Growing up in Ohio, the child of a southern mother and an east coast father, family dinner meant roasted chicken, collard greens, and macaroni and cheese. We’d have a family meal every Sunday after church, with my sister and I still dressed in our Sunday best.

For Jack Lebewohl, the owner of Manhattan’s Second Avenue Deli, family dinners growing up meant something a little different. “On Friday night we had gefilte fish, and on Saturday we had chopped liver—it’s what we did,” he told the crowd on Thursday at Gefilte Talk, an event dedicated to that most polarizing of Jewish food: gefilte fish.

Though gefilte fish and chopped liver weren’t on my plate growing up, I could easily relate to Lebewohl’s strong associations with his family’s classic dishes. And I wasn’t the only one. Nearly 200 people had gathered in the auditorium of the Center for Jewish History, eager to listen to a panel of gefilte-mongers that included Zach Kutsher of Kutsher’s Tribeca, Israeli chef Omer Miller, Gefilteria founders Elizabeth Alpern and Jeffrey Yoskowitz (who I profiled for Jewcy in March), and Lebewohl.

The Beard Foundation’s Mitchell Davis, a cookbook author and food writer, moderated the panel. I admit that at first I wondered not only how they’d occupy a full hour talking about chopped fish, but also why so many people showed up to listen to it. The answer, it turned out, had a lot to do with nostalgia.

Every panelist, you see, had distinct childhood memories of gefilte fish. For Miller, gefilte fish was something his grandmother, a Holocaust survivor, would serve him to help him be strong. For Kutsher, his family’s famous gefilte fish recipe was the best he’d ever had, hands down. For Yoskowitz and Alpern, making gefilte fish was about giving new life to an old Ashkenazi culinary tradition—the Gefilteria is a boutique operation that aims to put an artisanal spin on the classic dish.

While Kutsher uses halibut instead of carp or whitefish and tops his gefilte fish with a parsley arugula emulsion, Alpern and Yoskowitz are all about sticking closely to original recipes. “We made a lot of gefilte fish,” Alpern explained. “We tried different spices, tried to make it new and different before turning to a more traditional recipe because it tasted the best.”

There is something refreshing about the Gefilteria’s inspired creations—at the event, Davis called the team “hipster Jews bringing gefilte fish to the masses.” The trio got together over the simple shared idea that gefilte fish should be more delicious than they remembered it.

“We see ourselves as part of the food movement that’s happening right now,” Yoskowitz told the audience. “Gefilte fish isn’t scary food.” The Gefilteria, which has been selling their kosher-certified, old-world Ashkenazi grub in pop-up stores and markets around New York City, is currently taking orders for Rosh Hashanah. But hurry—they sold out for Pesach, and they’ve got at least 200 new fans since last Thursday.

Previously: In Brooklyn, Putting Gefilte Fish Back on the Menu

The post Getting 200 Jews Talking About Gefilte Fish appeared first on Jewcy.

About a month ago, a friend told me she wanted to get a mezuzah for her new apartment, to help protect it.

“It doesn’t protect your house,” I told her matter-of-factly. “It’s a mitzvah, something we’re obligated to do as Jews. It identifies your home as a Jewish home, but it doesn’t protect it.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, it’s in the Torah, it’s an obligation. It has nothing to do with protecting your home at all. It’s something you’re supposed to do, well, because the Bible says so.”

She thought for a moment and then said, “Well, I don’t want to do it just because I’m supposed to.”

I found her assertion strange but felt I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I didn’t mean to discourage her from doing something she wanted to do, but I didn’t want her to blame Judaism if the apartment flooded and her mezuzah didn’t prevent it from happening.

I’ve been thinking about mezuzahs a lot lately, ever since I moved into a new home with my partner. She describes herself as an atheist Jew. She has no spiritual or religious connection to her Judaism, which puts me, as someone connected to Judaism both religiously and spiritually, in an interesting position. She loves Shabbat dinner because of the food, friends, and wine. But she doesn’t attend synagogue with me, and even though she’s said that she’ll consider going to High Holiday services, in four years it hasn’t happened. When people ask if I converted for her, I remind them of these things. Despite our seemingly different views on Jewish practice, though, we both want one thing—a Jewish home.

