Of the four geeks that star in The Big Bang Theory, Wolowitz is the only one without a doctorate, leading to teasing from his three best friends and other colleagues at Cal Tech. He also looks the weirdest: He wears bright-colored turtlenecks, sweater-vests, skinny jeans and belts with large, decorative buckles almost every day, and sports a Beatles-esque haircut. Plus, he drives a Vespa.



On top of all of that, Wolowitz considers himself a ladies’ man, and though the show is built around his friend Leonard (Johnny Galecki)—who’s also Jewish, though his faith isn’t mentioned often—who has a crush on and later dates their ditzy blonde neighbor Penny (Kaley Cuoco), Wolowitz is definitely the sex-obsessed one of the group. He once even got his penis stuck in a robotic hand that was meant to make extravehicular repairs, which he, uh, repurposed.



At first, it seemed like showrunner Chuck Lorre was trying to show what would happen if Alexander Portnoy was an engineer in the Cal Tech applied physics department. Mother issues? Check. Neuroses? Check. Weird and often disrespectful treatment of women? Check.
 


Of course, The Big Bang Theory is a network sitcom—a popular, but critically-reviled one, at that—so Wolowitz’s clumsy attempts to pick up women are tamer than those imagined by Philip Roth, though they have included doing magic tricks, ventriloquism, dressing up as a Goth, and giving compliments in Russian.
 


At the end of the fifth season, Wolowitz put his attempted player-like ways behind him for good, marrying microbiologist Bernadette (Melissa Rauch), his very own shiksa goddess (albeit a geeky one), after three seasons of dating. (Jewcy readers will of course know that Mayim Bialik has been appearing on the show since the end of Season 3 as Amy Farrah Fowler, a Ph.D. in neurobiology, who was first introduced as a love interest for Sheldon, Jim Parsons.) Wolowitz and Bernadette had bonded over complaining about their mothers, and he loved how angry he imagined his mom would be when she hears he has a Catholic girlfriend.



Then again, Wolowitz’s mother is basically always angry.



Mrs. Wolowitz is a running gag on The Big Bang Theory. Viewers never see her, even during her son’s wedding, but they hear her throaty, Brooklyn-accented voice (“How-waaaaaaahd”) from downstairs, whenever Wolowitz is in his room.

That’s right, Wolowitz still lives with his mother, though he’s in his early 30s. Because he lives with her, he is constantly helping her shave various body parts, like her back or mustache, and dealing with her many ailments—there seems to be a new one every episode. 

Wolowitz himself is no stranger to health neuroses, rounding out the character with yet another Jewish stereotype. He’s asthmatic, allergic to nuts, and has an irregular heartbeat, and was stricken with pink eye and canker sores over the course of the show’s five seasons.



If Big Bang creator Chuck Lorre wasn’t known as a proud Jew, Wolowitz might be considered an anti-Semitic character. Luckily Lorre and Simon Helberg make sure he has a lot of heart, and over time turned him from a one- or two-joke stereotype to a more likeable character, that I could even imagine hanging out with—even if he still dresses like an idiot.



Previously on Network Jews:

Paris Geller, Rory Gilmore’s high-intensity, over-achieving friend and foil on Gilmore Girls

Kyle Broflovski, South Park’s Resident Jew

Ziva David, the ass-kicking Mossad agent on CBS’s naval drama NCIS

Lahav Harkov is the Knesset reporter for The Jerusalem Post, where she also writes a column called The Weekly Schmooze about Jews in pop culture, so she has an excuse for incessantly reading celebrity gossip.

The post Network Jews: Howard Wolowitz from The Big Bang Theory appeared first on Jewcy.

Solo albums come in many shapes and sizes. Some, like in the case Justin Timberlake, are fame grabs, attempts at being a star not tied down by any band mates (like Joey “Fat One” Fatone); some, like in the case of Albert Hammond Jr., are the result of sidemen looking for their shot at front-man perks; some are the result of a perfect blend of inspiration and accident. Kiss Full of Teeth the new album from Takka Takka’s Gabriel Levine is most definitely the latter. Performing under the name Gabriel & the Hounds, his solo effort marks the most personal music of his career. He told me, “the project started with a fake name but the songs were too close to the bone to release them under another name.”

The album, which will be released stateside on February 28^th, is exactly to Levine’s vision. The albums quirks and off-center moments are what happen when an artist is allowed complete freedom to experiment. The most successful of which, is the surprising use of heavy classical arrangements. Songs will quickly move from soft guitar strums to chamber orchestra, all while never losing sight of his voice and lyric. His understated songwriting allows the record to remain grounded and feel personal.

I got to speak to Gabriel about writing and recording Kiss Full of Teeth with an all-star line-up made up of various members of the Brooklyn music scene and play a music version of the game fuck/marry/kill:

JESSE: Was there a specific moment or song that you realized what you were writing wasn’t Takka Takka music?
GABRIEL: “Lovely Thief” was definitely not a Takka song.

How would you describe this difference?

The batch of songs that became the Hounds record, pull from a different set of influences, a different palate, a different process, and a different group of musicians. They feel very different to me, approached in a more immediate and personal way. Is it like Pepsi and Coke? It’s more like grapefruits and calamari.

