During the fall semester at Dickinson, as part of our preparation for this trip to Buenos Aires the research team took a class taught by Professor Shalom Staub entitled, “Ethnography of Jewish Experience.” In this class we focused on boundaries between Jews and the communities in which they live. What we only began to scratch the surface on was the topic of boundaries within the Jewish community itself. Here in Argentina the dynamics are fascinating and ever-changing. There are divisions between Orthodox and Reform (or what they call here Conservative), Sephardi and Ashkenazi, rich and poor. Yet the community remains together as Jews.
On the second day of our trip in Buenos Aires we ventured to the Camargo Temple, and orthodox Sephardic establishment. To a trained eye it became obvious almost immediately upon entering that we were not in your average Ashkenazi shul. The El Paso Temple, which we had visited the day before, was a model of European grandeur with gold decorations and very elaborate carvings on columns lining the sanctuary. Camargo had a very different feel. Many of the patterns were more geometric in design except for the stained glass windows depicting the twelve tribes of Israel. The most striking difference came with the Torot. Both shuls had a good number of them (33 at El Paso and 14 at Camargo) but their appearances were completely different. In Paso the Torot were dressed in maroon and gold cloth covers, elaborately embroidered. At Camargo there was a greater variety. A number of the Torah scrolls were dressed in white with silver embroidery and had very elaborate crowns. There were two or three other scrolls that were stored in the more traditional Sephardic silver cases. In a synagogue the Torah is one of the most holy objects. It is more or less the reason to have a synagogue. Jews can gather anywhere to pray but with the synagogue they have an established place to store the community’s holy objects (including the torah scrolls which are especially heavy and hard to transport).
Despite these clear physical differences in places of worship there tends to be a sense that Sefardim and Ashkenazim are all part of the larger Jewish community. While talking to young university students at Macabi (a Jewish retreat facility) the girls commented that it never even occurred to them to ask their friends if they were Sephardi or Ashkenazi. Rabbi Sacca of Camargo Temple phrased it very nicely. He spoke of the more physical customs: food, dress, decorations of the synagogue, as the “clothing” of Judaism. Everyone dresses their Judaism in a way that makes them comfortable with what is underneath, with the essence of it. If we view different strains of Judaism this way there is no way to feel a separation amongst the Jewish community. As human beings we may judge people by the clothes they wear and use them as keys to see what is underneath, but we never question the essence of the human being because of how they choose to cover themselves.
When talking to the students at Hillel one of them made a remark which unfortunately rings just as true. Gaston’s commented that the biggest divisions among Jews come from arguments over who is a Jew. Is it a question of birth? A question of self-identification? And if it’s either of those or something else how does the community regulate it?
Among the people that we talked to in Argentina the definitions varied greatly. At Macabi, which is a secular Jewish establishment (you can order ham and cheese at any of the restaurants and it runs the majority of its activities on Saturday), the general attitude seemed to define Jews as anyone who defines himself as Jewish. There were no questions asked when people rented a bungalow or signed up for sports teams. Moving along the spectrum, Hillel uses the Israeli Law of Return’s standards to define who can participate in their programming. The Law of Return basically states that if any one of your grandparents was Jewish, so are you. There are groups in Argentina (such as Chabad or Menorah (the youth group associated with the Camargo Temple) that go with the more traditional halachic definition of your mother needing to be Jewish.
The Argentinean Jewish community speaks well about the plurality and unity of the community. Everyone we’ve talked to seems to say that the community works well together and that divisions are only really noticed when it comes time to pray. Yet from an outsider’s perspective it is easy to see that this is not true. A person who keeps kosher would not be able to spend time at Macabi because the facilities would not accommodate their dietary restrictions. There are many more orthodox organizations that would not consider people who only have a Jewish father to be Jewish and exclude this group of people from their activities. The people at Hillel stated about the Jewish attitude about Israel, “to a non-Jew we feel we must always represent Israel in a positive light and be supportive, but amongst the Jewish community we can criticize Israel’s actions as much as we like.” This attitude is the same for the Argentina Jewish community and the divisions among it. To outsiders the community wishes to appear unified and loving, as a big Jewish Argentinean family. But when it comes down to the reality, amongst the community there is a lot of bitterness and arguments about how one should express their Judaism and even who should be counted in the Jewish community.

