“Werewolves are kind of like good Jewish boys, only more so,” says a character in Wen Spencer’s young adult novel, The Black Wolves of Boston. And it’s true. When 30 Rock debuted the novelty song “Werewolf Bar Mitzvah” (think “Monster Mash,” but with a nice cut of brisket), the joke seemed random, even unsustainable. But you might be surprised to learn that the idea of Jewish werewolves is a long-winded mesorah. They may not all have bar mitzvahs, but if you count off the usual tenets of a werewolf story—following a lunar calendar, dashing off when the sun goes down, making excuses for weird disappearances, accusations, hunts, being driven off by suspicious townspeople—it’s easy to guess why Jewish creators throughout the years have chosen the werewolf as a central horror figure. After all, who could know better how it feels to be both a part of a nation and a nation apart?

The wolfish-Jewish association goes as far back as the Biblical Benjamin, who a Medieval commentator, Rabbi Efraim ben Shimshon, described as not just like a “ravenous wolf,” but capable of turning into a wolf itself. Notably, the rabbi’s fear was not that Benjamin would kill others, but that he would change among strangers and be killed by them.

This theme follows through most Yiddish lore. Germany fairy tales warned children not to go into the woods, lest they be snatched; Yiddish folk tales warned readers not to go into the wood lest they be accused of snatching children and baking them into matzo.

H. Leivick, a Yiddish folklorist of the last century, picks up this thread. Leivick, fugitive from Mother Russia, was no stranger to tackling creature features; his play, The Golem, turns a scary story about a clay man into a Miltonian epic with messianic ruminations and introspective soliloquies where every man, even the clay one, verges on tragedy.

Leivick’s poem “The Wolf,” from around 1920, stalks in the same vein, when a rabbi, last survivor of anti-Semitic violence, finds himself transformed into the titular beast. Taken to the woods, the rabbi-wolf haunts a new generation of Jews who have moved in to rebuild the town and eventually attacks them in the synagogue on Yom Kippur, where he is beaten to death by the congregation. It is interesting to gauge Leivick’s reaction to the pogroms of his homeland; the wolf, rather than turning his rage upon those who wronged him, instead terrorizes his kin. Leivick, it seems, is using the wolf to warn that blood for blood is pointless, for it makes the Jewish victim no different from his non-Jewish oppressors. It is not a revenge fantasy, but rather a revenge nightmare.

The Jewish werewolf once more emerges from the shadows in The Wolfman (1941) and An American Werewolf in London (1981), two films in conversation about the possibility of Jewish existence in Europe during and after the dehumanizing effect of the Holocaust. If Leivick’s desire was to remain the Other, these films express the terror of becoming the Other in a hostile world. You fit in, until you can’t. You’re one of us, until you’re not.

Consider screenwriter Curt Siodmak, who like many of his generation and, like the subject of his trend-setting The Wolfman, was forced to flee from home across the wastes of Europe, marked for pursuit, marked for Otherness, by a star.

“Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf,” the poem in the film goes—it can happen anywhere, through no fault of your own. Kafka saw himself as a cockroach; Siodmak saw himself as a wolf.

Along lurks An American Werewolf in London, intent on flipping The Wolfman on its head but, in the end, only fulfilling the pre-war prophecy, as two spry American Jews (implied but never explicitly outed) return to Europe and swiftly find themselves attacked and facing certain doom. The Holocaust clings like a sickly pall, polluting pop culture, because the Holocaust was the monster under the bed, and if you hid enough, you might silence it forever.

Movies like An American Werewolf in London invented a way around the societal gag order, and they did it by embracing the truth of the Holocaust as a horror show without a happy ending. When pig-faced Nazis storm werewolf-bitten David Kessler’s house in the film, it’s post-Holocaust shlock as shock therapy. When David is goaded by his old friend into suicide, it’s a punchline of Jewish guilt. When wolf-David is gunned down on a busy street in London, it’s a reversion to the open dehumanization of The Wolfman, inescapably Othered.

Flashforward and suddenly you have Jewish werewolves overrunning genre television—between Oz on Buffy (they may never have said it, but he’s played by Seth Green, okay?) and George of Being Human UK and Josh of its North American remake, werewolves are young and cool and holding down nine-to-five jobs, assimilated into the greater world. Or are they?