What made you decide that you wanted to continue down the path of this diversion?
Basically, I wanted to make a new Takka record about a specific thing. So, I set about writing songs around a set of rules, so of course, I ended up writing a ton that didn’t fit into the Takka mission statement. I shared those songs with some friends who wanted to play on them. One thing led to another, without a plan, or path and we ended up with the Hounds record.

With the new Takka Takka album set to come out soon as well, did you find yourself trying to write both at the same time?

I have written so much music in the past few years, it’s insane. It’s enough for 4+ albums worth. I hope to keep up the productivity. I am just now happy to share this music with others!

I think a song like “Lovely Thief” perfectly encapsulates the instrumentation of the record. It starts with just voice and guitar, and it sounds very much like the type of song someone would write and perform alone. But then as the song progresses, more and more orchestrated elements are introduced. When writing this song, and all the others, did you think they would have this added instrumentation?

No. Every song started out as just me and a guitar—I never anticipated the insane amount of arranging and instrumentation that would find its way into the songs in the end. As I said, I had no real plan other than to make a personal record that sounded like an [Roy] Orbison record. I guess that is a plan.

Who did the arrangements and how did you come about working together on the project?

Mike Atkinson. Our mutual friend (and my manager) Lisa Moran introduced us. They had worked together on other projects and when she heard my demos we thought some “real” instruments would sound nice on them.

How collaborative was the writing process between you two?

Mike fleshed out a lot of ideas I put together on synths or in Reason, using fake strings and horns. We worked closely on crafting the perfect orchestration. He’s amazing to work with. Having never studied music, I am always in awe of people who know what they’re doing!

The album starts and ends with what can best described as minimalist classic music. Where did this come from? What do you think it says about the rest of the record?

I was first introduced to Philip Glass in 1992 in a work called the The Voyage, commemorating Columbus’s arrival into the New World. The opera ends with a spaceship descending. Ever since that moment I have always wanted to make music like Mr. Glass. Of course I don’t and I can’t. This is my homage.

It is a solo record insomuch as it has your name on it and you wrote all the songs, but the album was made with a lot of collaborators. How did you go about finding people to work with? And what do you think it says about the camaraderie of the Brooklyn scene?

Many of the people on the record are friends and people whom I have played shows with, opened for, drank with, argued with, and love. There are so many amazing musicians here in Brooklyn and I am very lucky to have had them play on this album.
How important was it to maintain an intimacy to the recording, even when you have some many collaborators?

The core of the record is its intimacy. All the vocals and acoustic guitars were recorded in my home – in my living room (it sounds better than the bedroom). It started as “Gabe’s whisper in your ear” but with a little bombast.

Vulnerability is a major theme in the record both in terms of the lyrical content and just the fact that it’s your name on it. Was that something that you were conscious of or something that revealed itself afterwards?

I am never conscious of what I am doing. It is definitely something that is still revealing itself to me. Especially, as I prepare for shows!

Did you feel like there was less pressure with project because there are fewer expectations or more because it is you solo?

Yeah, I felt zero pressure to do anything above and beyond Takka. It was so freeing to just make music and not make a follow up record.

Where Takka Takka has explored African and World music influences, this project seems focused on Western tradition. Did you see that sonic theme working its way through the record?

I certainly tried to make a record that could sit next do Buddy Holly or Roy Orbison. It’s just where my ear was when I was recording. Just as African and Indonesian music was in my ear when I was into the last Takka record.

Was your willingness to experiment with this and in other ways a response to the freedom of being solo?

Yes, there was no “sound” that was established that I needed to think about when working on this record. The songs were what they were and the arrangements and additions were all decided by the songs themselves.

Were there certain former lead singers, whose solo records/careers you looked to for inspiration? Not just necessarily sonically but to get a sense of the psychology of releasing a side project.
No, I didn’t even think of it as a subset of music. That’s interesting. There are so many…. As I answer the obvious pops into my head. Peter Gabriel and Bryan Ferry.

Have you heard of the game Fuck/Marry/Kill?

No….um…

It’s a game where you are presented three options and you have to decide which you’d fuck, which you’d marry, and which you’d kill. I wanted to try something similar but musical. It’s called Single/Album/Kill. I’ll give you three musicians and you have to decide which you’d want to record a single with, which you’d want to record and album with, and who’d you kill and why. This is a special solo projects addition.

We’ll start with an easy one: Sting, Phil Collins, Peter Gabriel:

Kill Sting. Love him, but he’s too fit.

Single with Phil because he’s so pop-crafty.

Album with Peter Gabriel because that would be an experimental mindfuck.

Black Francis, Stephen Malkmus, Thurston Moore:

I will have to break the rules and say that we would have to form a Travelling Willburys style band and record at least two amazing albums together.

Chris Cornell, Darius “Hootie” Rucker, and Eddie Vedder (but he’s only going to play ukulele):

I think they already were killed off musically. No?

Last one. Gwen Stefani, Fergie, Beyonce:

Pass.

Last question. I know you are finishing up the next Takka Takka album. What can we expect from it?

We just finished mixing the Takka record. It’s insane. I keep describing it as Metal Machine Music meets Burt Bacharach. But it’s more like a Pink Floyd record than anything else. It’s like nothing we’ve ever done.

