So, I'm pro-Exile and bump elbows with the goyim all the time and love it and think it sustains Judaism externally, but the constant attacks against intermarriage made me question whether Judaism is strong enough internally.
So, the school I may want to attend someday to maybe be a rabbi some hypothetical, later day has this policy. It goes: don't apply if you're married to a gentile. One of the posts I read recently (in like the last month) was this big lash out against intermarriage. In typical poor form, I do not have the article here for you but my point stands. Jews should be able to marry whomever they choose.
Can and has intermarriage been detrimental to Judaism—for sure but attacking it is attacking a symptom not finding a cure. I do not believe the problem is a lack of Jews but a lacking judaism that leads to this assimilated dispersion.
Why can we not, do we not, in our parental relationship with Avinu Malkeinu [our father, our king] and tell him we want to love Judaism AND whomever special we have found in our lives? At the very least, we neet is not my advice to pursue intermarriage, but merely to acknowledge that temptation drawing support away is less our problem than malcontent, boredom and resentment pushing away, even driving out.
So if the genetic pool has its heart on straying, remember that families which flex and compromise, stay together. Judaism is based on supreme love; the Covenant is a marriage between the people Israel and G-d. And if G-d has taught us anything, despite the constant barrage of fatherly threats—straying doesn't separate us, love unites us.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
L'eretz M'itrayim
In the light of recent uprising and conflict in Egypt, my father expressed relief that I had already gone and returned from Israel. Right before that conversation I had read this article:
http://www.jewishjournal.com/world/article/unrest_in_egypt_could_lead_to_israels_worst_nightmare_20110201/
By the transitive property of geopolitical politics, Egypt's problem(s) are probably Israel's problem(s)...and Jordan's problems and Syria's problems. If you live in a region, you live in a region. However, Egypt is its own country, with it's own histories and cultures and politics. Give Egypt and it's turmoil some of its own time for its own mystical, historical transition before it's whisked away into the global media-history that we feed on now-a-days.
So as Egypt may or may not transition power, and people rise up and governments crack down all I can pray is that it is resolved efficiently, in the favor of the citizens therein and as peacefully as is prudently possible.
http://www.jewishjournal.com/world/article/unrest_in_egypt_could_lead_to_israels_worst_nightmare_20110201/
By the transitive property of geopolitical politics, Egypt's problem(s) are probably Israel's problem(s)...and Jordan's problems and Syria's problems. If you live in a region, you live in a region. However, Egypt is its own country, with it's own histories and cultures and politics. Give Egypt and it's turmoil some of its own time for its own mystical, historical transition before it's whisked away into the global media-history that we feed on now-a-days.
So as Egypt may or may not transition power, and people rise up and governments crack down all I can pray is that it is resolved efficiently, in the favor of the citizens therein and as peacefully as is prudently possible.
Laundro-zen
I do my laundry approximately once a month. Some of my clothes become questionable in this period but as I own about a singular load's worth of clothing, it will just have to abide. I could bother some of my grown up friends for the untaxing use of their washing opperatti but I love laundromats. I love the sketchy people, I love the advertisements, I love the florescent lighting on the garish, '70's cast-off paint job and peeling wall paper. The public display of humanity really touches me.
Laundering my clothing, like most domestic chores is a zen process of comfort to me. Sir, I do not care if you own this building, which in my most homeless has been my 2am reading and using the bathroom Zion, I will put my laundry soap...or substitute in-- when and where I choose. It's my eight quarters damn it. I have used one of these washers before—in fact I've used this one, number 13, a dozen times. I need, in order for me to complete the process of laundry, to read all seven points of instruction EVERY time. And if I'm questioning your top loader for the soap, I will do so because I'm experimenting with new detergent practices and because it pleases me.
And instead of sitting here, relaxed by the steady drip of ironic lucky thirteen's failed door-lock and reading a Mexican novel, I had to take out my computer to scribe the rape of my laundering process. How dare you intercede! How am I supposed to play dying, Street Fighter pinball if I do not have my zen? Am I supposed to last another month until I can find it again? This was my lap-top free laundromat because I don't have internet here. But I also didn't have any paper and my groove was thrown. I've now wasted my wash cycle.