One of the biggest sources of unease in a werewolf story is the inability to pick one out of a crowd. They look like you, they sound like you, they could be any of you. Josh and George are nice Jewish boys growing up to be nice Jewish doctors and upstanding members of society before they are cursed, cast out of society and forced to live mouth-to-mouth, way station to way station, unable to settle down or find peace. Though they look just as normal as the next person, the vampires are able to sniff them out. An existence that had seemed integrated is once more Othered, and these characters are forced to wrestle with their identity as wolf or human.

“This is me, all the time,” Josh eventually confesses—not one or the other, but both: a werewolf. This is ironically confirmed by the show’s extension of vampire mythology to include Stars of David as religious symbols that harm the undead. Only his foes react to Josh’s necklace with fear; it is harmless to those he counts as friend.

From Bible verses to novelty songs, Jewish werewolves have always been lurking on the fringes, waiting to be brought into the light. Like the moon itself, I expect there will always be more to see.

Esther Saks thinks Bob Dylan deserved the Nobel Prize. Her writing is featured in Heroes: A Raconteur House Anthology.

Image via Wikimedia

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It being the summer, it’s wedding season. I admit, it’s also less than a fortnight to my own wedding, and I’ve tried to avoid doing productive things like find a florist by diving into the coolest wedding traditions I can find, more obscure gems than just breaking a glass. There are lots of amazing ones that you can’t seem to find on the Internet, which seems mostly focused on explaining for the 613th time what a chuppah is. And so, here a few favorites I have gleaned:

Helping your friends find a match

Throwing a bouquet to give luck in finding a match is way too limited. Why leave that up to chance, when your most deserving, most eligible friend has to miss out because they didn’t play sports in High School? Jewish weddings are peppered with chances to distribute matchmaking mazel, and what’s more, the bride has the power to pick the recipients.

For example, in Ashkenazi tradition, women don’t wear jewelry under the chuppah during the ceremony. The sweet explanation is that a couple is marrying for partnership, not material gain, but this may also be because a formal part of the ceremony is the giving of a ring; it may be “legalistically” confusing for the bride to have other jewelry at the time she receives the ring.

But of course you’re going to wear jewelry at your wedding, so what do you do? Right before the ceremony, the bride may remove all of her other jewelry and give it to friends to hold. Those who have the honor of holding this jewelry are said to have extra luck in finding a spouse of their own.

The same applies to Jewish weddings where a plate is broken before the ceremony. If you can get a shard (careful with that!), more good luck.

Another one is that after dinner, the bride and groom share a drink of wine during birkat hamazon (grace after meals). If you can get a sip of that too, you share in their luck (and germs).

Plus, some brides pray the morning of their weddings, and collect names of people who want matches, healing, et cetera. Apparently, her prayers are super potent that day. Get in on that.

Henna Party

In some Sephardic and Mizrahi traditions, before her wedding, a bride is adorned with henna, in a layered and deeply meaningful event. This can include drumming, ululation, and fertility rituals. Also, henna body art is absolutely stunning.

DEMONS DEMONS DEMONS

It is absolutely amazing how much of Jewish wedding traditions involve fear of demons. Of course, the famous play The Dybbuk involves a bride suffering demonic possession, but her position as newlywed was not only chosen to create high drama. Demons in Judaism famously love ruining happy moments (babies pre-bris are also vulnerable), so you have to be ON GUARD for about a week up to the big day, or something terrible and demonic (e.g. possession) will occur.

A lot of the Jewish rituals you do know have alternate explanations based in demonology. Carrying candles (like in Fiddler on the Roof)? Demons hate light. Marrying under a canopy? Protect the couple from demons. Breaking a glass? Demons hate that sort of thing, apparently. Circling your spouse-to-be at the start of the ceremony? Creating an anti-demonic force-field. The above-mentioned henna party? It also protects against demons!

But maybe my absolute favorite has been the role of bridesmaids in the wedding. I’ve heard a lot of variations on this custom, but the gist is that you can’t leave a bride alone, and therefore vulnerable to dybbuks or other nasties. Some say that for a week before the wedding, the bride needs constant surveillance, perhaps by a friend or family member serving as a bridesmaid. At the very least, the night before her wedding, a bride should not sleep alone (one friend had to share her sister’s bed to protect her for this very reason).

Imagine the movie Bridesmaids crossed with Ghostbusters— Kristen Wiig is in both after all, and has a Jewish boyfriend. She should definitely star in a movie about a friend asked to serve as maid of honor for her Jewish friend’s wedding, only to find out that fighting demons comes with the job description.

Hollywood, call me.

If you have other great Jewish wedding traditions, please comment below, or tweet us @Jewcymag!

Images: Still from film The Dybbuk. Henna image via Pixabay.

