Our class discussions that were dedicated to the topic of myth were very interesting. These classes left me questioning many things that I had learned prior to class. For example, the way we defined myth was very different from what I would typically think of as a myth. “A story about a group that tells something fundamental about who that group is/what they believe or value” is a contemporary definition of myth that I was originally uncomfortable with. I have always thought of a myth as a story that is somewhat based in truth but it largely is used as a way to convey the morals or values of a group of people. An example of this is when I think of myths, I quickly think of Greek mythology. Therefore, when we started talking about events in Jewish history and classifying them as myths, I was not sure what to think.

When I realized we would be doing a reading about the Holocaust as a myth, I was intrigued, but a little horrified as well. Although this may sound harsh,  prior to learning the definition of myth we constructed in class, I was very confused how the Holocaust could possibly be considered a myth. However, after absorbing the definition we developed in class as well as the definition in the reading, I found myself curious to see what arguments were made in this reading.

I think what I was most intrigued by was what Abramson considered the function of a myth to be. According to the article, the function of a myth is “to be selective and shrink the complex details of the past down to a manageable size”. He then goes on to explain that there is a core narrative that seems to be represented in the majority of Holocaust literature. These core themes, according to Abramson, are anti-Semitism, the total powerlessness of the Jews facing violently anti-Semitic dictator egged on by bloodthirsty anti-Semitic sadists and murderers, post-Holocaust survival, and the moral imperative for both Jews and the rest of the world to remember the catastrophe, that it should never happen again (Abramson, 124). The point that this article is making is that there is actually very little about the Holocaust that people know or need to know. However, these core narratives act as a myth for the Jewish people in that it provides Jews with justifications for maintaining their identities as Jews. This idea was a completely new concept to me and really made me reconsider how it is I identify as Jewish and what I really know about my history. This reading really left me thinking, which I see as a very positive thing and something I appreciate taking away from the course.

Every major event in Jewish biblical history has a ritual or passage at least in the bible.  Because of this, each is celebrated and remembered by Jews through their rituals.  The destruction of the temple-multiple times, the crossing of the Red Sea, every major event.  Where does remembering the tragedy of Holocaust fit into this framework.  The Holocaust can be argued to be the worst thing to happen to Jews as a whole since the destruction of the temple or maybe the diaspora after it.  How should the Holocaust be remembered and ritualized?  What place does it have in Jewish identity.  Should Jewish identity now be based off of destruction, as that was the last major event in Jewish history?

If today was like in biblical times, the Holocaust would soon develop a ritualized way of remembering the tragedy.  A time would be chosen to commemorate the struggle, and then celebrate it for redemption from God.  All there is today is a Holocaust Remembrance Day called Yom HaShoah.  Yom HaShoah only remembers those Jews lost in the Holocaust.  It is very secular as it aims to teach people to never forget and to remind them of the atrocities.  It is interesting that if this were biblical times, wouldn’t there be more religion involved?  If the Holocaust is a major event in Jewish history, one that rivals that of Biblical times, should there be room to write about it in the Bible.  Is there room to write another book if all other major struggles in Jewish history have books about them?

During our discussion of Masada, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself when I learned that the narrative had been changed over the centuries to facilitate different messages. It seems so classically characteristic of the process we’ve discussed about different interpretations of rituals, material items, Jewish law, etc to conform to either local perspectives or relevant agendas. I’m referring specifically to the popular return of the story during the beginnings of Zionism, and how a Zionist perspective could recall this event as a motive to return to Masada for a second act.

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.

I decided to attend a Friday night Shabbat service held on campus.  My friend who is in another Judaic Studies class needed to go and I thought it would be a good idea to see if I could make any interesting observations.  She also wanted me to go because maybe I would be able to explain events that would take place.  So I was pumped to see if I could explain anything going on to her.