Our home is Jewish, of course, because we’re both Jews. But there are other choices that we’ll soon have to make. We’ve begun tallying up the doorposts in our home, calculating the price of placing a mezuzah on each of them. We’ve discussed the ethics of blessing our apartment as a Jewish home, when our landlord, who lives downstairs, isn’t Jewish. We’ve considered the significance behind our desire to hang a mezuzah in the first place—why it’s not just important to me, but why it’s important for her as well. Now that we’ve moved in together, we’re making decisions about our Jewishness together.

In a few weeks, we’re hosting a Chanukat Bayit, a traditional Jewish housewarming ceremony. Our rabbi, an amazing queer woman, is taking the traditional blessing and re-working it to reflect who we are as a couple. We’ve invited all of our friends, Jewish and non-Jews alike. Though the religious aspect may be of less importance to some, it’s the act of doing something Jewish as a couple that I find the most meaningful.
For me, putting up a mezuzah is not really about fulfilling an obligation as much as it is about publicly declaring my Judaism. It doesn’t “protect” my home in the way that a blue and white circular pendant around your neck promises to ward off the Evil Eye, or hanging a piece of red ribbon on your baby’s crib might protect her from Lilith. But there is a wonderful comfort in walking into a home with a mezuzah.

There are places in the world where seeing a mezuzah on every doorpost is common—in Israel, at large Jewish non-profits, or on certain streets in Borough Park—and the homes without them stand out to me. But I have a similar feeling upon finding a mezuzah somewhere unexpected, like on a building in the Financial District or a tie shop in Herald Square. By the end of the month, my apartment will join those places, and I can’t wait.

The post Does This Mezuzah Make My Apartment Look Jewish? appeared first on Jewcy.

We were speaking over the phone a few days after he came out publicly in an interview with OUT Magazine that set off a wave of press coverage, dwarfing even the news that Britney Spears would be the new judge on X-Factor.

Jordan, whose music fuses Biblical text with hip-hop beats, had been on my radar since I first began to explore Judaism three years ago. I was intrigued by him—he was a black man, he was an Orthodox Hasid, and he was a convert to Judaism. I wasn’t really interested in his swagger and I didn’t care that he was a rapper. He was a black Orthodox Jew.

And then last week, Jordan revealed that he, like me, was black, gay, and Jewish.

I nervously paced around my apartment before our phone interview, my mind full of questions I wanted to ask him. When I heard his voice, deep with a distinct Baltimore accent, and we started talking, he stopped being Y-Love and was simply Yitz.

I asked him what the first few days out of the closet had been like. “It’s been mind-blowing, insane, absolutely crazy,” he told me. “While they were doing the interview I thought I was going to have an anxiety attack, and when the interview was over I felt a huge sigh of relief. It didn’t dawn on me that the interview was just the beginning; it was when it went live that things really started to happen.”

Coming out “pissed a lot of people off,” he said. “But my supporters squashed any nonsense that showed up on my Facebook page.” While the response from the hip-hop community has been universally positive, Jordan has received criticism for coming out so publicly. “It’s been pretty divided,” he explained. “A lot of people in the Orthodox community have come out of the woodwork in support of me, and just as many have come out against me. I watched my Facebook friends plummet. It was like watching the ticker at NASDAQ. I tweeted it and in an instant the friend requests I got doubled the number of friends I lost.”

As big of an announcement as this may have seemed to some, it was old news to his friends and family. “In my personal circle I’ve been out since about 2009,” he explained. “If you know me as Yitz then I was out to you, if you knew me as Y-Love I wasn’t out.” He had already dealt with much of the personal fallout, particularly within the Orthodox world, starting in 2005. “I lost all of the friends that I was going to lose around that time,” he told me.

