Sarah Palin’s Jewish Problem

By Symi Rom-Rymer

By now, anyone with access to the internet will know about the latest furor in the wake of the tragic shooting in Tuscon: Sarah Palin’s use of ‘blood libel’ in her first official statement since the shooting.  In a rare demonstration of unity, her choice of words, with their inescapable echoes of past violence by Christians against Jews, drew immediate condemnation.   Jewish organizations across the political spectrum came out with critical statements from Abraham Foxman, national director of the Anti-Defamation League, who agreed with her position but regretted her choice of words to Jeremy Ben-Ami, President of the liberal Israel lobbying group JStreet, who simply denounced her statement.

As concerning as it is that ‘blood libel’ can be now ripped from its historical moorings and used by anyone in any context, even more concerning is Palin’s interactions with the American Jewish community.  Her questionable rhetoric would not be as big an issue if Palin were not considering a Presidential run in 2012.  But according to numerous news reports, she is.  In a recent article in the Washington Post, she is reportedly taking steps “to build a more substantive political identity. The strategy, in which Palin intends to step up her involvement in public policy debates and embark on overseas trips to nations such as Israel, is in its early stages.”

While for many Jews, her candidacy would be unappealing—the majority of American Jews traditionally vote democratic—for other, more conservative Jews, Palin’s entrance and engagement on the political scene are seen with great excitement.  Benyamin Korn, director of Jewish Americans for Sarah Palin, is one such example.   In a recent op-ed in The Jewish Week, he asserted that a growing number of “Jewish intellectuals” are demonstrating public support for her and her ideas.   “[Joseph] Lieberman, [William] Kristol, [Seth]Lipsky, and [John] Podhoretz are sophisticated, educated, thinking Jews who appreciate Palin’s heartfelt support for Israel, her forceful and informed advocacy for energy independence, her strong stance on national security,” Korn wrote.  “All are bellwethers of the increasing respect for Sarah Palin amongst us – the educated and affluent American Jews.”

But whether or not you agree with Palin’s views on energy or national security, her statements on issues most crucial to American Jews call into question whether she would be a genuine friend to American Jews as president.  First of all, despite in a now famous interview with Barbara Walters, Palin made clear that she supported Israel and its settlement expansion not for historical or even moral reasons but because it fit with her view of Israel as the staging ground for the End Times.  The idea that she could base crucial policy decisions—policy decisions that affect not only American Jews, but our co-religionists in Israel— on her religious beliefs demonstrates a deeply disturbing lack of intellectual maturity for any type of political position, let alone President of the United States.

Second, Palin has repeatedly insisted that America is a Christian nation.  Her rigidity on this topic rejects not only the fundamental American philosophy of the separation between church and state, but also effectively negates the role Jews and Judaism has played in shaping the United States.  Beyond the glaring inaccuracies Palin’s statement demonstrate, it also shows little respect or understanding of the history of religious minorities in this country and the freedom that they have found here to worship according to their own religious traditions and principles;  something Jewish Americans do not take for granted.

Finally,  we come full circle back to her blood libel comment.  Jewcy, the sly online magazine, recently posted a piece entitled, “New Stupid Things Sarah Palin Could Say.”  Among the suggestions were, “this is a pogrom of justice” and “the lamestream media is committing a Shoah against me.”  While masked in humor, author Jason Diamond addresses a critical problem: words and phrases have historical import and powerful contemporary force.  Like the word ‘Nazi’ which has evolved from its original meaning into a simplistic catch-all word to describe a control freak (i.e. Soup Nazi or Heath Nazi), ‘blood libel’ poses the danger of devaluing the deep and powerful legacy of the Jews and others who fought so hard to expose that kind of thinking of what it is: aggressive and irresponsible fear mongering.  To treat the phrase with such flippancy, as Palin did, and then to ignore calls to acknowledge its historical meaning demonstrates once again little understanding of or sympathy for American Jews and the core American values she claims to embrace.