I had actually never been to a Shabbat service.  In fact the last time I had really been to any type of service was probably for a bar or bat mitzvah when I was in seventh grade.  My father does not go to Shabbat or any other services anymore, so there has never been any incentive or interest in attending.  I had a picture in my head of how the service might go and what it would look like from the bar and bat mitzvah services I had attended.  When we walked upstairs into the room the Shabbat service was being held (not sure of the name) it was different then I had imagined, but looked “Jewish” in some sense.  We were both given books (bibles?).  I had to explain to Mary that it was read the opposite way than English is read.  And that in fact the book starts at the end (from the perspective of someone who only reads English).  When the service started and the young girls leading the service said go to page 75, Mary was confused because she opened it the wrong way and saw page 600.  Another point I want to make is that when we first sat down an elderly women asked us if we were observers and then continued to go into detail about how a Shabbat services works.  It seemed like she wanted to make it clear to us that everyone was Reform.  Why is it that people who are Jewish will often say if they are reform, conservative, or orthodox?  She explained that the women and men get to sit together because they are reform but orthodox Jews sit separately. (A fact I had already known!)  She also explained who was leading the Shabbat service.  It was the daughter of someone in congregation.  She had a bat mitzvah and was studying Hebrew.  The elderly women told us that she had actually taken a few classes at Dickinson.  This part of the service was different because it was just a young girl leading the service, I expected it to be a Rabbi.  The atmosphere was very relaxed and friendly, everyone knew each other.  There was a part where a man read a story and the congregation talked about the story.  It brought to life what some of my Jewish friends had said that the religion aspect is very story oriented.  At one point the young girl leading the service opened the (cabinet) with the Torah.  It was similar to a Torah that I had seen carried at my friends bar mitzvah.  The entire service went by fairly quick and it finished with everyone talking about a potluck for the next week.

The experience of going to Shabbat was in the best word, fun.  There was signing and everyone enjoyed each other’s presence.  They were open to myself and Mary observing the service.  There was a young girl about eleven years old who had a chance to read part of the service.  It was fun to experience the sense of community and their availability to each other, I guess it is just something I missed out on in a religious aspect.

Again, along the lines of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, I watched a documentary called Promises a few days ago. This film was incredible for multiple reasons, but mainly because it looked at both sides of the story. Promises focused on the lives of 7 Palestinian and Israeli children living in and around Jerusalem. One of the kids in this film, Moishe, really struck me. He is an orthodox Jew living in the Beit-El settlement in the West Bank. What struck me about him was his pure, unwavering hatred of the Arabs. During his interview, he spent a solid 5 minutes looking through the Torah to find exactly where it said that God gave the land of Israel to Abraham. “[Beit-El is] a place where people who fight with Arabs live. We fight because this land is ours. If I could make my own future, all the Arabs would fly away – the Jews would stay and the Temple would be rebuilt.” Though I can understand why he would feel that his people are deserving of the land, it saddens me that he is not willing to look beyond the Torah and understand from another perspective. There were also two Israeli boys named Daniel and Yarko who were far less determined in their hatred of the Arabs. When the director took them to the Temple wall, Yarko said “I would rather be in an Arab village than here with all these religious people.” I was really struck by this comment because there are not many cases where you will hear an Israeli boy say something like that; that he would rather be with the “enemy” than with people of his own faith. To me, this says that he feels more of a connection with a group of people with whom he has spent no time, than to the ones that are supposedly “like him”. His statement was not about his connection to the Arabs, it was the opposite. It was about his severe lack of connection toward religious Jews. I found this very interesting. I was also struck by the significant difference between Moishe and Yarko. They are both Israeli, they are both Jewish, but the similarities end there. Moishe’s life is definied by his belief in the Torah where as the Torah is a small part of Yarko’s life. I would be interested to hear a conversation had between these two boys. Yarko’s minimal beliefs in the Torah while maintaining his Jewish identity also make me feel better about my own minimal beliefs. As I’ve said before, I do not have much of a foundation but I still have the ideals and the blood which holds a personal connection to Judaism, even if I am not really considered Jewish.

For my research paper I am taking a look at how the “Israel Experience” is packaged and marketed to teens and their families; and then subsequently the outcome, meaning if the programs achieved the intended result. What is really interesting to me in doing this research is that, having been on a trip similar to what I am investigating, the material surrounding the topic has caused me to ask myself questions about my own experience.

One of the major themes of ethnographers analyzing the “Israel Experience” is that the program is packaged and delievered with meticulous precision and caution to ensure that they achieve the desired result. That result being the completion of youth’s Jewish identity and strengthening their connection to Israel. Now being about 2 or 3 years removed from the trip, I am now coming to the realization that much of my experience wasn’t truely authentic. By authentic I mean that when I stayed in a Bedouin tent and rode camels or when I went accended Masada before dawn and saw the sun rise that those were truely manufactured experiences. Or at least that is the feeling I get after going through my research.

But what has been repeated by sources, which I can identify with the most, is that the teens end up developing a stronger connection to their group than to the land of Israel. And that it is actually the group and the collective differences that forges solidarity amongst them so that impact of friendship supersedes the impact of Israel. Not that that is a bad thing. I just find it interesting that I am able to look at different parts of my research and have it agree with my beliefs, challenge them, or do both simultaneously.

