Last year, I went to a college in North Carolina, where Jews were incredibly scarce.  I met one girl who was not especially religious, but went to a Catholic school and identified herself as Catholic.  It wasn’t until I became friends with her that I found out her entire father’s side of the family is Jewish.  She does not associate herself with Judaism whatsoever, and in fact hides this fact from almost everyone she meets, because in her high school she was always taunted for being Jewish.  I didn’t think much of this until she mentioned to me one day an anti-Semitic comment that a student at my college had made earlier.  She dismissed it as not a big deal, and said that she had just laughed it off.

I was horrified by this not just because of the hatred displayed by the student who made the comment, but because I realized the particular danger in this situation.   Those who hide their identity (or a part of their identity, anyway) like this are endangering their own psychological stability.  Though it seems most tolerable to avoid direct torture by others in hiding the offending part of one’s identity, in fact it is slowly chipping away at a part of them that will always be there – even if she herself does not identify herself as Jewish, her father will always be Jewish, she has had experiences that non-Jews will never have, and, in my friend’s case, she is actually named after her paternal grandfather’s favorite part of services.  Literally imbedded in her name, in her family, in her life, is Judaism, so every time she laughs off an anti-Semitic comment, she can’t help but internalize it in some way.  Perhaps this feeling of guilt and shame could eventually turn into resentment, and she could become anti-Semitic herself.

Either way, if she is working so hard to dissociate herself with anything Jewish, she will never stand up for what, I know as a friend, she really believes.  By laughing off comments such as this, she may think she is simply protecting herself, but in reality, she is putting the rest of the people with whom she shares a common heritage at risk.

In light of the conversation we had last Thursday discussing the Holocaust, I have been thinking a lot about what it means to memorialize and ritualize tragedies.  We feel as if we need to depict an event such as the Holocaust in the most accurate way, but why? Of course, it is important to create an understanding of the horror of the experience so that nothing like it will happen again, but no interpretation of the event will ever teach people what is right and what is wrong.  People may also claim that these monuments honor those who have died, but I can’t help but wonder if memorials serve those who are alive more than they serve those who have died.  Belief in the afterlife itself is man-created, making life a bit more significant if there is an ultimate goal at the end.  So by giving those who have died a memorial, it is an attempt to give significance to the person’s life – but how do we even know they can appreciate it? It seems to me that by giving significance to another’s life, we are really attempting to give significance to our own lives as well as taking a moment to appreciate that we have not suffered as much as those killed in the Holocaust.

In Thursday’s class, Kat mentioned something about how her experiences in the Holocaust memorials of both America and Israel were certainly not positive, and I don’t think anyone would associate encounters with grief as positive experiences, but it is interesting to me that there is still such an attraction to those places that cause such sadness.  Several people mentioned that they were almost disappointed when they visited former concentration camp towns by how normal and even beautiful the towns are now.  It’s clear that there is something very necessary in grief, or it may be more accurate to say that there is something vital in grief – by feeling something so poignantly it reminds us that we are capable of feeling it.  The danger comes when we substitute our own need for this vicarious pain and sorrow for the positive goal that could come from memorializing such a tragic event.  While it may feel good and maybe even right to us that the Holocaust should evoke only feelings of desolation, despair, and sorrow, I believe that we need to look to move forward from that and use history to our full advantage.  I feel like we should be happy that the towns whose history has been steeped in misery are now cheerful, thriving places.  Though certainly we should never forget the experiences that humans once had there, does that mean that we should deprive the people their own happiness? The same applies for symbolic dedication to those who have died; if we believe that the departed can see or feel how we honor them, shouldn’t they deserve a good feeling left behind them rather than one filled with feelings of horror and sadness? Someone mentioned how it was strange to see a massive gravesite in one of the towns that was covered in flowers and was alive with birds singing and sun shining.  I understand that it is important not to cover up the tragedy of the Holocaust with beautiful things, but I don’t think that this really covers it up.  I think that it pays homage to those who have died simply by allowing those who experience the memorial to appreciate their own lives and the vitality of the world around them.

Over the years, I have had many conversations with my Jewish friends about the holiday season, which have made me realize how the contrast between Jewish culture and the majority Christian population of America becomes much more distinct during this time.  Although Christians obviously don’t suddenly abandon their Jewish friends or vice versa, there is still an element of separation that really cannot be avoided.  There are many more times that the two are physically separated, because both parties want to be spending their own holidays with those who also celebrate them.  Because those who celebrate Christmas are in the majority in America and because Hanukkah is not as important a holiday for Judaism as Christmas is for Christianity, Christmas is certainly more in-your-face than Hanukkah is.  As a result, the divide has more impact on everyday life during this time.  Visually, it is immediately apparent who is Jewish and who is not.  This difference in decorations during the holiday season in particular is what has caused an ongoing argument with one of my Jewish friends and me.