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My name is “Chriss,” as in, Chris(t). My name has proved to be a blinking neon sign indicating to all in the Jewish world that I am the odd girl out. The first question is “are you Jewish?” and the second is “how?” Funny, that wasn’t my first question to you.

I came to Judaism knowing nothing… except for Anne Frank, I knew who she was. I had also read a few books by Chaim Potok, though I pronounced his first name like “chain” with an “m.”  Yom Kippur-the tiny printed words on every calendar was just an obscure Irish holiday (imagine my surprise…).

I grew up in a homogenous small mountain town in Northern California where everyone was from a Christian background. The primary faiths represented were Mormons, small evangelical groups or Protestants, like my family. I didn’t knowingly meet somebody that was of another faith (like Judaism) until freshman year of college.

I moved to New York City at age 22, and several years later I dated a Member of the Tribe. Friday night dinners with his observant parents, fasting during Yom Kippur and eating cheesecake all night once a year. It seemed awesome but everything was one big Hebraic blur. So, I enrolled in a “Judaism 101” course at a synagogue in Park Slope. They were egalitarian, friendly, engaging, and progressive in their views— everything I was looking for in an “organized religion.”  I asked a lot of questions throughout the course and when it ended after 6 months, I knew that I wanted to start the official conversion process (despite the end of my romantic relationship as well).

The first thing my Rabbi said to me was “just so you are fully aware- a Reform Judaism conversion is a bit controversial among the Jewish community.” I shrugged it off. A Jew is a Jew.

It took 2 years of studying, meeting with my Rabbi and observing various traditions, like keeping Kosher and Shabbat. As my Reform synagogue didn’t have much of a thriving social scene, my best friend showed me the social landscape of the Modern Orthodox in Manhattan. I was excited as well as a bit intimidated. Soon I started to feel that I was ready to be a full-fledged member of the tribe.

In May of 2014 I nervously met with a Beit Din who officially “approved” me and immersed myself in the warm waters of a mikvah on the Upper West Side. Outside the mikveh door stood my Rabbi, brother, and two good friends.  I was a Jew and I shouted this (literally!) through the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn that day.

Prior to Judaism I connected with potential dating partners solely on good vibes, mutual interests, etc.  Religion played virtually no part in it.  Now that I am not a “shiksa” it is of the utmost importance. I want to have a traditional Jewish family with a smart, funny good-looking man who embraces his faith and culture, finds meaning in tradition, loves Israel and is progressive thinking.  Should be easy in New York. Right? Wrong.

I didn’t understand how my “type” of conversion would come into play in the Jewish dating world. First, as a convert I have to cross off all men with the last name of “Cohen.” I learned this after a man at shul said he’d love to date me but he was part of the Kohanim and as a convert I am forbidden fruit. The Ultra Orthodox, Haredim and most-any sect of Orthodoxy automatically discredit my conversion entirely. The hypothetical children I might produce down the road may be an issue for Reform or Conservative Jews as our offspring’s “Jewishness” maybe called into question. So that leaves me with secular Jews. So much for the dream.

Most men aren’t worried about my level of observance or thoughts on the religious front.  My “worthiness” is contingent on being the “right kind of Jewish.” Their verdict is usually asserted loudly and rudely after a few drinks. Apparently a traveling rogue Beit Din.

On a first date with a cute guy I had met at a costume party called “Challahween,” I learned he had grown up in a very religious family and was impressed that I had converted. His enthusiasm quickly faded when he learned one of the Rabbis I studied under was a woman. Huh? This is 2016.  Aren’t we passed the antiquated notion that only men can be accepted as rabbinical figures?  Not to mention that nowhere in the Torah does it forbid it. We disagreed and still made out. Regrets in feminism.

Recently I introduced myself to the host of a house party (where 99% of attendees were Jewish). He loudly exclaimed that now he knew “who the goy” was. He didn’t know it that the next day marked my 2^nd anniversary of going to the mikvah. I looked at my best friend sitting across from me. She was bracing herself for one of my long, bitter, tearful diatribes. Instead I simply said “I AM A JEW.” He didn’t understand his words pushed an atomic bomb like button inside of me. I spent the next hour singing my feelings out on his karaoke machine.

Last week “Sammy” on Jswipe asked for my phone number. I was delighted but as his profile mentioned having Jewish parents I decided to tell him upfront that my parents were not.  “Who and where did you convert through?” I knew where this conversation was going. I told him that I wasn’t Orthodox but I am Jewish. “I question your intentions when you go through conversion and don’t one hundred percent the life of a Jew with our culture. You are not a Jew.”