Growing up I always noticed how excited my other Jewish friends got for the Christian holiday, despite the clear difference in religions.  This experience was capped off when two of my good friends were taking turns explaining what their favorite part of the Christmas season was just before Thanksgiving this year.  At this point I was not surprised that two twenty one year old Jews were expressing their love for Christmas music, Christmas movies and Christmas trees.  But I did something differently from all the other times I witnessed such conversations: I interrupted the conversation saying, “but you’re both Jewish.”  They both gave me blank stares as if to say that fact is completely irrelevant.  They each went on to explain how Christmas is much more of an American thing rather than religious holiday.  Christmas is something that they grew up with as a part of their culture, not something only for Christians to enjoy.

This reminded me of all the literature we read about acculturation and Jews always being able to function and fully participate in the larger, non-Jewish culture.  It especially reminded me of the story of Gamaleil and the bathhouse, and in particular the quote “I did not come into her borders, she came into mine.” Gamaleil did not enter the bathhouse as a worshipper of the Greek gods.  He entered as a citizen of Greece, going about his everyday business just like any other Greek.  This is the same situation as my friends.  They are not partaking in Christmas activities as believers in Christianity; they are doing so as Americans.  You do not have to be Christian in order to enjoy songs about Santa Clause or watch A Christmas Story for twenty-four hours in a row.  In fact, there is hardly any religion in the holiday aside from going to church.  That is at least what I gained through my Christian side of the family.  What the holiday is more about is time shared with family and friends, finding ways to help your neighbors and enjoying the festivities and decorations.  All of those things do not require an ounce of religion.  What they do require though is being a part of the larger culture and partaking in such activities.

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.

“How does one “accurately” depict the horrific crimes? Can anyone who did not witness it truly grasp the horrors of it? You can tell me people were gassed to death, but I cannot fathom how someone could push a button to kill hundreds of innocent men, women, and children. How can my children understand if I cannot and I have heard from people who were there in the midst of it all?”

Wow. I think Christy has almost exactly described how I feel about Holocaust remembrance. In this blog post I would like to respond to her quote above, and also further explain one of my comments in class that seems to have sparked some discussion in others blog posts.

When I said that it did not truly “hit me” until I was standing in front of a pile of ash, I did not mean to say that thinking about the Holocaust has never upset me, or that it stopped upsetting me. I think that what I feel is much better said by Christy and explained by Webber. How can we process what we cannot possibly understand? And as Webber explains, are some things so painful that we have to forget them, in order to remember them differently? I have been learning about the Holocaust since elementary school and it has always painful, but it has never felt real. Even Auschwitz failed to help me fully understand, despite its cases of human hair and shoes. Birkenau was more chilling, but still no tears. I have memories of walking alone down the train tracks that brought so many to their deaths as I exited the camp. I was desperate to feel their pain. Midanek was different, mostly because I do not think I will ever look death in the face quite like I did that day. What I did not say in class though, is that something else happened at Midanek. We all (the students, teachers, and parents on our trip) gathered around the memorial structure created to enclose a massive pile of human ash, and a father spoke. I will never forget one of the things he said. “A parent’s greatest fear is that they will not be able to protect their children from pain and suffering.” As I type this, I can feel the emotions I felt at the moment he said this rushing back in. To me, this one sentence captures it all. When we visited the camps, not much time had passed since my uncle’s death. When this father said those words I could not help but think of my uncle’s two young daughters, my cousins, whom he could no longer protect. At that moment I finally felt the pain of those who perished and survived the Holocaust, because I was experiencing a similar pain myself. I will never be able to experience or understand their unimaginable life events and suffering, but I can begin to experience and understand what that may have felt. Experiences are not universal, but emotions are.

I believe that the concern that Christy expressed, as well as many other non-Jews in our class, indicates that the Holocaust is not simply a Jewish concern or experience. I respectfully disagree with those who see it as so. I understand the need in the Jewish community to incorporate the Holocaust into Jewish identity. However, I feel that recognizing others suffering in the Holocaust does not take away from Jewish suffering in any way, it may in fact strengthen it.

So now I would like to attempt to answer the question that Christy proposed, how will we help our children to understand? I do not think that the answer lies in textbooks, films, or even visiting concentrations camps, although I see all of these elements as necessary and valuable. I believe that the answer is in a very famous quote given by Rabbi Hillel when asked to explain the Torah, “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn.”

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.