Jordan embraced Judaism around the same time that he went into the closet. He felt compelled to obscure that part of his identity in order to fully commit to Jewish observance. With that repression came long bouts of depression and severe anxiety—despite even the most progressively-oriented movements’ views on the full inclusion of LGBTQ Jews, Jordan emphasizes that we still have a long way to go. “Even the most liberal Jews are twenty years behind when it comes to gay and lesbian Jews”

“To be a Jew of Color is, in itself, a huge thing,” Jordan said. ”A large majority of people are completely ignorant and equate Jewishness with whiteness in ways that you would never see outside of the Jewish world. That mentality, he explained, does a huge disservice to all Jews who are not white, especially since people can be shockingly ignorant of anything other than what they’ve experienced.

Jordan recalled being a part of The Jewish Channel’s “Jews of Color” roundtable program. The program director wondered aloud if there should be an LGBTQ Jew present, then quickly added that it would be impossible to find a Jew who was that minoritied.

“When he said that, I froze,” Jordan said. “I was on the panel, and I am a Jew of Color who is gay. Your average person thinks that we’re a treasure on some sort of social-anthropological scavenger hunt. Like we’re an oddity. Not only do we exist, but also there are a lot of other Jews of Color who are gay. Since the dawn of humanity there have been gay people and there have always been Jews of Color, so we’ve been in existence forever.”

In Jordan’s ideal Jewish community, “Everyone would respect each other’s traditions, beliefs, and orientations. Only when we recognize that people deserve to exist on their own terms will we get there.” At his core, Jordan is a proud Jewish man who wants to have a traditional Jewish home and family. “Like Modern Family,” he said half joking, “but Jewish.”

For now, however, he is enjoying being able to show his true self to the world.

“Now is the first time that I’m accepting myself with all of my imperfections. I learned a long time ago that you can’t dress the part to make other people happy. This is not an image, this is the real me. It’s not about my facade. It is about me working toward my Yiddishkeit. I’ve walked the walk for many years. Now, I’m glad to be able to talk the talk.”

(photo credit: Facebook)

The post Hip Hop Artist Yitz “Y-Love” Jordan Discusses Being Black, Gay, and Jewish appeared first on Jewcy.

The great thing about being in a room with Noah Aronson as he’s talking about his music is seeing the passion in his eyes.  The son of beloved Cantor Theodore Aronson, Noah has decided to follow a similar path and devote his life to making his music accessible and tangible for Jewish audiences.  Noah has just released his latest album of Jewish synagogue music entitled “Am I Awake.”  While we were talking he sang for me more than a dozen times. Last week we sat down in his apartment and home studio to talk about the album, people who inspire him, and his unique sound.

What inspired this album?

This album is really a personal reflection of my connection to Judaism…

I am constantly striving to create a personal connection.  What is my connection with God? What is my connection to Judaism? I find that if I am open with people about my journey and my personal struggle with these questions, it creates the opportunity for others to openly grapple with these questions for themselves.  I believe that when a person comes to a synagogue to pray it is the clergy’s job (and my job as a ‘prayer leader’) to give them space to deal with these tough questions.  Are you ready?  Are you open to meditate? Are you open to letting go?  Are you coming in with all of the baggage from the week or are you open to being truly present?

Am I Awake is a reminder to be mindful. I infuse that melody at different points of the service. Hopefully it serves as a sort of checkpoint to remind people to be mindful.

What was the thought process behind writing the song “Modeh Ani”?

I’ve written four or five different melodies for Modeh Ani. It’s a morning prayer that thanks God for renewing and restoring our souls.  People in my generation are always surprised when I tell them I believe in God. It’s as if as soon as you mention God they think you’re a crazy zealot or something.    But the way I like to think about it is I simply ask; ‘if God doesn’t exist, then who do you thank for your life?’  To me, God is not a him or a her or whatever.  God is just who you thank.

My obsession, of course, is your version of “Shalom Aleichem.”  Where did you come up with this melody?

I was just thinking about ways to make this prayer more engaging for the congregation. I had this image of one group of people greeting another group saying ‘Shalom Aleichem’ (Peace unto you) and the other group responding.  And then everyone joining to sing the prayer together.  On the album the song is structured a bit differently than the way I present it in a service.  In general I was trying to create an album that was fun to listen to and easy to pop into your car or on your ipod as opposed to an example of what one of my Shabbat services look like.