My intentions? Did he think I was some breed of religious terrorist? I I keep kosher, lived in Israel, observe Shabbat and chagim. He then called me a Christian… as a slur, and blocked me.

As my name often serves as a conversation “ice breaker”: I have thought by going solely by my Hebrew name (Miriam), but for 30-something years I’ve been Chriss. I don’t want to negate my family or the journey that brought me here for your convenience. There are Jews named Chriss. Here I am.

This past Shavout I heard a fellow convert say something very simple but powerful – we forget that despite our different backgrounds we once stood at Sinai together as one community. Maybe that was only a desert mirage.

Chriss Williams is currently finishing her degree in Religion at Hunter College. She created the blog “Shiksaism.com” which chronicles her adventures as a “Jew by Choice.” Chriss lives in Brooklyn and loves red wine, hookah, and dancing. Please swipe right. 

Images courtesy of Chriss Williams

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The game is perfect for big groups (you need a minimum of 4 to play, but the more people, the better; aim for about ten), and great for Shabbat, because it takes no equipment at all.  Try it to defuse the next big dinner when talk turns to the election.

The Rules:

1. Assemble your players. Send two people up to the front of the room: One is first names, and the other is surnames.

2. Ask the first player to secretly pick a common Jewish first name, and the second to secretly pick a common Jewish last name.

3. When they’re ready, have the room count to three. On three, First and then last name both reveal their picks together, so that a full name is formed (E.g., “Deborah! Gordon!”)

(Don’t be afraid to stray from Ashkenazi names; let’s get a Sassoon or Cordova in there!)

4. Ask for a show of hands from the group for anyone who actually knows a person by that name. Whoever does (honors system, folks), gets one point (the namers are also eligible).

5. Rotate out the namers for two other people in the game, and repeat.

6. The first person in the room to get to five points is the winner!  They either know a whole lot of Jews, or need to break out of their bubble and start meeting other people!

If anyone knows the origin of this game, feel free to hit us up on Twitter.

Image Source: Wet Hot American Summer

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The Jewish people have a long history of unconventional relationships. Early on in the Torah we find Sarah, the wife of Abraham, unable to bear children. In order to provide him with the children they both desire, Sarah convinces Abraham to take a second wife, her handmaiden Hagar. Is it possible this was the first documented case of compersion? Later in the Tanakh we encounter Delilah repeatedly tying up her lover Samson in her chambers in an effort to subdue his strength. You have to wonder what else was happening that he let her do it three times?

While these Biblical stories had less-than-happy resolutions, perhaps they connect in some way to sexual minority Jews today, where the likes of bondage and non-monogamy are increasingly cause for celebration.  Who knows? Maybe open discussion can lead to happier endings.

Jewish individuals in the San Francisco Bay Area who identify as polyamorous, non-monogamous, kinky or who engage in BDSM, tantra, sacred sexuality, sex work, and more are joining together in a newly organized group: Jews United In Celebrating the Erotic, or JUICE. The founders of JUICE, Noam Birnbaum and Jill Nagle, have discovered a surprisingly large, relatively untapped network of overlapping identities. Two months ago they created a secret Facebook group to coordinate discussions and events. While you can only get into JUICE by invitation from a current member or through a screening process at Meetup.com, they have already amassed over 500 members. They have hosted two happy hours that have drawn over 50 people each, as well as a first night Passover Seder that incorporated traditional Passover ritual elements, along with some whimsical sex-positive Jewish humor.

JUICE’s mission statement says, in part, that the group provides “a safe and welcoming sex-positive space for Jews and our allies,” which Birnbaum and Nagle say is needed because of the historical marginalization of Jews who enjoy non-traditional sexual identities and practices. This marginalization was underscored when the group’s inaugural press release was rejected by the local Jewish newspaper, The J Weekly.

Birnbaum further explained, “JUICE seeks to create venues where sex-positive Jews can be completely honest about who they are, and be accepted and celebrated by others of like kind. Oh, and it would be fun if we get a couple good shidduchs out of it!”

A voluntary new member survey produced interesting results of identities and practices including that: 86 percent are into BDSM, kink, and fetish practices; 76 percent are in some way non-monogamous; 23 percent are involved with or curious about sex work; and 67 percent are into or curious about tantra and sacred sexuality. It reads a bit like the oft-cited Pew Study from 2013; in JUICE the Jewish identities are as ranging as the sexual identities: 84 percent of survey participants are self-identified as Jewish, 6 percent are not Jewish, and 10 percent say “it’s complicated,” which is the pretty much the most Jewish answer possible.

