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May 9, 2012

Opinion: Truth be told

Just because the truth is difficult to ascertain, does that mean it doesn’t exist? Is it as simple as saying that, in any debate, we each own a piece of the truth, but no one actually owns the whole truth? And is that a cop-out?

Those questions will be on my mind over the next week as I participate in two events where the search for an elusive truth will take center stage. The first is a screening of a provocative documentary that challenges the conventional wisdom on the O.J. Simpson murder case, and the second is a debate between Peter Beinart and myself on the current state of Zionism. Both events promise to be lively and controversial; both will present a difficult struggle to arrive at some kind of truth.

The notion of truth was a complicated mess in the O.J. Simpson murder trial, which kept Los Angeles and much of America spellbound as it unfolded more than a decade ago. Most people didn’t believe the jury’s verdict of not guilty — and I count myself in that group.

Needless to say, I was highly skeptical when my friend Howard Barrett, producer of the documentary “Overlooked Suspect: What if O.J. Simpson Didn’t Do It?” came to The Journal’s offices a few weeks ago and told me: “David, you have to see this film. It will change your mind about the case.”

I did see the film, several times. I arranged private screenings for Hollywood producers, friends, criminal attorneys and colleagues, and, each time, the response was the same: “Wow.” It turned the truth we thought we knew upside down. So, I thought: Why not give everyone a chance to see the film and judge for themselves?

You’ll have that chance on Saturday night, May 12, at The Saban Theatre in Beverly Hills, when we will screen the film, followed by a panel that I will moderate with criminal defense attorney James Blatt, Deputy District Attorney Alan Jackson and the private investigator featured in the film, William Dear.

Dear is the man responsible for the pursuit of truth chronicled in the film. This is not some grand philosophical search; it’s a tedious, methodical, dogged pursuit that has lasted more than 15 years and has introduced plenty of reasonable doubt for those who believe O.J. is guilty.

“It didn’t smell right to me from the start,” Dear told me over the phone last week. “There were too many holes.”

By picking apart the prosecution’s case, Dear, an award-winning private investigator from Texas, was able to identify an “overlooked suspect,” which he describes in the film in detailed and dramatic fashion.

Does Dear’s skepticism warrant some skepticism of its own? Yes, according to Jackson, who, true to form, was able to punch a few holes in Dear’s theory when I showed him the film. You will hear from both sides after the screening. 

Rabbi David Baron, whose Temple of the Arts is co-sponsoring the screening, explained his interest in the film this way: “The pursuit of truth and justice are supreme Jewish values, and anything that advances those values should be a Jewish interest. While the film may not bring us a final truth, it does bring us a little closer.”

I hope to get closer to some truths in my debate with Peter Beinart, the author of the much-discussed book, “The Crisis of Zionism.”

Beinart takes a highly critical view of Israel’s inability to end the “occupation” of the West Bank, which he considers “non-democratic Israel.” His alarmism is at full tilt: If Israel doesn’t end the occupation soon, the Zionist dream of a Jewish and democratic state will die.

This line of argument is hardly new; Zionist critics of Israel have been making it for decades. What makes Beinart’s book stand out, beyond his alarmism, is that he connects Israel’s failures to failures in American Judaism. He chastises, for example, the American Jewish establishment for blindly supporting Israeli government policy and then blames that approach for alienating from Israel a new generation of American liberal Jews.

I think Beinart’s conclusions, while dramatic, are full of holes. I also think his call to boycott settlements is counterproductive and that his overall approach will not bring the parties closer to peace. When we debate on the evening of May 16 at Temple Israel of Hollywood, I will make sure to mention all of that.

But here’s the bigger question: Will our debate bring us closer to some kind of truth, or will it simply bring each of us closer to the truth we already believe? Can any debate bring us closer to the truth, and how would we know if that happened?

And what role does emotion play? If I’m offended, for example, by the way Beinart brazenly criticizes Israel, does that represent a worthy truth in itself, or is it a useless emotion that has no place in a rigorous debate?

I’m pretty sure there will be plenty of emotion at both events — and little agreement on what constitutes the truth. There’s something reassuring about the absence of certainty, but I’m still tantalized by the possibility that an absolute truth exists out there, somewhere, and none of us knows for sure who has it.

David Suissa is president of TRIBE Media Corp./Jewish Journal and can be reached at davids@jewishjournal.com.

Opinion: Truth be told Read More »

Leading feminist theologian to be ordained … at last

In the first few weeks of Rachel Adler’s rabbinic internship at Beth Chayim Chadashim (BCC), Rabbi Lisa Edwards had a hard time introducing Adler. For decades, Edwards had quoted Adler; she had taken classes with Adler and had been deeply influenced by Adler’s acclaimed works on Jewish feminism and feminist theology.

“It felt ridiculous to be introducing Rachel as a ‘student’ rabbi,” Edwards said. “I couldn’t do it without laughing, and I would have to explain why I was laughing. So, somewhere along the way, ‘scholar-in-residence’ evolved as a secondary title.”

Adler, who is 68 and a professor of Jewish religious thought and feminist studies at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC-JIR), will be ordained as a Reform rabbi at the college on May 13.

David Ellenson, president of HUC-JIR who served as Adler’s advisor when she earned a doctorate in religion in 1997, calls Adler “arguably the leading feminist theologian in the entire world.”

