HiHo, HiHo, it’s off to pray I go…

I was a little shocked recently to discover that some of the more conservative factions of my school refer to the High Holy Days as the “HiHos”. I think that the fact that that term seems cute (to them) and not a little eyebrow-raising (to me) is a generational thing.

In any case, leaving Sunday for my gig Hillel-ing in St. Louis. I’m excited, I think it’ll be a great experience. Probably no time to blog before then so:

Happy, healthy, safe, sane, productive, illuminating, magical and transformational new year to all of you, filled with light, love, joy, and more happiness than you thought you could posssibly stand.

Shanah tovah!

This Week in God

That is to say, theodicy c/o The Daily Show.

It’s in awful, very bad taste, in the best possible way. Watch it here.

(Gacked from JewSchool.)

byline and plug

So the new issue of Lilith magazine has a short piece that I contributed (with, it seems, a big, honkin’ picture) in one of those roundup thingys where a bunch of people contribute small vorts on one topic. The theme for this issue is “coming of age as a Jewish woman.” Kind of interesting to look through the different ones and see how people define that–some people “became women” as young as eight. Me, I was a late bloomer. My best story on the topic didn’t happen ’till I was 20. (The editorial hiccup in the last or next to last line is not my doing.)

And the ever-lovely Rachel Barenblat of Velveteen Rabbi wrote an article in the same issue about Jewish chick bloggers, and in addition to giving a shout-out to us over here at J’lem Syndrome, also waxed poetic about the many wonders that are Netivat Sofrut and Baraita. Thanks, sugar!

gettin’ rebbe with it

I was just flipping the channels and couldn’t resist stopping at the Chabad Telethon, the Jewish world’s best-distributed examples of kitsch unawares. I got there just in time to hear a 70-something hasid with a big white beard standing next to a tacky oil painting of R. Schneerson z”l use the phrase, “The ‘M’ Generation”. That is to say, generation moshiach. I feel so… hip? No, no, that’s not it. But, then, again I don’t really consider myself part of the M generation, so maybe I wasn’t meant to feel included.

Now they’ve got 3 guys singing Kol Nidre, with tallitot on. They’re a little early for annulling vows, and there’s no obligation to tzitzit at night, so–well, I’m finding the whole thing a bit confusing.

It’s actually kind of exciting to be alive to watch such a large-scale heresy unfold. This whole rebbe-died-and-will-come-back-to-redeem-us-as-the-messiah thing is really going to be one for the history books. Some Lubavitchers have actually started to sing, “Rebbenu Morenu Boreinu” (Our rabbi, our teacher, our creator. ) The whole thing is such a scandal. And a scandal with mainstream approval and props from W. I place the whole thing somewhere in that grey area between weird and scary.

In any case, you can catch some of the truly bizarre celebrity plugs (Tony Danza, of course, and even Bernie Mac) online, here. Actually, I think they’re streaming the whole thing….

one way to win a war

I’m reading Tom Segev’s One Palestine, Complete for my history class. It’s about the British Mandate years, and so far (60ish pages in) pretty good–he certainly doesn’t romanticize anybody, but he doesn’t strike me as unfair. I know he’s controversial in some circles, so it’ll be interesting to see how it unfolds.

Anyway, it seems that one tactic that the British used is this:

At sunset British planes would circle over concentrations of Turkish forces and drop opium cigarettes on them…The result: “On November 6 a high percentage of the Turkish army at Sheria and Gaza were drowsy and fuddled. Some of the prisoners taken were scarcely coherent and quite incapable of resistance.”

I continue not to be a fan of war and war-making, but as tactics go, I will hand it to the colonel who came up with that one: Stone ‘em to death, or at least a nice, not-so-bloody defeat.

a beautiful essay on suffering, writing, and politics

By Bee Lavender on her blog, here, dated today.

…human suffering is not symbolic. My pain, and rage, stand for nothing whatsoever. My body is simply a body.

Amen, sister. Her gorgeous, difficult memoir Lessons in Taxidermy is very much worth reading, as well.

Today’s question for discussion and debate:

Is David Broza, in fact, the Israeli Billy Joel?

If so, what are the theological and halakhic implications of this claim? How might it be understood by the two primary populations affected by this claim: those who enjoy this music, and those who do not? If not, what might the implications be for the ongoing attempt to create lasting peace in the Middle East?