If Sarah Palin decides to run for President in 2012, she will no doubt come under even greater scrutiny.  As American Jews, our work is cut out for us.  Even if you agree with her views on energy or the economy or abortion, demand accuracy and respect when it comes to Jews and Jewish history.  For those who disagree with her, get your placards ready.  2012 is just around the corner.

Jewish Ghosts of Budapest

By Merav Levkowitz

On the last evening of 2010, a Friday, about 35-40 (mostly) young adults, gathered in a non-descript apartment in the center of Budapest’s—actually on the Pest side of the Danube river—Jewish quarter. This is Budapest’s branch of Moishe House, an organization that maintains 33 houses around the world in which young Jews can gather for Shabbat, holidays, and activities. I spent the last Shabbat of the year at Budapest’s Moishe House, which had become my brother’s Jewish community during his semester abroad.

Hungary’s Jewish community has a unique, but tumultuous history. Jews have resided in the Austro-Hungarian empire and in Buda, Obuda, and Pest—the three towns that came together as Hungary’s capital, Budapest, in 1873—since medieval times. As in other European countries, Jews in the region experienced waves of safety and success interspersed with those of discrimination and expulsion. Following the Ottoman conquest of Buda, Jews were dispersed throughout central Hungary and the Balkans, where they lived in relative calm until the Habsburgs, the ruling royal family, imposed new restrictions during their late 17^th century reign. In December 1867 Jews were granted full emancipation, and the period that followed was one of prosperity and assimilation of the Jewish community into Hungary. During this time, Hungary’s unique Neolog Jewish movement, which seeks middle-ground religiosity and is most like the American Conservative movement, gained popularity. The movement’s majestic and regal synagogue, the Dohany Street Great Synagogue—the largest in Europe and the second largest in the world—hosted major community events and still serves as the emblem and gatekeeper to the city’s famous Jewish quarter behind it.

Today Hungary is home to an estimated 100,000 Jews, one of the largest Jewish communities in Europe, and Budapest houses over twenty synagogues and a hip, vibrant Jewish quarter that is familiar to all who live in the city and is actively advertised as a “Must See” in all travel guides. Yet, it also seems hidden and cloaked in mystery. Many of the Jews we met did not even know they were Jewish for most of their lives.

Both World War II and the subsequent communism eroded the Hungarian Jewish community and identity. While the discourse has long held that Hungarian Jews perished at the hands of the occupying Nazi German forces, the relatively new Holocaust Memorial Center in Budapest ascribes distinct responsibility to the Hungarian state, arguing that beginning in 1938 the state undertook a process by which it deprived Jews and Roma, in particular, of their “rights, property, freedom, human dignity, and in the end, their very existence.” Budapest’s Jews were confined to the tragic conditions of the Jewish ghetto until their deportation was carried out. Indeed, the deportation of Hungarian Jews was the fastest and most extensive—437,402 Jews from Hungary deported within 56 days—and one-tenth of the Holocaust’s Jewish victims were Hungarian.

After the Holocaust’s devastation, the subsequent communist regime turned the remaining Hungarian Jews away from the religion. Many Jewish families were active communists, but even those that were not kept Judaism under wraps. One family friend, now in her late 50s, told us that as a child, most of the families she knew, including her own, were atheists. Once she learned, as an adult, that her family was Jewish, she discovered that all her atheist childhood friends were also, in fact, originally Jewish. Another adult friend shared that as a child he had been told that his grandmother lived in England. He was surprised, when she came to visit, that she did not speak any English and was told that she lived in an area of England that was predominantly Hungarian. As an adult, he, too, learned that he was Jewish and that his grandmother had, in fact, been living in Tel Aviv. Hungarian Jews of all ages shared similar stories.
Today, Budapest’s Jews seem caught in a tug-of-war. On one hand, Jewish life and culture seems active, alive, and on the rise, especially among young adults. On the other hand, however, many Hungarians expressed fear about the current government, which has censored the press and includes a faction of members of the nationalist, anti-Semitic, far-right party Jobbik. Many Hungarian Jews I met espoused concern for a future and a desire to make aliyah, especially if the political climate continues as is. Indeed, even as I, a tourist, roamed the colorful and vibrant Jewish neighborhood and visited the impressive—but empty—Holocaust Memorial Center, I could not help but feel that the residual fears of the Holocaust and communism had settled over the city and that the Jewish community was, in fact, one of ghosts.

