Friday, August 14, 2015
Dear Reader,
"Blind Boy" Paxton may be the only blues singer who wears a yarmulke and cooks "kosher soul food." His heritage -- Francophone and Sephardic, out of Louisiana -- is fascinating. So he's playing. Click for story, and video.
Music
The Bluesman With The Yarmulke
‘Blind Boy’ Paxton may be the only blues singer who dons a skullcap and cooks ‘kosher soul food.’ Oh, and he can play, too.
Lehman Weichselbaum
Special To The Jewish Week
The Bluesman With The Yarmulke
‘Blind Boy’ Paxton may be the only blues singer who dons a skullcap and cooks ‘kosher soul food.’ Oh, and he can play, too.
Lehman Weichselbaum
Special To The Jewish Week
Old soul: Jerron Paxton is a rising blues star who honors his Jewish roots. Bill Steber
‘Blind Boy” Jerron Paxton is taking a call inside his Ridgewood, Queens, kitchen to answer a few questions. He talks while making rugelach, from scratch. “I make everything from scratch,” he says.
When not home baking, Paxton is likely to be the only black blues performer wearing a yarmulke you’ll see this year. Or any year.
And that’s just for starters.
Even inside a genre that emphasizes the solo artist, with the musical distinctiveness and force of personality that goes with the role, the 26-year-old Paxton stands out vividly. Unlike other musicians content to rearrange the occasional old standard, Paxton tirelessly plumbs buried collections in search of forgotten but noteworthy song material, not only from blues but from jazz, folk, country and pop music, and returns it to the world’s ear in his performances. In a milieu where the electric guitar has long ruled as virtually the sole accompanying instrument, Paxton hues resolutely to its classic acoustic forerunner, along with the banjo, piano, fiddle, harmonica, Cajun accordion and percussive “bones,” each of which he plays with practiced skill.
Paxton will play his second solo concert at B.B. King’s on Aug. 21. His CD, “Jerrod Paxton: Recorded Music for Your Entertainment,” is making steady rounds. He has played the folk festivals at Newport, Live Oak (Santa Barbara, Calif.) Calgary and Merlefest (celebrating the music of Doc and Merle Watson), as well as others across the continent and overseas. He’s now finishing a summer tenure as artistic director of the Port Townsend Festival in Washington State.
And then there’s that yarmulke.
“I come from an old family of Cajun Jews,” he explains. “They were Francophone and Sephardic.”
While he was born in Los Angeles, his maternal family roots hark back many generations inside Louisiana. He suspects that his clan’s origins may trace back to crypto-Jews from medieval Spain, but says, “The trail stops with my great grandfather. It’s complicated.”
He does say that he’s the only member of his family that he knows of who practices the rites of his Jewish heritage. “We were the only house in South Central [L.A.] with a mezuzah, as far as I know,” he adds. A small, devoted following of young religious Jews shows up at his shows.
The yarmulke, a broad, black affair seen conspicuously on the cover portrait of his CD, is a standard accoutrement at concerts, though not at his most recent gig at B.B. King’s (“too hot,” he says). He picks up bookings for Friday nights, calling himself “sporadically shomer Shabbos.” At the same time, while less than strict on dietary habits on the performance trail, describing himself as “kosher-ish,” he keeps kosher at home.
Paxton especially enjoys hosting dinners with his brand of “kosher soul food,” which features but is not limited to his homemade pastries. “My friends are my biggest connection,” he says.
A habitual late riser given his performing schedule, he attends afternoon services at Congregation Beth Aaron when at home in Ridgewood.
“I’m not as shomer Shabbos as I would like,” he concedes. “At the same time I believe the Almighty has gifted me with certain opportunities to pay the rent and to take care of my momma.”
His mother remains in Los Angeles. His father is “a very good drummer.” His parents have long been “happily separated.”
Paxton has toured Israel twice, including a visit earlier this year — “from Metula to Eilat” — to sold out shows.
For a young man in a hurry, Paxton knows how to take his time. He forages across the vast repository of historical music from the blues to virtually every category that fits the label of popular music. He pursues his research and takes the stage while dealing with longtime failing vision due to a faulty retina.
In June at B.B. King’s, New York’s premier blues showcase, Paxton, a black vest, suspenders and white shirt on his big frame, sat on a wooden chair surrounded by his various instruments and a rising number of empty bottles of Poland Spring water. The only electrification was a voice microphone and a lower mike for his guitar.
“Y’all know how to waltz? Anybody here old enough to remember how a train sounds?” he asked the audience, then proceeded to answer the questions on his harmonica, caroming from extended, arcing wails to bursting, staccato chords. Then, to the highly audible appreciation of the audience, he blew through a series of comparative riffs simulating the sounds of the Southern Mississippi versus the Sante Fe Railway whistles, the horn of a Model T Ford and “a little baby in the back seat who won’t hush up.”
Paxton kept his grooves fluid and deft, never straining for mere virtuosity. His playlist ranged from familiar standards like “”The Cat Came Back,” “Rye Whiskey,” “O Louisiana” (a variation on “O Susanna”), “Get Along Children” and Don Ho’s “Little Grass Shack” to more obscure but worthy titles such as “When the Cornpone’s Hot,” “Call Them Possum” and “My Lorena,” a Southern slave romance.
After the show Paxton mingled with fans for souvenir snapshots and inspection of his instruments, as well as selling signed CDs.
In his tart but candid account of his personal history, Paxton is far from reticent about his varied origins, but he declares: “I keep my music and my religion separate.” Asked about the state of mind that makes the sound of the music, he declines to probe too deeply for a common ground between the blues that blacks feel and the blues that Jews feel. “Everybody suffers,” he says. In the end, he lets his ears do the thinking. He mentions a recent hearing of a cut of Slovak music with a striking violin part. “That motherf---er has the blues,” he says.
He cites “Ashkenazic” music and its signature “crying clarinet.” “It’s tough, it’s bad, it’s horrible,” he says. “It releases you.“It weeps and it’s happy in the same instant. There’s the mournful intro, and then the party kicks off.”
