It all started when Lieberman was living in Los Angeles, and he attended a lecture at a synagogue on a whim. The speaker was a rabbi who had recently returned from Uganda and Nigeria, and as he showed photographs of his trip, Lieberman was captivated by one of the images. “One photo in particular caught my eye,” he explained. “It was a small building in the middle of a wooded area. You wouldn’t notice right away, but there was a large Star of David on the building—it was a synagogue.”

After the lecture, Lieberman approached the rabbi and told him that he wanted to join the next trip to Africa. After more than a year of Lieberman’s somewhat persistent prodding, he got a call from the rabbi, telling him to get his visa in order and his shots up to date; they would be leaving in a few months.

Lieberman was in Africa for just over a month. “We spent all of our time in the communities, attended community meetings, spent Shabbat with families,” he explained. “We met with politicians, interfaith groups. We prayed in large synagogues and small synagogues.”

I asked Lieberman whether making the film changed the way he identified as a Jewish person. “Halfway through the trip I met Shmuel, who is the central figure of the film,” he told me. “We were talking one day and I realized that he knew more about Judaism than I did.” Mostly, Lieberman explained, he now has a greater appreciation for how easy it is for him to practice his Judaism.

“In the West, we can sort of pop in and out of Judaism as we wish. We have access to so many resources-synagogues, JCCs, classes and courses, books magazines and any Jewish material you want.” In Nigeria there are far fewer opportunities to engage with Jewish material.

One issue that I have a hard time reconciling is who gets to say who is and who is not Jewish. Jewish tradition teaches that the first people to accept the covenant with God were Abram and Sarai. Accepting God’s covenant, the couple is renamed and become the matriarch and patriarch of the Jewish people. Several books tell of another famous convert—Ruth. She makes the choice to go with her mother-in-law, Naomi, and declares Naomi’s god her god.

The name I took when I converted to Judaism, Batyah, is the same name the Talmud tells us Pharoah’s daughter adopted when she left with the ancient Israelites out of Egypt. Judaism is mine because I took and accepted the covenant, but what about people who believe that they were cut off from that Jewish covenant through forced conversion, exile, or persecution. Should they be held to the same standards as a non-Jew who wishes to become a Jew? Who gets the privilege of accepting or rejecting a person’s Jewish heritage?

Shmuel’s story, Lieberman tells me, is similar to the story of many in the community. Raised within a Christian community, he wanted to explore a possible Jewish connection. “He had a deep feeling that their ancestral way was a Jewish way and wanted to go back to that,” Lieberman explains, “This is the story of his journey. He really challenged his own beliefs.”

Lieberman recognizes the complexity of Jewish identity, and tried to make sense of it while putting together the documentary. His conclusion is understandably frustrated:

It comes down to the question of what does it mean to be Jewish. Is it a birthright, is it in your mind, is it in your spirit? I spent a lot of time in the film exploring how they could be Jewish, but ultimately, there aren’t any records to prove that they are or that they are not. But there are no records that say that I am Jewish. I know that I’m Jewish because my parents are Jewish and their parents are Jewish. There’s the scientific evidence, which I find incredibly problematic. No one is asking me to take a DNA test to prove my Jewishness, so why should they? Who gets to say who is and who is not Jewish?

He’s realistic about the insular nature of many Jewish communities, even those that consider themselves to be liberal. “We’re used to people acting and looking a certain way,” he says. “Most Jews don’t know or haven’t met Jews of Color, and when they do they find it odd or strange.”

I asked Lieberman what he wanted viewers to take away from the film. “The Nigerian Jews that I met asked me to be the messenger to the wider Jewish world to let them know that they exist,” Lieberman explained. “Books would be nice, they’d like people to come and teach, but more than any of that they want other Jews to know that they exist, that they’re there, and that they’re counted as Jews.”

Jeff Lieberman’s documentary, RE-EMERGING: The Jews of Nigeria is premiering at 92Y on Thursday, May 17 at 8PM, and screens Sunday, May 20th at Congregation Tikvat Israel in Rockville, MD.

(photo credit: Jeff Lieberman)

Erika Davis is a writer, blogger, thinker and innovator who lives and works in Brooklyn, NY.

The post Canadian Filmmaker Focuses on Nigerian Jews in New Documentary appeared first on Jewcy.

The installation reminded me of a jungle gym, not the divine, and I wondered how this piece could have any connection to the concept of the Jewish Messiah. I talked with R. Justin Stewart, a self-professed agnostic married to a Jewish woman, about his new installation, on display at Brooklyn’s Invisible Dog Art Center through May 5.

Your bio states that you’re a self-proclaimed agnostic. Why pursue an art installation about the idea of the Jewish concept of the messiah?

I was researching a wide variety of topics and landed on this topic at the suggestion of my wife. I like to learn about how ideas evolve and change over time based on the time and space they exist within and the other ideas that they’re around. This project really could have been about anything, but the messiah concept worked.

Why do you think people are preoccupied with the idea of a messiah?