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Last night was the third and worst episode of Smash thus far. Katherine McPhee got to sing some cover and look like a covergirl, there was a British-off by the show’s resident British dudes, Debra Messing got to where a few cardigans, Angelica Huston threw multiple drinks in her ex-husband’s face and so on and etc. Somehow an episode with multiple major plot developments felt like it went nowhere. At its worst, we now know, Smash feels like an hour-long trailer for the next episode. Yet in spite of, or maybe because of the episode’s lousiness, Smash’s bigness was on full display. There hasn’t been a show of this scale and production ambition in years.

Well, specifically, two years.

The first scene of the series was a glossy shot of Katherine McPhee, all sparkles and fake smoke, singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”* It was arresting, simply do to how unlike anything else it looked. It instantly reminded me of Lost’s famous first shot, in which Jack opens his eyes to see the post-plane crash carnage spinning around him. Explicitly and tonally, both these scenes couldn’t be more different, but they do share the trait of being different from everything else that has come before it as well.

In addition to this—and that both have punchy one-syllable names—there are some genuine similarities. Both share an uncommonly large cast set in a large “foreign” setting (Is the business of Broadway inherently a mystery that people care about? The show surely thinks so, dropping the word “agent” last night more often than any show I can recall, including Entourage). The first episode established nine main characters, with the a tenth added last night. Ten principal characters, six of which could be considered leads, is so obscenely many that it sends a certain message, this is a “big” show.

So far this largeness seems to be the main goal—quality will come later. In that way, it resembles later Lost, when the mythology took precedent over keeping the dialogue sharp and characters evolving. It’s here where each show’s biggest similarity rears its respectively Jewish head; both started as broad visions by their heavyweight creators, who in turn put it in the hands of others. Lost was J.J. Abrams’s response to ABC asking him for a scripted version of Survivor—Smash is the result of Steven Spielberg having the idea of creating a TV show about creating a Broadway musical that would lead to the creation, and success, of the actual Broadway musical (the man is dying to EGOT). Leaving both shows with more successful sets that scripts.

So far, for Smash it has worked to garner popularity, just like Lost had. Both Abrams and Spielberg are known for being populist visionaries and their respective shows are designed for a big tent. Smash waters down its dialogue so it always goes down easily (That last sentence, if paired with a wink, would be perfect for Smash—you’re welcome, Mr. Spielberg). It focuses, probably rightfully so, on broad character types—the young Mid-Western performer trying to make it in the big city, the uptight working mom trying to have it all, the untrustworthy British charm machine, the sassy divorcee—instead of subtle explorations of Broadway. Just like how Lost was confined to the rules of science fiction, Smash accepts the trappings of musicals.

Smash is not Mad Men. Subtly is spurned in favor of every character always telling the audience exactly what they are thinking, through song or not. To the show’s backers, that’s exactly the point, Smash is hoping to do little more than accompany your weekly serving of popcorn, oohs, and ahhs. I’ll keep watching for that purpose alone. That and I want to see what happens when they get off the island, Manhattan.

*This was meant to be an allusion to her “famous” audition for American Idol, which I believe has since been added to the Library of Congress.

The post Jews Watching TV: Smash Is The New Lost appeared first on Jewcy.

I admit it. I am a Terrence Malick nerd. I spent large portions of this past staycation watching his whole ouevre, which, I admit is not the hardest feat to accomplish, what with a whole of five movies, but I did watch the extended version of the movies. Then, after I watched them again, I scoured the Internet for scraps of insight into the mystery of Terrence Malick: a reclusive director, who began a doctorate in philosophy, studied with Stanley Cavell at Harvard, translated Hegel, and made perhaps one of the most gorgeous movies of all time (I will fight you tooth and nail on the merits of The Tree of Life). However, after my long Internet journey, I ended up learning nothing about him, or his methods, or his themes, besides for scattered articles here and there.  I did learn that it never pays to try to put together pieces of news or to try to guess at the plot of an upcoming movie, or really any details about any of his upcoming works. Doing so is tantamount to either putting together the past of a person based on the names and descriptions on a tombstone, or similar to figuring out when the actual rapture will happen.

However, when I read that Malick booked Natalie Portman for two of his new movies I geeked out. Malick has three movies (perhaps four, you never really know) in the works, all with all-star casts, one unnamed, a romantic epic starring Ben Affleck And Rachel McAdams, followed by Lawless and Knight of Cups, both with Christian Bale and Cate Blanchett, and now both with Portman as well. Portman, though perhaps just another drop in the sea of stars for a sprawling Malick film, piques my interest because of the general role of women in Malick’s movies. Though women play a main role in almost all of his films (The Thin Red Line serving as the only exception in which women play no role except for a few natives.) they usually all serve the same purpose, variations on the same character: ethereal, spiritual, head in the clouds, representative of grace, religion, naivete, but mostly, innocence, overall a love object to the contrasting hardened, aggressive, violent, more earthly man. For that reason, I like to start to think of Portman in that role, as the embodiment of grace. I think she could fit this part perfectly, her classical beauty, her gentleness, her physical tininess, her profound ability to convey a range of emotions through facial movements, but, knowing that Cate Blanchett will star in both of these movies as well makes me think that Blanchett might be better fitted for this St. like figure, but who knows.