While some members of JUICE have expressed a desire to find romantic matches, and others combine their Judaism in practicing sacred sexuality and tantra, most are just excited to have found a network of like-minded Jews.

Take Catherine Rose, who is an alternative relationship counselor, has a polyamorous family, and an interest in kink. She has found her desire to connect with the Jewish community reignited by JUICE. Her Jewish background growing up largely consisted of family holidays and attending Jewish summer camp, but she mostly disengaged as an adult. When she discovered JUICE she thought, “Wow! These are my people, I have to go meet them! I didn’t even realize I would be excited by the prospect of this, it actually took me by surprise.”

One kinkster who was raised in a Conservative household in the midwest and who continues to be active in the Bay Area Jewish community (and who didn’t want to be named for this article) describes himself as living a double life to some extent. He said, “my connection with the kink community and kink play is something I’ve pursued on an individual basis, but everybody want to be understood. If you can find a way to connect with people of a similar background, it makes it that much easier to understand each other. JUICE is the icing on the cake for me.”

Several older members of JUICE, including a 30-year practitioner of polyamory, kink, and tantra who also wished to remain anonymous, have expressed anecdotal evidence that the number of Jews active in alternative sexual communities in the Bay Area is higher than expected given the size of the Jewish population here. There is much speculation as to the reasons why, but Rabbi Jeremy Sher, who is familiar with JUICE and its mission, told me:

“I think Judaism is a sex-positive religion. Judaism is pro-sex, not anti-sex. From a modern perspective we ought to make room to celebrate and encourage people’s fulfillment, and moving beyond the idea that sex can only occur within marriage. I think consensual sex between adults is a wonderful part of life and ought to be celebrated. That’s just an authentically Jewish idea, so I’m happy to see Jews who agree with that.”  

Despite the successful events, JUICE is a young group experiencing some growing pains. With a relatively small Jewish community and the rapid expansion in membership, confidentiality and how to approach it quickly became a topic of energetic debate. Unlike other online communities specific to sexual identities that allow for anonymity, utilizing Facebook to coordinate (even as a secret group) ensured that everyone would be identifiable by their real names and photos. There have been instant revelations of fellow synagogue congregants, co-workers, and neighbors, not to mention romantic entanglements. While these occasions haven’t led to crisis, they understandably make members nervous.

While some members see JUICE as a step towards being more open with their identities in Jewish communities, others are still fiercely protective of their privacy. After seeking input from members Birnbaum and Nagle settled on a simple statement of “Think of this group as a kind of Sexy Jews ANONYMOUS. Keep people’s membership in the group, attendance at events, and attribution of things you’ve heard said in the group, STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL unless you have explicit permission to do otherwise. If in doubt, err on the side of confidentiality!”

The fact that Jews active in sex-positive communities are engaging in these conversations could be a sign of a growing movement toward greater acceptance in the Jewish community.

Rabbi Sher believes, “We are pretty far [from being ready as a community]. That said, people are less bigoted when they have information and I wish that everyone could have a rabbi they could call up and say ‘talk to my mom about poly[amory].’”

As our bubbies would say – from his mouth to God’s ears.

JUICE’s next event is a happy hour in San Francisco on Monday June 6th. If you are interested in joining JUICE or attending the happy hour, you can request to join through the Meetup group.

Amiee Kushner is an active leader in the San Francisco Jewish community, COO and contributing writer at BrokeAssStuart.com, and the founder of the super-not-kosher Jewish food blog JewishHeathens.com.

Image Credit: Amiee Kushner

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Stuffed monkey (Jewish Lond.). A very pleasant close almond biscuit. Now the confectioner exchanges his stuffed monkeys, and his bolas… for unleavened palavas, etc.—Zangwill, Children of the Ghetto.

I had never heard of a “stuffed monkey,” so obviously I had to find out how to make it for myself. I’ve since received requests to share, so here it is: A stuffed monkey.

The recipe seems to come from Sephardic Dutch Jews (they would have originally been from Portugal) living in England. It’s sweet, but not rich, and serves like a tart or a pie. The above-cited 1902 book Children of the Ghetto references it as a “contemporary confectionary,” though I found a reference to it by name in as early as 1882. So, now you know exactly what to serve at your Jewish steampunk tea party!