Open your blue books, and begin.

the winning quote from the book we’re reading in Biblical Criticism

…so far, anyway. I’m only on page 24, and I suspect there might be more to come. Today’s quote, though:

Christians, who are often woefully ignorant of the Jewish roots of their own Christian faith, and only vaguely aware of any Jewish practices, could gain some feeling for the Old Testament by attending a Friday night sabbath [sic*] service at a local temple or synagogue.

Shabbat is amazing at our shul. First, we sacrifice several goats and a sheep, and then we offer up a couple of birds for good measure. It’s a little stinky in the chapel afterwards for a bit, but we’re generally pretty careful not to get blood all over our nice Shabbat clothes.

*oh, come on, at the very least give our Sabbath a capital “S”!

another post about how I feel bad for not posting so much anymore

Really, I’ll be more fun after Sukkot. I think. Maybe.

My life isn’t so interesting these days; I’m working on school and not-school projects, seeing friends just about only on Shabbos (and even then, not even so much–needing a lot of solitude lately) and generally trying to be good with my time, except tonight when I have spent too much time online and not enough writing the things I’m supposed to be writing. Which I’m going to do now.

They say that every rabbi has two sermons, and I think that’s true. I knew what mine were before, but it’s really striking to be preparing for the yamim noraim–on Rosh Hashonah alone I’ll be giving 4 divrei Torah over 2 days, plus a lot of smaller kavvanot and vorts and stuff–and seeing how tempting it is to just give the patented Danya Torah over and over again. It’s taking some work for me to get some variety in there, but hopefully I’m doing it.

Okay, anyway. Rather than talking about working, I’m gonna go work now.

notes from planet exotification

I’m at the fancy corporate yuppie organic grocery store picking up a few things, and stop to have a conversation with The Cheese Guy about the brie–do they have any that’s kosher, or at the very least not made with animal rennet? We chat for a bit about this, he finds me my cheese, I go on my merry way.

As I’m in line for checkout, he comes running up to me. “You seem like a very intelligent person. Do you have a self-depricating sense of humor as well?” Of course I do. He had something to show me, but it was in his car. He came running back as I was paying, with a copy of Heeb magazine.

“Oh, Heeb!” I say, somewhat relieved. I don’t like the idea of strange men going to their cars to fetch me things I must see. That almost never ends well.

He’s clearly crestfallen. “You know about this magazine?”

Well, um, yeah. He didn’t know that I was a Jewish professional or that I’ve done work on Gen X Judaism or that I was in the middle of working on something with the magazine’s founder when she learned that she got the $$ to start the thing. But really, still. Today, in addition to the kippah and tzitzit, I’m wearing a t-shirt that says “I [heart] Monsters”, a skirt, and boots that look dangerously like combat boots, except with maybe more buckles. I look, basically, as much like the magazine’s constituency as a person could (even though I haven’t seen an issue in years.) He’s not Jewish, he doesn’t know that we all heard about this magazine like a million years ago. He just saw a Jew and his “Jew” light went on, and he wanted to give me something Jewy.

I’d feel grateful or happy to have a free magazine or whatever, but this kind of thing, frankly, happens all the damn time. It’s like the would-be suitor who saw me as the solution to all of his spiritual crises (solution in a skirt, lucky him) and sent me gifts: halva, Yiddish fridge magnets, one of those punching joke “rabbis” (the plastic toy was in the shape of an old Hasid; for all we know the toy hadn’t gotten smicha, but rather worked in the diamond industry or something) and a few other things that had nothing to do with me as a human being, or my needs, hopes, dreams, and fears, but rather, the thing that I symbolized to him. There are a lot of reasons I’m glad that I move through the world visibly flagging my religious and spiritual orientation, but serving as the world’s “Jew” file is not one of them.

As I left the store (2004 issue of Heeb tucked politely in one of my grocery bags) I stopped to sign a petition to improve public schools. The petition guy asked why I wore a yarmulke. I told him (”because I’m Jewish”) and then when he asked again I told him the answer he wanted (ie, to answer his gender curiosity–which, for the record, I don’t mind, since I’m always happy to help dispel myths). Before I knew it, he was telling me everything he had heard about Judaism on NPR–evidently we’re the only religion that observes a day of rest* and are very serious about our dietary laws. Which, you know, maybe I hadn’t heard?

*never fear, I corrected him on that.