Before we get carried away in surmising the role of Portman in these movies, we should remember that until the actual date of release we can never actually who will play a lead or not, (Adrien Brody, famously, was edited out of a lead role in The Thin Red Line), or who will even make it into the final cut of the movie. So we here at Jewcy, the day after Tu B’Shvat, are praying that Portman makes the final cut.

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I imagine Ben Marcus, despite his prodigious talent, sadly, doesn’t make the biggest splash outside of the literary world. His previous works: experimental, challenging and brilliant, have drawn wide acclaim and a cult-like following, but he lacks the controversial nature of other authors (unless you count an argument with Jonathan Franzen in Harper’s Magazine) and often writes with a density that precludes a mass audience. However, in his new book, perhaps his most stylistically conventional to date, The Flame Alphabet, Marcus attempts to meld his ambitious intelligence with a more classic narrative style. Not shockingly, our conversation touched upon a range of subjects including the power and limitations of language, Kabbalah, the nature of family dynamics, and the state of the American novel.

Jewcy: Your book describes a world in which the language of children literally kills adults, both a scary and ambitious idea for a novel. Where did this idea come from?

I have always thought of language as something very potent, something that could change us on a biological level, the way a drug can. It affects our feelings, changes our behavior, and when I thought of it that way, and magnified it, I wondered what would happen if we consumed too much of it, if it could or would be poisonous, and that was the first idea of language as a virus, which seemed to generate a lot of stories for me. But it was equally important to be happening to a family. It was important for me to portray the struggle of a parent. I was really interested in having a parent go through the challenge of having to choose between staying with a child and perishing because of it, or leaving and dealing with that shame.

You chose to unleash this nightmare virus on a family that already displayed some pretty dysfunctional relationships…

Yea, that’s right. It’s not as though they had a perfect relationship beforehand, and I thought of that, but it seemed that if this toxic language visited a happy family, it seemed too easy to just pick on this joyful and peaceful family and send this meteor down on their house. This choice seemed to me more morally complicated, that they already had trouble and issues. I think one of the things that I try to do throughout the book is to slowly escalate the moral problems.

You speak of morally complicated situations, and your characters are morally complex as well, almost to the extent that some of them can engender a lack of sympathy. I’m thinking of Esther who gives the angst ridden teenager a new dimension. What do you think of her as a character?

Well she might have been a teenage bitch to her parents, but quite possibly she was not to her friends.  We only have the story from one person, her parent, Samuel’s eye, and I am fascinated how people are different around their parents than around their friends and everyone outside in the world. In a way, parents are a punching bag, of course that’s not all they are, but it’s safe to misbehave around your parents because they wont break up with you. I think what attracts me is that in our lives and in our imagination family is completely essential and yet it is a cauldron of a lot of bad behavior, tension, and vulnerability.  You don’t love anyone the way you love your family, but it’s also the safest place to test out your fears and bad behavior. I like Esther, but I was aware that I was just showing one side of her. Plus to me, her teenage rebelliousness made a kind of sense; the logic of a teenager. I think what it comes down to is that it is not her story, we see ultimately as her father sees her.

There seems to be an inherent tension in a book full of words attempting to describe the danger and limits of language.

Well, that’s a kind way to put it. I basically gave a gift to a reviewer who didn’t like the book. It’s a huge unanswerable paradox to use language to write about the end of language. I can’t imagine my life without language. I have the craziest and the most delusional belief that there is far more to language than we’ve even discovered. Consequently, to try to write with language about this paradox can be one of the most fascinating things I can try to do, and I keep thinking that more is possible and if you put the right words in the right order we will unlock deeper riches of human experiences. It’s a lot of faith in language, and that’s partly why I wanted to reverse the idea for myself. I try this a lot, to reverse my belief so as to feel vulnerable when I’m actually writing about it, because if it’s antithetical to what I really feel it almost forces me to live the bad dream I am writing and to try think differently.

This idea of the untapped potential of language leads us into the mysticism of the book.

To me I couldn’t imagine this book without mysticism.  It’s fundamentally, at least how I understand it, opposed to using language to try label our deep spiritual experience.  It suggests that deep spiritual mystical experiences are beyond language, which is an amazing taunt to me.  On the one hand people chase after it and try to describe describe and describe, but I think there is something romantic and alluring and compelling to the idea that language can’t reach a certain level of experience, not only can’t, but that language is almost a suspicious decoy away from those experiences.

Besides mysticism, there seem to be a little bit of Nietzschean idea of the limits of language.

He’s an interesting reference, but even on the sweeter side, it’s funny, but for some reason I am noticing more and more people going on retreats were they take vows of silence. Places where the whole idea is to not speak for a while, to pursue this fantasy of what you might think and feel if you weren’t constantly trying to say what you think or feel. The more I read into Kabbalah, I found that what I had invented at least with the way these characters worshipped in the woods and their relationship to language, made my idea of language feel less invented, and more of an ancient idea, maybe I just needed to delude myself, but I am pretty sure there are many antecedents.

In terms of style, this seems to be the least experimental of your books. This is a book with almost a classical narrative arc. How did you make this choice?

Well, I found it essential that one person tell it.  As opposed to my earlier books which used different narrators, or unseen or removed omniscient narrators, here, I felt very compelled that this wasn’t supposed to be told that way, that it needed to be a story of one person, and that is why it has the look and feel of a more traditional narrative. Additionally, I felt that I wanted to have a lot of momentum to move along as quickly as possible so that in a certain sense the hurdles to the believability of the idea wouldn’t settle in, because the conceit would put too much pressure and leave the reader scratching their head. So the ruse was to keep changing and moving things so that people wouldn’t stop and think about.