“She has taught the Jewish community in virtually an unparalleled way for almost 40 years, from the time of her earliest writings in the 1970s to the present day. … Many of the changes that have occurred in Jewish life that have allowed the community to be inclusive of women have been a result of Rachel Adler’s efforts,” he said.

“Rachel will now officially become what she has been and was destined to be — a rabbi among the Jewish people,” Ellenson said.

Adler has no plans to change her career path once she earns the title of rabbi. But she said that becoming a rabbi finally closes a circle that began for her at Jewish summer camp in Wisconsin in 1960, when a visiting scholar told her the Reform movement would soon begin ordaining women and he thought she would make a good rabbi (HUC admitted the first female rabbinic students in 1968). Adler liked the idea, but by the time she graduated from Northwestern University in 1965 with a degree in English literature, she had become more observant and was married to an Orthodox rabbi.

“I just kind of put that to the side and said, ‘well, that is something you don’t get to do,’ ” Adler said in an interview recently at her Pico-Robertson-area apartment.

But she continued to study Jewish thought, and she evolved as an important Jewish feminist thinker, gaining international attention with her 1971 publication of “The Jew Who Wasn’t There: Halakhah and the Jewish Woman,” in Davka magazine, as well as her 1972 publication for “The Jewish Catalog” of “Tum’ah and Taharah: Ends and Beginnings,” a treatise on family purity laws that she later recanted.

While Adler began her critical studies from within an Orthodox framework, she soon moved leftward and outside of Orthodoxy, though she has always maintained that halachah, Jewish law, could not be ignored.

Adler divorced in 1984, and in 1986 she enrolled at HUC-JIR to work on a doctorate.

“I thought about becoming a rabbi, but I decided the Jewish people needed me to become a theologian and didn’t really need me to become a rabbi,” she said. Her book, “Engendering Judaism: An Inclusive Theology and Ethics” (Jewish Publication Society, 1998) based on her doctoral thesis, won the 1998 National Jewish Book award in Jewish thought.

Over the years Adler has taught countless students in both formal and informal settings, with Talmud classes still taking place at the dining room table where she now sits, stroking her cat, a blue tabby named Dagesh.

“For a while I’ve been kind of a half-rabbi — a shadow rabbi — and I thought it would be a nice completion to become a rabbi for real,” Adler said.

Tall with multihued gray hair swept back from her face and large silver earrings, Adler appears to be by nature shy and introverted, and she answers questions about herself haltingly. But she takes any opening to digress into tales of midrash, Talmud or Jewish thought, becoming engaged and amused with the sources as they unfold into the conversation.

Her son, a Conservative rabbi in Chicago, is married to a Reform rabbi, and Adler plans to help her daughter-in-law, who is pregnant, lead services over the High Holy Days. Adler remarried in 1987 and divorced in 2005.

She was raised in Chicago and has master’s degrees in English literature and social work, which fulfilled her chaplaincy requirements as she studied for ordination.

The fact that she has long taught many of the classes rabbis are required to take to complete ordination helped her complete her coursework in two years, rather than five. She also completed a number of classes through independent study and continued to teach for most of that time, with one semester off as a sabbatical.

For her required internship, Adler chose to work at BCC, a congregation of 225 members located on Pico Boulevard near Fairfax Avenue that serves the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender communities.

“It was one of those experiences that makes you less arrogant, because you realize that everyone has a story and a set of experiences, and everyone has a portion of Torah to teach,” Adler said. “I learned that there are so many different lives and so many different contexts, that I can’t just take out a premade set of expectations and lay stuff on people. I have to think about how people can learn something, and what is something that is crying out to be learned by those particular people.”

Edwards admits that, at first, she wondered how much time Adler would be able to offer to the congregation, but she said she was quickly amazed at how invested Adler became in synagogue life, teaching classes, but also leading services and delivering sermons that were both deep and peppered with humor.

Since her internship began last May, Adler has been attending Shabbat services at BCC nearly every week so she could get to know congregants.

In turn, the congregants soon learned that beyond being a formidable intellect, Adler is approachable and cares deeply about them. Edwards said Adler often picked up on needs or nuances that she had missed, and she empowered congregants to develop religiously.

“People are often struggling with the existence of God, or at least with their own relationship with God, and Rachel makes that very approachable. She gives you permission to struggle, and yet you have this sense that she is strong in her belief,” Edwards said.

On a recent Monday afternoon, Adler taught a Talmud class at BCC to about a dozen students. They studied a text that dealt with demons, doves, Elijah, and the purpose and context of prayer. As they studied together, Adler adeptly elicited questions on the text and honored the students’ thoughts by citing rabbinic sources that echoed their ideas.

Her strength as a teacher flows not from charisma or animation — she speaks slowly and evenly, carefully choosing each word and taking time to respond — but rather from her vast knowledge, which she employs to make points that touch on her students’ lives. The discussion turned to questions of who has been demonized, and who is to say who may pray where, questions pertinent to LGBT Jews.

“I think dealing with an LGBT congregation, there is an immense need for hopefulness, and there is an immense need for teaching people the possibility of redemption, because for some people the world has been very evil indeed,” Adler said.