In regards to the weird name (yuck, it does not make you think of an appetizing pastry), the “stuffed” is a reference to the nature of the dessert.  As for “monkey?” There are multiple theories, including that the family that popularized it was called Monnickendam, or that it comes from the Arabic for stuffed: “makhshi.”

The recipe below is a cobbled together version of three that I found online: From Cook It Simply,  Jewish Mother Cooking, and The Vintage Cookbook Trials (which took its recipe from Florence Greenberg’s 1967 British Jewish cookbook):

For the crust:

• 2 cups and 2 tbsp. flour
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1 tsp. ground cinnamon
• 1 stick of butter
• 2 eggs, lightly beaten
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• ½ tsp. vanilla (optional)

For the filling:

• The peel of one large orange
• 1/2 cup golden raisins (or try dark raisins or dried cherries)
• 1 1/3 cup chopped/slivered almonds (feel free to experiment with other nuts)
• 1 ½ tbsp. brown sugar
• ½ tsp. cinnamon
• 3 tbsp. melted butter
• 1 egg yolk (save the white for glazing)

For the glaze:

• 1 egg white
• handful of sliced/slivered almonds

DIRECTIONS:

1. Sift the flour, salt, and cinnamon into a bowl, and rub in the butter until mixture resembles breadcrumbs.

2. Stir in the eggs, sugar, and vanilla, and knead into a smooth dough.

3. Divide the dough into two sections. Wrap each half in plastic and refrigerate for at least 20 minutes.

4. Preheat oven to 375°F.

5. Combine all the ingredients for the filling in a bowl and mix well. Use a food processor to make the mixture paste-like. Don’t worry about it being smooth; it’s fine to have bits of peel, almonds, raisins, etc., visible.

6. Lightly grease an 8″ pie or other baking tin

7. Roll flat and spread one of the dough pieces out into the bottom of the pan.

8. Spread filling over the dough, then roll out the other piece of dough and lay it over the filling.

9. Pinch edges together so the filling doesn’t leak out (it helps to smooth out cracks with a teaspoon of water). Brush top of dough with the egg white mixture and generously sprinkle with the almonds.

10. Bake for 30 minutes, or until golden-brown. Let cool and serve!

Enjoy, and comment below or tweet us if you try it out!

Featured image credit: Wikimedia 

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With all the think-pieces about the idea of America having its first Jewish president, everyone forgets that the United States had already had a Jewish supreme leader: Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico.

Joshua A. Norton is one of the coolest figures from American History. Basically, he declared himself emperor of the country, and the city of San Francisco responded, “Sure, why not?”

Emperor Norton (to refer to him by his proper title) was an immigrant; he was born in England to a Jewish family, and grew up in South Africa. He came to the United States at about age 30, in 1849, with his parents’ large inheritance, and dreams of growing his fortune. He lost the money on a bad investment and wound up destitute.

So what’s a broke, Jewish immigrant to the United States to do? Languish a few years, and then, in 1859, issue a proclamation:

At the peremptory request and desire of a large majority of the citizens of these United States, I, Joshua Norton, formerly of Algoa Bay, Cape of Good Hope, and now for the last 9 years and 10 months past of S. F., Cal., declare and proclaim myself Emperor of these U. S.; and in virtue of the authority thereby in me vested, do hereby order and direct the representatives of the different States of the Union to assemble in Musical Hall, of this city, on the 1st day of Feb. next, then and there to make such alterations in the existing laws of the Union as may ameliorate the evils under which the country is laboring, and thereby cause confidence to exist, both at home and abroad, in our stability and integrity.

— NORTON I, Emperor of the United States.

A major newspaper dutifully printed the words of their new, wise ruler, and his subjects quickly fell in line. For example, the emperor issued his own money, which was honored by many merchants and residents.

Locals yielded to him for his many regular duties, including inspecting buildings, promenading (often on horseback provided by an admirer), and making sure his uniform was impeccable; his subjects gave donations to help him maintain his signature look of a military uniform with epaulets, a beaver hat, a cane, and a sword. He was also frequently honored by gifts from those he ruled, such as free meals at restaurants, and his own box at the opera.

Emperor Norton also issued many proclamations during his two-decade reign, including ones that abolished Congress, both the Democrat and Republican parties, and referring to his home city as “Frisco.”

Alas, traitorous powers undermined many of these decrees, and HaShem knows that had they been fully obeyed and carried out we could avoid a lot of anguish in our political system today.

Other decrees were fulfilled, some after his death, including one that a league be formed between the countries of the world (in fact, the United Nations met for the first time in San Francisco), and that a suspension bridge be built over the San Francisco bay to Oakland (the Emperor regularly visited Oakland by ferry, though he never had to pay fare.

