A rhetorical question

​In November, just days after the election, I got in a Facebook-friendship-ending argument with my uncle about fear in the age of Trump. 

The argument spanned many topics, but for the bulk of it, I argued that the millions who voted against Trump (myself included) had legitimate fears. These fears were based on his campaign rhetoric that attacked, among others, women, minorities, immigrants, LGBTQ individuals, people with disabilities, Muslims, and Jews, while dog whistling to the scum of our society, and based on history (as a history major who focused domestically on the Civil War and internationally on WWII, I know a thing or two about what happens when hate is given power).

The fears I confessed from my heart were reduced by my uncle to "liberal talking points," and he assured me that, "None of what you and millions of your like minded people think will happen will actually happen."

I unfriended him for many reasons (not all political), which just came to a head in this argument. I was tired of being belittled and devalued, because of my age and gender, as if my experiences as a millennial Jewish woman counted for nothing if they did not lead to the same life conclusions as a white Catholic baby boomer. I was tired of having my education treated as if I'd been brainwashed. And I was tired of talking to a brick wall who, for all his expressions of love for his family, somehow thought that a movement based on hate and resentment would make America great.

At the time, just days after the election, from my grief and despair, I offered this tiny shred of something-like-hope. I would not (and could not) expect better of Trump than he had proved he was capable of, but I suggested that he could (the onus being fully on him) attempt to rebuild the bridges he had burned with over half the country.

In that time, he has built bridges only with dictators and white supremacists. My fears and the fears of millions proved not to be "liberal talking points." They have come to pass.

Photo from Politico

There are Nazis in the streets of Charlottesville. Emboldened by a president who espouses so many of their views and refuses to condemn them, they descended on Virginia wearing Hitler quotes on their t-shirts, waving Confederate flags, and brandishing torches, proposing to take our country from us.

Their definition of American greatness is at odds with America. Their voice is not one of "many sides" to count in the debate about who we are; it is not even a choice. Our ideals, as expressed in our founding documents, in our songs, speeches, and poems, are not hatred, xenophobia, and violence, but life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, the great American melting pot (or salad bowl), a place to breathe free, where we offer liberty and justice for all. Any "side" that rejects these fundamental ideals has no place in our national conversation and deserves no voice in shaping our national identity. The fact that the president offers them a seat at the table and a voice is embarrassing, disgraceful, and horrific.

And, so, I have a rhetorical question for my uncle, who is not a bad person at heart: "Is this the America you wanted?"

Count the Omer: Days 37 & 38

Day 36 | Days 39 & 40

Day 37: Gevurah sheb'Yesod, Power within Connection
Attaining power and influence is all about who you know and who you can connect with. Day 37 of the Omer should be a day to think about how you can improve your networking skills. Check out these tips to get you started!

Day 38: Tiferet sheb'Yesod, Harmony within Connection
There has been a lot in the news lately about combating stereotypes.

Two weeks ago the music world was a-buzz about "Accidental Racist" by Brad Paisley and LL Cool J. There are a lot of problems with this song and I will quote a few of the worst parts, but I don't want to dwell on it here.

• "I hope you understand when I put on that t-shirt, the only thing I meant to say is I'm a Skynyrd fan." Paisley's opening line, referring to the Confederate flag t-shirts you see throughout the South. Using the Confederate flag is not ok, even if it is supposed to symbolize something else. The fact is that it will forever be associated with slavery, oppression, and the deadliest war in American history. If it represented "Southern pride" before that or musical taste after that, it is completely overwritten by the Civil War. Besides that, plenty of people still use it today for racist reasons, so it is still a terrible symbol. One of my biggest pet peeves is when people try to defend this flag. 
• Pretty much everything LL Cool J says in this song is terrible. 
• "RIP Robert E. Lee, but I've gotta thank Abraham Lincoln for freeing me." LL Cool J's last line of the song. Seriously? You don't have to justify loving Abe Lincoln and you certainly don't have to mourn Robert E. Lee. 

But really, what did you expect from a guy whose biggest hit two summers ago was "Water," a four and a half minute song about how great water is? All that said, I am a Paisley fan and in the hundreds of interviews Paisley and LL Cool J have done since the song hit the fan, they have stressed that all they meant to do was start a conversation.

