Jewish Wrestling isn't the sport you might think it is. There are no spandex unitards or funny costumes and gimmicks. The matches aren't rigged and there is never a clear winner. Although the tradition of Jewish Wrestling traces all the way back to Jacob and his physical struggle with an aggressive angel, the wrestling we do today is a match of logic and reason. It's the cerebral wrestling we do with Jewish concepts and ethics; with the code prescribed by the Torah and the great thinkers who had plenty to say about this code. My fellow Bad Jews, this is a seriously Bad Ass sport. And the coolest thing about it? Anyone can compete.
As a Bad Jew committed to service, there's an ongoing wrestling match to which I find myself constantly drawn. It's a match that addresses a critical question about service: Who is service for? On one hand I hear your collective sigh of "No Duh." Service is for the recipient, for those in need. Yet my other hand is grasping firmly to another opinion. This is an opinion that includes the concept of reciprocity as an integral element of high quality, effective service learning. Learning, being the key word here, as a tool that helps those of us providers of service understand root causes of social injustices and Jewish traditions that call us to service in the first place. In other words, the link between Jewish identity and the fulfillment of civic responsibility.
I was struck by a quote in a December editorial in the Jewish Daily Forward that cited, “Service has to be about making change in communities, not about making changes in me,” noted David Rosenn, executive director of Avodah, another well-regarded service program. “The last thing we want the Jewish community to do is use communities in distress as a vehicle to build identity.” (http://www.forward.com/articles/120018/)
What I'm wrestling with here is the "shame on you" implication that service should not be used to transform ourselves, but only communities that need help. Aren't our own passions, education, and commitment to making social change the vehicles driving us to provide service and make changes in our communities? Don't these three important factors come from a place deeply rooted in our identities? I mean, maybe what I'm really saying is I don't believe in true altruism; that there is always something to be gained by the provider of service. Whether it's the feeling that we belong to something bigger than ourselves, a sense of civic responsibility, or the learning about a new culture or community's way of life, these "side effects" are what foster a sustained commitment to leaving the world a better place than how we received it. Now I ask you, Bad Jews, is this a negative effect of participating in service? Because it sure doesn't sound like it to me.
Of course I would never suggest to purposefully manipulate a service activity in order to fulfill the outcome of building identity. That would most definitely deserve a "shame on you." If, however, service in its natural form acts as a conductor to Jewish identity and causes changes within oneself, I have to argue that service is, in fact, about making changes in me as well as about saving the world.
And so, in the tradition of debate between the schools of the great rabbis Hillel and Shammai, it appears we have two sides to this question. It's time to join the wrestling match, my fellow Bad Jews. Are you in? Like I said, you don't even need a costume.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Unleash Your Bad Jew
And so this is how it begins. Laying it out there on the cliched proverbial table for the world to see: I'm a Bad Jew.
My bacon-loving past has caught up with me and I can no longer be silenced, even after years in what my best friend menacingly calls, "The Pork Deprivation Chamber." I don't mean to confuse you; this new venture into the world of blogging isn't actually about my love of bacon.
This venture is about naming the deep desire to be accepted by Judaism as a full-fledged, practicing Jew. It’s about my own disconnect from traditional forms of Jewish ritual and the not-so-subtle message I received throughout most of my life that if I didn’t go to shul and didn’t say the Amidah I was a Bad Jew. It’s about believing that my bacon love made me less of a Jew than the Good Jews who obediently stayed away from pork products. It's about being an equal citizen in the eyes of the holistic Jewish community. It's about a call to action that has been in motion since Abraham answered his phone with, "Brit? Sign me up" or since Moses answered his phone with, "Here I am." It's about ending an age-old game of telephone tag that has resulted in the whitewashing of one of the holiest obligations most near and dear to my heart: service to others.