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The Israeli Daily Show

By Daniel Hoffman

The controversial educational video from the Israeli Ministry of Education opens with a kindergarten teacher asking tough questions “to prepare the children for the complicated life in Israel.”  Shockingly, the tots reply straight off with traditional right-wing arguments. When the teacher wonders what Israel needs to have peace, the answers come from all sides. “There’s no one to talk on the other side!” one cutie cries. “I got to be a leftist but I became disillusioned,” another admits. “It’s proven, removing settlements doesn’t bring peace,” a third says. The video goes on, parodying many clichés of Likud rhetoric, such as the world’s hostility toward Israel and the country’s famous “PR problem.”

The hilarious skit is an excerpt from the comedy show Eretz Nehederet (Wonderful Country), broadcast on Channel 2 since 2003. One of the most influential TV programs in Israel, it gathers one million viewers every Friday night, more than 50 percent of the television audience. Like The Daily Show or Saturday Night Live, the show is a humorous reflection on Israeli society in its most ludicrous and laughable aspects. No burning issue (the conflict, the religious tensions, the political mess) and no side (left, right, Israelis, Palestinians) are spared by the writers’ caustic pens. In a country where anguish and tensions are ubiquitous, the black humour and satire Eretz Nehederet brings is a weekly relief for many.

Many clips from Eretz Nehederet have gone viral on the ‘net. A few years ago,  the show made fun of French tourists, depicting them invading Israeli beaches during summer and creating a buzz among the French Jewish community. Another famous clip is this spoof on the dancing Na Nachs, and this brilliant video from last November, watched 360,000 times on YouTube, parodies the failed peace negotiations, using characters from the iPhone app Angry Birds to “embody” Israelis and Palestinians.

Like its American counterparts, the show mocks the grotesque and the absurd in political discourses, helping citizens better understand the thorny issues and have a somewhat more sane, more relaxed debate about them. They are not “just for fun” programs; they fulfill an important social role, greasing the wheels of political debate.

Eretz Nehederet also highlights a paradox of diaspora Jewry. Connoisseurs of Israeli culture and society know that there is no other place in the world where the criticism against politicians, the army and religion is so virulent as in Israel. Yet it is in the diaspora that Jews find it difficult to distance themselves from these topics. Even if they rarely agree with everything Israel does or says, many diaspora Jews think that they have to defend it to restore the balance (See Moment‘s “From the Editor” on the difficulties of discussing Israel within the American Jewish community).

Israelis don’t feel this type of obligation at all. On the contrary, they use
self-deprecating humor and self-criticism as a weapon. A weapon that
helps them preserve and strengthen their most important asset:
democratic vitality. It is a “wonderful country,” indeed.

Top Five Debbie Friedman Songs – A Tribute

By Alexandra Scarfone

Legendary Jewish folk singer and composer Debbie Friedman, who passed away on Sunday at age 59, was one of the most influential voices in American Jewish music in the last century. In tribute and memory of Friedman, Moment has picked out the top five Debbie Friedman songs from the over 20 albums she wrote throughout her career.

Mi Shebeirach – This prayer for healing is one of Friedman’s most famous songs. It was sung at a prayer service on Sunday for Arizona Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and is sung in synagogues and churches nationwide

L’chi Lach – Friedman wrote this song alongside feminist Biblical scholar Savina Teuba for the first Simchat Chochmah, a ritual for becoming an elder. Feminizing God’s command to Abraham “Lech Lecha,” it became a popular ritual song accentuating women’s stories in Jewish history.

