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.

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.

 The film screened in class today, A Jew is Not One Thing, generated, for me, both a slew of curiosities and yet a very familiar understanding through the interviews offered. While I was both moved and intrigued by the many interpretations of Jewish identity, I couldn’t help but feel that the film was produced with a certain agenda, and thus left out one specific element: identity crisis. I felt as if all of the people interviewed were distinctly Jewish, either by self-definition or by self-definition as imposed upon them; regardless, there was very little touched upon the idea of struggling with the identity. The female psychologist mentions, in her interview, that when she was younger she tried to escape everything Jewish, though reconciles this by saying she “just couldn’t do it”.  In a different light, the writer David Grossman shares his personal struggle with his atheist beliefs, yet still he defines himself firmly as being Jewish through Zionism. Aside from these two individuals, I don’t recall any other hints of doubt or confusion from the other participants. Each one seemed to relish in a beautiful sense of pride and self-assurance, albeit each very unique. I had difficulty with this personally because of my own background as a “Jewishish-not-really-Catholic-but-celebrate-Christmas-in-my-mother’s-house American”.

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.