Otherwise, he says, “The blues are the soundtrack to black culture.” An apt illustration of Paxton’s aversion to fixing a “blues” label beyond that boundary was his choice of the song “One of These Days” at the B.B. King show. It’s the signature number of the celebrated and, to many ears, decidedly “bluesy” American-Jewish performer Sophie Tucker. Less well known is its authorship, that of black Canadian composer Shelton Brooks.
After leaving California for a stop at Marist College in upstate New York, Paxton enrolled in, then dropped out of Manhattan’s New School for Jazz and Contemporary Music, while immersing himself in the city’s live music scene. The Jalopy bar in Red Hook, Brooklyn became a favorite haunt. His popularity and concert deals neatly followed. He was recently featured in a cover story by the Village Voice.
At the show’s break, B.B. King sound man John Yorke commented, “Blind Boy was born in what, 1989? And there has never been anybody more authentic in contemporary blues.”
Yorke added that Paxton was leading a “new vanguard” in a burgeoning movement of such authentic blues. As an example he cited the up-and-coming 20-year-old performer Solomon Hicks.
“He’s the real deal,” says David Burger, the composer of Jewish choral music who worked closely with both Richie Havens and Shlomo Carlebach. “He’s a great instrumentalist, knows the real blues and plays them with heart. He’s like what you might have heard from the great bluesmen of the ’20s and ’30s, without the scratchy sound of overplayed 78s. I don’t hear any specific Jewish influence on his music, per se. But he sings the blues, which has roughly the same connotation as tzuris.”
“The biggest folly in American culture today is how everything gets reduced to technical terms,” says Paxton. “But music, real music, is spiritual. Folk music means music that stands against academia. It’s music by and for the people.”
Talking time is over. The rugelach won’t bake themselves. “Shavua tov [good week],” Paxton signs off.
Blind Boy Paxton performs Aug. 21, 7:30 p.m., at B.B. King’s (Lucille’s Grill), 237 W. 42nd St., (212) 997-4144, bbkingblues.com.
The Orthodox community contributed proudly to a local memorial service for the 16-year-old girl stabbed and killed at Jerusalem's gay pride parade. One rabbi said he was "embarrassed" that his appearance at the ceremony was considered something special.
New York
At LGBT Memorial Service, Orthodox Add To The Rainbow
RCA’s Rabbi Mark Dratch points to communal responsibility, says not the time to ‘retreat’ into defensive mode.
Hannah Dreyfus
Staff Writer
A service for Shira Banki, the 16-year-old killed at Jerusalem's Gay Pride parade. Courtesy of Congregation Beit Simchat Torah
When Sean Herzfeld, an openly gay Orthodox teenager from Westchester County, heard about Shira Banki, the 16-year-old who was stabbed and killed by a charedi protestor at Jerusalem’s Gay Pride Parade, he felt scared.
“I was sad, I was disappointed, but mostly I was really frightened,” said the rising junior at a local yeshiva high school. “It could have been me, or any one of my ally friends.”
Herzfeld spoke last Thursday night to a crowd of 300 at a memorial and solidarity rally for Banki at the LGBT Community Center in Lower Manhattan. Though there were only 150 seats, people flowed into the auditorium and stood pressed closely together, many wiping away tears as Herzfeld spoke. The crowd was diverse, with kippot, traditional women’s head coverings and rainbow flags sprinkling the crowd.
Herzfeld, an active member of JQY, a nonprofit organization that supports Orthodox LGBT Jews, recalled marching with his peers in the Salute to Israel Parade just two months earlier, waving a rainbow flag.
“Three days after the Israeli Day parade, I’d already resumed my usual teenage schedule including participating in school activities, extracurriculars and hanging out with friends,” he said. “Three days after participating in the Jerusalem Gay Pride Parade, Shira Banki succumbed to her wounds on her hospital bed.”
The emotional memorial service brought together representatives from organizations representing a wide swath of the Jewish community, including Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum, senior rabbi at Congregation Beit Simchat Torah, the largest LGBT synagogue, Rabbi Steven Greenberg, co-director of Eshel, an organization working towards the integration of LGBT Jews, and Rabbi Mark Dratch, executive vice president of the Rabbinical Council of America (RCA), America’s largest body of Orthodox rabbis.
Rabbi Dratch’s appearance, which marked the first time an RCA member spoke at a LGBT Center event, was considered a “historic” moment by many, especially in light of the RCA’s public statement of concern following the Supreme Court verdict on gay marriage in June. In the statement, the RCA rejected the court’s “redefinition of marriage” and cited it as a threat to Orthodox religious freedom.
Rabbi Dratch said he was “embarrassed” that his appearance at the ceremony was considered something special. Standing behind a podium draped with a rainbow flag, he spoke for five minutes denouncing the cultural influences that produce violent extremists and pointing to elements of communal responsibility for the tragedy.
“There are sins of commission and sins of omission,” he said, citing failure to “speak up” against pejorative or mocking comments as part of the problem. “Our community has been much too silent for much too long.”
He added that while the act of extreme violence might have been an aberration, it “festered in a community whose culture is too often pervaded by insensitivity, disrespect, vulgarity and intolerance.”
One attendee, who preferred to remain anonymous for privacy reasons, said it “blew her mind” that Rabbi Dratch was standing behind a rainbow flag.
Mordechai Levovitz, executive director of JQY and one of the event’s organizers, said that Rabbi Dratch’s remarks “more than rose to the occasion.” While he had spoken alongside Rabbi Dratch at a mental health conference in April, this was the first time he was officially representing the RCA, according to Levovitz.
“In the past, he was careful to say he was coming as an individual, and not necessarily to represent the organizations,” said Levovitz. “This time, we didn’t give organizations that option.”
A representative from the Orthodox Union and Yeshiva University president Richard Joel both said they would have liked to attend, but were traveling, according to Levovitz.
“There can be positive repercussions from this tragedy — the Orthodox world is beginning to understand the impact of negative messaging coming from the rabbinate,” he said. “It’s just not so simple to keep pushing away an already ostracized minority.”
Dr. Jack Drescher, a psychiatrist who has written extensively on gender and LGBT issues, said that those with severe mental illnesses do make use of the belief systems around them. “Racism, sexism and homophobia are all themes they could pick up on,” he said. Repeated moral condemnations can lead to anti-homosexual biases, heterosexism, and even anti-gay violence. “It becomes increasingly difficult for members of these groups to distinguish between the ‘sinner’ and the ‘sin’,” he said.