Even though history has generally treated Emperor Norton as an assimilated Jew, he was actually an active member of the Jewish community, and would attend Shabbat services every week at Congregation Emanu-El.

Plus, comic-book-writing-superstar Neil Gaiman once featured Emperor Norton in an issue of Sandman, where he posited that the monarch was a “Lamed Vavnik,” one of the 36 hidden righteous who keep the world from coming to an end.

When Emperor Norton died, thousands attended his funeral (not a Jewish one), and it had all the fanfare befitting a man of his station.

So huzzah to you, Joshua Norton.  Long did you reign, and as a San Francisco newspaper wrote about you:

“The Emperor Norton has never shed blood. He has robbed no one, and despoiled no country. And that, gentlemen, is a hell of a lot more than can be said for anyone else in the king line.”

Image credit: Wikimedia

See also: Your Guide to ‘Jewish Slang’ in Victorian England

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You’re in luck! An authentic 1909 slang dictionary is available for free online, and its many delights include words and phrases about and of the Jewish community of London’s East End. These Jews, many of them immigrants from other European countries and their descendants, were largely working class, often operating in trade when intersecting with mainstream society, but also having a world unto themselves. With this combination of insularity and mingling with a racist culture in cursory ways, what could possibly go wrong?

Routledge books published Passing English of the Victorian Era: A Dictionary of Heterodox English Slang and Phrase in 1909 (a few years after the era formally ended). James Redding Ware, the pseudonym of English writer Andrew Forrester, is the author. You can read the whole book online, and it’s quite a work. The dictionary is full of gems you should absolutely incorporate into your vocabulary ASAP: A “mutton shunter” is a police officer, and “batty-fang” is “to thrash thoroughly.” You can use enough of these words to make yourself completely incomprehensible, if you like. Instead of going for a walk to look at the sky, “Do a stamp” to “cast an optic” at the “blue blanket.”

The introduction to the book mentions that it contains several entries for “Anglo-Yiddish,” part of a specifically East London vernacular rich in language “outgrown from the Hebrew stem.” Jews were a growing minority, so they’re well-represented in this work.

In contemporary America, especially cities like New York, words like “schlep” and “chutzpah” have made it to the mainstream, so how did Jews factor into the common language in the epicenter of one of the world’s most powerful empires? Let’s go through a Magical Mystery Tour.

To get it over with, the first category isn’t words borrowed from Jews so much as… slurs. But get excited— you’ve never seen anti-Semitic slurs as nuanced and colorful as this! There are variations for any occasion:

I do wonder why did army veterans in particular tended to use that slur, but other slurs are so bizarre they’re almost delightful:

Wow, the more things change, the more they stay the same! I too get in full feather when it’s Pentecost Shobboth! But what about my male counterparts? This only applies to Jewesses, like me!

As someone who bristles at the term “J.A.P,” it’s nice to know that Jewish women have always been shamed for attempting to make themselves look nice as though it were a sign of unearned entitlement.

Ah, thank you. I have no idea what the difference is between a “young Joseph” and “young old David.”

Next, we have words as advertised, lifted out of Yiddish, Hebrew, and Jewish culture. It seems something might have been lost in translation, and at times, transliteration:

…What?

Er… points for sort of including Jews of Color, I suppose. And yes, it’s true. Most Jews can proficiently sing before we can hold our heads up on our own.

The thought of English Christians calling their church “shool” is somehow hilarious. As for “shofel,” thanks for tying it into hooked noses at the last second there. That was almost a missed opportunity!

This dictionary seems to have used Israel Zangwill’s novel Children of the Ghetto as the ultimate source for Judaism. Zangwill was an authentic source, but it’s also clear that Ware didn’t bother to find a real Jewish person with whom to talk, as becomes increasingly clear:

Oh, honey. You tried.

First of all, the words for 1 and 6 in Hebrew, transliterated respectively, are Echad and Shesh.

Next, the explanation for how Hebrew works (backwards with no vowels) doesn’t make sense in the Latin alphabet. Let’s have a secret message writing the same way:

THSLLB S SHT.

So close again! But did you know Jews immigrated to the U.K. from more than two European countries?

Finally, there is actually some slang in the book that seems to be used within the Jewish community (though I somehow doubt it’s comprehensive, or even fully accurate):

Fun fact- this was the motto of Moses Montefiore. Really.

File that one under “Ideas for Names for Jewish Punk Bands.”