In other news, the German Jewish Museum has an exhibit dubbed "Jew in a Box," part of an exhibit called "The Whole Truth." This part of the exhibit is just a Jewish person sitting on a stool answering your questions about Judaism.

Both of these things are controversial, but in the spirit of conversation-making, let's have a conversation about racism and stereotypes. We're all guilty of stereotyping others and I think/hope that most of us would agree that that is bad. "Accidental Racist" and the "Jew in a Box" exhibit are attempting (though their success is debatable) to connect two cultures that have had their issues and that continue to be ignorant of each other. The message? The hope? The goal? To create understanding and eventually harmony by connecting people and breaking down stereotypes.

"Water" by Brad Paisley

Rosh Hashanah Reflections

I have been really bad at blogging recently, so here is a quick update on my life:

I moved from Nashville to Philadelphia, a big change to which I will probably devote a separate blog post. Marc (my wonderful fiance) and I joined a Conservative synagogue here that is the friendliest place I have ever been.

I visited NYC for the first time in my life. My only impressions of it before this came mainly from Law & Order. First impression in real life: It's very big. The subway needs some fans or something to blow the air around, because it's very stuffy down there. It's an excellent way to get around though. I didn't get to see anything touristy, so I guess I will have to go back and do that at some point. I did get a tour of the Bloomberg building, visited JTS, and had lunch at a kosher deli in Williamsburg, Brooklyn (where I'm pretty sure my tank top made the Hasidic waiter uncomfortable, but it's summer).

And I started work at Maccabi USA, a Jewish non-for-profit dedicated to building Jewish pride and culture through sports.

One of the many wonderful things about working for a Jewish institution is the fact that we get Jewish holidays off. So between Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Simchat Torah, my work weeks in October are incredibly short. As the New Year (Rosh Hashanah) begins, the rabbi at my new synagogue asked us to reflect on the following questions:

1. What blessings have occurred in the past year? What difficulties have I endured, or do I continue to endure? 
2. Are there any lessons that I may draw from these past experiences? 
3. What are my prayers and hopes for the coming year? How will my past experiences help me to chart a path to achieving these goals? 

Since this is my first official year as a Jew, I figure I should try to answer them. So here goes:

This year has been incredibly eventful and I have a lot to be thankful for. I got engaged to the love of my life, converted to Judaism (which was a two-year long process for me), learned the Hebrew alef-bet, and moved out of the South to the east coast, where I am much less likely to find confederate flag memorabilia.

Tangent: That flag drives me nuts. They put it on license plates, beach towels, clothing, and, I'm sure, pretty much anything else they can manage. You can call it a "symbol of Southern pride," but history has made it a symbol of racism, oppression, and violence, and you can't wash that history out of it or pretend it didn't happen.

Anyway, back to my new year's reflections. A difficulty:

Judaism is a religion of lifelong learning. That's what originally drew me to it. I like the feeling that it will never get old, that there will always be a new meaning to discover or something in the Torah that I missed last year. But being a new Jew (Jew by Choice, convert, etc) presents its own learning process that I am finding particularly difficult. I'm not talking about the technical aspects, like learning Hebrew and getting Jewish cultural references. Those can be overcome with Rosetta Stone and a Woody Allen and Mel Brooks movie marathon.

And I'm not talking about feeling singled out as a convert. Once you convert to Judaism, you are supposed to be seen as just as Jewish as every other Jew. True to this rule, no one has questioned my Jewish background. In fact, I frequently encounter the opposite - when a story comes up about "one year at Christmas" or "my cousin's Catholic wedding" people are confused by the idea that my family isn't Jewish.

No, my struggle stems from those things you can't learn, those experiences that make up the Jewish childhood I didn't have. Learning new songs at summer camp, suffering through Hebrew school, searching for the afikoman at Passover. Basically, this is a completely unnecessary struggle that I have fabricated. No one expects a Jew by Choice to have those experiences, but they seem so integral to everyone else's Jewish identity that I don't know what a Jewish identity should look like without them. I have no guideposts for building a Jewish identity without a Jewish past, starting from scratch. I don't want to wipe away my non-Jewish past, because that has made me who I am and I happen to like who I am. My task this year will be to figure out how to construct a Jewish identity that incorporates my past.

Shana Tova
Happy New Year