The attack at the Jerusalem parade has alerted people to the “unintended consequences” of hateful words and actions. He referred to the memorial service as an “amazing moment of dialogue.”
“What we saw on Thursday did not spring up overnight — it is the culmination of brave efforts to engage in dialogue for the past 10 years,” he said.
In Israel, several prominent Orthodox rabbis, including Jerusalem’s Chief Rabbi Aryeh Stern and Rabbi Benny Lau, strongly condemned the violence and pointed to the communal factors that may have contributed.
“It is not possible to say ‘our hands did not spill this blood,’” said Rabbi Lau, standing in Zion Square before hundreds of rainbow flags at a memorial rally for Banki and the Palestinian toddler killed in the West Bank. “Anyone who has been at a Sabbath table, or in a classroom, or in a synagogue, or at a soccer pitch, or in a club, or at a community center, and heard the racist jokes, the homophobic jokes, the obscene words, and didn’t stand up and stop it, he is a partner to this bloodshed.”
Miriam Wopenoff, a middle-aged chasidic woman from Crown Heights, stood in the crowd on Thursday night, a wad of tissues in her hand. She wore a long black skirt and a traditional black head covering. “I’m here to support friends from my community,” she said. “Many of them couldn’t be here.”
Zach B., who asked that we not use his full name for privacy reasons, just graduated high school and will be studying at a prominent Orthodox yeshiva in Israel in the fall. He attended the memorial service on Thursday night not knowing what to expect. Still, the weight of communal responsibility propelled him to go.
“It would be easier if we could just say ‘this guy was a nut job’ and be done with it,” he said, wearing a kipa, dark pants and button down shirt. “But we can’t wash our hands of what happened, until we try and make it better.”
Editorial intern Talia Lakritz contributed to this report.
At LGBT Memorial Service, Orthodox Add To The Rainbow
RCA’s Rabbi Mark Dratch points to communal responsibility, says not the time to ‘retreat’ into defensive mode.
Hannah Dreyfus
Staff Writer
A service for Shira Banki, the 16-year-old killed at Jerusalem's Gay Pride parade. Courtesy of Congregation Beit Simchat Torah
When Sean Herzfeld, an openly gay Orthodox teenager from Westchester County, heard about Shira Banki, the 16-year-old who was stabbed and killed by a charedi protestor at Jerusalem’s Gay Pride Parade, he felt scared.
“I was sad, I was disappointed, but mostly I was really frightened,” said the rising junior at a local yeshiva high school. “It could have been me, or any one of my ally friends.”
Herzfeld spoke last Thursday night to a crowd of 300 at a memorial and solidarity rally for Banki at the LGBT Community Center in Lower Manhattan. Though there were only 150 seats, people flowed into the auditorium and stood pressed closely together, many wiping away tears as Herzfeld spoke. The crowd was diverse, with kippot, traditional women’s head coverings and rainbow flags sprinkling the crowd.
Herzfeld, an active member of JQY, a nonprofit organization that supports Orthodox LGBT Jews, recalled marching with his peers in the Salute to Israel Parade just two months earlier, waving a rainbow flag.
“Three days after the Israeli Day parade, I’d already resumed my usual teenage schedule including participating in school activities, extracurriculars and hanging out with friends,” he said. “Three days after participating in the Jerusalem Gay Pride Parade, Shira Banki succumbed to her wounds on her hospital bed.”
The emotional memorial service brought together representatives from organizations representing a wide swath of the Jewish community, including Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum, senior rabbi at Congregation Beit Simchat Torah, the largest LGBT synagogue, Rabbi Steven Greenberg, co-director of Eshel, an organization working towards the integration of LGBT Jews, and Rabbi Mark Dratch, executive vice president of the Rabbinical Council of America (RCA), America’s largest body of Orthodox rabbis.
Rabbi Dratch’s appearance, which marked the first time an RCA member spoke at a LGBT Center event, was considered a “historic” moment by many, especially in light of the RCA’s public statement of concern following the Supreme Court verdict on gay marriage in June. In the statement, the RCA rejected the court’s “redefinition of marriage” and cited it as a threat to Orthodox religious freedom.
Rabbi Dratch said he was “embarrassed” that his appearance at the ceremony was considered something special. Standing behind a podium draped with a rainbow flag, he spoke for five minutes denouncing the cultural influences that produce violent extremists and pointing to elements of communal responsibility for the tragedy.
“There are sins of commission and sins of omission,” he said, citing failure to “speak up” against pejorative or mocking comments as part of the problem. “Our community has been much too silent for much too long.”
He added that while the act of extreme violence might have been an aberration, it “festered in a community whose culture is too often pervaded by insensitivity, disrespect, vulgarity and intolerance.”
One attendee, who preferred to remain anonymous for privacy reasons, said it “blew her mind” that Rabbi Dratch was standing behind a rainbow flag.
Mordechai Levovitz, executive director of JQY and one of the event’s organizers, said that Rabbi Dratch’s remarks “more than rose to the occasion.” While he had spoken alongside Rabbi Dratch at a mental health conference in April, this was the first time he was officially representing the RCA, according to Levovitz.
“In the past, he was careful to say he was coming as an individual, and not necessarily to represent the organizations,” said Levovitz. “This time, we didn’t give organizations that option.”
A representative from the Orthodox Union and Yeshiva University president Richard Joel both said they would have liked to attend, but were traveling, according to Levovitz.
“There can be positive repercussions from this tragedy — the Orthodox world is beginning to understand the impact of negative messaging coming from the rabbinate,” he said. “It’s just not so simple to keep pushing away an already ostracized minority.”
Dr. Jack Drescher, a psychiatrist who has written extensively on gender and LGBT issues, said that those with severe mental illnesses do make use of the belief systems around them. “Racism, sexism and homophobia are all themes they could pick up on,” he said. Repeated moral condemnations can lead to anti-homosexual biases, heterosexism, and even anti-gay violence. “It becomes increasingly difficult for members of these groups to distinguish between the ‘sinner’ and the ‘sin’,” he said.
The attack at the Jerusalem parade has alerted people to the “unintended consequences” of hateful words and actions. He referred to the memorial service as an “amazing moment of dialogue.”