Due to the ineptitrusion of the proprietor, Ms. Pacman will for another month be Ms. Cat-a-holic-lonely-manless and eaten by ghosts. My second laundromat got me closer to my zen. I dried things (th e driers are newer and cheaper at Laundromat #2) and watched some episodes online and piddled around online. Watching naval crime dramas is not the same if I'm not neglecting German Hausaufgaben, but was comforting nevertheless.
Not until 1:30am while folding my finally dried (cheaper is not free) belongings, does the zen envelope me. Sealed safely into my menstrual soul by the newly darned socks. Mmm domesticity, how you balm a weary soul and your victoriously clean clothings attire a weary body.
Laundering my clothing, like most domestic chores is a zen process of comfort to me. Sir, I do not care if you own this building, which in my most homeless has been my 2am reading and using the bathroom Zion, I will put my laundry soap...or substitute in-- when and where I choose. It's my eight quarters damn it. I have used one of these washers before—in fact I've used this one, number 13, a dozen times. I need, in order for me to complete the process of laundry, to read all seven points of instruction EVERY time. And if I'm questioning your top loader for the soap, I will do so because I'm experimenting with new detergent practices and because it pleases me.
And instead of sitting here, relaxed by the steady drip of ironic lucky thirteen's failed door-lock and reading a Mexican novel, I had to take out my computer to scribe the rape of my laundering process. How dare you intercede! How am I supposed to play dying, Street Fighter pinball if I do not have my zen? Am I supposed to last another month until I can find it again? This was my lap-top free laundromat because I don't have internet here. But I also didn't have any paper and my groove was thrown. I've now wasted my wash cycle.
Due to the ineptitrusion of the proprietor, Ms. Pacman will for another month be Ms. Cat-a-holic-lonely-manless and eaten by ghosts. My second laundromat got me closer to my zen. I dried things (th e driers are newer and cheaper at Laundromat #2) and watched some episodes online and piddled around online. Watching naval crime dramas is not the same if I'm not neglecting German Hausaufgaben, but was comforting nevertheless.
Not until 1:30am while folding my finally dried (cheaper is not free) belongings, does the zen envelope me. Sealed safely into my menstrual soul by the newly darned socks. Mmm domesticity, how you balm a weary soul and your victoriously clean clothings attire a weary body.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I'm Smiling at Sexism Again
I find myself smiling at sexism again...
This is not uncommon. My words happen to be very sexist, often. In the public sphere, for example, I have repeatedly made the claim that women, including myself are illiterate and should not be allowed to entertain the notion of thought as it only leads to trouble. There's a certain, tasty irony that accompanies these and even worse, gender and sexually discriminatory statements as they issue from a queer and feminist educated and practicing individual. However, I maintain the very serious issue that women cannot be exempt from sexism as there is no more true statement as: that no one can hate women more than women.
That being said let's move on to religion. Israel's current manifestation of the problem with I define as letting the ultra-Orthodox nutjobs run a secular country that they neither aid monetarily nor help to defend, is GENDER SEGREGATED BUSSES. The high court is finally smacking down on this coddling of the poor, defenseless Haredi, who want to impose their way of life on EVERY...Jew. I think they should be honored to bump heavily clothed elbows with the men AND WOMEN who work and soldier and basically keep Israel together while they live off of government stipends....paid by the less observant, practically-gentiles.
I might love Israel. There's a woman sitting in prison right now because she prayed at a segregated section of a really old wall and had the audacity to sing her love of adonai. Truly offensive. Frankly, I almost hopped the fence when I was there. And what is this wall of malcontent? Is this the wall of the inner sanctum, the Holy of Holies? Is it the wall of the Temple where our people congregated thrice a year in giant picnics of worship? Nope. It's the Western, “wailing” Wall also known as a kind of fence, outter wall of the Temple, albeit the Western is the closest to all the important Arks and junk but I think if you pray at the Southern wall, there's a lot more room and shade (which might only be important to pastier Jews).