On Friday night, January 8, 2010, Professor Staub, Kat, Hannah, and I attended an Orthodox Sephardic synagogue for Friday night Shabbat services. The synagogue, Camargo, is in the Jewish neighborhood of Villa Crespo in Buenos Aires. Villa Crespo has multiple synagogues, along with multiple kosher restaurants. Camargo is unique because it was created as a Sephardic synagogue, catering towards the Jewish population from Turkey, Spain, Northern Africa, and the Middle East. Camargo hit a peak in 1956, declined in the 70’s, but has found new energy in their new, young, rabbi and in their active youth. By having a Jewish day school, Shalom Alechim, and a youth movement that has participants ages 12-18, Menorah, the youth have created a new force within the community. Menorah sponsors trips along with social activities. A young man in the congregation, Ezra, became active in Camargo and became more relgious because of his involvement in Menorah. The hazan of the congregation, Rodrigo, explained to the group that the youth bring the adults to the congregation. Camargo, once primarily a Sephardic congregation, today has both Sephardic and Ashkenazi Jews.
Services on Friday night began around 7:15, before sunset. When we arrived, Hannah, Kat, and I went to the women’s side, while Professor Staub joined the men on their respective side. Separating the men from the women was a mahidtza; the bottom portion was wood while the upper half was a sheer white curtain. The women were able to see the general outline of the men through the curtain. Services were held in the Beit Midrash or library, not the main sanctuary because it is summer in Buenos Aries and many people were away on vacation. The women’s side had about ten chairs set up, while the men could sit easily fifty or sixty.
We joined services in the middle of the afternoon service, which would lead directly into the Shabbat evening service. When we entered the Beit Midrash, there was one younger woman on the women’s side, who was wearing a skirt covering her knees, a shirt covering her elbows, and wig to cover her head because she was married. She was very kind to us, helping us find our place in the service. As we started the Evening Shabbat service, more men and women came. By the end of the Shabbat service there was eight women total. There was one other woman who dressed as modestly as the first woman, wearing clothes to cover her knees and elbows along with a wig. However, the older women who came did not dress as modestly as the younger women, they showed their elbows, and one wore pants. Every time a new woman entered, she kissed everyone and wished them a “Shabbat Shalom,” even us, the students, who she did not know.
The hazan, Rodrigo led the service, as the rabbi followed along, sitting in front of the men beside the ark. Many of the prayers were said slowly and as a group. I did not recognize many of the tunes we sung, however the words of the prayers were the same, since the whole service was in Hebrew. The men chanted loudly with passion, and the women chanted along, but quietly. Like the pattern on the women’s side, the older men were not dressed as religiously as the younger men. The older men wore slacks, a short sleeve shirt, and usually a kippah. The younger men wore suits with kippot, some with black hats, and some had tzittzit. Wearing a black hat is distinctive of an Ashkenazi Orthodox Jew, meaning that the presence of black hats was proof of the mix community of Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jews at Camargo. The younger generation davined more distinctly, obviously swaying back and forth. It was evident that the younger generation had more orthodox tendencies than the older generation in their dress and in the way they prayed. If this is because of the youth organizations at Camargo, like Menorah, I am not sure.
Towards the end of the service the rabbi gave a midrash, about the importance of what a name means, and everyone paid close attention, nodding their heads together in agreement or laughing at a joke. The midrash was in Spanish, however Kay summarized it for us on the walk home. The service ended with a closing song, and then we left the synagogue. Before we left both the rabbi and Rodrigo invited us for a meal. The Shabbat experience at Carmago was warm. We were greeted as if we had been part of the community for years. The service was proof of the energy and religious fervor among the youth at Camargo. They will be the future of the community, and can be proof of a growing Orthodox Jewish community in Buenos Aires.

For those of you Spanish speakers out there, check out the blog and the web site for Oral History Project on Argentine Jewish Immigration at the ORT School in Buenos Aires, directed by our colleague and friend, Laura Benadiba:

Blog: http://historiaoralort.blogspot.com/

Website: http://campus.almagro.ort.edu.ar/cienciassociales/historiaoral

The course blog will now extend the data collection phase for the oral history and ethnography project on Argentinean Jewish experience.  Prof. Susan Rose and Prof. Shalom Staub, with 8 students, are now in Buenos Aires to partner with Laura Benadiba, oral historian and teacher at the ORT School, who created an oral history project on Argentine Jewish immigration 19 years ago.

Visit this site for updates on our interviews, photos, etc. in the coming days.

Throughout the semester this class has dealt with issues surrounding Jewish Identity and boundaries, issues that have resonated with me. These issues have resonated with me because when I entered college I was determined to be active in Hillel and I attempted to recreate the connection I felt with my Jewish community at home with my new Jewish Dickinson community. However, I soon realized that it would be impossible for me to connect with my Jewish Identity in the same way I did at home, in high school, and in college at Dickinson.

This duality in my Jewish Identity isn’t something unique to my experience at Dickinson, I realized. It is important to note that it is not that there are places where I identify with my Judaism and places that I do not, it is just that it definitely is connected to who I am with. I bring this up because the people you are with definitely affect the way you feel. In high school, being a member of a conservative youth group (USY), most of my good friends that I made during high school were also members of USY. So I have come to the realization that because I was Jewish, I made friends with them and although it is not necessarily the only thing that we have in common it is definitely a binding factor. It was our common background that allowed us to meet one another, not for any other reason.

