In class, in response to Leo’s blog post, we discussed how Jewish music was Jewish in its very essence, regardless of whether it was sung by a Jewish singer or an Italian opera star. I completely agree with this, and I think it applies to aspects of Jewish culture as well. Our discussion of Jewish music reminded me of “reader-response criticism” in literature, in which the experience that matters is that of the audience. The author, his or her intentions, even their reasons for writing the book are disregarded; what matters is the audience and their individual reaction to the book. It is a highly subjective form of criticism and therefore, in my opinion, the most interesting because one literally projects meaning onto a text. It lets a work of art stand on its own, an entity unto itself, and puts all interpretive power in the hands of the audience. The result is that the work takes on its own meaning—it literally changes with its audience.

I think that this applies to many aspects of Jewish culture—food, music, dress, and more. For example, I think virtually any food can be considered a “Jewish food,” so long as there is someone to whom it represents Judaism in some way. In class, we mentioned that all it really takes is three generations to begin a tradition and “create” a new Jewish food for a family. The reason there are certain foods that are considered Jewish, like matzo or gefilte fish, which begin to embody Judaism even for non-Jews, is because so many people over time have perceived them as Jewish and have, in effect, given them their Jewish essence and permanently changed their reception.

In a similar way, I think certain objects like amulets also rely on the essence they acquire from their users. Lowenstein mentions that rabbis were “ambivalent” about the use of amulets (104). “One the one hand,” he writes, “Judaism could not tolerate calling on any power other than God,” however, “they [rabbis] did not generally reject the idea that amulets served a purpose and that the supernatural forces could be called upon to fight the evil eye or evil spirits” (104-105). Though this is very different than the idea of music being Jewish because it holds Jewish meaning for its audience, it still involves something of religious significance, but something whose significance is different for different people. Like so many of the “little traditions,” amulets, and even mezuzahs, which can be given an amuletic quality, carry meaning that is unique to each person who uses them.

The article “Childbirth and Magic: Jewish Folklore and Material Culture” by Shalom Sabar has sparked my interest in how the old becomes new again, especially in religions. According to Sabar, amulets with images like the hamsa or evil eye were adopted and made new by Jews. They were not originally Jewish creations. Today, Jews continue to wear these amulets and they have taken on a new fashionable meaning.  Even more interesting, is that modern non-Jews are beginning to take on ancient Jewish customs and in this way making them new. The more I look for it, the more I see Jews and others actively pursuing making the old new again. I believe that people find a great deal of comfort in making old Jewish practices and customs relevant to their modern lives.

At first glance, all of the “superstitions” about childbirth in Judaism seem somewhat primitive. In our modern world with doctors, hospitals, science and much greater understanding, these old practices seem irrelevant and in many ways silly. And yet, they are still present. Sometimes they are dressed up in different clothing, but they are present nonetheless. Reading about folklore surrounding childbirth has made me think about many conversations I have had with my Mom about the topic. My Mom likes to tell the story of a time before my sister was born when I wanted to help in the preparation of the nursery. As I was about to place diapers in my sister’s changing table, my Mom pulled me aside. She explained to me that as Jews we do not decorate or fill the nursery before the baby is born. I am not sure how much of this she explained to me at the time, but being 6 years old I quickly dismissed her remarks and said, “Well I’m only half Jewish!” and continued on my diaper task.  As I got older, these conversations became much more in depth. I began to ask my Mom why more conservative Jews did not find out the sex of their babies and why they did not decorate nurseries before their births. She explained to me that this is a protective measure. We do not decorate the nursery before a baby is home and healthy, because it is less traumatic to come home to a nursery that has not been decorated if the baby is lost. This always made sense to me, and until reading about childbirth and magic in this class I did not realize that there was much more historical background involved in my Mom’s response.

My Mom explained this concept to me as it made sense to her as a modern Jew, but I wonder if her belief is rooted in Jewish folklore and the more historical fear of losing a child in childbirth.  Initially, Jews may not have decorated their nurseries or spoken about a child out of a fear that a baby killer, like Lilith, would actually come and kill their child. Infant mortality rates were much higher in the past, and this fear seems completely reasonable given the time. Although Jewish mothers today have the knowledge that losing a child in the birthing process is extremely unlikely, many of these “superstitions” or at least the practices associated with them remain. I believe this goes back to the idea of finding comfort in the old and making it relevant to our lives. Mothers today are not as fearful as those who came before them, but because a child is seen as so special and valuable there will always be concern. Jewish parents who are looking for a Jewish response to this fear have found an answer in much of the folklore surrounding childbirth. They may give it different meanings, but there is still a sense that the old has not lost its purpose, and can still be quite relevant and meaningful in our lives.