In a book of evil, grotesque, and disgusting situations, there are moments of beautiful poetic transcendence in the writing. How does that fit in with the larger tone of the book? Specifically, you wax poetically on the potential of the Hebrew language.

Well I think that it is intentional there. The narrator is trying to invent a new language and out of some dim notion of respect he has refused to use Hebrew to test on the subjects because he doesn’t want to injure anyone with the Hebrew language, but he starts to think he might find a sort of personal antidote in it.  I wanted to suffuse that feeling with some reverence and hope.  Sam feels reverence towards this, and believes that the Hebrew language is not finished, that the whole mystical idea of the Hebrew alphabet has sort of these potential missing pieces if plotted together, or built out, would release everybody from this difficulty.

This is a novel full of mysteries, riddles, and philosophical ideas underlying the compelling narrative, did you ever think that there is a saturation point of philosophy or ideas in a novel?

Yes. The saturation depends on trendiness. It also depends on how commercial you want to think about a reader, and what kind of reader you write for.  I think I did put thoughtful material in the book, but I did not want it to feel inert or just a repository of ideas, although there is all that, I think I used to do that more often, but here I was more interested in illustrating or embodying ideas, setting it in motion, so that a reader could find it there if he or she wanted to, but it wasn’t feeling like you were getting schooled in this book.

These questions sound similar to those you tackled in your Harper’s article on experimental fiction and Jonathan Franzen

Look, it’s an interesting question about American fiction in general and the kind of books we consider major. I try to think of the ten major books of the last decade, and it’s an interesting question. I think the basic question is how to write substantive books that you want to write without alienating people. I don’t feel that readers need to be forced to read anything, and if something feels didactic to them, they shouldn’t read it. In the end I think the challenge and problem and responsibility comes back to the writer, and the writer needs to accept how much they care about something.  The artistic challenge is whether they can find a delivery system for their material that is engaging vital and entertaining without forfeiting the issues that started their novel off.

The post Jewcy Interviews: Ben Marcus On “The Flame Alphabet” appeared first on Jewcy.

Israel is not a nation known internationally for their filmmaking, and certainly not here in the United States.  That may all be changing very soon.

When it comes to the Best Foreign Language category at the Oscars, Italy and France are juggernauts; France having earned 36 nominations in the category thus far with 12 wins and Italy with 27 nominations and 13 wins.  Far down the totem pole there’s Israel who in the history of the Academy Awards has received 10 nominations in the Best Foreign Language category, and zero wins.  Similarly, at the Cannes Film Festival, Israel has thus far earned two awards in the festival’s lifetime both for acting, until this year when Footnote, the fourth film by Israeli director Joseph Cedar, took home the Best Screenplay Award. Now, with the tenth Israeli film to receive a nomination for the Best Foreign Language prize at the Oscars, Cedar might well be on his way to putting Israel on the map of world cinema.

Footnote is the story of Uriel Sklolnik and his father Eliezer, both renowned Talmudic scholars at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem.  Where Uriel is something like the Malcom Gladwell of Talmudic study, a rock star at translating the age-old text (in a profession appropriately devoid of rock stars) Eliezer is more like an undiscovered Proust, his work methodical and rigid, and to most people, too complex to even approach.  However, when Eliezer is finally notified that he’s been chosen to receive the annual Israel Prize for Talmudic studies, everything about him begins to change, even his bitter and impossible-to-please demeanor.  Even Uriel, whose father is seemingly the only person whose approval he is unable to obtain and who has yet to receive the prize for his own work, is pleased for his father, if not a tad jealous.  That is, until he learns that there’s been a major mistake, one that may prevent him from ever being eligible to win the prize himself.

In watching Footnote, it’s immediately refreshing to see how lighthearted this expectedly serious, scholarly film, actually is.  Immediately breaking the third wall and playing with filmic convention, Footnote appears almost like a Rob Reiner film in its silly approach to dealing with very serious characters.  Viewers are likely to walk into Footnote expecting one thing and getting another, because, though Footnote is a film about academia, and in particular Talmudic studies at the Hebrew University, there’s a sense that it could really be about any profession or competitive arena.  The dominant themes in Footnote are so universal that one needn’t even know what the Talmud is to understand and enjoy the film.  Above all, it’s a film about father and son, and the jealousy that naturally comes along when one person out of a small circle becomes “chosen,” both noun and an adjective.

Looked at form the point of view of screenplay writing, for which the film received the prize at Cannes, Footnote is a very subtle and nuanced work wherein the audience is left to draw their own conclusions and connect multiple dots, but from a filmmaking standpoint, Footnote is rather illustrious, with it’s non-linear storytelling, odd angles, and an elaborate, dramatic score.  Taking place in the heart of Jerusalem, Israel is certainly something of a character in the film, however, much like Footnote seemingly could have been about any profession, there’s also a sense that it could have taken place anywhere in the world, such is the brilliance and universality of the story.