What I find fascinating in my 18-month study of the Jewish Messiah is that this type of thinking has been happening forever. There’s a sort of religious ferment where people are waiting for the end: The Y2K, 2012 Rapture, the Mayan calendar. The world is hard on people, it’s not fun all of the time. People want someone, some thing, or somehow to change it. It seems that people are just trying to deal with the world that they’ve got.

So this is a religious piece?

It can’t not be. It becomes a problem of categorization. There’s religious content, there’s Jewish content. Is it Jewish art? Probably, but I think it’s just as secular. You don’t have to be engaged in Judaism to find this piece interesting or relevant. It’s about ideas, and the messiah just happens to be the idea that this work is about.

What do you want the viewer to see when they look at this work?

I struggle with talking about it. I make work for my own learning and to challenge my own way of thinking. I put these works out kind of for myself—they are ideas that are in my brain that I can manifest in a physical way. As an artist, the materials and space have a specific meaning to me, but the content is here for the people to access.

Who do you want to see this? Who are you hoping to attract?

Anyone and everyone, there’s no specific audience. Viewing people in it is interesting to me as an artist. People react differently, it alters your movement. These types of sculptures make people do things they wouldn’t do at an art space.

The post Finding the Messiah, With the Help of QR Codes appeared first on Jewcy.

The Gefilteria will host its launch party at Smooch in Brooklyn on Sunday. I talked with the co-founders about Ashkenazi soul food and Kvass, the Jewish kombucha.

How did the three of you get together?

This idea started as a concept, a way to re-imagine Jewish Ashkenazi food which came to me at the Hazon food conference. I mentioned it to Liz and she was really excited. We both work in the food world in various ways. We started to brainstorm ideas about Ashkenazi food and ways to make it in a way that was in-line with our values: sustainably sourced, responsible, slow comfort food.

Jackie and I were “deli friends”—whenever we would meet up in New York we’d meet at the original 2nd Ave Deli. After a while we realized that we needed to bring in Jackie’s business-sense as well as her family history of cooking these types of foods into the project. Jackie’s parents are from Russia and she grew up in Brighton Beach eating this kind of food daily; we needed her. The three of us got together with the idea of the “carp in the bathtub concept”—a philosophy of freshness and good quality ingredients that the carp in the bathtub represents.

Why gefilte fish?

The idea started with gefilte fish as a concept because it’s the most misunderstood Ashkenazi food. Most people won’t even touch it. Most people’s association with gefilte fish is jarred, ugly, grey oblong, gelatinous vessels of poor flavor and that’s not what is. Before making our initial batch of gefilte fish, it had been missing from family meals for almost a generation.

One of our guiding principles is that the beauty of Ashkenazi food is peasant in origin. It’s our culture’s tradition of making food last longer or feeding more people because in Europe we weren’t necessarily the wealthiest people. You had to make one carp feed an entire family for a full meal. We wanted to make gefilte fish inspire pride and be relevant again. It’s a relevant concept now, especially in a recession. And it’s a really delicious and a nutritious food.

Where does this kind of Jewish food originate?

Gefilte fish can be found in various versions around Europe—from Poland to Hungary to Russia. Depending on the region the gefilte fish will taste different—gefilte fish from one area is sweeter than gefilte fish from another area. Just as there are many different versions of gefilte there are just as many varieties of borscht depending on where you’re from. It’s the food that was eaten by the people.

When the Jewish people from these various countries came to the United States they brought their foods with them. Borscht, for example, isn’t uniquely Jewish. There’s Russian borscht, Polish borscht, Hungarian borscht and the flavors depended on what food grew in the varying regions. There is beet borscht in some areas and more cabbage-heavy borscht in other areas.

The tradition of pickling can be found in every culture. Peoples from nearly every culture have a variety of fermented vegetables. It’s not “Jewish food” but it is food that Jews brought with them to the US and is the origin of the deli. This is the food that we grew up with, the food that we know.

What do you hope to accomplish by re-imagining Ashkenazi food through The Gefilteria?

Pride. Some of the jokes about Ashkenazi food are pretty funny, we’ve got to admit, though they’re not founded in what we believe to be the essence of Ashkenazi cuisine. We are proud of the humble peasant roots of our ancestors and the creativity with which they made the most out of cabbage, beets, and potatoes.

We see The Gefilteria as a sort of laboratory, an exploration of some of the dishes of our past. The food that doesn’t make it onto the deli menus, the food that isn’t as exciting to people because they’re not used to eating it. Gefilte fish wasn’t supposed to be “ugly” food—it was a Sabbath food, eaten on special occasions. To have it be something put in a jar and without care saddens us. We’re not re-imagining it, but bringing it back to what it should be and what it has been. We want people to be excited and happy about eating this kind of old-world food.

It’s about upping Ashkenazi food in the minds of our generation. The idea that these foods are humble; beets, potatoes and cabbage are all ground vegetables, root vegetables and they possess that kind of ground energy. We call our business a roots-driven business because the roots are so powerful, this is our way of expressing our past-part theater, part art, all food.

What other Ashkenazi fare will The Gefilteria be re-introducing to people?