It is that sort of insight, and the ability to connect traditional sources to contemporary needs, that has given Adler the power to influence so many. Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, a professor of Bible at HUC-JIR in Los Angeles and editor of “The Torah: A Women’s Commentary” (URJ Press: 2007), said she came to HUC in Los Angeles in part because she knew Adler was here. A talk by Adler in the early 1980s in Denver was the first to awaken Eskenazi to the idea of revealing women’s voices in Jewish texts.

“Women moved from being absent to be being empowered to find our voices. We discovered that in rabbinic literature we do have a voice, and in the Bible we do have a voice. People were not paying attention to it, but Rachel was paying attention, and she got all of us to pay attention.”

Eskenazi, who is older than Adler, is also working toward ordination.

“When you are an academic, the expectation is that you are intellectually and scholarly savvy, and an expert in your field,” Eskenazi said. “But I feel that teaching Torah or teaching Tanach [Bible] is part of living a certain kind of life and needs to be part of a larger sphere of application, and the role of a rabbi really speaks to that integration.”

Dvora Weisberg, director of HUC-JIR’s rabbinical school in Los Angeles and an associate professor of rabbinic literature, was ordained last year. She said she had wanted to be a rabbi since she was a teen, but at the time the Conservative movement was not yet ordaining women. She instead got her doctorate in Talmud and rabbinics, and, like Adler, now felt ready to be a rabbi.

“For a long time, for women like us, there were issues that were beyond our control — such as which schools were ordaining women — and then family issues, responsibility to children. Or you have career issues, like trying to get tenure and the need to be publishing,” Weisberg said.

“I think Rachel and Tamar and I have come to a place in our lives where we want to do this, and we don’t want to wait any longer.”

Leading feminist theologian to be ordained … at last Read More »

Letters to the Editor: Dennis Prager, Jewish Service Corps, Conservative Congregants

Distorting the Truth

Dennis Prager was given the opportunity to respond to a letter sent by a reader (Letters, April 27). I’d like to respond to his response. He asserts, “It was racists in the Democratic Party, not conservatives or Republicans, who blocked civil rights for blacks.” I’ve been a long-time listener and reader of Mr. Prager’s, and while I disagree with him on almost every issue, I have always respected his integrity. However, I must say that in this case, he is veering dangerously close to a purposeful distortion of the truth. 

While today’s Democratic and Republican parties are far more monolithic than in the past, people in Mr. Prager’s generation (of which I am one) are well aware that there used to be a liberal wing of the Republican Party (Jacob Javits, Nelson Rockefeller, etc.) and a conservative wing to the Democratic Party (George Wallace, etc.). Therefore, while it is technically true that “racists in the Democratic Party” did indeed block civil rights for black people, Mr. Prager knows quite well that these were most certainly not liberal Democrats; they were part of conservative/racist part of the party. And yet he continues the sentence by saying it was “not conservatives” in the party who stood in the way. Oh? George Wallace wasn’t conservative?

The bottom line is this: I think it’s pretty clear that far more conservatives than liberals were involved with blocking rights for black folks. And to paint a picture that implies otherwise is deeply disappointing, especially coming from a man who has stated numerous times that “clarity” is one of his primary goals and values.

A case can be made that some of the civil rights programs that did pass were counterproductive (affirmative action, for example), and while I don’t agree with such arguments, good people can disagree. But the implication in Prager’s statement is simply a distortion of reality from someone who knows better. 

Larry Garf
Topanga


Jewish Service Corps Needed in L.A.

I wanted to respond to the excellent article by Jonathan Zasloff (“Korbanot, Or Why Jews Should Act More Like Mormons,” May 4).

I grew up with Mormons and have always been amazed at how organized they are. The whole family looks forward to their children’s mission as a right of passage — when they can give unselfishly, tout the benefits of their religious beliefs and the value systems that help them contribute to the world and lead successful lives.

As wonderful as Birthright Israel has been, and I have two children [who can] attest to the greatness of the program, a one- or two-year commitment would many times give back to the community and enhance tikkun olam in the world. It would bring young Jewish kids together for an extended period of time to explore their commonality and form a bond that will give meaning to them throughout the remainder of their lives.

I, for one, would love to see a Los Angeles chapter of AVODAH, and to have the kind of organization and excitement that has to be generated to fill the idealism and imagination that is possible. I believe that a committee should be formed to explore the possibilities.

Denis M. Weintraub
via e-mail


Conservative Congregants Don’t Practice What Rabbis Preach

In his quest to differentiate between Conservative and Reform Judaism, Rabbi Hanan Alexander (“About Conservative Ordination of Openly Gay Rabbis,” May 4) states, “all candidates for rabbinic ordination must be committed to an observant Jewish lifestyle that includes daily prayer, Sabbath observance and Jewish dietary practice.” While that’s correct, it’s important to note that the practices of Conservative congregants do not reflect those of their clergy. Most have ceased following the laws of kashrut, rarely attend Shabbat services and provide their children with just enough religious training to get them through a [bar or bat] mitzvah service.

This disconnect doesn’t exist in Orthodox or Reform communities, where the practices of congregants are more closely aligned with those of their clergy. The result is that a rapidly declining number of children follow in their parents’ Conservative footsteps, and Conservative shuls often merge for survival. Even The United Synagogue [of Conservative Judaism], the Conservative movement’s umbrella organization, recently found it necessary to undergo belt-tightening.

