Natalie, a 20-year-old Jew living in El Once, Buenos Aires, describes the growing orthodox community as expanding right before her eyes, literally. Having lived in the same apartment her whole life, Natalie has witnessed first hand the changing religious climate. In the past 5 years, a new (and relatively large) orthodox temple was built across from her building, and, not long after, many of the surrounding restaurants began offering Kosher menus. Historically, El Once is a particularly Jewish area of Buenos Aires, though residents of the greater city have explained that now many Jews commute in to the area for work rather than live there as well. Natalie and her family, however, live in what she considers an “all-Jewish” building, and she has noted the increase of Orthodox residents. Furthermore, she expressed a distinct separation between them and the rest of the community. In her opinion, the Orthodox community rarely, if ever, blends with the conservative, secular, or non-Jewish communities surrounding them.

For Natalie, and other young Jews, this movement is more than just an observation, it is an intensely personal experience. We have heard a few stories from younger Jews who have, as they put it, “lost friends to the Orthodox community.” Sabrina Toker, another 20-year-old interviewee, described her friend’s experience with the conversion. Like Sabrina, who we met at the Jewish social club “Macabi,” she was raised by Jewish parents and celebrated her Judaism through “Jewish socializing,” and a Jewish family atmosphere. Though it was unclear exactly how or why she chose to convert, the Sabrina explained that within a year the friend had married and had a child. Sabrina was visually agitated by this and expressed her confusion and hurt toward her friend, who seemed to have changed from what the she described as “a normal girl,” to covering herself and raising a family by age 20.

Though the reactions from their peers seem aggressive, those who have chosen to practice in the orthodox tradition have done so for their own reasons. Ezra, a 24 year-old interviewee living in El Once, offered his personal insight into the trend. His conversion to Orthodoxy began after he attended a trip to Israel, advertised by an unnamed Jewish organization. He describes the process as being “gradual,” and “slow”. With his first trip to Israel acting as the catalyst (he has been four times in total), he then began to study Judaism with a greater interest. He describes his ultimate transformation to be purely spiritual, and commented many times about “feeling” Judaism and “finding meaning in everything he does”. Additionally, Ezra has found a love for this community, a place to share his thoughts, his practices, even his meals. While his parents have remained conservative, they have learned to support his choice, a choice Ezra defines as “his happiness”.

Though the perspectives of these young Jews offer little to each other, they help to color the big picture, and support a theory of growing Orthodoxy among the younger generation. Through Ezra, we catch glimpses of the appeal such a decision has: a sense of community, a deeper spirituality, security through an alternative understanding of the world; while through testimonies such as Natalie’s and Sabrina’s, we learn about the societal frustrations from Jewish peers who could never imagine such a lifestyle. Though the trend itself remains to be understood, these interviews bring us closer to one of the many worlds inside the Jewish community of Buenos Aires, Argentina.

                I was a little concerned when I watched the ads for the Jewish Youth Group trips to Israel. The advertising seemed to manipulate teenage Jews to take this trip under the pretense that they will make friends that will last a lifetime and splash around in the Dead Sea, while none of the comments suggested anything exclusively pertaining to a more meaningful experience. While I’m sure the program provides that, the advertisement itself seemed “sneaky”. Additionally, I hold a personal feeling that programs such as Birthright have a highly political agenda that is unrealized by many, if not all, of their participants. The age group Birthright targets is vulnerable in terms of their religious identity (or rather, are at a critical growing point in their independent identity) and they provide their participants with an emotional and exciting trip under the guidance (and protection?) of an Israeli soldier. How could you not come home loving Israel?

                While I am not yet at a point to commit to either side of the Israel fence, I do feel that it is a serious problem that more Jews are not taking action, or at least speaking out, about the treatment of the Palestinians…especially after our own history of persecution and entrapment. The idea of a Jewish homeland, especially Israel, is a natural road to travel considering even the modern history of anti-Semitism. That being said, however, I can’t help but suggest a certain hypocrisy happening there.

The controversy of the story itself interests me as well. Considering the stigma (and stated illegality) of suicide in the Jewish religion, it’s curious to me that these actions were, and are still praised. Assuming that these ancient Jews were religious, I also find it curious that their story was adopted in “contemporary” times by a more secular Jewish movement. I would assume that this is why the issue of suicide is overlooked as sin, and respected as an assertion of Jewish identity. I wonder though, if decades after the first Aliyahot (plural?), if mass suicides on the part of European Jews during the Holocaust would have been perceived with a similar heroicness. Additionally, heading back to the theme of Jewish acculturation, I wonder if the suicide itself was purely authentic, or if it was mimicking the Roman soldier’s tradition of being slain by his own sword before the enemy is offered the satisfaction. This in itself can be viewed as an example of the Jewish tradition of acculturation, especially because of the way in which the suicide was documented to have occurred. If groups were assigned to kill other groups until only one person remained, that is certainly a Jewish adaptation of the “tradition,” assuming that the reasons behind this were to minimizing the actual killing of oneself by his own hands.