We’ve come across a phenomenal cold Borscht recipe. Kvass, which is the borscht base, is the “Jewish Kombucha” it’s probiotic, it has a nice tang like kombucha, but it is made without the added sugar. We’re doing a variety of fermented vegetables-sauerkraut, horseradish and pickles in the summer—the sides that would have been eaten with this type of European peasant food. We’re also doing a black and white cookie stick which will bring the two flavors together in a way that the traditional shape of a black and white cookie can’t.

How are you a part of the Slow Food, Farm-To-Table, DIY Food movement that’s happening in NYC now?

While we’re reimagining gefilte fish in a way that’s basic, we want to make sure we are sourcing them well also. We’re consulting with sustainable seafood companies, searching for the best ways to source the fish with a focus on sustainable fishing. We’re local vegetables and working only with seasonal vegetables.

We’re a craft-food business and we like the imagery of a laboratory. We’ll be selling Gefilte Fish kits using our sustainably sourced fish, our recipe and our manifesto in the hopes of giving gefilte fish back to the people.

We want to pay respect to this humble, European food as well as the deli and New York street-food. This is the food of the street and we want to be serving this food to the people on the street.

What can people expect at The Gefilteria launch?

We’ll be serving all of our food hors d’oeuvre-style. We’ve made a really beautiful carrot and beet horseradish that the gefilte will sit on which looks really beautiful. We’re serving our kvass as cocktails and we’ll have copies of our Manifesto for people to read. There will be music, nosh, and hopefully great conversation about gefilte. We’ll also be taking orders for Pesach—but the launch is mainly about the food and reintroducing it to Brooklyn.

Starting March 11th, we’ll be taking online orders for gefilte fish by the loaf or by the kit-in both cases it will come with horseradish. After the holiday we’ll be selling at fairs and festivals. We’ll be selling our kvass by the jar, seasonal fermented vegetables by the jar, and sauerkraut on line.

Five years from now, what’s happening with The Gefilteria?

What we hope to achieve is longevity. This food is healthy, cheap and delicious. It should be transformed and reinterpreted through every generation. Just because we don’t live in Eastern Europe where the food originated doesn’t mean it isn’t ours and can’t be enjoyed with our ever evolving taste buds.

(image credit: The Gefilteria)

The post In Brooklyn, Putting Gefilte Fish Back on the Menu appeared first on Jewcy.

My path to Judaism was filled with all sorts of different faith-based and spiritual practice.  My favorite, and some would say my “gateway drug to lesbianism” was my dabble in Earth-based/Pagan/Wiccan spirituality.  Before you get all bent out of shape, let me remind those of you who have categorised paganism and wicca with devil-worship or baby sacrifice, Wiccan holidays are actually quite close to Judaism’s agricultural holidays and lunar cycles.

When I explored Wicca in my senior year of high school and into college I was shocked to learn that the Church had done a pretty decent job of trying to wipe earth-based and nature-based religious practice off the European map.  By burning “heretics”, erecting churches on former pagan holy ground and the strategic placement of holidays like Easter and All Saint’s Day around the pagan holidays of Ostara and All Hallow’s Eve they were able to turn most of these people (by way of the sword) into well-rounded, good Christians.  Of course some of those people held tight to their faith and continued to practice in the same way they did before in secret.  Any of this sounding familiar?

Pagan religion, at its core, recognizes divinity, the sacred, the holy in everything from the earth we stand on to the wind that blows.  Pagan religions are regulated by the moon’s cycle and the changing of the seasons.  Harvest holidays, fertility holidays, and a holiday to reconnect with relatives we’ve lost in the previous year are all vitally important to people who follow earth-based religion.  Of course, like every religion there are some wackadoos, but most pagans do not consider the extremists part of their path.  Instead, most pagans I know, and the group of women I did circles, with were tree-hugging, veggie, hippie lesbians.

My parents were pretty sure I would burn in hell, but in earth-based religion there is no hell.  I tried to explain the similarities of Christian holidays and tie them to their earth-based holiday origins but they remained deaf to my words.  They prayed for my soul and I kept hugging trees and meditating.

A decade and a half and multiple spiritual/religious journeys later here I am, a Jewish woman.  I feel like I’ve made a complete spiritual circle.  While I believe there is only one Gd, there is comfort in the fact that I can find Gd in so many spaces, usually most powerfully when I’m in nature, in awe of the beauty of the world.

The first Shabbat I spent in Israel on my Big Gay Trip to Israel was in the Negev.  Our fearless rabbi lead us out of the Bedouin tent we were praying in during L’cha Dodi just as the Kabbalist did in Tsfat.  We timidly emerged from the tent into the stark coldness of the dessert and fumbled over the verses of the song we all thought we knew.  As we ventured further away from the tent and just the sounds of our voices humming and singing filled the vast space around us we looked up to the most perfect full moon I’ve seen in years.  It was perfectly round and so bright that the stars closest too it were dimmed.  I sang the rest of L’cha Dodi with the group and felt a bit odd.  Here we were, out in the open, under a full moon praying-it was strangely familiar and strangely pagan-I’d been here before.