The Latke Song -  No Hanukkah could be complete without this Friedman classic, which celebrates the holiday’s little oily darling, the latke, alongside a cornucopia of Jewish foods.

Miriam’s Song -  Miriam’s Song celebrates the elder sister of Moses and Aaron, who represents strong femininity, perseverance, and hope. This song became one of Friedman’s classics, holding a special place for brides and Bat Mitzvah girls.

Aleph Bet Song – Hebrew school students around the world may not realize that the Aleph Bet song they commit to memory was written by Debbie Friedman.  Friedman teaches the Hebrew alphabet by setting it to a playful beat and breaking the alphabet down into easily digestible pieces. The song reached broader audiences on an episode of Barney entitled “Aleph-Bet.”

A Tale of Two New Years

By Gabriel Weinstein

Optimism and excitement for the new year still permeate the crisp winter air as in the second week of 2011. Lofty New Years vows to cut down on late night snacks or quit watching reality TV shows are still manageable goals and not forgotten ideals.

Only four months ago the same unencumbered joy and boundless passion sprung forth from synagogues and family dinners during Rosh Hashanah. We penned our New Years resolutions during the Aseret Yemei Teshuvah and wished “L’Shanah Tovah.” Despite the overlap between Rosh Hashanah and New Years, a majority of Jews propose midnight toasts New Years Eve and watch the ball drop. But for hundreds of years Jews anxiously awaited midnight as gentile peers rang in the New Year by unleashing waves of violence on January 1.

In much of the European world, New Years Eve is called “Sylvester” in honor of Pope Saint Sylvester. Saint Sylvester was an integral figure in passing anti-Semitic legislation at the Council of Nicaea (325 C.E.) and prohibiting Jews from living in Jeruslaem (a fact lost on the many Israelis, who brought the terms over from Europe).

The New Years holiday regained prominence in the late 1500’s when Pope Greogry XIII designated January 1 as a day for Catholics to antagonize their Jewish peers. Gregory picked January 1 because it is believed to be the date of Jesus’s circumcision. On New Years Day 1577, 1578 and 1581 Gregory decreed policies forcing Jews to listen to Catholic conversion sermons after Kabbalat Shabbat services, pay taxes to support a “House of Conversion” for Jewish citizens and had troops seize Jewish literature in Rome.

Before New Years Eve and Day were marred by violent anti-Semitic outbreaks Jews still did not fully embrace the holiday. During the days of Roman Empire New Years Eve was known as the Kalendae Januariae festival.  Talmudic Rabbis had a litany of reasons for opposing the holiday. Their hate for the holiday  stemmed from beliefs the holiday was a diluted version of a Biblical New Years Celebration,  imbued with Roman mythology and venerated “The Kingdom of Wickedness”-Rome. In the Mishnah (Avodah Zarah 1:3) the Rabbis forbid Jews from engaging in business with gentiles during the holiday to ensure Jews do not provide additional joy or appear to endorse the worship of idols.

Third century Talmud scholar Rav believed the biblical figure Adam created Kalendae Januariae as a solstice festival. According to Rav, Adam believed that the diminishing daylight and beckoning winter foreshadowed the end of the universe. Adam thought a serpent was devouring the universe and the world’s daylight. When sunlight increased at the Winter Solstice instead of an apocalypse, Adam allegedly proclaimed the Greek phrase “Kalon Dio”, roughly translated as “May the Sun Set Well”, “Praise Be to God” or “Beautiful Day”.  Talmudic authorities believed that since Adam’s celebration of Kalendae Januariae, his offspring marked the solstice in some form.