Do you have a favorite song on the album?

That’s hard.  I guess it’d have to be my setting of “Shalom Rav” because it was written with my father when we were traveling in Jerusalem together.  We were in a hostel which happened to have an amazing view of the wall that surrounds the Old City.  We were looking out and having a discussion about the fragility of peace in Israel. We took out the text of Shalom Rav.  He sang a note, I sang a note.  He’d try to trick me with a dissonant note and I’d try to bring it back.  He kept jumping around and I would fix the jump.  Over the next two weeks while we traveled I would take out my guitar any time I had a moment adding parts until it became the evolution you hear on the album.  Perhaps our struggle in writing this melody is a reflection of the eternal struggle for peace…or maybe it’s just a nice melody!  Verdict’s still out on that one.

How did you get into writing Jewish music?

I was studying at Berklee College of Music working on a degree in Jazz Composition.  While at school, I took on a part-time job as a music teacher at Temple Beth Elohim in Wellesley, Mass.  Over time, the Cantor there, Jodi Sufrin took me under her wing and began to prompt me to set texts to music. After my first year teaching, the synagogue sent me to the Hava Nashira Songleaders workshop. It was there where I met Craig Taubman for the first time.  After watching and learning from him, I knew immediately that THAT was what I wanted to do with my life. I went back to the synagogue and asked to take on more responsibility.  I wanted to be involved in all aspects of synagogue life and get totally immersed in Jewish music. Eventually they asked me to compose an entire Shabbat service for their community; something that reflected the interests and personality of their community.  So, with the guidance of my new mentor, I created a service for them called ‘Shabbat Menecha’-which means A Restful Shabbat.  Interestingly enough in the Hebrew word ‘Menecha’ can be found a ‘nun’ a ‘vav’and a ‘chet’ which make Noach, or Noah.  We tried to create a service that allowed people to connect and to let go. That was their mission and now, 5 years later, their community has distinct and unique musical identity that reflects their mission.  I think that’s pretty cool.

Which Jewish musicians are the most inspirational to you?

I’m always inspired by people…Craig Taubmam has been a huge inspiration and mentor for me.  Dan Nichols, who is really big in the Jewish summer camp scene, has also been an  incredible force in Jewish music the past 10 years. I’m also inspired by a singer/songwriter named Josh Nelson; a fabulous musicians and producer who is really, in my opinion, raising the bar for Jewish music in America.

How would you define your sound?

My music is a reflection of who I am.  The music sort of comes out of me and I’m not really sure what the influences were that create it.  My experiences and the things that I’ve heard throughout my life dictate the sounds you hear.  The reason that the melodies and the sounds are so eclectic is because I’m sort of an ethnic mut in a lot of ways. My mother is from Haiti and my mother’s side of the family is Sephardic.  My great grandmother moved from Egypt to Haiti at the turn of the century.  She had my grandmother and her brothers and sisters.  All of my grandmother’s brothers and sisters moved to the US and became part of the strong Sephardic community in Brooklyn, but my grandmother stayed in Haiti, met my grandfather and they had my mother.  Growing up, my mother had to go to a Christian school and her knowledge of Judaism was very small.  She had a yearning to be around more Jews so of course when she moved to the US for college and met a young-hip cantor (my dad) they married and created a Jewish life here.  Growing up I spent a lot of my childhood in Haiti.  My time was spent going back and forth between the heavily Judeo-centric areas of Northern New Jersey and the incredibly ‘un-Jewish’ environs of Petion-Ville, Haiti. So, I think that splitting my time between Haiti and South Orange, New Jersey growing up and combining my Askenazi and Sephardi backgrounds has definitely influenced my ‘sound’.

What’s coming up for you in the next few years?