“What we saw on Thursday did not spring up overnight — it is the culmination of brave efforts to engage in dialogue for the past 10 years,” he said.
In Israel, several prominent Orthodox rabbis, including Jerusalem’s Chief Rabbi Aryeh Stern and Rabbi Benny Lau, strongly condemned the violence and pointed to the communal factors that may have contributed.
“It is not possible to say ‘our hands did not spill this blood,’” said Rabbi Lau, standing in Zion Square before hundreds of rainbow flags at a memorial rally for Banki and the Palestinian toddler killed in the West Bank. “Anyone who has been at a Sabbath table, or in a classroom, or in a synagogue, or at a soccer pitch, or in a club, or at a community center, and heard the racist jokes, the homophobic jokes, the obscene words, and didn’t stand up and stop it, he is a partner to this bloodshed.”
Miriam Wopenoff, a middle-aged chasidic woman from Crown Heights, stood in the crowd on Thursday night, a wad of tissues in her hand. She wore a long black skirt and a traditional black head covering. “I’m here to support friends from my community,” she said. “Many of them couldn’t be here.”
Zach B., who asked that we not use his full name for privacy reasons, just graduated high school and will be studying at a prominent Orthodox yeshiva in Israel in the fall. He attended the memorial service on Thursday night not knowing what to expect. Still, the weight of communal responsibility propelled him to go.
“It would be easier if we could just say ‘this guy was a nut job’ and be done with it,” he said, wearing a kipa, dark pants and button down shirt. “But we can’t wash our hands of what happened, until we try and make it better.”
Editorial intern Talia Lakritz contributed to this report.
Adoni worked in the Big Apple as a young cook, and has always dreamed of coming back as a chef.
George Medovoy
Special To The Jewish Week
Chef Meir Adoni, one of Israel’s favorite celebrity chef, is known for two very different restaurants that share the same address in Tel Aviv. Now he’s bringing the same approach to New York, and he’s going to try to kick it up a notch: One will be kosher, one not.
Adoni, 42 is famous for his stint on the popular Israeli TV show, “Mentor Chef,” and for Catit and Mizlala, the Tel Aviv joints at Nahalat Binyamin 57. Mizlala is the funky counterpoint to Catit’s white tablecloth, high dining vibe.
Coming back to New York is what Adoni calls “my huge dream.”
“I worked in New York almost 20 years ago,” he tells me on the phone from Tel Aviv, “and when I left the city as a young cook, I promised myself that one day I will come back as a chef.”
To understand Chef Adoni’s approach to food, you have to go back to his Moroccan roots on his mother’s side.
“Since I was a kid,” he says, “I was eating typical Moroccan Jewish food. A lot of weekends and most of the holidays, my brothers and I were helping … in the kitchen”
There were those ubiquitous Moroccan salads and dishes like fish stew, so in this way Adoni and his brothers learned how to cook traditional food.
Today, Adoni shares his family’s food traditions with lucky guests, so when you open his menu, you’re likely to find “Filled Vegetables by Grandma Masuda” and “Mama Sima Fricassee.”
With its degustation menu, Catit is what Adoni calls his “culinary temple,” where he mixes regional and world influences together in a pan and comes up with a unique Israeli dish, while Mizlala, in Adoni’s own words, is “a big space that I call an Israeli brasserie” with “eclectic food” served in a “relaxed way.”
On a recent visit to Tel Aviv, my wife and I sampled the menu at Blue Sky, Adoni’s rooftop kosher restaurant in Tel Aviv’s beachside Carlton Hotel.
The friendly young wait staff in casual attire and sneakers makes you feel right at home, and the décor is warm and easy under subdued lighting.
A handful of tables covered with white tablecloths is arranged between a casual bar and panoramic windows. There is also outside terrace seating.
We took an indoor table as the sun was setting over the city’s gleaming skyline, dotted with towering skyscrapers I never imagined when I first visited Tel Aviv in 1963.
In those days, a Tel Aviv cabbie told me, “there was nothing here.”
Blue Sky is one of Adoni’s two kosher restaurants. The other one, also in the Carlton, is Lumina, a bistro-style meat place.
Adoni took inspiration from the smell of the sea and decided to make Blue Sky a fish restaurant with regional influences, but also nods to Asian, Italian and French traditions.
“For me, the food really needs to be emotional, really powerful…a lot of fresh herbs, a lot of ‘emotions’ inside the food…that’s what is really important to me,” he said.
I started off with Norwegian Salmon Tartare, which, with its spicy Asian vinaigrette dressing, took on multiple textures and tangy flavors, particularly tapioca pearls for texture and black quinoa for an agreeable sweetness.
My wife’s Caesar Salad included cured egg, fennel, confit artichoke, red onion, Caesar aioli, cured garlic and Parmesan.
I also ordered Sicilian Pasta, pappardelle noodles with Persian lemon, fennel, shoshka peppers, anchovies, garlic crème, capers, Kalamata olives, chili, basil, sage and brioche crumble.
Being from Casablanca, my wife had to sample “Memories from Casablanca,” a serving of tender grouper fillet in herbs butter, with peppers marmalade, chard, leek and lemon yogurt, cardamom and saffron crème, and fava beans, coriander, oregano, crispy chick peas, couscous – all iconic ingredients and flavors, she said.
For dessert we each had something different to share: my wife the Baba au Rhum in “Sweet n’ Sour Amaretto” (sake brulee, strawberry consommé, Sabrina in amaretto sauce, puff rice, lemon grass crème, dried berries, vanilla and ginger ice cream), and for me the Childhood Games (chocolate and caramel crème, polenta, white chocolate corn, goat milk dolce de leche, marzipan, caramelized popcorn, Bamba powder, caramel ice cream).
Adoni considers it a “blessing” to be able to touch people with his food: “To cook for people and make people happy and excited about food.”Enjoy the weekend, everybody,
Helen Chernikoff
Web Director
NATIONAL
THE ARTS
Anthony Mordechai Tzvi Russell. RNS
African-American Opera Singer Revives The Songs Of The Shtetl
Kimberly Winston
RNSBerkley, Calif. - Three years ago, when Anthony Mordechai Tzvi Russell took the stage at a Jewish vaudeville celebration and said he was going to sing in Yiddish, people laughed.