Lastly, it was hard to ignore the irony of what has become of Masada today. While it once was a symbol rebellion, it has morphed into a location currently governed by Israeli authority. Additionally, the tradition of having one’s bar or bat mitzvah on the site, for example, has earned it somewhat of a conformist identity. Though I’m sure they would b overwhelmed with joy to see the progression Judaism has mad over the centuries, I wonder what those original victims would have to say about their own story and intentions.

Their existence raised an interesting question to me. While I’ve considered it before in regard to the historical ordainments of Christian women into different sects of Christianity (not to mention female rabbis as well…), the casual “everydayness” of their message really pushed the issue for me: where is the line draw between political correctness in religion, and when does it become a social issue rather than a message of devotion? Naturally many of the verses /commandments in both testaments of the Bible can be considered archaic; after all, it is an archaic piece of literature.

I’m curious, though, as to whether humanity will be capable of evolving religion, in particular toward the equality of men and women, both spiritually and practically. In my opinion, the “creation” of religion arose from humanity’s need for guidance, for understanding, and for personal comfort. Those reasons remain true today, though in addition to them is a history of religion being used to manipulate certain hierarchies, whether it be dominance of land and power in Europe during the crusades, or, dare I say, reinforcing limiting gender roles.

What the Women of the Wall have created is a physical illustration of that question. Their success, and the success of their followers will be the answer. While already there have been changes in religions to accommodate women’s rights, this movement can literally in interpreted as taking place in the heart of religion itself. Personally, I wish them luck.

            This thought came to me when we were shown the two different videos of the men tying the tefilin. One man, I believe an Ashkenazi Jew, described the technicalities of trying the tefilin, but associated no symbolic significance or spiritual reasoning behind the act; it seemed to be just something he did because it was his tradition. In another video, a Sephardic Jew, went into detail about the symbolism of the tight wrappings and crossing fabric. He seemed to have a different (not necessarily stronger) connection with the action than the other demonstrator as perceived by his explanation.

            The two videos was not the only instance this question came to mind. In one class, it was mentioned how sometimes Hassidic Jews are seen passing out candles on Friday afternoons to promote the spread of the observation of the Sabbath by Jewish women, regardless of whether they are religious or not. It was interpreted that, to them, the number of candles lit was more important than the relationship the person who was lighting the candles had to Judaism (or God), because to them, with more houses observing the Sabbath, the greater chance the Messiah would come. But again, my question remains, is it really observing if you don’t “know” what you’re doing, or rather, if you are only doing it because “that’s what Jews do”?

            One of the reasons I was so taken back by the story of Lilith is that I also felt that (as far as reform Hebrew School taught me), the female figures of biblical stories were just as significant as many of the men. Even in prayers, like the Avot, the wives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (Sara, Rachel and Leach) are mentioned in the same breath. Perhaps that is just a testament to the political correctness my synagogue was adhering to, but I find it difficult to reconcile that her story is so much less referred to than the “standing” story of Adam and Eve.

            Additionally, all offense aside, I find it interesting that that concept of women as equals to men, though obviously repudiated, came before women as second to men. The thought that this societal perception came to someone’s consciousness then was changed is mind-blowing to me. What if Lilith had survived as a successful character? What if she was constructed to collaborate equally with men and women? What would society be like today if the Bible dictated that the first woman had just as much pull as the first man? In the same respect, without a biblical baby-eating woman running around, would the dynamics between women change as well? It’s not uncommon for women to feel threatened by other women, especially strangers; I find it too coincidental for this to have nothing to do with the story of Lilith.

            While both Bibles are filled with “healthy” moral standards, there are certain interpretations that have manipulated society into a hierarchy that has become difficult to dispute considering how old these origins actually are. They cloud the argument of nature versus nurture in terms of gender roles. We will never know what it is to live in a society uninfluenced by Biblical guidelines, and I find that to be a pretty haunting reality.

Additionally, the interviews in the film starkly contrasted the interviews I collected for the first field assignment because of this missing element of insecurity that I found so prominent (though in varying manifestations) among the Jews that I spoke with. While this sense of Jewish pride certainly helped unify the piece (especially if it was intended for an exhibit in the Jewish Heritage Museum), I believe that such elements of insecurity are crucial to identify in today’s contemporary Jewish world, and by ignoring their existence, they may be deepened generationally. In contrast, this reflection brought back themes highlighted in the first film we watched, The Tribe. I found that to be a much more liberal platform for capturing the essence of Jewish identity rather than working to provide an answer.

In a more positive light, I was very touched by some of the more abstract tones in which the identities were presented. The psychologist mentioned the energies of Israel as her connection to Judaism, while the Yemenite Jew who opened the film paraphrased a stunning image of the Twelve Tribes crossing the river through separate planes of water, which bestowed the message “through their individuality they are unified.” While I wished the film included more controversial opinions and statements, moments such as those were just as valuable.