Throughout my conversion process as I learned about Jewish holidays and why we and when we celebrated them, I kept interrupting my rabbi to comment that it all sounded really pagan.  They would nod in agreement and the rest of my class looked at me like I grew horns.  To most people, “pagan” means devil-worship, to me it means earth-based.  The fact that Jews have not hidden our very earth-based, agricultural roots from our lives as 21st century Jews was welcoming to me.  Shaking the lulav in the four corners, dwelling in a sukkah, even the celebration of a new moon is a part of Jewish practice that I relish.

I’m not sure if it comes from my long and varied spiritual journey, my exposure to many different religious practice, or my interest in religion but, seeing the similarity in religions and spirituality is astounding.  The big-picture of religion is that we’re pretty much all the same from Wiccans to Jews to Buddhists.  When you focus the microscope down to monotheism and sift away the outer layers at the core you will see similarities than differences.  Focus in a bit more to Islam and Judaism and we’re even more similar than we are different.

It’s possible that my naivety is the driving force behind the wonderful similarity I recognize in our two religions, but I don’t think so.  I’d see a Muslim as my brother and not my enemy.  This is where I get all preachy:  This week we read about the ancient Israelites exodus from Egypt.  Every Passover we read that a “mixed multitude” left with the Hebrew people from Egypt.  We’re reminded to welcome the stranger because we were strangers.  My namesake, Batyah, Pharaoh’s daughter (an Egyptian) goes with Moses and the Hebrew people out of Egypt.  We say it over and over again.  It’s in the mission statements of synagogues, it’s on our lips.  We use the phrase to say that we welcome Jews who look different, we welcome Jews who are LGBTQ, we welcome inter-faith couples, we welcome everyone who is a stranger.

I find that it’s usually lip-service.  It has to be more than just welcoming the stranger with words.  Welcoming the stranger is about appreciation, love, respect, acceptance and learning. Just like the wackadoos on my pagan journey there are extremists in every religion.  They’re the minority and often the loudest.  They’re in our newspapers, making headlines online and on the news.  They make a big stink and attract a huge spotlight, but they don’t represent the whole.

Choosing to become a Jew came with a lot of responsibility.  It meant adding another minority status, it meant giving up foods that I love.  More than that it means understanding my history and how it relates to the history of the rest of the world.  Most of all, to me it’s about learning that never ends.  I find that the more I learn about Judaism and impart Jewishness into my life, the more similarities that I see with other religions that I’ve learned about.  It is a truly remarkable and beautiful thing

The post Black, Gay, And Jewish: Confessions Of A Former Pagan-Hippie appeared first on Jewcy.

When I was converting everyone wanted to know why I wanted to be Jewish.  I knew why I wanted to be Jewish, but I found that articulating it to others in a way that is universally understandable was difficult.  Talking about a connection to God to an atheist is not easy task.  Explaining my love of Judaism to a non-practicing Jew was exhausting.  Dissecting a religious connection with someone who thinks religion is the tool of the blind, was not a walk in the park.  I’m a writer, so I came up with a metaphor.

I described Christianity in this way:  It feels like you’re in an expanse of space with a beautiful horizon in front of it.  You walk towards that horizon.  You can walk for days and days and suddenly, you hit a wall.  You step back and realize that the horizon is a sort of mirage, it’s a physical wall that looks beautiful, but one that isn’t real.  So you turn around and walk in the opposite direction, towards another horizon.  Eventually you get to another wall.  This happens in every direction until you realize that you’re stuck in a box.

When I explored earth-based and eastern religions it was as if I never reached an end.  I could literally walk on for ever towards that beautiful horizon and never come to an obstruction.

When I started learning about Judaism I felt like I was in a large expanse.  I saw a beautiful horizon and walked towards it.  I could walk towards it for ever until I hit a wall.  When I step back and look at the perfectly painted wall disguised as the horizon and notice a handle to a door.  I walk through that door and find myself in another place with another beautiful horizon.  That imagery seemed to worked with the people who took the time to hear me explain it, or those who read it on my blog.  It helps, I find, to paint a picture.

Now I’m a Jew.  I’ve not quite hit my four-month anniversary as a member of the Tribe, but I’ve celebrated an entire year of holidays.  I light candles on most Friday nights and try to make it to synagogue.  I’ve tested the waters of modest dressing, kosher eating, and Shabbat observance.  I’ve visited Israel and prayed at the Kotel and there are mezuzahs on all of my doors.  Yet, most of the time I feel like a failure as a Jew.  I feel like a bad Jew for craving cheeseburgers, for liking my v-neck shirts, and for texting friends on Saturday afternoon.  Being a Jew is hard work and I’ve discovered, after only four months, that it’s not going to work.  At least not like this.  I can’t fit into a perfect, neat little box of what it means to be  Jewish.