As a 6-foot-plus African-American with one golden earring, he just didn’t look like the typical Jew fluent in the language of the pre-World War II shtetl.
Then he opened his mouth. Out came a rich bass voice in a longing lament to the isolated villages and tiny homes left behind in places like Poland and Russia.
Think “Fiddler on the Roof”‘s “Anatevka” sung by a guy who looks more like Chris Rock than Zero Mostel.
No one is laughing now. Russell performs Yiddish songs from New York to Florida, from Philadelphia to Los Angeles, to full houses and wide acclaim. On Sept. 6, he will sing at the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco.
“The potential for personal connection that performing in Yiddish provided was very attractive to me as a performer,” Russell said from his office at Netivot Shalom, a Conservative synagogue in Berkeley where he is an educator. A reprint of an old black-and-white photo of African-American children learning Hebrew letters is one of the few personal decorations he has added to the office’s white walls.
“Somehow, in the course of learning these songs, I found these narratives that allowed me to tell my own stories and audiences who enriched those narratives with the stories of their own lives,” he said.
Russell, 35, discovered Yiddish music through the Coen brothers’ film “A Serious Man,” which featured a song performed by Sidor Belarsky, Ukrainian-born Jewish singer who brought Yiddish songs to Carnegie Hall after World War II. He taught himself Belarsky’s repertoire, writing out the Yiddish lyrics, translating them and practicing his pronunciation.
Now he is at work on a new project called “Convergence,” a mix of the minor-key yearnings of Yiddish songs with the keening uplift of African-American spirituals. For him, the overlap is huge and resonant — both genres were born outside traditional religious spaces (the home and the plantation fields), both speak of oppression and hold fast to a faith that God will bring deliverance.
“Both exist in spite of oppression,” he said. “It is a miracle to me that both managed to survive.”
Turning to his computer, he calls up a sample song. The shuddering moan of the spiritual “Trouble so Hard” — made famous as a sample in a Moby song — blends with “Shteyt Oyf tsu Slichos,” a Yiddish lament about exile from Israel. Russell’s unaccompanied voice slides seamlessly between the two.
“When I heard that (the Yiddish song), I thought, ‘That’s the blues,” he said. “Both are saying, ‘Come to a house of prayer and we will deal with this.'”
Christa Whitney, who interviewed Russell for the Wexler Oral History Project at the Yiddish Book Center, said Russell’s work is part of a younger generation that is discovering and interpreting Yiddish for itself.
“I see Anthony’s work as an example of what happens when you put two musical styles in contact with each other; in that way it is presenting Yiddish to an audience that might not otherwise have been presented with it,” she said.
Reared a Baptist, Russell brings to the project the zeal of a convert. In 2007, he met the man who is now his husband, a rabbi, on a blind date and three years later converted to Judaism. It was not a difficult decision, he said.“I was someone who read the Bible as a form of self-identification,” he said. “I projected myself endlessly onto the characters and the narratives of the Old Testament, so I felt a very strong relationship with these characters and their narratives.”
He sees those narratives in African-American spirituals, as well.
“African-American spirituals took on essentially Jewish texts to express their own lives,” he said, naming “Go, Down Moses” as an example. Both Jews and African-Americans have struggled with their pasts as slaves, using various musical interpretations of the same texts.
And both have something to say to contemporary listeners, especially post-Ferguson, Russell said. The ongoing deaths of black people at the hands of law enforcement officers and the resulting “Black Lives Matter” movement has made him feel a special urgency to get his music to a broader audience.
“I feel like I need to get music out there that is inspirational and coming out of the struggle of black people to live and thrive in their own country without being persecuted,” he said.
Another turn to the computer and another example — a mix of the civil rights anthem “Lift Every Voice and Sing” and “Hof un Gloyb,” a Yiddish labor song.
“Both are all about these rhapsodic visions of what the future can be and the triumph of that over generations of death,” he said. “Our history has been horrible, so we are saying ‘Let us lift our voices and find a space where we can move on without forgetting the kinds of things we came from.'”
Yiddish is experiencing something of a revival. There are now Yiddish immersion summer camps, synagogue-based Yiddish discussion groups, Yiddish newspapers and multiple Yiddish radio stations worldwide. Russell is part of that revival and said he has found the newly thriving Yiddish community to be particularly welcoming to him as a gay, African-American convert.
“There is just this instant connection with people that bridges any number of superficial differences,” he said. “People see that I am putting the heart and soul of an African-American man into the music and they are responding to that.”
editor@jewishweek.org
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FOOD & WINE
Anthony Mordechai Tzvi Russell. RNS
African-American Opera Singer Revives The Songs Of The Shtetl
Kimberly Winston
RNSBerkley, Calif. - Three years ago, when Anthony Mordechai Tzvi Russell took the stage at a Jewish vaudeville celebration and said he was going to sing in Yiddish, people laughed.
As a 6-foot-plus African-American with one golden earring, he just didn’t look like the typical Jew fluent in the language of the pre-World War II shtetl.
Then he opened his mouth. Out came a rich bass voice in a longing lament to the isolated villages and tiny homes left behind in places like Poland and Russia.
Think “Fiddler on the Roof”‘s “Anatevka” sung by a guy who looks more like Chris Rock than Zero Mostel.
No one is laughing now. Russell performs Yiddish songs from New York to Florida, from Philadelphia to Los Angeles, to full houses and wide acclaim. On Sept. 6, he will sing at the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco.
“The potential for personal connection that performing in Yiddish provided was very attractive to me as a performer,” Russell said from his office at Netivot Shalom, a Conservative synagogue in Berkeley where he is an educator. A reprint of an old black-and-white photo of African-American children learning Hebrew letters is one of the few personal decorations he has added to the office’s white walls.
“Somehow, in the course of learning these songs, I found these narratives that allowed me to tell my own stories and audiences who enriched those narratives with the stories of their own lives,” he said.
Russell, 35, discovered Yiddish music through the Coen brothers’ film “A Serious Man,” which featured a song performed by Sidor Belarsky, Ukrainian-born Jewish singer who brought Yiddish songs to Carnegie Hall after World War II. He taught himself Belarsky’s repertoire, writing out the Yiddish lyrics, translating them and practicing his pronunciation.
