• Blah, blah, blah: Mila and Ashton is really happening.

• The New York Post sent a gift basket to Ahmadinejad, in town for the U.N. General Assembly. The contents? “Gold’s Borscht, Manischewitz Gefilte Fish, H&H bagels, onion bialys and Zabar’s cream cheese.”

• Natalie Portman is blonde now.

• Israel didn’t make it to the World Baseball Classic, which means we won’t see Kevin Youkilis playing for the Holy Land after all.

• The Broke Girl’s Guide to Living Like Clueless’ Cher Horowitz, courtesy of Hello Giggles.

• Homeland won big at the Emmy’s last night, and Claire Danes stole the show with the most amazing line ever: “Mandy Patinkin, holla.”

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Margarita’s Gonzo account is certainly one way to see the General Assembly of the Jewish Federations of North America.  And since these protesters, protest-lovers, and grouches have already filled you in on the pronouncements, arguments, and hours of service, I thought I’d try to give you a different angle in.

There were thousands of people in attendance — a mix of donors to Jewish causes and the professionals trying to get in face time with them.  They call themselves lay leaders, development officers, generals, and lions.  They discussed the recession, Iran, the dwindling number of donors to the Federation system, and young-this and next-gen-that. In the hallways, they chatted about their grant-making, grant-taking, love of Zionism, and love of booze.  What they didn’t discuss, was purpose and meaning.  Or why any of us are wrapped up in any element of Jewish life today, when we clearly could be doing easier, more lucrative, more efficient, or less frustrating things with our time.   (I took a stab at articulating my personal motivations this week.)

While not all that shocking, it is always a bit strange to me how the Jewish professional world fully divorces God, spirituality, and purpose from any and all of its proceedings.  I personally don’t mind the lack of God talk; what I mind is the complete lack of conversation about why the hell any of us care enough to devote our lives to Jewish work and community.

On Sunday morning, I listened to multiple volunteer leaders under the age of 40 from around the country proudly explain that their best programming focused only on bringing Jews together with other Jews.  In their experiences, no one wanted to participate in anything that was actually Jewish or involved Jewish content.  For some reason, I couldn’t get an answer when I asked: “So how is just wanting to hang with your own, to the exclusion of all others–for no unique purpose other than that you like Jews better–different from racism?”

I got plenty done down in New Orleans, and still managed to have a beignet before I left. I had moments of excitement and reinforced important relationships.  But I found myself frustrated and alienated as well, in ways that may never be overcome.  I’m not giving up on “the system;” I’m actually a big believer in it.  (Really, I even donate).  It has a place in our community – it feeds the hungry, educates our children, addresses Jewish and non-Jewish crises, and, in its shining moments, simultaneously supports initiatives (including JDub, Six Points, and Jewcy) that seek to engage with a modern Judaism for modern Jews.  But at its annual pep-rally, I still feel it looking more inward than out, more interested in celebrating its ability to gather than questioning why it gathered in the first place.

Maybe I’m just not a pep-rally kind of guy.

video via The Fundermentalist

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This past weekend at the Jewish Federations of North America’s General Assembly in New Orleans, the range of Jews was so vast that I was unsure where I fit. Despite hanging on the fringe regularly via anthropologist and artist roles, questions about identifying with certain aspects of various pockets of the Jewish world came naturally. The added benefit of the surreal pseudo-homogeneity taking place in New Orleans put peripheral Judaism in direct contact with my unexplainable attraction to the NOLA spirit.

YOUR RABBI IS A WHORE

Down South to represent Nextbook Press, New Orleans author Rodger Kamenetz had been on my radar. His Burnt Books, out this month, hits on a kind of Jew I could identify with:

Kafka never fully differentiated his psychological and spiritual struggles. But he never fully participated in them either. He approached Zionism and avoided it; approached marriage and avoided it. He speaks of “coming closer” to a “spiritual battle,” but it is as though it “were taking place in a clearing somewhere in the woods.”

Where did I belong among the GA contingents? Like Kamenetz sees in Kafka, I’m not one to really separate out the psychological and spiritual. Was God even an issue in my Rusky household? Maybe it was telling that there was no talk about religion or even the family’s past, but plenty about the right ways to act. Perhaps that’s why I felt some sort of default camaraderie with the Russian-Jewish kids from RAJE–all of us babies of the Old Country and having immigrated at such a flux time when any form of our ancestors’ senses of religious spirituality as Jews or otherwise had been stifled by the Man on such an imposing scale.

Speaking of assholes, the Westboro Baptists set a nice tone for the New Orleans gathering early on in the weekend, particularly with their clutch YOUR RABBI IS A WHORE sign. The rest of the protesters, including the now famous Netanyahu interrupter, were a peach to hang with after the Westboro haters got the soapbox.

DO IT, IT’S A MITZVAH

New Orleans writer and limo driver Hank Richelieu asked me, “What are the Jews doing in town? Can I say that word?” Another Southern belle residing back in New York, Kentucky bass trombonist Colby X. Norton told me, “Jews are the most sexual and realistic people on the planet.” Their funny takes on Jewishness spark the question, what does it mean to be a Jew in the large scope of things? Does it necessarily have to derive from a collective identity shared exceptionally by Jews?

Sitting on the dock of the bay, aka the steps on the Mississippi in the French Quarter, a New Orleans landscape hit the river that could be painted: wooden steps, anarchist punks, tourists, sleeping folks. The view of the blip blip tugboats was peppered with tourists on the boardwalk. Sitting down, we could see gutterpunks mingling on one side, and sleeping on the other. A passed out, dreaded and bearded guy in a military jacket, sneaker to asscheek of blondie with cheetah shorts so low they expose ass and thong. On the step below wallowed someone else. On the awake side, we played music and with puppies. Some of the group made comments about how maybe we should help a sister out, as she was way passed out and unaware that her asshole was hanging out. Homeboy took his girlfriend’s coat, and about to drape it over Sleeping Beauty was stopped by the shout from his girl, “Hey, I’ll need that!” I hollered over to them, “Whatever, do it. It’s a mitzvah.” So he dropped it on her strategically.

URBAN POP ARTISTS

While membership in RAJE would require adjustment to an ethos outside of my current scope, iZionists took it to another dimension off my radar altogether (“We’re recording why people love being a Zionist. Would you like us to record your segment?” “I’m not a Zionist,” I broke it to them.). In all, at the convention, the young Jewish artists gave me the strongest sense of connection to a Jewish community, especially fellow Chicago artist Maya Escobar’s sexy, sharply on-the-pulse, and incredibly accessible art. For me, it took the least amount of effort to gel with spirituality that engaged in community by way of artistic philosophy more than anything.

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