There are many things about How I Jew that aren’t kosher.  Take my version of kosher, for instance.  On Pesach I removed all of the chametz from my home like most Jewish folks do.  I scrubbed everything, cleared out cupboards and not a single non-kosher food item has entered my house since then.  Well, sort of.  See, I can’t keep kosher in a way that a rabbi would approve of.  I don’t eat non-kosher foods meaning I don’t eat all of the wonderful yummies I used to enjoy like bacon cheese burgers (goat cheese and cook it medium, please), scallops (seared, please and wrapped in bacon), or ribs (hello, Fette Sau in Williamsburg).  That said, for me it’s more important to eat locally and sustainably than it is to eat a chicken that happens to be under rabbinical supervision.  So, the chicken in my freezer isn’t technically kosher, though it’s a kosher animal.

I love pants, I love V-Neck T-shirts, and the last time I wore a kippahI got so many looks on the street that I ducked into the subway and took it off.  Modest dressing isn’t a requirement for Reform Jews.  I don’t haveto cover my sinful collar bones, my scandalous elbows, or my lusty ankles. But, the reason I tried out the kippah wasn’t because I felt like I had to.  My exploration into modest dressing isn’t because I feel like I’m supposed to, it’s to feel a connection with God and with Judaism.  Wearing a kippah makes me feel like there is something bigger than me, something higher than me.  So to compromise, I’ve taken to wrapping my hair on occasions when I can’t make it to synagogue on a Friday night.  When I do wear V-neck t-shirts I make sure that the scarf around my neck covers the girls.

I keep Shabbat to the best of my ability.  Whether or not that means going to synagogue on Friday night and on Saturday morning is a matter of choice, really.  For a while I went to shul on Friday night because I felt like I was supposed to.  I would sit there and get distracted and wish I was home watching T.V.  So I shul shopped until I found a place I really enjoy and feel connected to.  I can’t wait to get to service on Friday not because it’s what I’m supposed to do, but rather because I actually want to.  Lighting candles (even when I rush through them) or making challah feels amazing because it feels like I’m connected to my Jewish identity.

Keeping kosher in a way that’s meaningful to me, observing Shabbat in a way that I’m excited about and dressing in a way that shows less skin feels like I’m connecting to God, Judaism and to the Jewish people in a real and profound way.  When I stopped worrying about doing it “right” it started to feel right.

It started to feel as though I was physically wrapping myself in Judaism.  Which is my new metaphor now that I’m a Jew.  Instead of trying to fit into neat little boxes; Religious/Secular, Reform, Conservative, Orthodox, etc. I’ve decided to mold Judaism around me.  How I Jew will never be really Jewish to some people, Jews and non-Jews alike.

Whether we admit it or not, there is racism within Judaism.  Seeing a Jew who isn’t white is a hard reality for some people.  “But I’ve never known a black Jew” or “But you don’t look Jewish” or “How are you Jewish?” are a common statements heard by many racially and ethnically diverse Jews.  They’re things people have said to me.

The fact that I’m a convert, specifically a Reform convert, isn’t Jewish enough for some Jews.  I’ve been told to my face that I’m not “really Jewish” so keeping kosher, observing Shabbat, having a Jewish home don’t really matter.  The fact that I’m a lesbian isn’t really Jewish for some Jews.  But, the reason I chose to be Jewish didn’t have anything to do with what anyone else thinks.  It had to do with my connection to God through Judaism and love for Judaism.

When I interviewed Goldie Goldbloom for The Big Jewcyshe told me something her rebbe told her when she moved from Australia to the U.S.  He told her that she would see and hear a lot of things in America.  Her rebbe told her to remember that people are Jews, but they are not Judaism.  Her words struck me then and they resonate with me now.  As a firm believer in local and sustainable eating, a person in love with skinny jeans, and an opinionated and passionate Jew I can’t try to be the kind of Jew that anyone else wants me to be.  I can only be the Jew that I am.

There will always be people who don’t get or approve of how I Jew.  I’m used to having people give me unsolicited advice or tips on what is and what is not “kosher”.  I’ve gotten disapproving looks walking into Jewish bookstores and confusion and awe when I respond to Hebrew.  I’m not the Jew some folks expected, and that’s fine.  Judaism doesn’t work for me if I try to fit into boxes that aren’t my size.  Instead, I’m rubbing it between my hands and making Judaism warm and pliable.  It’s getting comfortable and it’s starting to mold around me.  From where I stand, it’s going to fit like a glove in no time.

The post Black, Gay, And Jewish: How Do You Jew? appeared first on Jewcy.

If you haven’t seen the latest and best addition of the Shit {Blank People} Say, then take a moment and watch it right now.

Amazing right?  Don’t think so?  Watch it again and get back to me.

Yesterday morning Francesca Ramsey was a woman with a successful YouTube channel, and by the afternoon she’d gone viral.  Shit White Girls Say…To Black Girls is probably one of the most accurate videos I’ve seen.  In normal Erika fashion I quickly found everything I could about Francesca.  I’ve stalked her all day long, shamelessly.  I even admitted my stalking on Twitter and am pretty sure that she won’t follow me back, though I hope she will because I feel like we could be friends, or better yet, I’d like to interview her.

Thing is, white girls have said about 99% of those things to me and more.