Now he is at work on a new project called “Convergence,” a mix of the minor-key yearnings of Yiddish songs with the keening uplift of African-American spirituals. For him, the overlap is huge and resonant — both genres were born outside traditional religious spaces (the home and the plantation fields), both speak of oppression and hold fast to a faith that God will bring deliverance.
“Both exist in spite of oppression,” he said. “It is a miracle to me that both managed to survive.”
Turning to his computer, he calls up a sample song. The shuddering moan of the spiritual “Trouble so Hard” — made famous as a sample in a Moby song — blends with “Shteyt Oyf tsu Slichos,” a Yiddish lament about exile from Israel. Russell’s unaccompanied voice slides seamlessly between the two.
“When I heard that (the Yiddish song), I thought, ‘That’s the blues,” he said. “Both are saying, ‘Come to a house of prayer and we will deal with this.'”
Christa Whitney, who interviewed Russell for the Wexler Oral History Project at the Yiddish Book Center, said Russell’s work is part of a younger generation that is discovering and interpreting Yiddish for itself.
“I see Anthony’s work as an example of what happens when you put two musical styles in contact with each other; in that way it is presenting Yiddish to an audience that might not otherwise have been presented with it,” she said.
Reared a Baptist, Russell brings to the project the zeal of a convert. In 2007, he met the man who is now his husband, a rabbi, on a blind date and three years later converted to Judaism. It was not a difficult decision, he said.“I was someone who read the Bible as a form of self-identification,” he said. “I projected myself endlessly onto the characters and the narratives of the Old Testament, so I felt a very strong relationship with these characters and their narratives.”
He sees those narratives in African-American spirituals, as well.
“African-American spirituals took on essentially Jewish texts to express their own lives,” he said, naming “Go, Down Moses” as an example. Both Jews and African-Americans have struggled with their pasts as slaves, using various musical interpretations of the same texts.
And both have something to say to contemporary listeners, especially post-Ferguson, Russell said. The ongoing deaths of black people at the hands of law enforcement officers and the resulting “Black Lives Matter” movement has made him feel a special urgency to get his music to a broader audience.
“I feel like I need to get music out there that is inspirational and coming out of the struggle of black people to live and thrive in their own country without being persecuted,” he said.
Another turn to the computer and another example — a mix of the civil rights anthem “Lift Every Voice and Sing” and “Hof un Gloyb,” a Yiddish labor song.
“Both are all about these rhapsodic visions of what the future can be and the triumph of that over generations of death,” he said. “Our history has been horrible, so we are saying ‘Let us lift our voices and find a space where we can move on without forgetting the kinds of things we came from.'”
Yiddish is experiencing something of a revival. There are now Yiddish immersion summer camps, synagogue-based Yiddish discussion groups, Yiddish newspapers and multiple Yiddish radio stations worldwide. Russell is part of that revival and said he has found the newly thriving Yiddish community to be particularly welcoming to him as a gay, African-American convert.
“There is just this instant connection with people that bridges any number of superficial differences,” he said. “People see that I am putting the heart and soul of an African-American man into the music and they are responding to that.”
editor@jewishweek.org
Featured Video
<iframe width="640" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/a_tzjCERKhU?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Read More
FOOD & WINE
Hebrew National Serves Up Bacon In New Ad Campaign
The food's kosher - are their videos? Hebrew national is featuring treif food in its new advertising campaign. JTAIt may be America’s most iconic kosher brand, famous for its hot dogs that in the words of its unforgettable ad slogan, “answer to a higher authority.”
So consumers might be confused to find videos on Hebrew National’s homepage suggesting they grill up their kosher franks with some bacon or halloumi cheese.
Hebrew National’s “Simple Summer Skewers” video serves up several unusual kebab combos, including Sweet & Spicy Halloumi (halloumi cheese, Hebrew National franks, pineapple, jalapenos) and Hog Wild Stack (scallions, Hebrew National franks, shaved bacon). The video ends with the tagline: “Why Hebrew National? Because when your hot dog’s kosher, that’s a hot dog you can trust.”
The video is one of several Hebrew National is promoting on its website and in ads on other sites that feature patently non-kosher, or treif, food. In another video, New York chef David Kirschner prepares a grilled paella dish that combines Hebrew National dogs with mussels and clams.
For a brand whose reputation is built on its adherence to a “higher authority” than, presumably, USDA requirements, the Hebrew National ad campaign raises the question of whether associating its products with bacon and clams undermines its brand image or its kosher status.
The bulk of Hebrew National’s customers almost certainly do not keep kosher (a company spokesman declined to provide any consumer data or sales figures), but its brand is built on its kosher identity.
Dan Skinner, a public relations manager for Hebrew National, told JTA he doesn’t see any problem with the videos, which were produced in partnership with the culinary website Tasting Table.culinary website.
He said the hot dogs are strictly kosher, but the brand has many non-kosher customers. “For those consumers we have presented recipe options that are not necessarily kosher recipes in the strictest sense,” he said.
Kosher is a fast-growing part of the consumer food market, valued at an estimated $12.5 billion annually. Only 14 percent of people who buy kosher products keep kosher, a 2009 study by the market research firm Mintel found. The vast majority buy them because they believe they’re healthier or safer, the study found.
Hebrew National is certified kosher by Triangle K, a New York-based outfit run by Rabbi Aryeh Ralbag. He did not respond to telephone messages; office staff said he is on vacation.
Rabbi Menachem Genack, CEO of the kosher division of the Orthodox Union, wouldn’t comment specifically on the Hebrew National ads, but said that in general there is no inherent problem with companies advertising the use of their products in non-kosher recipes as long as it doesn’t give the impression that the recipes are kosher. “If it’s a company that’s selling kosher meat and there’s a real potential for confusion, that would be a problem,” he said.
Granting of OU certification is not dependent only on the food, Genack said. The OU, the largest kosher certifier in the country, does not certify restaurants that are open on Saturday, or whose ambiance does not comport with Orthodox values, such as a strip club, even if the food were strictly kosher. The OU also bans advertising that might damage the OU brand.
“Kosher supervision does not only relate to the kosher food; it’s also the ambiance,” Genack told JTA. “A lot of these things are judgment calls.”