We refer to this argument as the “Hanukkah wreath” argument, and though it is just a light-hearted disagreement we like to play around with, I think that the discussion reveals a lot about the boundary making between Jewish culture and American culture, especially during this time of year.  The basis of the argument is the idea of whether it is necessarily fair to say that certain holiday decorations associated with Christmas, such as the wreath, is exclusively Christmas-related.  It started out because I wondered out loud if there could be such thing as a Hanukkah wreath, but my friend adamantly opposed the idea.  She said that she doesn’t think that Jews should ever have Hanukkah wreaths because the wreath is a Christmas decoration.  However, as far as I’m concerned, there is nothing specifically symbolic of Christianity inherent in the wreath.  We casually looked it up at one point and it seems that though there is one interpretation of a wreath as symbolizing “the never-ending love of Christ”  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wreath), the concept of wreath actually began in Roman and Greek times and had absolutely nothing to do with Christianity.  In fact, I know many households that keep seasonal wreaths up that have no religious connotation at all.  I do agree that perhaps now the “winter wreath,” made with pine needles and pine cones and ribbons (even those ribbons that colors other than red) are associated with Christmas, but I can’t help but wonder why this means that Jews should not be able to decorate a wreath in a Hanukkah style.  Like Christy questioned in her previous blog, I too wonder how different the holiday season would be if Jews were in the majority in America.  Would this type of evergreen wreath, made with supplies commonly found in winter, be associated with Hanukkah more than with Christmas? Would Christians be less inclined to put up wreaths with Christmas decorations on them if they were perceived as strictly Hanukkah decorations? As we discussed after reading Jonathan Webber’s “Lest We Forget!” people as a whole take elements of their culture, even grief, and become fiercely protective of it; in order to remain fiercely protective, there must be something else to protect against, to push away.  So by pushing away anything that is even vaguely associated with the culture in question, one feels as if they are being more loyal to their own culture.

One quote that I found incredibly interesting in “A Jew is Not One Thing” was spoken by one of the interviewees (I believe her name was Leah Shaktiel) concerning Jewish law.  She put forth the idea that the laws by which Jews live their lives are, in fact, poetry – they are “the songs of [the Jews’] lives.” This is an intriguing perspective to me because in our lives, laws are so often associated with limitations and punishment.  To think of laws as not only something positive, but as something beautiful and even artistic is completely foreign to my own perspective.

My senior year of high school, I took a Middle Eastern history class in which we concentrated on the many aspects of Judaic and Arabic life in the Middle East.  One of the things that interested me in that class was the set of virtues in Bedouin Arab culture called the muruwwah, comprising of guidelines for conduct such as defiance towards the strong, patience in misfortune, and protection of the weak.  All cultures have some set of beliefs that prescribe behavior for members of the culture, but the way that the muruwwah is presented had set it apart from other cultures in my mind.  Poetry is a significant art form in Bedouin culture because it is one of the few that can survive a nomadic lifestyle, and Bedouin poetry comprised almost entirely of the ideals promoted in the muruwwah.

In my opinion, both of these sets of laws are differentiated from other sets of laws (such as that of the United States) in the amount of respect placed on their significance.  We tend to view many laws as pointless, elitist, untrustworthy, prejudiced, or just plain flawed.  American laws are hardly ever incorporated into works of art, unless they are satires or political statements protesting against the laws.  Jewish law and the Bedouin’s muruwwah, however, are respected to the point that they are considered an art form in and of themselves.

Where did this respect come from?  I’m not sure it would be fair to say that these laws are any more useful or respectable than those of other cultures, because although I am not well educated on the nuances of the Jewish set of laws, I can guarantee that there are problems that have surfaced.  No set of laws can be perfect, and what defines any set of laws as being perfect, anyway? The respectability of certain laws is most likely culture-specific; for example some of the laws present in the muruwwah, such as persistence in revenge or bravery in battle, are directly in conflict with the set of values I have been taught as a Quaker.  Then perhaps we Americans do not contain the same level of respect for our laws because we have been given so much freedom in speech and thought that we automatically question everything that is imposed on us.  But again, this cannot be an acceptable explanation because Judaism is a religion known for constant questioning and based on critical thinking, rather than just accepting beliefs and practices for what they are without challenging them in some small way.

Although I cannot give a definitive answer because I’ve done no real research on the matter, these are some ideas that could shed some light on the question.  From a religious point of view, Jewish laws were proclaimed by God.  This is a clear explanation as to why Jews do not simply follow God’s laws but respect and even revere them; to revere God is to revere His commandments.  However, this idea excludes secular Jews who may still consider Jewish law as a relevant and respected part of their culture, and this does not explain the link between the Bedouin beliefs and Jewish law.  Perhaps looking at the two cultures from a psychological standpoint could reveal more – I realized that something they both share is that their histories are both marked by dispersion and wandering.  Bedouin Arabs have always been nomadic, and Jews have been in an almost constant state of diaspora.  For both, a set of laws or beliefs not only unify a people spread across a country or across the world, but also provide a sense of stability in an otherwise unstable life.