“The Talmud is a vast tremendous document that covers all areas of life.  It is maybe the most impressive document ever composed. Footnote film deals with one of the values in that text, that argument is good.  The Talmud is fueled by the notion that conflict is an ingredient for progress and in order to crystallize an idea, you have to argue over that idea,” says Director Joseph Cedar about the Talmud’s importance to the film.

When asked whether Israeli film on the world stage, Cedar told me:

“The last 10 years have been great for Israeli cinema, we’ve been in all the festivals and we’ve had 3 Oscar nominations in 3 years,” although Cedar neglects to mention that two of these nominations were for his own films.

It’s interesting to ponder whether any kind of style is developing amongst Israeli filmmakers, or whether there are any identifying characteristics endemic to Israeli film. According to Cedar it’s just the opposite:

“I have friends who are making films and we like each other but we’re not part of some cinema movement, which is part of why film in Israel is vibrant.  Look at Romanian cinema, it all looks the same, all these national cinemas that have had a good wave of films, there’s something common about them.  The films that have been successful out of Israel have nothing in common. You never know what will do well and filmmakers feel like they have to surprise the audience, and that’s a good thing. As long as we feel like we have to supersize ourselves, we wont fade away.”

While no French or Italian films are nominated in this year’s Best Foreign Language category, Footnote remains the darkhorse contender due the presence of Iranian Filmmaker Asghar Farhadi’s “A Seperation,” the only foreign film also nominated for a the Best Original Screenplay Award at this year’s Oscars, and the most critically gushed upon foreign language film of the year.

So once again, Israel gets to be the underdog.

The post Israel’s Dark Horse Contender For The Oscars appeared first on Jewcy.

I’ve been in Los Angeles for almost a week now. I’m spending the month here figuring out if I want to move here (after one day, the answer was a resounding, “heck yes!”). I’ve even started to look into the Jewish community, which has been, to say the least, very interesting.

In New York, the ultra Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods are the most noticable. That’s mainly it when it comes to overall communities.  The Modern Orthodox ones aren’t young, and Danny and I have never felt at home in the ones we’ve visited. We were hoping to have a little bit more luck in LA.

The second day here we visited Fairfax, or as everyone out here lovingly refers to it, “Jewland.” The local kosher butcher carries South African meat, which is a rare find in NYC. It was already looking good for Danny, who is addicted to the stuff. The supermarkets have a nice vibe, and unlike the ones in NY, aren’t dominated by the traditional Orthodox or Chasidic people. They are truly a mix.

Our first Shabbat here was spent at a Conservative shul since the place where we are staying isn’t near an Orthodox one. It was… weird. The people were warm, and the building itself was beautiful, but the experience felt a little off. The rabbi and cantor brought out guitars and played a piano during services, which felt like a Jewish open mic. It was very Hollywood. I felt uneasy considering that it’s forbidden to play instruments during Shabbat. The piano felt like I was in church. And on the Conservative side, it doesn’t feel right that Danny and I were allowed to sit together. I know I sound anti-feminist or sexist, but sitting next to him really was a distraction.

Other than that, the water for washing before the meal was warm. It’s forbidden to turn on hot water on Shabbat because it lights up the hot water heater. It was mandatory for me to wear a head covering at services, and all of the women were wearing kippahs. My belief is that if I want to wear a head covering, it’ll only be after I get married. It made me feel uneasy that I didn’t have a choice. They spoke about momzers, and said people don’t pay attention to that anymore. However, I learned at my shul that there are websites specifically for momzers to meet each other. I thought it was ignorant to say that the momzer ideas are outdated when there are tons of people who still care about it and have to live that way.

I liked that women participated in the services, which is something I wish that Orthodox Judaism promoted more. That was definitely the best part of the whole experience.

It’s funny- about six months ago, I wanted to convert to Conservative Judaism, but now I can’t even imagine it. If I’m going to convert, I have to go all in and do it halakhic style. To some, it may seem that I’ve become more close minded. I look at myself all the time with a critical eye and think, will I become pro life? Will I become anti-gay? Will I move out of mine and Danny’s apartment and live on my own until marriage? Will I go to the mikveh once a month and practice the strictest family purity laws? The answer to all those is no, but I know that Danny is often afraid that they’ll all turn into “yes” once I get more into it. But if that does happen, why would Danny want to be with someone who loses herself completely to her religion?

I have my core values, and I won’t let my liberal views be tainted by my religious ones. Heck, there are ways to be pro-gay and pro-choice in Orthodox Judaism, despite close minded opinions about us. There are even ways to not have to go to the Mikveh every month. Once you get inside the Orthodox community, you learn all these things. As for people who have these opinions, I advise them to spend some time within our community.

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For so long I hoped to find where people my age prayed. I have slowly begun to find some pieces of the answer. Much of the answer depends on demographics, both of age, but more importantly, of personality, though not necessarily level of religiosity (something which, in general, eludes easy categorization.) Many people, in a discussion about this specific question of perceived lower attendance of synagogue, explain that they want to attend synagogue for reasons of communal connection, and for the most part, too many synagogues do not offer the type of communal experience they seek. Now this might seem shallow, and largely antithetical to the ambitious poetic vision of the purpose of prayer from the bard of our penitential, supplicatory hymns, Rabbi Joshua Heschel: “Prayer must never be a citadel for selfish concerns, but rather a place for deepening concern over other people’s plight.”