OK, Jews do like olives. You get that one.

OK, I admit that I was so excited to learn about a Jewish pastry I had never heard of that I tracked down the recipe and made it. But that is a story for another day.

Reading through these can be a bit exhausting if you don’t have a sense of humor. Ultimately, Ware was adorably misguided. He was trying to depict authentic London street language and culture, but was still looking through the lens of good-old-fashioned Victorian racism and imperialism. These are the Jews that Dickens and du Maurier caricatured, where gross stereotype is taken as sociological study.

At least it’s also a peek into a great chapter in Jewish history, and some great ideas for the names of the lineup at a neo-klezmer festival.

To part, here are a few other selections from the dictionary, ranging from the innocuous to the nigh incomprehensible:

Or, you can spell it with a “K”:

It’s been real.  BEXANDEB OUT!

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Europe is so many things, and Jews, too, are so many things. I have had the very good fortune of diving into all this over the past couple of years, as president of the European Union of Jewish Students. And I can tell you, it overwhelms me and my colleagues time and time again. From Sweden to Macedonia, France to Lithuania, Bulgaria to Portugal: Stories of great pain and loss, stories of pride and confidence, stories of rediscovery and creation. Stories of joy and belonging.

The Jews and Europe.

We are knowingly launching Voices from Europe today, on Purim. Former Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes: “There are so many parts of the world today where ancient grievances are still being played out, as if history were a hamster wheel in which however fast we run we find ourselves back where we started. Purim is a way of saying, remember the past, but then look at the children, celebrate with them, and for their sake, put the past behind you and build a better future.”

Europe. Anti-Semitism. “Oh, you two know each other? Come on, just between you and me: Will things between you ever change?”

Whoever builds the future here in Europe will be giving the answer to that.

Over the next couple of weeks, “Voices from Europe” will share stories and opinions of young Jews living in Europe. I hope you will gain a sense of the texture of Jewish life, the individuals shaping their Jewish communities and the hopes, fears and frustrations of young Jews. To be clear: I will not shield you from the tough stuff, the very real difficulties and dilemmas so many of us are facing. That is part of the at-times seemingly paradox coexistence of heartbreak and hope here in Europe. Being Jewish in Europe can be about redefining a Jewish community’s place in society with full confidence in what we have to offer. It can be about feeling great when you’re doing Jewish things. It can be about awakening those around us to the Jewish heritage of their city and society, and inviting them to embrace it. It can be a deep exploration of meaning, purpose and obligation. It can be about family, friends, and love. This list is – of course – not exhaustive.

Expect posts every other day or so, by yours truly and other contributors. Also, be prepared for pop-quizzes about European Jewry, and the “Swiss-German word of the day” (It’s like German, but better.) Find me on Twitter @JaneBradenGolay – But keep the time difference in mind. Dankeschön, and see you around!

Jane Braden-Golay is president of the European Union of Jewish Students.

(Photo: Love Blomquist)

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Formerly Orthodox singer-songwriter Matisyahu (A.K.A. Matthew Paul Miller) has penned a heartfelt, raw, honest essay for Medium about his religious journey, musical development, and struggle with substance abuse—which started when when he was just 14.

“I found company in Bob Marley and his music,” writes Matisyahu of his high school years. “I was depressed and alone, feeling misunderstood by kids, coaches, teachers and parents, so I retreated into the confines of my room in the attic with weed and music. I began to search. Summer of junior year I went into the wilderness out west and felt the gnawing gaping hole in my chest more vast then ever, and I began to think about God in relation to the void. Am I alone?”

The answer, he decided, was no. God “was with me always like an all-powerful invisible friend.” He became a Phish groupie, experienced homelessness, went into rehab, saw numerous therapists, but still “couldn’t seem to get it right.” Eventually he fell into Orthodox Judaism, got married, committed himself to his music, and became an alt-rock reggae superstar—and darling of the Hasidic-hipsters the world over. But all was not well. Dissatisfied, he chafed against the restrictions the of movement, until he found his guru—”an anti-establishment renegade Russian therapist/original thinker/Chassidic and Kabalistic creative wiz with a heart of gold and no fingers”—and a shul where he could “scream and sing during prayers and not be judged.”

It’s a compelling piece of writing, which neatly ties in with the release of his latest single, “Hard Way,” from his 2014 album Akeda (“binding”)—an allusion to the biblical story of the binding and near-sacrifice of Isaac. Read the rest here.

(Image: Matisyahu performs in Park City, Utah, January 2014. Credit: Jason Kempin/Getty.)

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