Rav Yohanan offered a different explanation of Kalendae Januariae’s origins. According to Rav Yohanan, the holiday honors Januarius, a Roman general who fell on his sword in war to ensure Roman victory and plush administrative positions for his twelve sons. But other scholars believe Rav Yohanan’s interpretation fails to acknowledge Kalendae Januariae’s religious overtones.

Januarius is most likely an allusion to the Roman god Janus, who the month of January is named for. Janus had two faces, and was able to look at the past and present simultaneously. Janus’s unique ability made him the perfect God to honor at the dawning of a new year when we reflect on the past year and plan for the upcoming months. Some posit Kalendae Januariae is an occasion to celebrate Janus’s status as a god of Light and Day. This interpretation meshes with Rav’s interpretations of New Years.

Resentment towards the secular New Years celebration has significantly subsided since Talmudic times as Rabbinic authorities now acknowledge and in some cases encourage the celebration of New Years. Rabbi Tzvi Shapiro characterizes New Years as a holiday that has lost its religious overtones and become completely secular, making its observance palatable. According to Shapiro, Jewish law does not explicitly forbid observing widely celebrated holidays such as New Years and Valentines Day.

While Shapiro tepidly endorses celebrating New Years, Rabbi Brad Hirschfield gives the holiday a strong endorsement. Hirschfield emphasizes approaching New Years from a Jewish outlook and incorporating Jewish ideals into New Years resolutions. He encourages consulting Jewish views on the power of words, vows and balanced lifestyle when formulating New Years resolutions.  Hirschfield justifies the celebration of the secular New Year by citing the Mishnah’s recognition of multiple New Year celebrations such as Rosh Hashanah, Tu B’Shvat, the first of Nisan and the first of Elul.

The observance of the secular New Years celebration is a microcosm of Jewish cultural development over the last thousand years. Initially deemed a vestige of foreign oppressor, secular New Years is one of many festivals Jews celebrate. Yet, whether secular New Years will eclipse the sentiments of redemption and renewal espoused during Rosh Hashanah remains to be seen.

After Giffords Attack, Searching for Compassion

By Steven Philp

Addressing nationwide concern for Representative Gabrielle Giffords, doctors have expressed hope for her recovery despite having suffered a gunshot wound to the head. According to an article posted by Haaretz, the bullet passed through the left side of the brain, including areas that control speech function; her doctors have warned that extensive damage in these locations could preclude a full recovery from the incident. “There are obvious areas of our brain that are less tolerant to intrusion,” said Dr. Michael Lemole. “I don’t want to go down the speculation road but at the same time we’re cautiously optimistic.” Although in critical condition Giffords has been able to respond to simple commands, such as holding up two fingers when prompted.

Yet optimism is a precious commodity given the nature of the shooting, which left 18 injured and six dead, including nine-year-old Christina Taylor Green. In an interview with Haaretz, Rabbi Stephanie Aaron of Congregation Chaverim expressed her dismay, stating that both the Jewish and non-Jewish community of Tucson is “shocked and horrified, and completely saddened…We don’t know all the details, but it is incomprehensible.” Giffords has attended Congregation Chaverim for over ten years. Although authorities have yet to shed light on the motives of the shooter, 22-year-old Jared Loughner, some have pointed to possible anti-Semitism. According to an interview with Associated Press – conducted on condition of anonymity – a government official familiar with the case said that local authorities have been pursuing a link between Loughner and American Renaissance, an anti-government group associated with the white supremacist organization New Century Foundation. Both groups are known for their anti-Semitic and anti-government rhetoric, which is reflected in some of Loughner’s online video and blog posts.

However some see these potential motives as part of a larger problem, pointing to the prevalence of aggressive – if not overtly militaristic – rhetoric in national debate. According to the Guardian, Giffords has been repeatedly targeted by the Tea Party after voting for healthcare reform and vocally opposing Arizona’s anti-immigration laws. Tucson sheriff Clarence Dupnik expressed his concern that “growing hate and anger” toward the government, including calls to armed resistance, played a role in the shooting.  Similarly, the National Jewish Democratic Council released a statement that read, “Many have contributed to the building levels of vitriol in our political discourse.” Called a traitor to her country, Gifford was included on a “target list” posted by Sarah Palin’s PAC during the midterm election which marked key races with gun sights. Although the graphic has since been pulled from the Web site, news sources like the Huffington Post still carry the image.