Read More
FIRST PERSONBack of the Book
The food's kosher - are their videos? Hebrew national is featuring treif food in its new advertising campaign. JTAIt may be America’s most iconic kosher brand, famous for its hot dogs that in the words of its unforgettable ad slogan, “answer to a higher authority.”
So consumers might be confused to find videos on Hebrew National’s homepage suggesting they grill up their kosher franks with some bacon or halloumi cheese.
Hebrew National’s “Simple Summer Skewers” video serves up several unusual kebab combos, including Sweet & Spicy Halloumi (halloumi cheese, Hebrew National franks, pineapple, jalapenos) and Hog Wild Stack (scallions, Hebrew National franks, shaved bacon). The video ends with the tagline: “Why Hebrew National? Because when your hot dog’s kosher, that’s a hot dog you can trust.”
The video is one of several Hebrew National is promoting on its website and in ads on other sites that feature patently non-kosher, or treif, food. In another video, New York chef David Kirschner prepares a grilled paella dish that combines Hebrew National dogs with mussels and clams.
For a brand whose reputation is built on its adherence to a “higher authority” than, presumably, USDA requirements, the Hebrew National ad campaign raises the question of whether associating its products with bacon and clams undermines its brand image or its kosher status.
The bulk of Hebrew National’s customers almost certainly do not keep kosher (a company spokesman declined to provide any consumer data or sales figures), but its brand is built on its kosher identity.
Dan Skinner, a public relations manager for Hebrew National, told JTA he doesn’t see any problem with the videos, which were produced in partnership with the culinary website Tasting Table.culinary website.
He said the hot dogs are strictly kosher, but the brand has many non-kosher customers. “For those consumers we have presented recipe options that are not necessarily kosher recipes in the strictest sense,” he said.
Kosher is a fast-growing part of the consumer food market, valued at an estimated $12.5 billion annually. Only 14 percent of people who buy kosher products keep kosher, a 2009 study by the market research firm Mintel found. The vast majority buy them because they believe they’re healthier or safer, the study found.
Hebrew National is certified kosher by Triangle K, a New York-based outfit run by Rabbi Aryeh Ralbag. He did not respond to telephone messages; office staff said he is on vacation.
Rabbi Menachem Genack, CEO of the kosher division of the Orthodox Union, wouldn’t comment specifically on the Hebrew National ads, but said that in general there is no inherent problem with companies advertising the use of their products in non-kosher recipes as long as it doesn’t give the impression that the recipes are kosher. “If it’s a company that’s selling kosher meat and there’s a real potential for confusion, that would be a problem,” he said.
Granting of OU certification is not dependent only on the food, Genack said. The OU, the largest kosher certifier in the country, does not certify restaurants that are open on Saturday, or whose ambiance does not comport with Orthodox values, such as a strip club, even if the food were strictly kosher. The OU also bans advertising that might damage the OU brand.
“Kosher supervision does not only relate to the kosher food; it’s also the ambiance,” Genack told JTA. “A lot of these things are judgment calls.”
Read More
FIRST PERSONBack of the Book
Summers At Lake Waubeeka
Michelle Friedman
Special To The Jewish Week
Michelle Friedman
I love New York City, but not in the summer heat when unpleasant fumes permeate the air and melted gum on the sidewalk sticks to my shoes. Summer to me is sitting outside in sweet air with a book and a cool drink, hiking in the woods, and swimming. In other words, summer is for going to the country.
Growing up year-round in the Catskills created interesting rhythms for my own Jewish childhood. Born in Liberty and raised in nearby Divine Corners on a chicken farm, I experienced each season vividly. Summer in the Catskills meant that school was out, that my siblings and I could spend whole days playing outside, and that the local bungalow colonies, hotels and towns would hum with vibrations of Jewish life. Secular and religious Jews flooded the mountains. My Holocaust survivor parents’ few remaining friends and relatives from Europe came to visit, drinking tea late into the night, telling and retelling their stories. Chasidim came to buy fresh eggs and show their children the chickens. I gave tours of the coop, babysat at the nearby bungalows where I floated in the pool and flirted with the sophisticated boys from “the city.”
While I happily entered adulthood in Manhattan, the birth of my own children awakened a dormant homing instinct for my rustic origins. It felt strange, unnatural even, to push my baby carriage over hot smelly streets and sit in concrete parks. I needed grass, flowers and quiet woods. The search for a place in “the country” took off. My husband and I had only a few criteria. We wanted an affordable house in an open-minded Jewish community that had a swimmable lake, a synagogue, and was less than a two-hour drive from Manhattan. Following the principle that you can’t go home again, it couldn’t be the Catskills. I could not face the ruined hotels and dilapidated towns that were once so exciting and glamorous.
We checked out a few locales before finding our treasure, Lake Waubeeka, 60 miles northwest of Manhattan and just outside of Danbury, Conn. Jewish firemen from New York established this community in the early 1950s. Members of the Ner Tamid society, a nonprofit organization for Jewish firefighters, they could not afford to send their kids to camp but wanted to get out of the city for the summer. Among the community’s founders was Sid Klein, father of the singer Carol Klein, better known as Carole King. While the pioneer group was largely secular, a small group felt that their community should include a synagogue and so they build one with their own hands. This eccentric beginning was fertile ground for a diverse group of tri-state area Jewish families who wandered in over the next few decades in search of their own country retreat near a synagogue.
And so, my daughters spent their early summers paddling in the lake and exploring the frog pond. They discovered salamanders after the rain and chased fireflies at dusk. As they grew older they brought friends and came on their own for snowy weekends in the winter. The synagogue continues to be a model of interdenominational cooperation, kind of like a graying Hillel where we linger over Kiddush and talk about ideas, art and politics. Saturday afternoons feature a kind of moving salon as people rotate hospitality and scholarship on any topic. This year, the season kick off was a 92-year-old Waubeekan who read from her recently published memoir. The following Shabbat, one of our resident rabbis shared reflections from his long career in Jewish education.
The beach offers another community experience. Weekend mornings start with yoga on the sand, and the days continue with swimming and live bands on the Fourth of July and Labor Day.