Either this trend must be reversed or Conservative Judaism will soon become a footnote in Jewish history textbooks. Step one is for Conservative leaders to openly admit that the problem exists and then focus their resources on a long-range solution. Living in a state of denial is a formula for disaster.

Leonard M. Solomon
Los Angeles


Robotics at YULA, Too

In your most recent issue, you ran an article about the Milken robot, “Sir Lancebot,” and the Milken Knights (“Hoop, There It Is! Milken’s Robotics Team Scores Big,” May 4). In it, Roger Kassebaum said that he knows of no other Jewish robotics teams in the United States. This year, YULA High Schools has started a robotics team.

Gabriel Naghi
via e-mail


Hagee on the Roof

In Mark Paredes April 8th column, he judges a video-blog Pastor John Hagee taped on Aish Hatorah’s rooftop, overlooking the Western Wall, to be “insensitive.” This conclusion is nonsensical. Newsflash: Hagee is a Christian preacher.

In the video, Hagee discusses an element of standard Christian theology which he has discussed numerous times in the past. His comments were directed at his Christian audience in America, and were not heard by the individuals visiting the Kotel below. He chose the location, off the site of the actual Temple Mount, in order to be sensitive to those visiting Judaism’s holiest site.

In the struggle for Israel’s survival there are real issues to be addressed and real battles to be fought. Paredes’ column addresses neither.

Ari Morgenstern
Spokesman for Christians United for Israel

Letters to the Editor: Dennis Prager, Jewish Service Corps, Conservative Congregants Read More »

How to be a priest: Parashat Emor (Leviticus 21:1-24:23)

Leviticus is the biblical book rabbis do not want you to read. Saturated with sacrificial minutiae and unsettling descriptions of ritual impurity, its countless sheep and goat offerings seem a more effective salve for insomnia than any woe that pains the heart. After all, what do wave offerings or incense recipes have in common with more substantive things, like wireless Internet or the smell of freshly brewed java in the morning?

Yet the reason why studying Leviticus is so often neglected is not because it seems boring or embarrassingly regressive. Au contraire; study of Leviticus is neglected because its contents are so revolutionary and radical that we fear giving the book anything more than a dutiful glance.

This week’s Torah Portion, Emor, begins with a command to the priestly caste that they avoid all contact with the dead, the exception being close relatives and kin. “And the Lord said unto Moses: Speak to the priests, the sons of Aaron, and say unto them: There shall none defile himself for the dead among his people” (Leviticus 21:1-2).

The law is in keeping with the general obligation that priests maintain the requisite strictures of purity and holiness. Indeed, the Sons of Aaron have already been warned not to serve in the Tabernacle while drunk (Leviticus 10:9); and they are given further rules prohibiting self-mutilation as well as strict limits about whom they can wed (Leviticus 21:4-7).

Yet if we think about this command a moment longer, it should strike us as being extraordinarily counterintuitive. The priests — Kohanim — are meant to be the spiritual leaders of Israel. Their sacred task is “to distinguish between holy and unholy, between impure and pure and to teach the children of Israel all the statutes which the Lord has spoken unto Moses” (Leviticus 10:11). They are in essence the clerical heads — the rabbis — of the people. And yet, here they are expressly forbidden from officiating or even participating in perhaps what is one of the most trying and difficult of lifecycle events — the Jewish funeral. In almost all cases, they are banned from preparing the body for burial or even accompanying the family as they escort the departed to its final resting place. It seems fair to ask why this is so.

The Italian sage, Rabbi Ovadia Sforno (1475-1550), suggested that since it is the task of the priest to give honor and glory to God, it would be a grave violation of his charge to use his station to give honor to the dead (Sforno, Leviticus 21:5.6).

More recently, modern scholars have pointed to the immense chasm between the practices of ancient Egypt and those of Israel. In contrast to Israel, Egypt’s priests made funerary rites and rituals the single most important aspect of their religion. Embalming, mummification and numerous ceremonies accompanied entombing. To appreciate the centrality of Egyptian burial rites, consider that the pyramids were not built for the living, or think back to how Joseph was embalmed and entombed in Egyptian fashion at the end of Genesis.

Against this cultural milieu, Israel’s priests are abjured from making deities of the dead or even excessive mourning. Their task is to worship a living God and to sanctify the day-to-day life of Israel instead (Jacob Milgrom on Leviticus 21:1-5).

Yet, there is something unsatisfying with this answer, primarily because the Kohanim are absent from a whole number of other lifecycle events as well. A few weeks ago, we read the portion of Tazria, which decreed that the birthmother should avoid “entering the sanctuary or touching any holy thing” for some 40 to 80 days after birth (Leviticus 12:1-8). The mother, it seems, is bid to stay well away from the Temple’s priests.

One might expect a Kohen to carry out a circumcision, but here, too, no officiant is mentioned. “On the eighth day, let the flesh of his foreskin be circumcised” (Leviticus 12:3). Similarly, for marriage, the Torah makes no mention of any presiding prophet or priest (Deuteronomy 24:1). Remarkably, it was not until the early Middle Ages that an officiating rabbi became obligatory at weddings.