When interviewing for the fieldwork assignment, and again when reading others’ interviews, I couldn’t help but notice how much emphasis was put on fervent protection of and preservation of “Jewishness.”  Several interviewees mentioned interfaith marriage, and the majority adamantly opposed the idea. Since conducting the fieldwork, I have found that these themes continue far beyond these fifty-some individuals.  Throughout Jewish history and geography, the focus of boundaries and acculturation that is so prevalent in this class is all further evidence of the fear many Jews seem to have of “losing” Judaism – either altogether, or as a result of dilution and reformation of Judaism as they know it.

I addressed this topic briefly in my fieldwork paper, but I wanted to explore this idea a little bit further. The first question that came to my mind was why this almost possessive attitude is more associated with Judaism as opposed to some other religions. There seems to be much more conflict between Jews as to what “officially” qualifies as a Jew, whereas Christians often go to greater lengths to include EVERYONE in their religion (through proselytism, etc.) without much consideration of blood lines. One obvious reason might be the frequency of discrimination in Jewish history. Strictly defining the Jewish identity as distinguished from other religions and cultures is a strategy of defense – not only does it generally separate Jews from potential threats from outside cultures, but it unifies them as a collective entity. Conceivably, opposing opinions of two groups of Jewish identity (for example, orthodox vs. reform), especially when involving marriage, could weaken Judaism or even tear it apart.

However, I find it interesting that even with such a logical argument – unification of ideas means unification of cultural identity, which means unification of a people and therefore protection against other groups – Jews are also typically associated with the diversity of outlook implied in the saying “two Jews, three opinions.” The problem with the common orthodox and conservative emphasis on unity by way of determining “what is Jewish” is that you cannot decide for someone else what they are or are not. In class, when discussing what defines Judaism as a culture, Professor Staub pointed out that the beginnings of Judaism initiated by Abraham really did not follow any of the traditional definitions of culture; the only real differentiation between Abraham’s beliefs and the beliefs of his surrounding culture was that he was monotheistic, whereas his hometown of Ur was polytheistic at the time. Essentially, Judaism is a culture set apart from others mainly because Jews view themselves as such. So it seems counterintuitive for members of a culture or religion that is defined so internally to place judgments on others who consider themselves a part of that culture or religion. Therefore, when those Jews who reject people who define themselves as Jews, they are actually destroying the trust and unity that could otherwise protect Judaism as a faith and as a culture.

In many ways, taking a class with a religious focus such as this is intimidating for me. I was raised Quaker, which essentially means that I was taught the basic values that are prevalent in almost all households (religious or not), with emphasis on equality and simplicity.  I have no familiarity whatsoever with the Bible, relationship with a God figure, or prayer in my every day life. For this reason, I struggle with many of the ideas behind religion. In my mind, how can someone believe so unfailingly in something that is so beyond human comprehension that it is generally impossible to prove?

There are several things that have broadened my understanding of this question since I have begun taking this class.

One is our reading of Ilana Pardes’ article, Imagining the Birth of Ancient Israel. Particularly because my mother is an English teacher and has passed along some of her interest in literature to me, Pardes’ approach to the Bible was appealing to me. Viewing the Bible simply as a piece of literature to analyze has helped me to understand how Jews and Christians alike have taken the symbolism so much to heart. When uncovered in that way, I can see how the writings of the Bible can be applied to real life and real situations. Even for the elements of the Bible that are completely illogical to my scientifically oriented, 21^st century mind, I see that the messages inherent in the stories are perhaps more important than the realism of the stories themselves.  It is a form of what the rabbinic tradition calls “building a fence around the Torah.” This I can relate to, because I have felt the effect of hundreds of books and stories that have brought meaning, understanding, and guidance to my own life.

Another part of this article connects to a class I am currently taking in addition to this one to further my understanding of this devotion to something so intangible as God.  Pardes discusses how Israel’s connection to God is that of a father and a son – loving, sometimes dysfunctional, but always unconditional. I understood this connection in theory, but I couldn’t help but wonder how a people could feel such an intimate connection with an entity they never have, nor could ever, meet.  In my cross-cultural psychology class, we read a book that addressed the ideologies of Hinduism. According to the reading, Hindus believe that there are two ways to connect to God, and one may take either path, depending on his or her personality type. One is picturing God as a part of them, intangible but always there within your soul. The other, which I think is more applicable to the majority of Jewish belief (although in some ways, particularly as the “son” of God, a Jew may be apt to feel that a little bit of God is in fact within him or her as well), is that one must picture God as something tangible – perhaps even EVERYTHING tangible; the world, for example – and then love it with all of your heart. Put everything into this God, and see that He loves you in return. These two readings both enhance the other for me, and help me to understand both. When you have been raised with the constant message that God is, in essence, your father, and loves you unconditionally, you will form a type of devotion that cannot be broken easily.