Yet some continue this violent rhetoric, including the Westboro Baptist Church (WBC), which came in to the national spotlight several years ago through its anti-gay and anti-Semitic protests. Given their record, it is unsurprising that they would target the victims of the Arizona shooting. According to a flyer posted on their Web site and reposted on the Huffington Post, the WBC writes, “THANK GOD FOR THE SHOOTER – 6 DEAD!” They continue, stating that the deaths are divine retribution for the federal court case that was brought against the WBC for picketing the funerals of fallen soldiers.

However, there is a counter-message. Media figures such as Keith Olbermann have come out against the hate-filled rhetoric, asking for an overhaul of national debate and the movement away from violent and incendiary language. This is reminiscent of a voice that emerged from the Jewish community several months ago. As part of a new campaign against “fear-based politics,” Rabbi Sharon Brous of IKAR – a progressive Jewish community based in Los Angeles, CA – posted a video calling for “radical empathy.” She reminds us that, as Jews, we understand vulnerability. Yet we can use our collective memory of suffering to recognize the rhetoric of fear, and to counter it through absolute and unfaltering compassion. Al tirah, “fear not,” reads the Torah; Rabbi Brous looks to this reminder, a direct command from G-d to face adversity with conviction. Instead of pointing our indignation at Sarah Palin, the Tea Party, the Westboro Baptist Church, or – as difficult as this may be – Jared Loughner, we need to ask questions. What are they afraid of? Why? And how can we – as Jews, as Americans, and as people of conscience – meet their fears with the empathy needed to soften their hearts?

Born This Way

By Steven Philp

According to a recent study conducted by researchers at the University College London, people may hold certain political views simply because they were born that way. The survey of politicians and students found that there are marked structural differences in the brains of people with different political viewpoints. These differences were focused in two primary areas; participants with conservative political views generally have a larger amygdala, which regulates fear and related emotions, and a smaller anterior cingulate, which is associated with courage and optimism.

In a Time Magazine article, lead researcher Professor Geraint Rees explains that the results were unexpected: “It is very surprising because it does suggest there is something about political attitude that is encoded in our brain structure through our experience or that there is something in our brain structure that determines or results in political attitude.” However, he noted that because the research was conducted on adults it is difficult to determine whether these differences were present from birth or had been formed through experience. It is also unclear how quickly these changes take place, and whether it is possible to induce significant shifts in opinion after the formation of these features have become manifest.

Yet this begs the question: if our political viewpoints–through nature or nurture–are hardwired in to the brain, is debate productive? According to an article published by the New York Times, Republicans gained more than 690 seats in state legislatures across the nation in the November election, giving the party their strongest representation at the state level in 80 years. It would appear that national political opinion has bifurcated, with more conservative candidates gaining over their moderate peers in certain races; take Tea Party favorites Rand Paul (R-KY) and Marco Rubio (R-FL), for example. Yet in other races, such as Nevada and Delaware, the extreme politics of Republican contenders caused significant shift in favor toward the Democrat candidate. If the recalcitrance of political opinion holds true, then we now face a legislature that will experience deadlock to a greater degree than its predecessor. Yet this past December we saw a Congress that worked against partisan divisions to pass significant legislation–the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and the 9/11 First Responders Bill, for example–making this a particularly successful lame duck session for the Democrats. It was the ability to secure votes from both parties, through difficult and–at times–emotional debate, that allowed for forward movement. This is not to say that the past few months have not lacked their disappointments for the liberal minded; the failure of the DREAM Act was one such instance. However, we do know one thing: debate can be productive, and minds can–to a degree–change.