The question, then, is if a priest was not called upon to “hatch them, match them, or dispatch them,” then just who did the presiding over these lifecycle events? The answer, quite simply, was anyone. A father would likely have circumcised his son. A relative would see to proper burial. Learned wedding guests, or the groom, would ensure that the marriage was done according to the Laws of Moses.

Indeed this is but one reason why Leviticus is so radical.

The Italian commentator, Shadal (1800-1865), remarks that this idea is encapsulated by the phrase that Israel be “a kingdom of priests” (Exodus 19:6): “Every Israelite is meant to have a personal ‘priest-like’ relationship with God.” Toward that end, perhaps it is time that laity and non-laity alike give Leviticus the attention it deserves.

Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Yehuda Hausman is a Modern Orthodox rabbi who teaches in Los Angeles. He writes about the weekly parasha on his blog, rabbihausman.com.

How to be a priest: Parashat Emor (Leviticus 21:1-24:23) Read More »

My Single Peeps: Lawrence J.

Lawrence is a South African Jew who has been in Southern California since he was 10. I met him through his sister, Francine, who briefly dated my eldest brother after they met abroad on a high-school trip. I hadn’t seen Francine in years, so she tagged along for the interview.

Lawrence is wearing a “Cat in the Hat” T-shirt and a pair of flip-flops when we meet. He’s got sleeve tattoos and an eyebrow piercing. He makes statements like, “I really want to change the world,” and he says it so sincerely and with such excitement that he reminds me of a naive college freshman taking his first sociology class. But he’s a divorced 42-year-old father with three daughters, and he’s well aware of the complexities in the world. Six years ago, Lawrence was married and working six days a week running a very successful stone and tile business he had started at 21 — designing his own lines and distributing them around the United States. “I also have some retail stores.” He emulated his father. “The way we were raised in South Africa, you had kids, had a career and made a lot of money,” Francine says. But his divorce rocked him to his foundation. “I also got sober at the same time,” he adds.

“I restructured my business, so I put in 10 hours a week at the office. It always used to be just about money — that’s how I was raised. Now, I just want to love everyone.” His sister jokes with him, “Who are you? Do I know you?” He continues, “In my personal life I’m trying to be really honest and ethical and present, and trying to bring my business in line with that. I’m trying to have every person who works for me get paid days every month to go out and work in their community. We look for anyone who’s struggling and look for ways to help them. A couple of years ago, some of my staff who work in my San Diego store went on a mission to Mexico to help build houses for people who couldn’t afford to build their own homes.”

Lawrence tells me about getting his toenails painted with his daughters — “I don’t want to miss out on something if they’re doing it. My exterior looks like it’s really out there, but my values and everything are traditional. Family’s important to me. I’m looking for someone who’s close to their family — that’s really, really important to me. I’m looking for someone who’s spiritual, grounded and has a strong sense of self. Spiritual practice would be No. 1. Intelligence would be No. 2. What I’m craving more than anything in my life is connectivity — and the only part of my life where I haven’t found that is in a relationship.”

I ask him what he sees his life like with a girlfriend. “I’d love to travel with them, meditate with them, do yoga with them, camp and hike … do one of the trails — as long as they’ll protect me from the bears. I’m scared of the bears,” he says. Francine jokes, “and the dark.” He agrees, “A little bit. I slept with a light on until I was 36. It didn’t dawn on me that I wasn’t scared of the dark until I got divorced. I didn’t know I liked stinky cheese either. And olives.” He laughs. “I believe in fairy tales. I love romantic movies. My daughters look at me in the middle of romantic movies, and I’m crying.”

If you’re interested in anyone you see on My Single Peeps, send an e-mail and a picture, including the person’s name in the subject line, to mysinglepeeps@jewishjournal.com, and we’ll forward it to your favorite peep.


Seth Menachem is an actor and writer living in Los Angeles with his wife and daughter. You can see more of his work on his Web site, sethmenachem.com, and meet even more single peeps at mysinglepeeps.com.

My Single Peeps: Lawrence J. Read More »

‘Romeo and Juliet in Yiddish’: A love-hate relationship

Eve Annenberg’s “Romeo and Juliet in Yiddish” is a film full of tricky contradictions.

As its title suggests, it is a celebratory showcase of Yiddish language, with about half its dialogue spoken in Yiddish, with English subtitles. A fact that also happens to fuel Anneberg’s big marketing ploy: “I’m coming to L.A. a week early to literally go around to Jewish senior centers and talk them into getting their people to the theater,” she said during a phone interview the week before the film’s Los Angeles premiere on May 11.

Who says pride is a sin?

“Other Yiddish films will come down the pike,” added Annenberg, who attended Julliard and Columbia University’s film school, “but I think people might say ‘Romeo and Juliet’ was the first to use this much colloquial Yiddish in modern narrative in more than 50 years.”

Efforts to revive the Yiddish language and culture have been on the increase in recent years, but usually not at the expense of other aspects of Jewish culture. “Romeo and Juliet” may be Annenberg’s “love song to Jewish culture,” but it is also a kind of angry lament at Brooklyn’s ultra-Orthodox community.

“For the longest time, I was a little bit anti-Orthodox. Sexist, racist, anti-Zionist; I was just like ‘they [stink]’,” Annenberg told Heeb magazine in January 2011. Her feelings are undisguised in her film. “Fraud,” one subtitle declares, is a “Hassidic family business.”