You’re not, like, really black-black, you know?

You’re kinda white, you know?

You really don’t seem like a regular black person, you know?

and

Ohmigod, you’re the whitest black girl I know.

Francesca is getting a lot of flack from people from all over, but I’m pretty sure the people who have a problem with what she’s saying have a problem because they know that it’s true.  I’m convinced that people are afraid of their own prejudice, their own ignorance and their own bigotry.  Comments like, You speak so well or You don’t sound like those other black people, or You’re the whitest black person may seem to be compliments, but it’s really that persons inability to see black folks in any other way than the image they have in their own mind.

Granted, on an average subway ride through New York City you’re bound to hear conversations that validate the media portrayal of shit blacks, Asians, Latinas, Gays and white girls say…but it’s not all we say.  The only time I fit into the “black box” is on the U.S. Census, and that’s the only place anyone should ever fit into a box.  Even then, the boxes are not accurate.

For the record, here’s some more shit that white (and black) girls have said to me.

Can I touch your hair?  Did you see Good Hair?  Your hair looks different every day!  Can I touch your hair?  What did you do to your hair?  How did you get your hair like that?  Do you have a weave?  Have you ever had a weave?  So, how does a weave work?  Do You watch Oprah?

You like white girl music.  You watch white girl movies.  You sound kind of like me, but not since you’re black.

Why are you trying to act white?  Why do you sound so white?  Can’t you just talk like a black person?

I think some of it comes from white people being around ”safe black people.”  Black folks who are either not what one expects, biracial people, or blacks in college classes or work spaces seem to be safe and less-scary than blacks on the street, riding the subway, or on television.  So you’re in a safe space with a “safe black person” and all of a sudden things you’d never say to a person on the street or on the subway just fly out of the mouth without bounds.  You say things like “Black people are so X, but I don’t mean you, I mean them.”

Sure it could be curiosity, and if I feel like a person is being genuinely curious and genuinely cares I will share.  For example, when I was on the Be’chol Lashon family retreat I had a lot of conversations about hair and it was the only time I didn’t care if white people touched my hair without asking because most of those white people were raising black children.  Coming into contact with someone (me) who wears natural hair is sort of an in.  The majority of beauty salons that cater to black women are more comfortable applying relaxers or putting in braids and weaves than they are about sulfate-free, lo/no suds shampoos and caring for natural hair.  So having frank and honest conversations with people who really care is different than a person who I work with asking to touch my hair because we work for same company.  To be clear, no one at my current job has asked these stupid questions.

Is it fair to say they’re stupid questions?  Yes.  I think so.  If you don’t think it’s stupid (and rude) to ask a black person to touch their hair, for instance, I think you may have a problem.  Communication, inclusion, diversity, education and awareness are all things I’m passionate about-especially in the Jewish community.  Creating those spaces doesn’t come with asking rude questions or making rude statements.  They don’t come by writing the narratives of others, they come from listening and learning.

When I hear, “You speak so well.”  The person is actually saying, “You speak so well for a Negro.”  Don’t be fooled, racism is alive and well in the United States in 2012.  Instead of a cross burning in your front lawn or separate seating areas on the bus it comes in the form of insult disguised as compliments and bigotry wrapped up in gross affirmations.

Like the assertions I made in the Latke post, I think that if what Francesca said in her video offends you, dig deep into what exactly you found offensive.  Reflect on interactions you have with people who are a different race or religion than you.  We all say really stupid shit, and sometimes it’s funny.  But that laughter should also make you think.

The post Black, Gay, And Jewish: Thoughts On Shit White Girls Say…To Black Girls appeared first on Jewcy.

Tzedakah boxes are things of childhood memory for many Jews, except me. I tithed. Growing up with a Baptist mother, a Methodist father and educated in Catholic schools, the idea of giving charity was not lost on me. I can remember my mother reaching into her pocket book every Sunday morning to fish out crisp dollar bills for my sister and I to put in the collection plate that was passed around. I don’t remember what it felt like to put that money in the shiny gold plate, because it wasn’t my money.

Fast forward two decades and now I’m a Jewish woman with a giant student loan balance. The promise I made in the mikveh comes with the responsibility to give funds according to our Jewish tradition. Student loan payments aside, the idea of giving money rather than time sometimes seems like a cop out. Why get your hands dirty helping the poor when you can write a check and not think about the people in need? Just giving money rather than time and energy seems like a way of avoiding the situation by throwing money at it.

Yet Jewish tradition requires each person give ten percent of their financial earnings to people in need. We’re obligated to do so not just as a nice thing to do, but to bring us closer to God and to atone for wrongdoing. Living in a city like New York, giving to people in need comes with an entirely different set of conflicts. If I give money to the homeless person asking for spare change on the subway, how can I be sure that they will use it for food rather than alcohol or drugs? Would it be better to give my money to an organization that works toward helping people in need or give to individuals living on the street?