However, as many sociologists point out, and we as all know intuitively, prayer matters so much because it serves as a consistent social experience centered on this more poetic vision of prayer. The ultimate goal of prayer might rest in the heart of our deepest selves, but it is through engaging our social aspects that we create an environment, a community of prayer. However, in the transition from generation to generation, we need to relearn how to create communities. The methods and the goals of the past do not necessarily translate into the proper methods and goals for this generation, and in this gap, we find creativity.

Many of my generation, feeling aloof from the classical shul experience, seek to create their own services, so a DIY (do it yourself) minyan provides the next logical step. Furthermore, weaned on an era of independence, initiative, and individuality, certain components of the classic shul experience appear outdated. The idea of a leader, of a Rabbi, feels slightly offensive to our sensibilities, or simply to our taste. We would rather listen to a peer speak about the Torah portion, or some idea, than some austere, learned, member of the clergy. In our litigious times, we barely understand the concept of authority, or feel swayed by the power of charisma. For too long, we’ve been taught to doubt, to question authority, and repeatedly we’ve been let down by politicians, by their self aggrandizement that we do not even react in shock anymore at abuse, or even proper usage of power. Similarly, as we empower the next generation in every area of life, in college, in their career, in their choices, we can expect that servility to the traditions of a older community seem less appealing than the allure of a do it yourself service.

Though not a new phenomenon, the DIY minyan serves numerous purposes. This week’s shul hop, a young DIY service of over 100 people, signified less a minyan of convenience, less a service of a statement, and more a fun environment to try on the clothes of prayer, while looking fantastic with many other attractive young people in an almost party-like environment. It’s actually quite a beautiful experience, almost a prayer party, if that makes sense.

The prayer itself in no way veers from a normal, Orthodox, Friday night experience, rather, it’s the ambiance and people that distinguishes this minyan. The service, a monthly one, takes place in the apartment of one kind family.

The home itself, a stunning, large apartment (the kitchen itself the size of my actual apartment,) with a modern décor that evinces a strong belief in spirituality, or perhaps feng shui: Kabbalistic paintings, a plethora of yoga mats and meditation pillows, the color scheme, a variation on a the theme of a deep rich red or maroon, books like the Secret or something written by Paulo Coelho, and an oddly ironic, but endearing sign in a home that relates that “home is where you are.” Also, a pink Hannah Montana acoustic guitar that truly ties the room together. Praying in a home, because of its complexities, creates a unique prayer experience.

I cannot gloss over the inherent tension in praying in a personal home. The house saps formality, perhaps purposefully so, invites distractions, and belies the idea of a synagogue as a house, specially designed and used for God. And yet, in actuality, despite all the aforementioned possible tensions, in many ways a person can feel a greater intimacy with the prayer because of the loving, home environment, which fosters the idea that we Jews love to claim as our own unique idea: that no distinction exists between the house of God and our homes.

Part of this DIY minyan entails a more explicit embrace of the butcher shop phenomenon. Many lament, as I have in the past, that certain shul experiences feels less like a service, and more like an undesired stage show in which you must wear the right clothing, talk and walk the right way, and generally please, in order to secure your dating prospects. Ironically, though some experience this feeling as claustrophobic, and hope to excise it from services, this minyan, it appears, amps it up, transcends it through explicit acceptance of its important role in our changing definition of community. I find it too easy to criticize the idea of shul as a meat market, especially when everyone is on sale, and everyone wants to be on the seller’s block. In fact, something felt downright electric about the lack of any pretenses otherwise, about the honesty in which this created community embraced the sexual electricity pulsating throughout the night.

For example, walking to the bathroom, which requires a walk through the narrow space in the front of the women’s section, in my beat up corduroys, wearing a 3 year old Old Navy sweatshirt, sweating just a bit, hair mussed and not gelled in any important way, felt like some odd Kafkaesque experience of a cat walk. Yet, I enjoyed it. Not because of my confidence in my looks, especially given my relative unkempt appearance, but because how often do we get looked at in that way these days; even if seen simply as a prospect for dating, it still counts as an acknowledgment of our existence.

Adding to this ambiance, the Carlebach style minyan, a service based on the songs and style of the controversial Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, one whose music evokes and elicits the range of emotions, including arousal (No one would think of his songs as sexy, but they are certainly emotionally liberating.) I can’t fully explain it, but something about the whole neo-Hasidic, musical, spiritual, mystical new agey feel of these services, even under the most orthodox of standards elicits a strange sexuality. Perhaps the encouragement of dancing, or perhaps its stems from the associations of new age practices like yoga, or meditation, with a more liberal sense of the body, but these type of “spiritual” minyans, ones that look to unlock something withering within us, unlock the spectrum of emotions, not just those of divinity or transcendence.

Let’s also not forget the few rounds of Smirnoff vodka for some pre and post service Kiddush, a flimsy, symbolic mechitzah in the shape of a low couch, and about 120 mostly single Upper West siders, so you can expect constant glances to the left or right, heightened levels of self-consciousness, those who get caught staring, those practiced enough almost to see through the prayer books to the cute guy or girl in the back left corner, “no, not that one, I mean, they’re cute too, but the other one, yea, that one, what’s his name and deal?” All questions that the hostess receives often and answers obligingly, with a twinge of excitement (though apparently, this service was created and is run by numerous people, not just one hostess.) Never underestimate the power felt in playing matchmaker.