In one scene, a payot-sporting, black-hat wearing Yeshiva bocher fakes being crippled to beg for money. Later, he removes his fake peyot and is shown smoking a joint as a naked African American girl crawls out of his bed. 

The celebration of one culture; the denigration of another.

The film’s milieu, which divides the reputed shadiness of the religious community from “normal Brooklyn,” where people do things like read Shakespeare, is bound to offend. But its edginess is all the more provocative, since much of it is based on truth.

Several years ago, Annenberg was walking down Fifth Avenue in New York one night and found herself bewitched by the sound of music emanating from the Millinery Synagogue on 6th Avenue and 39th Street. She was invited upstairs to a mysterious party called Chulent, organized by Yitzchak Schonfeld and designed to accommodate the “narrow margins where secular and [Ch]aredi, atheist and Chasidic, deepest depths and most foolish foolery, overlap,” according to the Web site neohasid.org. In simpler terms, the late-night party “basically is a drop-in lounge for folks that have traveled (or strayed) from the Chasidic world.”

For Annenberg, it was the only social activity in New York that ran late enough to allow her to first put her dying mother to bed. “That’s how I met them,” she said of the young, former Orthodox men and women who conversed mostly in Yiddish — though they also spoke Hebrew, Aramaic and English (“in that order”), which they had learned in their yeshiva studies. For various reasons, they had all broken away from the Orthodox community to try to make their way in the secular world; but for some, it was easier dreamed than done. With virtually no secular-world skills, many resorted to petty scams as the easiest way to make a living.

Then they met Annenberg.

The 40-something filmmaker was so taken with the young Yids, she hatched the idea to make a movie in Yiddish. “I’m a shallow girl,” she said. “I would look at these guys dressed in their Orthodox gear and think, ‘Ohmigod, look how beautiful they are.’ ” The most famous love story in Western culture seemed a natural fit, not to mention the uncanny cultural parallels — naive youth, rigid families, communal feuds and arranged marriages.

Annenberg recruited a small group to help her translate “Romeo and Juliet” into Yiddish (she deemed a translation from the 1930s too outdated). Then she hired them as actors. Their absolute inexperience with Shakespeare so fascinated her, she taped the translation sessions and made them a subplot in the film. “It was like something out of a Jewish version of ‘Hair,’ ” she said.

But when she posted the excerpts from the sessions on Vimeo, a local Orthodox blogger was so aggressively outraged, one of her actors dumped the tapes out of shame. 

“They were so fascinating,” Annenberg said of the Shakespeare sessions. “Their excitement over the material and the fun of it. But in the ultra-Orthodox world, men and women don’t socialize the way we were socializing; we’d sit and talk and study together, and I think that was discomfiting.”

The actors who play Romeo and Juliet in the film even had a real-life romance — their first. The entire film was shot in 30 days for $175,000, and it won an audience award when it premiered at the Berlin Jewish Film Festival last year. Now, several of the formerly floundering ex-Orthodox are pursuing film careers.

But the journey wasn’t entirely blessed. In the middle of the shoot, Annenberg was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer, had a double mastectomy on a Wednesday and returned to the editing suite the following Monday.

“I was really, really lucky,” she said.

Perhaps God liked her movie, I suggested.

“Or not,” she joked. “I can’t tell you how many Orthodox Jews told me, ‘If only you had kept the Sabbath’ … if only you hadn’t played ‘Avinu Malkeinu’ during the love scene!’”

“Romeo and Juliet in Yiddish” opens May 11 in Los Angeles.

‘Romeo and Juliet in Yiddish’: A love-hate relationship Read More »

Three Jews walk into a Starbucks

I was sitting in the Starbucks in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt in Washington, D.C., listening to two men talk about a three-day hike through Israel’s Arava desert, when Bayaaz Khanoom appeared.

It was day two of the American Jewish Committee’s three-day Global Forum. I was there to write about the event for this publication, and the going had been great: nearly 1,300 men and women of all ages from 50 countries; speakers such as the foreign ministers of Germany, Canada and Brazil, White House Chief of Staff Jacob Lew and Israeli author and journalist Ronen Bergman. And the wonderful thing about it was, people were allowed to express a range of opinions about matters relating to Israel. There was an Iranian neocon who thought the United States should effect regime change in Iran and let the rest — such as a replacement — take care of itself; and then there was the American analyst Patrick Clawson of the Washington Institute for Near East Policy, who thought we should all cool it because Iran doesn’t have the expertise and the capability to get the bomb. There was an Israeli who said that Obama has done more for Israel than any American president before him, and also a Frenchman who warned that Nazism is alive and well and disguised as Islamic militancy in Europe.

It should go without saying, and maybe once upon a time it did, that a diversity of opinion is a positive thing; that it should be cultivated, or at least tolerated; that you learn nothing by listening only to the echo of your voice and teach even less by preaching to the choir. I don’t know what happens in other parts of the world, but healthy disagreement is a dying breed in this country. We hear what we want to or we change the channel, yell in unison or stop talking to one another. For a minute, while Ronen Bergman was saying that Obama has been a better “friend” to Israel than George W. Bush, I held my breath and feared that he would be booed off the stage. But he spoke, and people listened, and the ceiling did not cave in over the auditorium. I even managed to have a whole 10-minute conversation with the neocon without living to regret it: He asked me if I’d been “inspired” by Bush, and I said yes, I was inspired to want to hang myself every time I heard him speak, and once that was settled, we moved on to more topical issues.