Taking a cue from one of my conversion rabbis, I’ve gotten in the habit of adding money to my tzedakah sack (it’s a cloth bag rather than an ornate box) when I’ve ignored a panhandler on the subway or walked by a homeless person on the street. I say a little prayer asking God to bless the person and when I get home I put all of my spare money into my sack. Depending on the day it’s a few pennies or a few crumpled up dollar bills. I’ve got all of this money–now what?

Where Do You Give? , a project of American Jewish World Service, just launched their new interactive website asking Jews to “Re-imagine Tzedakah for the 21st Century.” As you click through the website you will find links, videos, and guides around tzedakah as well as a design contest which opens on January 10. Reading through the site and listening to the stories of people who are already actively engaged in giving helps put the idea of tzedakah into perspective. We’re obligated as Jews to give tzedakah. Where we give is where we can find passion in a time-honored tradition.

Where do you give? Click here to add a video to the Where do You Give? site. Camera-shy? No worries: add a note here instead

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Several months ago I got notification that I was the recipient of a scholarship worth $2500. That twenty five hundred dollars would cover meals, travel, and accommodations for ten days in Israel. I would be travelling with a group of LGBT Jews from around the world to the Holy Land. A bunch of gay Jews on a gay trip in Israel? I instantly accepted the scholarship without reading the fine print. The fine print being that in order to experience Gay Israel, I would have to pay for a flight first.

You will recall my last piece in which I spilled my financial woes to the Jewcy world. Dropping $1000 on a flight while being unemployed seemed impossible. I almost wrote to the organisation, A Wider Bridge, to regretfully decline. Instead, I begged and asked bloggers and friends and strangers to post my mug to their websites and blogs asking for help. The mission was easy-if everyone donated $5 I could easily get to Israel. In under two weeks twenty-nine people donated a total of $785 through my Pay pal account. I also received checks and cash from people I knew, barely knew, or complete strangers. All in all, I was able to purchase tickets, travel insurance, and a guide book.

I write this post from Newark International airport. I’m surrounded by people clutching passports and speaking languages I do not understand. I’ve watched two Hasidic couples waddle in and find seats and watched as a Black Muslim man faced eastward and knelt to the ground in evening prayers.

After an overnight flight and a twelve-hour layover I will land in the Holy Land, just four months after officially becoming a Jewish woman. I have so many questions and so many thoughts that I know only ten days in Israel will not be able to answer. I may be a Jew officially, but I was a Christian for over three decades. The Holy Land isn’t just a pretty way of saying Israel to me, it truly is Holy. It is holy to my new Jewish life and holy to my old Christian life. It is holy to millions of people who we like to think are very different than us, but are we really that different?

I go to Israel with no expectations and with a completely open heart and mind. I haven’t formulated concrete thoughts on Israel, which was the topic of debate for many meetings with my conversion rabbi. More than it being my right as a Jew to go to Israel, its my responsibility as a person of faith to go there, with a completely open mind. I want to see it with my own eyes, hear it with my own ears, inhale it, breathe it and feel it under my feet. People keep telling me that I will be changed, that it will change me, but I’m not sure if that will be true-it remains to be seen.

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I guess you could call my folks upper middle class.  I grew up in a Victorian mansion in Ohio, I only stepped foot in public schools to cheer at basketball games, we went on family vacations to places like Hawaii and my parents took vacations to Europe.  I didn’t want for anything, but we weren’t rolling around in hundred dollar bills.  My dad is an insurance agent so, I know that when the time comes that he leaves this world my family will be supported.  My parents gave me everything that I needed, when they didn’t buy me the things that I wanted I got a job.  I started working at age 15.

I support Occupy Wall Street.  I’m not a smelly hippie or a trust fund kid.  I’m just an average American woman.  I am thirty-two years old.  I attended a private university before transferring to a state university.  I live in a brownstone and I own a cat.  Since loosing my full time job in June I’ve struggled to make ends meet.  Going from an income of around $50,000 to surviving in Brooklyn on unemployment was a huge blow. I get $1200 in unemployment monthly and my rent is $1000.  On average my electric bill is about $50, my cell phone bill is $100, my gas bill is around $25.  Add to that Fresh Direct bi-weekly around $100, monthly subway $100, student loan payments ($53,000 in total) $350 a month-you do the math.

When I lost my job I had to take an inventory of my meager savings and reached out to family for help.  I’m on a payment plan with Con Edison that I can’t actually make payments toward.  My T-mobile bill is so passed due that I’ve been without phone service for over two weeks.  Which means that if you want to get a hold of me, or if I needed to call for help I cannot.  I cracked my tooth in July and it’s starting to hurt.  Without insurance I’m not sure when I’ll see a dentist.  In both September and October I paid my rent 15 days late-and every time I come home I hope that the lights will be on, that I can cook another meal of beans and rice on my gas stove.  My story is not unique.

Between the day I got fired and the time I started my current temporary employment I went on 75 interviews, I sent out an average of 12 resumes daily, and went into countless retail stores looking for a job.  Navigating the unemployment system in New York City was a slap of reality- I took it as a sign to reassess my life.  I will admit to spending my money frivolously on clothing and booze.  I will admit to not saving as I should have.  I will admit to giving into the New York lifestyle of eating out and going to bars.  I’d planned on getting out of the retail and fashion business to work with Jewish non-profits, I just didn’t plan on getting fired.  Does this mean that I deserve to be in the position that I’m in right now?  I think not.