And why is the palace of the picnic so important? Did G-d give us Torah there? Did Abraham almost kill his son there? Actually, what a morbid holy site, the muslims can keep that one. Nah, King Dave might have wanted a sweeter digs....no, wait, that's the first tiny temple, which did NOT replace all of the worship sites, just kind of united the country a little, which was nice, but not Torah-biblical. Nope, this is the last of like three, standing, OUTER walls of the GIANT, osentatious palace that HEROD, of the roman-loving, politically savvy and ethically questionable, built because he wanted to look even awesomer.
So, here's why I love Israel and the Jews that cohabitate there: They're praying at a mildly, pointless archeological site where we killed animals instead of prayed anyway. They're doing it in a painfully sexist way, defined by the epic slackers and religiously intolerant who run the country which is defended by the hard-working, pluralistic and religiously indifferent. And the women uprising, only rising up on their designated side of course, can't even bus there in peace.
Oy Veh. Luckily for us, I think after this long, G-d understands that our tradition totally trumps anything He might have to say.
This is not uncommon. My words happen to be very sexist, often. In the public sphere, for example, I have repeatedly made the claim that women, including myself are illiterate and should not be allowed to entertain the notion of thought as it only leads to trouble. There's a certain, tasty irony that accompanies these and even worse, gender and sexually discriminatory statements as they issue from a queer and feminist educated and practicing individual. However, I maintain the very serious issue that women cannot be exempt from sexism as there is no more true statement as: that no one can hate women more than women.
That being said let's move on to religion. Israel's current manifestation of the problem with I define as letting the ultra-Orthodox nutjobs run a secular country that they neither aid monetarily nor help to defend, is GENDER SEGREGATED BUSSES. The high court is finally smacking down on this coddling of the poor, defenseless Haredi, who want to impose their way of life on EVERY...Jew. I think they should be honored to bump heavily clothed elbows with the men AND WOMEN who work and soldier and basically keep Israel together while they live off of government stipends....paid by the less observant, practically-gentiles.
I might love Israel. There's a woman sitting in prison right now because she prayed at a segregated section of a really old wall and had the audacity to sing her love of adonai. Truly offensive. Frankly, I almost hopped the fence when I was there. And what is this wall of malcontent? Is this the wall of the inner sanctum, the Holy of Holies? Is it the wall of the Temple where our people congregated thrice a year in giant picnics of worship? Nope. It's the Western, “wailing” Wall also known as a kind of fence, outter wall of the Temple, albeit the Western is the closest to all the important Arks and junk but I think if you pray at the Southern wall, there's a lot more room and shade (which might only be important to pastier Jews).
And why is the palace of the picnic so important? Did G-d give us Torah there? Did Abraham almost kill his son there? Actually, what a morbid holy site, the muslims can keep that one. Nah, King Dave might have wanted a sweeter digs....no, wait, that's the first tiny temple, which did NOT replace all of the worship sites, just kind of united the country a little, which was nice, but not Torah-biblical. Nope, this is the last of like three, standing, OUTER walls of the GIANT, osentatious palace that HEROD, of the roman-loving, politically savvy and ethically questionable, built because he wanted to look even awesomer.
So, here's why I love Israel and the Jews that cohabitate there: They're praying at a mildly, pointless archeological site where we killed animals instead of prayed anyway. They're doing it in a painfully sexist way, defined by the epic slackers and religiously intolerant who run the country which is defended by the hard-working, pluralistic and religiously indifferent. And the women uprising, only rising up on their designated side of course, can't even bus there in peace.
Oy Veh. Luckily for us, I think after this long, G-d understands that our tradition totally trumps anything He might have to say.
Plausible Accountibility
“Kids These Days”
I could use this cyberly-written space to rally on about technology, lack of respect or discipline currently pervades those coming-of-age right now or about how the modern-day person lacks connection to his fellow; instead I will discuss how we lack connection to our society and through that connection, find ourselves lacking responsibility for it.
In 2001, the United States went to war. The two most major conflicts preceeding the “War[s] on Terror” were WWII and if semantasaurus can be reeled in, Vietnam. The first, we entered late but with gusto. Cans were scrapped, women penciled in their panty-hose and worked in factories while every available soldier went to war, proud to defend all that was right and abolish injustice. We needed no draft and civilians went without to fuel the effort.