I’m just trying to dip my feet into as many pools as possible.  I am the Artist-in-Residence at Temple Beth Elohim in Wellesley, MA and will be teaching alternative worship as well as writing a new brand new service for them throughout the year.  In December I will be the Assistant Music Director at the URJ Biennial which is the largest gathering of Reform Jews in the country. I’m also excited to get involved in movements like Next Door Shabbat/Synagogue 3000 which focuses on engaging with Jews in their 20s and 30s. There’s a gap and a need there.  I’m in that group of people who wonder, “What does a synagogue have to offer?”  The next five years will be how to reach out to my peers who strive to connect but don’t necessarily know where to turn to find it.  We are a tribe, we are a group that is connected around the world, the state, the city, the town.  There is a yearning for that connection and I want to find that connection with others and I want to bring people back to their Judaism as a way to connect.

It’s my favorite question to ask because I love the answers people give me: In your own words, please define Jewish Community.

When I think of my ideal Jewish community the first word that comes to mind is ‘openess’.  I want to be around a group of people who allows each other the space to connect to God and to pray. Everybody connects in different ways and everyone, I think, is searching for something.  My ‘ideal Jewish community’ is a one that is open to letting everybody experience and create that connection on their own but supports and comforts you to help lift you towards that as opposed to alienating you and pushing you away.  I’d feel most comfortable praying in that community.

The post The Son Of A Cantor Man: Noah Aronson appeared first on Jewcy.

My culture is black and queer while my religion is Jewish. This is not to say that they cannot coexist. To some Jews that I meet whose culture differs from my own, it becomes an issue of I’m wrong and they are right. This happened most recently with an acquaintance, who happens to be a lazy Jew. When I say “lazy” I mean he’s not observant. This is not to say that an observant Jew isn’t lazy, it’s just that New Jews tend to be more observant than your average secular Jew because we’re knee deep in Judaism. This argument can be saved for another time.

Just for clarification here’s a list of things that are not Jewish.
1. Jesus (as God’s son)
2. The Pope
3. Easter
4. Christmas
5. Bacon
6. The New Testament

On the contrary, things that are Jewish are vast and varied based on location, culture, and tradition. One of the reasons that my connection to Judaism is heavily leaned towards the spiritual and religious aspect as opposed the culture of Judaism is because some people cannot get past the fact that their Jewish culture is not the Jewish culture. This fact was made perfectly clear when I was telling this particular person what I would be serving for Pesach. I got to the part where I was telling him that I would be roasting a lamb and he interrupted me by saying, “You can’t serve lamb at Passover!” Funny, there’s a lamb bone on the Seder plate and in temple times there was a paschal lamb. Not to mention that the Angel of Death passed over the homes of Jews during the last plague because of the lamb’s blood. I amused him, though, and asked why he felt lamb couldn’t be served for Pesach. He didn’t have a definitive answer except to say that it’s not what you eat on Passover. Then sealed the deal (and an invite to my Passover table) by saying no one in his family would eat lamb.

Huge statement, right? Not everyone likes lamb. I realize this which is why I’ll have a fish option and another meat option. But to say that no Jew eats lamb on Pesach is absurd. Surely the Jews of ancient Israel were eating lamb and Jews in the Middle East today eat lamb. According to the Pesach menus suggested in my 3 Sephardic/Israeli cookbooks there are Jews today that eat lamb for Pesach. I will be one of them.

Hearing sweeping “Jewish Statement” like his is nothing new to me. It’s not the first time that I’ve been told that who I am and what I am isn’t really Jewish. It has become so frequent that I’ve gotten used to it, which is bullshit. As a rule, I don’t put up with bullshit so instead of keeping closed mouthed I told this person that while their Jewish culture differed quite drastically from mine, I would be serving lamb at my Seder table and that my Seder would be Jewish. Middle-Eastern and Sephardic with hints of Southern American, Ashkenazi and African American stables but most definitely Jewish. The fact of the matter is there are thousands of Black Jews, Latino Jews, Asian Jews and Gay Jews too. We’re all Jewish and how we Jew is just as Jewish as how you Jew-even if it’s different.

The post Black, Gay, And Jewish: Passover Lamb And Sweeping Statements appeared first on Jewcy.