Of course, I cannot speak for the motivations of each person there, nor, obviously, does the sexuality define the whole experience. People come to this minyan to feel freer, unfettered by the bounds of shul traditions like the rabbi’s speech, or the prudish divide of wooden boards; free from the glare and stares and questions of adults (“So, you married, going out with anyone, ready to date? What type of person you looking for, modern? OK, but how modern? Do you wear pants, yes, but would you ever wear skirts?” Or the kiss of death, “One day, with God’s help, by you…” or, “Do you know my grandson/daughter?”) and they come to feel uplifted, moved, empowered by the warmth of the sonic womb of harmonic, emotional singing, led by an attractive cantor with a soothing, flirtatious voice. None of these aspects clash with the more club style feel to the whole service; they cohere into a balanced whole.

Overall, despite my purposeful focus of the sexuality of the service, what stays with me is the strong desire on the part of such a devoted group of young adults, looking to create their own warm community, full of care, devotion, and kindness. In my search for the prayer services of my age, experiencing a service run completely by my peers, especially an uplifting minyan, softened my hardened heart. We are young, good (looking) people, still attached, still searching, and if we find a date, spirituality, and a bit of a party along the way, who can feel begrudged by our playfulness?

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This morning, after watching the new Madonna video that features MIA, I decided to watch MIA’s new video for “Bad Girls.” Full disclosure: I am a pretty big MIA fan, and I like the way that she manages to meld pop music and political statements without going too far into cloying/preachy territory. But, that said, I did have a few eyebrow-raising moments during “Bad Girls,” which is set in the Middle East. (Continue reading at Faith Goes Pop)

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Have you heard the word? The Superbowl football game is this Sunday. Who are you rooting for? The Giants? The Patriots? Or maybe the Giant Patriots with their star QB, Paul Bunyan Revere? I can’t say who will win, but I can guarantee we all will win if we decide to watch The Voice, which is airing after the game. The Voice is not mandatory viewing but it is a good candidate for your one mandatory non-mandatory show slot. Here are five reasons to watch:

1) The judges are perfectly mismatched

Have you ever been out on the town and seen one of those groups of friends that you can’t fathom why they’re hanging out? You wonder: “Do they all play the same obscure board/computer game? Do they share a very specific sexual fetish that involves diversity? Did they go to high school together?” The judges of The Voice are one of those groups. Adam Levine is a cool, douchebag, LA Jew—Christina Aguilera a oblivious, fallen star, hot mess—Blake Shelton a big ol’ lug, you know the type who’d help you move a armoire in exchange for a cold brew—and Cee Lo is the sort of crazy person that is lucky to be a brilliant musician because otherwise he’d be the tin-foil hat type. Not only is this very rag, rag-tag group forced to sit next to each other but also The Voice actually demands they fight over desired singers. It. Is. SO. Silly. It’s not like Fox’s competitions, in which the judges fit into their market-tested niche; this group is a bunch of weirdos that are forced to try to communicate in each other’s weirdo dialects.

2) It is not aimed at dumb tweens and/or old old people

The Voice works under the principle that grown ups are able to be grown and like singing at the same time. X-Factor and American Idol subsist on a dumb down blend of cynicism and schmaltz that appeals to both those too lazy and those too tired to focus. I’m not saying The Voice is a subtle program—hell, Cee-lo clothes match his giant red chair almost every episode—but more often than it’s competition it can pull off genuine.

3) It can save Community

The Voice currently stands as the only show anyone watches on NBC. 30 Rock? No one watches it. Parks & Recreation? No one. No one watched Community or Friday Night Lights or whatever other shows it seems like everyone on your trivia team watched. NBC’s primetime has found itself losing to reruns on TBS and Telemundo—that’s not cool. They need something to make the money it takes to float our critically approved TV babies. You want Community back? Well, Variety just reported (no, they didn’t) that every $1.00 spent casting a vote on The Voice goes directly to Donald Glover’s salary (no, it doesn’t). Yep, that’s totally true (no, it isn’t); I’m not lying (yes, I am). So watch The Voice—every $0.99 spent buying one of the performances on iTunes pays for paintballs for Community’s season three finale.

4) NBC casts ringer singers

There is a reason NBC doesn’t show basketball arenas filled with people ready to try out—they unabashedly fill the competitors out with less-than-amateur amateurs. Season one winner, Javier Colon was once had a major record deal, Dia Frampton was a mild YouTube star, Raquel Castro starred as the jersey girl in the film Jersey Girl—these aren’t nobodies, they are people who can actually sing and probably have agents. And to the judges credit the always picked the right people to move on (except Christina who would just pick whomever most closely resembled herself). As a result, it’s a show with better singers, singing better songs to judges with actual talent themselves.

5) I watch it

Come on! Guys! Frivolous reality competitions are not the same without someone with which to make fun of it. There are so many jokes ready to be made about Carson Daly’s face and Christina Aguilera’s propensity to wear her boobs above the neckline of her shirt and Adam Levine’s tattoo sleeve (a shanda!) and so on and so on. If not for me, then watch it for your friend—yeah, that one—who similarly is looking for fellow members of the Voice-Force (a nickname made up here that will surely catch on).

Or how about Smash? Let’s all agree to at least watch that.

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