Just as refreshing as the range of perspectives was the sound of different languages and the array of foreign accents when English was spoken in the halls and elevators. In front of me in the line at Starbucks that afternoon, two Russians were engaged in a spirited conversation peppered occasionally with English words. The older man was Yury Kanner, president of the Russian Jewish Congress — booming voice and salt-and-pepper beard and the kind of who’re we kidding? candor that allowed him to introduce himself as an oligarch, as if that were a profession.

Matvey Chlenov, the younger man, pulled out a brochure and showed me the names of two dozen other Russian Jewish oligarchs, and then we sat down and started to talk about the Jews of Russia, who they were and what they became before and after the fall of the Soviet Union, and that’s when Bayaaz Khanoom materialized, all feisty and resolute and refusing to suffer fools, dead for a decade and still making the floor shake under her boots as she marched the distance between the wood and velvet salon of our house in Tehran and the marble and glass foyer of this hotel.

Chlenov was talking about the Mountain Jews of Azerbaijan, who came from Persia and settled in the Caucasus Mountains in the fifth century C.E., remained observant even as other Jewish communities became secular under Soviet rule, retained their Persian heritage even as they migrated to big cities in the 1990s. These days, they own most of the shopping malls in Moscow and occupy high places on the Forbes very-very rich list. Chlenov attributed their success to their strong ethnic character.

In front of me, Bayaaz Khanoom sat at a massive dining table across from my grandfather. Behind her, daylight poured in from the French doors overlooking the yard. 

“I used to know a Mountain Jew,” I said, but Chlenov did not believe me.

Still a young woman, Bayaaz wore widow’s black and handled herself like the matriarch she had had to become since she’d lost her husband years earlier. She was from Baku. She had married one of my grandmother’s brothers — a Jew from a prominent rug-trading family in Kaashaan — and followed him to Tehran. My grandmother had 17 brothers and a few dozen nieces and nephews. She spoke to them in the language of the Jews of Kaashaan, which was incomprehensible to my grandfather, who was from Tehran, or to anyone else other than Kaashaani Jews.

“That’s impossible,” Chlenov said. “Mountain Jews keep to themselves.”

So did the Jews of Esfahan, or of Hamedan, or Shiraz, I wanted to say. They each spoke a distinct language, ate different foods, held the others in varying degrees of contempt. So do the Jews in Los Angeles. So, to hear my new Russian friends tell it, do Jews from different provinces in their country.

I asked Kanner what he thought distinguishes one Jew from another. He thought for a long time, then he said: “When I read Isaac Bashevis Singer in Yiddish, I see myself in the stories, because that’s the language of my childhood. When I read the same story in English, I don’t recognize the story or the man.”

I don’t know if Bayaaz Khanoom ever learned Kaashii, but she never did blend in with her husband’s tribe. She had a resonant voice when the others spoke in whispers, an independent mind when everyone else fell into line. Perhaps for this reason — because she was unlike the others, not better or worse, but simply different — she was one of the few family members whose company my grandfather welcomed. One of the few whose memory remains vivid so long after everything else has faded or died.

The sound of all those languages spoken by one people, the force of so many points of view converging around a common goal, two Russians, a Mountain widow and an Iranian Jew sitting in a Starbucks a mile or two away from the U.S. capital — this, to me, was AJC’s biggest achievement last week in Washington.

Gina Nahai is professor of creative writing at USC. She can be reached at ginabnahai.com.

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Advice from the Governator

It has been less than a decade since Republican Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger won the special election to recall and replace Gov. Gray Davis. Schwarzenegger finished nearly 1.5 million votes ahead of the second-place gubernatorial candidate, Democrat Cruz Bustamante. Schwarzenegger won the votes of 43 percent of women, 31 percent of Latinos, 42 percent of union members and 18 percent of Democrats, according to the CBS/Edison/Mitofksy poll. At the same time, Schwarzenegger won the great majority of Republican voters, who turned out in large numbers.

Three years later, he coasted to re-election in a bad year for Republicans, winning 56 percent of the vote, again pulling in nearly 1.5 million votes more than his Democratic opponent, Phil Angelides.

Those elections are not far in the past, but they certainly seem a lifetime away.

In 2010, Democrat Jerry Brown and the entire Democratic statewide ticket swept the Republicans, and the prospects for any kind of Republican victory at the state level seem remote.

These numbers from the not-so-distant past give some weight to the governor’s op-ed published in the Los Angeles Times on May 6, written only a little more than a year after he left office. Schwarzenegger challenged his fellow Republicans to “take down that small tent” and to stop using ideological tests to purify the party’s leadership ranks: “[I]n the current climate, the extreme right wing of the party is targeting anyone who doesn’t meet its strict criteria.” 



The former governor continued: “Some Republicans today aren’t even willing to have conversations about protecting the environment, investing in the infrastructure America needs or improving healthcare.”

Schwarzenegger then called on Republicans to become problem solvers rather than ideologues, citing Ronald Reagan’s willingness to double the gas tax to pay for highway improvements.