Now in college I am a member of the Hillel on campus, technically, but I am not extremely involved. At Dickinson I have made many more non-Jewish friends; and in juxtaposition to my Jewish friends from home my Jewish Dickinson friends are just friends that happen to be Jewish. Now I guess my connection between my friendships and this class would have to be that I have realized the existence of boundaries within the communities I am apart of. I can also say with certainty that I have realized more about my own personal Jewish identity after learning about why/how people form their identities.

Today in class Professor Staub asked the final question, “is tradition a useful concept?” For me this is a very personal question. As I’ve moved toward a more traditional practice of Judaism, I’ve been dealing with this question constantly. Obviously the first thing that comes to mind is Tevye on the rooftop belting “tradition!” but this is not where it ends. It is actually interesting to think about the idea of tradition in the context of the myths that we were talking about it class this week. The idea of tradition has actually evolved over the years. What is “traditional” tends to be associated with what is old. In the times of Fiddler on the Roof tradition was associated with the shtetl, with bottle dancing and yiddish. Nowadays these are not really considered the “traditional” things as much. Old traditions have evolved into new ones.
The bar mitzvah is a great example of something for which the tradition has completely morphed over the years. In olden days young boys would read from the Torah maybe have a nice luncheon with family but it wasn’t such a large-scale event. Today, even fairly Orthodox families have large parties and events at this auspicious time in their children’s lives. And the bat mitzvah has become more and more common. This is all an example of the evolution of tradition.
But what does all this have to do with tradition being a useful concept? The fact is that it is something that we need in our lives. The idea of being connected to past generations came up a lot in our fieldwork as a big part of people’s Jewish identity. The concept of tradition, even if it evolves is a way to stay connected to these previous generations.

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.

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.

For my third fieldwork assignment in this class, I interviewed Hannah Helfman about her Bat Mitzvah—both about the event itself and about her memory of the event looking back on it. In addition to her description of the preparation for the Bat Mitzvah, I found it interesting that she mentioned how the event had grown in meaning for her in the years since it happened. Though 12 or 13 is certainly old enough to have an idea of the significance of a Bar or Bat Mitzvah, it is also likely that one’s ideas about religion and faith will continue to evolve and change in the years after one’s Bat Mitzvah.
This idea that memory of an important religious event is ever-changing in meaning seems to be a theme throughout the Jewish experience. Life cycle events like Bar and Bat Mitzvahs can become more meaningful to an individual years later as they gain more life experiences and tell and re-tell the story of their own Bar Mitzvah. For Hannah, this was symbolized in the special glass Yad that was a gift from family friends. She described how it made her realize that, not only was she now able to read from the Torah on the day of her Bat mitzvah, but that she would be reading from the Torah more in the future.
Based on class discussions and readings, it seems to me that the concept placing an event in time is important not only in an individual Jew’s life, but also in the broader Jewish experience. For Hannah, her Bat Mitzvah reflected the completion of a portion of her Jewish schooling, but it also signified the beginning of a new phase of religious education as well. I really liked this idea of “end” and “beginning” coming from the same event. While my own Christian confirmation was very special to me, I had no sense of a clear end or beginning as a result of the event. I didn’t really have to do anything to prepare for it, other than pick out a Bible verse that I felt spoke to me in some way. This Bible verse still means a lot to me, but I honestly have no recollection of the day itself. It seems to me that the memory of one’s Bar or Bat Mitzvah is almost as important as the event itself. Gifts like Hannah’s own Yad symbolize the event’s significance and serve as a physical reminder that will remain with her and be a symbol of her Bat Mitzvah for her now and for future generations in her family.

Our class discussion about “Masada” reminded me of a discussion about myths and rituals in another class. We talked about Eliade’s and Malinowski’s notions of them. Malinowski believed that myths explain or give meaning to the rituals. In addition to accepting that, Eliade stated that myths and rituals are important for people since through them, people are able to identify themselves with the divine, Gods or mystical figures, or go back to the sacred time by re-enacting them.

To me, the Masada myth seemed to confirm Malinowski’s concept of myth. As we have talked about in class, there were four phases of ritual activities related to Masada: the trial trips of the youth, pilgrimages by Jewish people, educational field-trips, and religious or national ceremonies. And throughout the phases, the mythic narratives of the stories also changed. First, as resistance without mentioning of the suicide, later, identification of Masada with Holocaust from the perspective of resistance, then suicides were included, claiming as heroic deaths, and finally, after archeological excavations, the traditions of ancient defense was incorporated into military forms. Thus, the Masada myth was altered along with the activities practiced at the Masada.

I think Eliade’s notion of myth can also be applied to the myth of the Masada. In my opinion, Jewish people are trying to re-enact the myth through all of these ritual activities so that they can be identified with the Jewish people of the myth time and feel the power of them through these rituals.

However, I feel that although Malinowski’s theory might still be applicable after Masada becomes like an economic resort, Eliade’s concept may no longer work. Even if people’s intention of the visit remains the same, the convenient trip may make the purpose of re-enacting of the myth no longer as feasible as before.