As we enter a period of divided government, we can expect sharp differences between Republican and Democrat officials. Already we see a lack of bipartisanship in the new Congress; efforts to overturn healthcare reform in the House accentuate the split between the Republican-dominated House and the Democrat-controlled Senate. Looking at the next two years, we must not let the recalcitrance of the political mind let us forget the efficacy of debate. As Jews we have inherited a tradition of discourse, crystallized in texts like the Talmud. In this way we have a particular role to play in the current political environment, sharing this heritage of debate to ensure continued progress.

People of the Book: Moving Into the Super Sad Future

by Sala Levin

2010 could rightfully be called the year of interconnectedness. Phones are no longer just smart: Some of them seem to have Ivy League degrees.  Facebook wunderkind Mark Zuckerberg drew more attention than ever before, from The Social Network to his $100 million donation to Newark public schools to his designation as Time’s Person of the Year to his pledge to give away the majority of his wealth.  One-twelfth of the world’s population now has a Facebook account, sharing photos and events with a network of 550 million people.  No one is alone anymore—just log on to Facebook, hop on Gchat, fire up your iPhone, and find yourself instantly surrounded by a never-dormant virtual society.

If 2010 marked a new high for global togetherness, the world of Gary Shteyngart’s dystopian novel Super Sad True Love Story, released in July, is hyper-connected.  Set in the near future, the novel features sad-sack protagonist Lenny Abramov, the reluctant son of painfully old-world Russian-Jewish immigrants who falls in love with the young and beautiful Eunice Park, a Korean-American girl who instant messages her friends incessantly and lovingly calls one “ass hoo-kah” and “betch.”

Central to the world Shteyngart has created is a device called an apparat: a sort of iPhone on steroids that allows its user to be linked to the virtual world at all times.  Apparati are worn around the necks of their owners as a pendant—having the newest and most sophisticated apparat is a point of pride for Lenny and his peers.  Bars are filled with men and women “FAC”-ing (“forming a community”) on their apparati as a way to numerically rate the attractiveness of the other bar patrons—a more sophisticated version of the informal judgments people now make on Facebook photos.  Individuals known as “Media” host shows on their personal apparati, blasting their opinions and observations to anyone who might be listening.

Lenny works as a Life Lovers Outreach Coordinator for a company that develops strategies for life extension; Lenny’s boss, Joshie, is pushing 70 but, having used his company’s products and services, has the face and physique (and even the diminutive name) of a much younger man—younger, even, than Lenny, who wants desperately to live forever but isn’t elite enough to avail himself of the company’s prohibitively expensive methods.

The book begins with Lenny’s bold declaration: “Today I’ve made a major decision: I am never going to die.”  Lenny, at 39, is simultaneously obsessed with youth and death, the two opposing forces that govern his life.  At work, he is told that youth is the ideal, that the progression toward old age and then, inevitably, death should be fought at every turn.  This attitude has seeped into every aspect of Lenny’s life: when he and Eunice visit the zoo he spies an elephant “at the middle of his lifespan, much like I was.” He believes that the elephant “is aware of his eventual extinction and he is hurt by it, reduced by it, made to feel his solitary nature.”  Lenny sees the elephant as his parallel, comparing its sad physical demeanor and bulging nose to his own.  (He tells Eunice, as she grabs his nose, “I hab a long dose because I’m Jewish.  Dere’s dothing I can do aboud it.”)  He gives the animal and its fear of death a Jewish air, saying, “The elephant is essentially an Ashkenazi animal, but a wholly rational one—it too wants to live forever.”

Like Lenny and the elephant, the other characters of Super Sad True Love Story are repulsed and terrified by the thought of mortality.  Their constant communication with each other, their need to shout their opinions into the cyber-world of their apparati, to put on  displays to the vast, anonymous public—all of it signals a desperate desire to be seen, to be acknowledged, to create something lasting out of the fleetingness of life, to cheat death of its permanence.