This mitzvah, this commandment, of being of service to others is a deep and rich obligation that is layered with anecdotes and its very own “How To” manual with instructions on how to treat strangers, how to feed the hungry, and how to empower those with disabilities to name a few. It’s a pretty big deal to be tasked with “tikkun olam,” repairing the world. Yet do those of us who practice Judaism through this particular ritual feel accepted and honored for this form of Jewish observance? I suppose I wouldn’t be writing this if I felt the answer was “yes.”
Please understand my intent is not to downplay or disregard other Jewish obligations in any way. Service is certainly not the only way to express one’s Jewish identity, nor is it superior. My point is to simply say this: those of us Bad Jews who do not connect with traditional forms of Jewish rituals should unleash and empower our Bad Selves to continue making this world a better place through challenging social injustices, righting egregious wrongs, and taking care of the planet we have been so blessed to inherit. While it’s true service has been in our systems for what seems like forever, let’s not dismiss it with a wave because of that very reason.
Unlike Batman, who believes his calling is a curse, I believe I've been called to do work in this world that is not only an obligation but is also a blessing. I've learned that following the mitzvot in the footsteps of my ancestors has, in fact, led me to the discovery of my own Jewish identity. It was there all along but I allowed too many outside voices to drown it out and define what they thought my Jewish identity should be. Now I feel confident that I can eat my bacon and continue to campaign against Prop 8 as part of my Jewish practice. And so can you. Continue your Jewish practice and be proud of it. It’s legit, I promise.
This is for all of us Bad Jews: unleash yourself, save the world, be Bad.
My bacon-loving past has caught up with me and I can no longer be silenced, even after years in what my best friend menacingly calls, "The Pork Deprivation Chamber." I don't mean to confuse you; this new venture into the world of blogging isn't actually about my love of bacon.
This venture is about naming the deep desire to be accepted by Judaism as a full-fledged, practicing Jew. It’s about my own disconnect from traditional forms of Jewish ritual and the not-so-subtle message I received throughout most of my life that if I didn’t go to shul and didn’t say the Amidah I was a Bad Jew. It’s about believing that my bacon love made me less of a Jew than the Good Jews who obediently stayed away from pork products. It's about being an equal citizen in the eyes of the holistic Jewish community. It's about a call to action that has been in motion since Abraham answered his phone with, "Brit? Sign me up" or since Moses answered his phone with, "Here I am." It's about ending an age-old game of telephone tag that has resulted in the whitewashing of one of the holiest obligations most near and dear to my heart: service to others.
This mitzvah, this commandment, of being of service to others is a deep and rich obligation that is layered with anecdotes and its very own “How To” manual with instructions on how to treat strangers, how to feed the hungry, and how to empower those with disabilities to name a few. It’s a pretty big deal to be tasked with “tikkun olam,” repairing the world. Yet do those of us who practice Judaism through this particular ritual feel accepted and honored for this form of Jewish observance? I suppose I wouldn’t be writing this if I felt the answer was “yes.”
Please understand my intent is not to downplay or disregard other Jewish obligations in any way. Service is certainly not the only way to express one’s Jewish identity, nor is it superior. My point is to simply say this: those of us Bad Jews who do not connect with traditional forms of Jewish rituals should unleash and empower our Bad Selves to continue making this world a better place through challenging social injustices, righting egregious wrongs, and taking care of the planet we have been so blessed to inherit. While it’s true service has been in our systems for what seems like forever, let’s not dismiss it with a wave because of that very reason.
Unlike Batman, who believes his calling is a curse, I believe I've been called to do work in this world that is not only an obligation but is also a blessing. I've learned that following the mitzvot in the footsteps of my ancestors has, in fact, led me to the discovery of my own Jewish identity. It was there all along but I allowed too many outside voices to drown it out and define what they thought my Jewish identity should be. Now I feel confident that I can eat my bacon and continue to campaign against Prop 8 as part of my Jewish practice. And so can you. Continue your Jewish practice and be proud of it. It’s legit, I promise.
This is for all of us Bad Jews: unleash yourself, save the world, be Bad.
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