While he noted the recent decision of a few Republican candidates to become independents — a decision he said he would never make himself — the wider context for his piece was the expected defeat of Sen. Richard Lugar in the Indiana primary on May 8. Lugar’s sin? Being too willing to reach agreements with President Obama. (When it became apparent that Lugar had lost on Tuesday, Lugar accused his opponent, Richard Mourdock, of having an Advice from the Governator Read More »

Love letter to Naples, warts and all

For me, no genre of literature is quite as enchanting or enriching as the travel memoir. Indeed, two of the titles on my own shortlist of favorite books — Bruce Chatwin’s “The Songlines” and Peter Matthiessen’s “The Snow Leopard” — are essentially travel books that have aspired to and achieved greatness. Among the books I read again and again, several fall into this same category: Graham Greene’s “The Lawless Roads,” Lawrence Durrell’s “Bitter Lemons of Cyprus,” Jan Morris’s “The World of Venice” and Reyner Banham’s “Scenes in America Deserta.”

Now comes Benjamin Taylor’s superb contribution to the genre, “Naples Declared: A Walk Around the Bay” (G. P. Putnam’s Sons: $26.95). What Chatwin did for Australia and Matthiessen for the Himalayas, Taylor now does for the storied city of Naples. I will steal a line from Leon Wieseltier’s review of Taylor’s previous book, “Saul Bellow: Letters,” to describe his newest one: “an elegantissimo book.”

Taylor brings an impressive set of literary credentials to his work. He is the author of two novels (“Tales Out of School” and “The Book of Getting Even: A Novel”) and a work of cultural criticism (“Into the Open: Reflections on Genius and Modernity”), the editor of “Saul Bellow: Letters” and a longtime faculty member of the Graduate Writing Program at The New School for Public Engagement in New York.

Then, too, Taylor has chosen an especially rich and provocative subject. Naples has been condemned for its crime and poverty, dismissed as a tourist trap and derogated as a sinkhole of superstition. “At the best,” Henry James observed in 1907, Naples is “wild and weird and sinister.” Taylor attests that all of these clichés are rooted in fact, to one degree or another. But he also celebrates Naples as “the great open-air theater of Europe,” and he insists that “Naples the glorious and Naples the ghastly have always been one place.”

“Two falsifying myths have coexisted,” he explains. “On the one hand, Naples is held to be all superstition, ardor, and mirth; on the other, all cunning, malignity, and deceit . … I do not recognize the city I love in either of these caricatures.”

Taylor deftly sums up more than 3,000 years of history, ranging from the establishment of a Mycenaean entrepôt in 1800 B.C.E. to the signal event of 2011: “Renewed garbage crisis.” He pauses to note that the bowl-shaped topography of Naples is likely the result of a meteor strike some tens of millions of years ago, and he conjures up the events of both antiquity and modernity: “The wonder of the place,” he writes, “is that it has not been annihilated by so much history.”

Like all great travel memoirs, however, “Naples Declared” owes some of its best moments to the firsthand experiences of the author in the place he writes about. He is a watchful traveler and a charming raconteur, and so we are treated to accounts of his successful effort to cure the hiccups of an aristocratic Englishwoman known to the hotel staff as “Lady So-and-So,” his inventory of the cast-off items and the poignant graffiti that he spots in an ancient aqueduct used as a bomb-shelter during World War II, and his observations about the difficulties that Americans face when trying to order a chicken dinner in a restaurant. “Among the staff here, my nickname is ‘Chicken,’ ” he remarks. “They don’t think I’m in on the joke.”

After a chance encounter at the Biblioteca Nazionale, he chats with an Italian woman named Gabriella who is studying American literature and approaches him with a question “about an American matter.” — “This ‘Absalom, Absalom,’ ” she complains, “is preposterously hard.” Gabby, as it turns out, is able to enlighten Taylor on the fate of the tiny Jewish population of Naples by escorting him to an out-of-the-way Sephardic synagogue with a memorial plaque. “Of the 7,500 Italian Jews who perished in the camps,” notes Taylor, “a scant fourteen were from Naples.” 

One excursion in Naples is literally a pilgrimage, and it has a special resonance for me. Taylor visits the tomb of Norman Douglas, an English travel writer (“Old Calabria,” “Siren Land,” “Alone”) whose example and influence has shaped the kind of travel literature I love so much. “Without him,” explains Taylor, “figures such as Robert Byron, Peter Fleming, Norman Lewis, Patrick Leigh Fermor, Jan Morris, Bruce Chatwin, Colin Thubron, and Pico Iyer are unthinkable.”

Taylor’s book offers a full measure of history and reportage. “My modus operandi,” he explains, “has been to walk a knowledge of Naples into my bloodstream.” But the book is also a reverie. “In this place, my dream said, trust to the promise of renewable wonder,” he concludes, “every lover’s hope and prayer.” There is no better way to sum up what Taylor has captured in “Naples Declared,” a wholly delightful example of what the literary travel memoir can achieve.

Jonathan Kirsch, author and publishing attorney, is the book editor of The Jewish Journal. His next book is “The Short, Strange Life of Herschel Grynszpan,” which will be published by the Liveright imprint of W.W. Norton to coincide with the 75th anniversary year of Kristallnacht. He blogs at books@jewishjournal.com.

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