The same could be said of our own use of Facebook and other public forums.  Much has been written about the way Facebook pages become memorials after a user has died, a place for people to talk to the deceased, to pretend that they can still be reached.  Like the elephant at the zoo, we are all Ashkenazi animals, wanting to live forever, wanting to believe that a place on the Internet equals a place in eternity.  Like Lenny, we are bound to be disappointed.

Sects, Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll

By Symi Rom-Rymer

A group of young Hasidic men hang out at the foot of the subway stairs at a station in Brooklyn, New York.   Soon, another one joins them and the conversation quickly turns heated.  “Do you bite your thumb at us sir?/I do bite my thumb, sir./Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?/No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you sir, but I bite my thumb sir.”  These lines may seem familiar, as they open one of the most famous plays ever written: William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.  But would they seem as familiar in Yiddish?

That is a question tackled in “Romeo and Juliet in Yiddish,” a film by Eve Annenberg now playing as part of the 2011 New York Jewish Film Festival.  The movie does not simply transport the star-crossed lovers to the streets of Williamsburg.  Rather, it is a film within a film: The plot alternates between the contemporary lives of its protagonists, Lazer, Mendy, and Ava, and the lives of the fictional characters they play, Romeo, Benvolio, and the Nurse.   In an additional twist, the non-Shakespearean parts of the story are modeled on the real lives of the film’s central and first-time actors.

Much like in the movie, Annenberg, a part-time ER nurse and film director, conceived of the idea of making a film of Romeo and Juliet and recruited Hasidic young men and women who had recently left their communities to play the leads.  As the filming got underway, Annenberg realized that the Yiddish script she was using was outdated and turned to her young cast to help her reshape the material.  Over the course of this work, she learned their stories and wove them into the film, creating two parallel plots.

Of course this is not the first time that Romeo and Juliet has been performed in Yiddish.  In the heyday of Yiddish theater, Romeo and Juliet, like many of Shakespeare’s best known plays were translated and performed for audiences from Vilna to New York.  But this adaptation is particularly poignant given that, unlike earlier generations, all of the actors save Annenberg had no familiarity with the story—or even with Shakespeare himself—before speaking his words themselves.

Although their life experiences might have been better suited to some of Shakespeare’s less earnest characters—Lazer and Mendy both smuggled pot and committed credit card fraud after they left their Satmar community as teenagers—they are nonetheless convincing in their roles as the love-sick Romeo and Benvolio, his sympathetic cousin.   But despite these young actors’ abilities, it is their contemporary lives that steal center stage.

The exoticism of their situation and their youthful charisma makes for compelling viewing.   They are at turns brash and arrogant, conning airport police at the U.S. border with fake stories of lost luggage and then paying their defense lawyer with bad checks, and vulnerable children imploring their estranged parents to speak to them, if only over the phone.  Indeed, instead of performing a Shakespeare play, they are living one, complete with wrenching choices about family, power, and morality.

Unfortunately, the film falls short in its failure to delve into the deeper questions it raises: who are these boys?  What drove them away from their previous lives?  What do they see for themselves in their future?  The characters themselves leave the audience intrigued, but the lack of development or analysis is unsatisfying.  Similarly, the Romeo and Juliet narrative is also highly edited, offering little opportunity to become emotionally invested in the characters and  their ultimate fate.

The concept of bringing a work as famous as Shakespeare’s to a group of people previously untouched by his power is also not new, but nonetheless creates a fascinating opportunity to explore how his themes of passionate love and internecine hatred resonate for these young men.  Despite its flaws, Annenberg has created a movie that not only offers its audience a glimpse of an unexplored world, but also a fresh opportunity to celebrate Yiddish and its improbable second incarnation as the language of theater.  She is reportedly in talks for other film projects for her young protégés.  Perhaps in a year or so, we’ll all be hearing “To be or not to be” in Yiddish on the big screen.