The second war I focus on, few really condoned. We were cleaning up France's unjust involvement in a conflict that was not our own, in a place we could not comprehend. Our men, our friends, brothers, lovers and brothers, were being taken and forced to engage in violent, haunting warfare, often against their will. And while monetarily, we did not really go with out, the country and people left over connected and raged and the institutional machine fought as well, a war on US soil. We connected, occasionally through substances, with our world.
The current desert conflicts initiated willfully. We had been attacked and demanded retribution. Corruption and length quickly drained our enthusiasm. And while most of us have been affected directly, we do not aid, nor do we fight, we merely accept this war. Sometimes people die, sometimes we voice our disavowal, but mostly, life proceeds. I cannot explain this apathy, maybe it derives from exaustion, or from the disconnect that technology provides, or even from the transcontinental, transwar connection that it DOES provide. As the sun sets here, we can watch it rise over our loved ones in their bunkers.
In 1929 the Stock Exchange crashed, plummeted...exploded, eroded, completely reversed life in America. The current recession is worse that that financial crisis and while many have struggled to live, most of us continued as if unaffected. Unemployment benefits and social aid—created as the result of the infamous crash—maintained the dull and consuming status quo. And somewhere between war and financial downfall, gas skyrocketed and we still drove.
There has been no whole-sale shanty villages, no counting and hoarding of coffee grounds or sugar or flower. How are we to know that there is crisis if we cannot and do not experience it?
I offer no answers only the dysphoria and surreality that we cannot live if we've no place to live and we cannot claim a place to live if we cannot connect with it's ebbs and flows. We cannot connect with each other if we cannot stand on ground. I do know though, that we will never fix what we cannot be made to feel accountable for or dependent upon.
I could use this cyberly-written space to rally on about technology, lack of respect or discipline currently pervades those coming-of-age right now or about how the modern-day person lacks connection to his fellow; instead I will discuss how we lack connection to our society and through that connection, find ourselves lacking responsibility for it.
In 2001, the United States went to war. The two most major conflicts preceeding the “War[s] on Terror” were WWII and if semantasaurus can be reeled in, Vietnam. The first, we entered late but with gusto. Cans were scrapped, women penciled in their panty-hose and worked in factories while every available soldier went to war, proud to defend all that was right and abolish injustice. We needed no draft and civilians went without to fuel the effort.
The second war I focus on, few really condoned. We were cleaning up France's unjust involvement in a conflict that was not our own, in a place we could not comprehend. Our men, our friends, brothers, lovers and brothers, were being taken and forced to engage in violent, haunting warfare, often against their will. And while monetarily, we did not really go with out, the country and people left over connected and raged and the institutional machine fought as well, a war on US soil. We connected, occasionally through substances, with our world.
The current desert conflicts initiated willfully. We had been attacked and demanded retribution. Corruption and length quickly drained our enthusiasm. And while most of us have been affected directly, we do not aid, nor do we fight, we merely accept this war. Sometimes people die, sometimes we voice our disavowal, but mostly, life proceeds. I cannot explain this apathy, maybe it derives from exaustion, or from the disconnect that technology provides, or even from the transcontinental, transwar connection that it DOES provide. As the sun sets here, we can watch it rise over our loved ones in their bunkers.
In 1929 the Stock Exchange crashed, plummeted...exploded, eroded, completely reversed life in America. The current recession is worse that that financial crisis and while many have struggled to live, most of us continued as if unaffected. Unemployment benefits and social aid—created as the result of the infamous crash—maintained the dull and consuming status quo. And somewhere between war and financial downfall, gas skyrocketed and we still drove.
There has been no whole-sale shanty villages, no counting and hoarding of coffee grounds or sugar or flower. How are we to know that there is crisis if we cannot and do not experience it?
I offer no answers only the dysphoria and surreality that we cannot live if we've no place to live and we cannot claim a place to live if we cannot connect with it's ebbs and flows. We cannot connect with each other if we cannot stand on ground. I do know though, that we will never fix what we cannot be made to feel accountable for or dependent upon.
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