Because of the amount of money I made and the amount of unemployment I receive I don’t qualify for food stamps.  If I don’t qualify for food stamps, what about a single mother with mouths to feed? It seems askew that only 1% of the population controls the money in our country.  It seems askew that people go hungry within our boarders.  It seems askew that college educated young adults cannot find jobs.  It seems askew that the unemployment rate stays the same in NYC and rise in other cities..  It seems askew that Americans go without health care.  It seems askew that the democracy that we live in is only actually beneficial to a few rather than all.  This is not the America that I learned about in school.  How is it that the most “powerful” and “richest” country in the world cannot support its citizens?

Lazy, leech, drain, waste of tax dollars, poor, dirty, uneducated are ways I used to think about the people on unemployment and on food stamps-until I became one of “those people”.  As Jews we’re obligated to work for justice, we’re obligated to repair the world.  Heschel is famously quoted by saying that when he marched with Dr. Martin Luther King he was “praying with his feet.”  My plan was to build up my savings while I interviewed for a position with a non-profit.  I’d put my words into actions and help those people who needed help the most.  Turns out, I’m one of those people who need help the most!

People who oppose Occupy Wall Street seem to think that the protesters are lazy, that if they just left Zuccotti park and found jobs that the problems would be fixed.  People think that the protesters are unorganized, that they need structure, that they don’t know what they’re even protesting.  When, in fact, if you took the time to go down there, attend a GA, went to any one of  carefully scheduled meetings you would see what they’re protesting and you’d realize what they want-the ability for us all to live the American dream.  I’m putting words into the occupier’s mouths, that’s just what I want.

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What’s not to love about Shabbat?  It happens every week, there’s not a super-sad story attached and it often involves food.  Some say you just need candles, wine and bread and you’ve got Shabbat.  Heschel’s book The Sabbath, is the only Jewish book I continually reference.  It’s the way that Heschel describes Shabbat, the way that Shabbat separates not just space, but time.  “The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space. Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time. It is a day on which we are called upon to share in what is eternal in time, to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation; from the world of creation to the creation of the world.”-Abraham Joshua Heschel.  Shabbat gives us the time not only to separate the mundane from the extraordinary, but to connect to people that we care for and love.

The Shabbat meal is the centerpiece of Friday evening.  I’ve experienced standard Ashkenazi Shabbat dinners with matzo ball soup and roasted chicken to wonderful and tasty soul food dinners with barbeque chicken, dirty rice, and collard greens.  The food on the table is different from family to family, yet the tradition and the meaning behind the festive meal is the same.  It’s the food that we share with the people around our Shabbat table that connects us not only to Jews in our home, but to Jews around the globe.

Since moving to New York six years ago I’ve given more thought to food and where it comes from.  Big Box groceries equipped with super-sized grocery carts are the norm in my Ohio home town.  I remember being fascinated by the itty-bitty carts and narrow aisle of places like Whole Foods.  Along with shopping for organic foods came research into our food system.  Movies like Food Inc. and reading An Omnivore’s Dilemma didn’t turn me into a vegetarian, it helped me to think about what I ate.  I now try to shop locally, organically, sustainably, and eat seasonal foods.  When I had access to a back yard (a New York dream come true) I grew vegetables.  I buy produce from farmer’s markets.  Joining a CSA is the next step on my list towards making sure that the food that I put into my body sustains me and local farmers.  That is how I thought about food until joining the Pursue team in late October.  Now I think not only about where my food comes from, but about the people who work the farms; Are they making a living wage?  About the impact of industrial food on small farms and farmers in the U.S. and abroad.  About creating an agricultural system that supports our eco-system, plant life, and the bees that make it all work.  I think about the current food aid system in place- is it really helping the hungry or is it preventing the farmers in developing countries the ability to feed their children?  Thinking about poverty and hunger in the U.S. is a daunting task, thinking about it on a global scale is nothing short of overwhelming.  It seems that there is little that I can do to make a change.

As Jews we’re commanded to work towards social justice and repairing the world.  On November 4-5 you can do your part by joining hundreds of Jews across the U.S. for AJWS’s second Global Hunger Shabbat, a weekend focused on food justice and tikkun olam.  Community centers, synagogues, and college campuses around the globe have already signed up, but hosting Shabbat dinner at home with family and friends is the route that I want to take.

One of the most attractive aspects that drew me to Judaism is the focus on social action, social justice, tikkun olam-and love of Shabbat.  Ahad Ha’am said: “More than the Jews have kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath has kept the Jews.”  What a better way the marry tikkun olam and Shabbat then Global Hunger Shabbat.  The Jewish Holiday Season has ended with Simchat Torah and we’re at the season of New Beginnings.  We’ve finished reading the Torah and started reading it again, reminding us that the cycle continues.  With that continuation comes the renewed responsibility to create positive change in our communities-big and small.

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