures in Muslim areas, and their similarities and boundary crossing. I especially cannot wait to tell her how excited I was to find out that the henna on her hand, something that so intrigued me, is present in certain Jewish cultures too.

Hannah Helfman Blog 3

Nah — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 21:59:50 +0000

One of my specific memories of my mom’s side of the family is based in the Annual Schwartz Family Chanukkah party. Every year my parents, sister, and I drove up to New York, stayed at my grandfather’s house, and went to one of my various cousins’ houses for a day of celebration. Each year there would be the chanukkiyah lighting which was done like a modern bar-mitzvah candle lighting ceremony, calling different family members up. As a child of pre-bat mitzvah age, I would be most excited for the present giving, while my father always looked forward to talking to family members, finding out ancestry to add to his electronic copy of the family tree, which he printed out to hang on the wall every year. Some years there would be skits or slide shows, usually causing much laughter from the older generations, yet always seemed boring to us as young children. As I got older, I started having a more active role at the party, filming various events with my cousin’s video camera and playing with my younger cousins. I remember the last Chanukkah party, some years back by now, and the hubbub about the Washington Post article about our fifty-year tradition.
For one of my fieldwork interviews, I interviewed my mother, who told me about the history of the Chanukkah party. All of the cousins of my grandfather’s generation took turns hosting the yearly event, getting the family together from all over New York. At that time, the family would see each other much more regularly than just once a year during the holidays, but as my mother’s generation grew up and spread away from the New York base, it became the one time a year we would get together. Hearing my mother speak about the longstanding tradition, it became evident to me that the Chanukkah Party had become a source of cohesion between the branches of the family. Since the last Party, the only occasion where the majority of the family has gotten together has been at funerals, or with select cousins at weddings and bar mitzvahs.
This year, after a decision during a family wedding determined to reconnect all of the Schwartzes, the party is being revived. Even though it would be a perfect conclusion to this course, witnessing the tradition after learning about systems in Jewish culture, finals conveniently prevents me from attending. Nevertheless, I am determined that come next year, I will be at the Annual Schwartz Chanukkah Party, with my fieldwork notebook in hand.

Hannah Helfman-Reflection 2

Nah — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 00:30:18 +0000

Jewish language is a funny thing. I never learned Yiddish, nor did my parents or grandparents speak the language. The last people in my family who spoke Yiddish were my great grandparents, who would use it mostly to talk privately without their children understanding; my grandmother was raised purposefully speaking only English, and not the language from “old country.” Yet it was not until recently that I realized how much Yiddish has crept into my personal vernacular.

A recent example is the word kugel. Although I always knew that this referred to a particularly Jewish dish, I figured it was similar to bagels; a food that’s known to be Jewish, yet everyone seems to eat. I once heard someone explain that kugel is Yiddish for casserole, but I realized that I do not even really know what a casserole is—I know the definition, but I have no idea if food that I have eaten could be called a casserole, or perhaps I’ve just known it by a different name. I think this shows the influence of my Ashkenazi background; as gentiles may not really be able to picture kugel, I cannot picture what is considered as the secular equivalent.

I also remember my discovery that keppe (head) is not English. I suppose if I thought about it, I could have guessed that it stems from Jewish vernacular, but I was astonished when I used the word with a gentile friend, and he didn’t know what I meant. I subsequently did a quick survey, and non of my non-Jewish friends knew the word. I also had a similar experience with the word nudnik (a pestering or irritating person): I came across the word in a book about Jewish humor, and I realized (and then confirmed with my mom) that this too is Yiddish.

I think these realizations are especially interesting for me, because one would think that growing up Jewish, it is reasonable that certain words and phrases would be used by the community continuously, thus making them seem commonplace in my everyday language. But I did not grow up in a tight-knit Jewish community. In fact, my sister and I were two of the three practicing Jews in our zoned high school. Yet these Yiddish words became incredibly regular to me. In class much we have learned has been about the influence of surrounding cultures in shaping Jewish identities, which is clearly seen in my life through practically every aspect—my language, dress, activities. Everything, even my Jewish aspects, is undeniably American, yet there is still very much a feeling, whether ethnographically true or not, that there is something that naturally unifies Jews.

Hannah Helfman-Reflection 1

Nah — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 00:26:29 +0000

Last week I had an interesting meal. It was not because I ate outside in a sukkah or because I drove my car to get to the holiday meal, for I have observed various holidays in both a traditional, more orthodox setting and also with more modern, reform traditions. Growing up in a reform synagogue, driving on holidays and wearing pants are familiar concepts, and over the past few years, spending shabboses with my sister, who is now traditionally observant, I have learned to be comfortable keeping holidays in an orthodox practice. So while neither side of this particular experience was foreign, it was remarkable because it was the first time that I have had an orthodox experience of this level with not only my sister, but also my parents.

Since my sister had become more traditional, about two and a half years ago after living in Israel for a year, there has been a weird dynamic within my family. The new lifestyle of my sister does not only bring about differences in practices, but also affects regular functioning as a family. We have learned in class that certain symbols of Judaism that hold communities together, no matter if the symbols are considered enforced by Jewish law or continued as a small tradition. A major manifestation of this for my family, and arguably all Jewish families, is food. It was a very difficult realization for my sister and mother that she can no longer eat in her parents’ home; to go out we have to go into Baltimore to eat at a kosher restaurant. Not that this is completely new for my family—my mother’s brother and his family are modern orthodox, so to an extent we modify family get-togethers—but the importance of the little tradition, as reflected in food, has become very vivid in the new restrictions of my sister’s diet. This sukkot meal was the first family-style meal that we have had in a long time.

This gathering was also significant because of the drift created between my father and my sister’s new view of Judaism. Growing up in a musical Jewish family in northern Jersey, religion for my father was much more about the culture and community than ritual practice. The seemingly sudden changes in my sister, and the unintended condescension often felt by families from a newly religious member made Judaism less appealing if anything for my father. It can be very intimidating as a more liberal Jew to interact with orthodox Jews in religious contexts, such as at holiday meals. I think how much he knew or recognized of the traditional meal, and how open everyone was to whatever made each individual feel at ease surprised my father. I was happy that we were all able to come together, and my parents could finally experience my sister’s new life in a way that I have been able to over the past year. It definitely was not completely comfortable, but everyone at the table was just happy to be celebrating the holiday in whatever capacity he or she wanted.