Childhood is short and memories fleeting. But the smell of cut grass, the sound of birds in the early morning on a quiet walk around the lake, and the delicious swims in open water give me a kind of pleasure that connects to me to the best times of my earlier years. As soon as I hit the exit ramp from I-84, the chatter in my mind quiets and I feel calmer. I am getting close to Lake Waubeeka.
It’s true — you can’t go home again, and many of us might rather not return to the scene of our younger days. But you can find a special place in the country that touches off the happiest notes of childhood and allows you to find a new song.
Dr. Michelle Friedman is director of pastoral counseling at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah (YCT) Rabbinical School.Read More
THE NEW NORMAL
Read More
WELL VERSED
An Island Of CreativityCaroline Harris
Michelle Friedman
Special To The Jewish Week
Michelle Friedman
I love New York City, but not in the summer heat when unpleasant fumes permeate the air and melted gum on the sidewalk sticks to my shoes. Summer to me is sitting outside in sweet air with a book and a cool drink, hiking in the woods, and swimming. In other words, summer is for going to the country.
Growing up year-round in the Catskills created interesting rhythms for my own Jewish childhood. Born in Liberty and raised in nearby Divine Corners on a chicken farm, I experienced each season vividly. Summer in the Catskills meant that school was out, that my siblings and I could spend whole days playing outside, and that the local bungalow colonies, hotels and towns would hum with vibrations of Jewish life. Secular and religious Jews flooded the mountains. My Holocaust survivor parents’ few remaining friends and relatives from Europe came to visit, drinking tea late into the night, telling and retelling their stories. Chasidim came to buy fresh eggs and show their children the chickens. I gave tours of the coop, babysat at the nearby bungalows where I floated in the pool and flirted with the sophisticated boys from “the city.”
While I happily entered adulthood in Manhattan, the birth of my own children awakened a dormant homing instinct for my rustic origins. It felt strange, unnatural even, to push my baby carriage over hot smelly streets and sit in concrete parks. I needed grass, flowers and quiet woods. The search for a place in “the country” took off. My husband and I had only a few criteria. We wanted an affordable house in an open-minded Jewish community that had a swimmable lake, a synagogue, and was less than a two-hour drive from Manhattan. Following the principle that you can’t go home again, it couldn’t be the Catskills. I could not face the ruined hotels and dilapidated towns that were once so exciting and glamorous.
We checked out a few locales before finding our treasure, Lake Waubeeka, 60 miles northwest of Manhattan and just outside of Danbury, Conn. Jewish firemen from New York established this community in the early 1950s. Members of the Ner Tamid society, a nonprofit organization for Jewish firefighters, they could not afford to send their kids to camp but wanted to get out of the city for the summer. Among the community’s founders was Sid Klein, father of the singer Carol Klein, better known as Carole King. While the pioneer group was largely secular, a small group felt that their community should include a synagogue and so they build one with their own hands. This eccentric beginning was fertile ground for a diverse group of tri-state area Jewish families who wandered in over the next few decades in search of their own country retreat near a synagogue.
And so, my daughters spent their early summers paddling in the lake and exploring the frog pond. They discovered salamanders after the rain and chased fireflies at dusk. As they grew older they brought friends and came on their own for snowy weekends in the winter. The synagogue continues to be a model of interdenominational cooperation, kind of like a graying Hillel where we linger over Kiddush and talk about ideas, art and politics. Saturday afternoons feature a kind of moving salon as people rotate hospitality and scholarship on any topic. This year, the season kick off was a 92-year-old Waubeekan who read from her recently published memoir. The following Shabbat, one of our resident rabbis shared reflections from his long career in Jewish education.
The beach offers another community experience. Weekend mornings start with yoga on the sand, and the days continue with swimming and live bands on the Fourth of July and Labor Day.
Childhood is short and memories fleeting. But the smell of cut grass, the sound of birds in the early morning on a quiet walk around the lake, and the delicious swims in open water give me a kind of pleasure that connects to me to the best times of my earlier years. As soon as I hit the exit ramp from I-84, the chatter in my mind quiets and I feel calmer. I am getting close to Lake Waubeeka.
It’s true — you can’t go home again, and many of us might rather not return to the scene of our younger days. But you can find a special place in the country that touches off the happiest notes of childhood and allows you to find a new song.
Dr. Michelle Friedman is director of pastoral counseling at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah (YCT) Rabbinical School.Read More
THE NEW NORMAL
Tourette's And Torah: An Interview With Comedian Pamela Schuller
Gabrielle Kaplan-Mayer
Pamela Schuller
Editor's Note: Last week, Pamela Schuller's ELI talk went viral. Schuller, a stand-up comedian and Jewish teen educator, was also once diagnosed with the most severe case of Tourette's in America. Her talk tells her story, brings in Jewish sources, and ultimately shares a call-to-action for the Jewish community around disability and inclusion. We are so delighted to talk with Pam further about her experiences!
Gabrielle Kaplan-Mayer
Pamela Schuller
Editor's Note: Last week, Pamela Schuller's ELI talk went viral. Schuller, a stand-up comedian and Jewish teen educator, was also once diagnosed with the most severe case of Tourette's in America. Her talk tells her story, brings in Jewish sources, and ultimately shares a call-to-action for the Jewish community around disability and inclusion. We are so delighted to talk with Pam further about her experiences!
NN: Pam--you are so smart, funny and articulate! I am so happy with the success of your video. What's it been like for you with the video getting out there so widely?
Pam: Thank you so much! The past few days have been incredible. I am overjoyed at how everyone has embraced me and connected with my story. This is a message that I have been talking about for quite some time. It is so important to me and I have wanted to yell it from the top of a mountain. I am so lucky that ELI Talks gave me this opportunity to share my feelings on inclusion, specifically within the Jewish community. I also feel incredibly thankful that the Union for Reform Judaism and NFTY (NFTY is the Reform Jewish Youth Movement) have been so supportive of my work with inclusion. In fact, at the URJ, I recently stepped into the role of Inclusion Specialist for all of our URJ Youth Programs, as they too see the value of putting a focus on inclusion.
I am hopeful that my video will have a lasting impact, and it is already starting conversations all over the world about how we talk and think about inclusion.
NN: Was your sense of humor always strong? Can you describe how you got started and developed yourself as a stand-up performer? Has Tourette's impacted you as a performer?
Pam: I think I was always funny, but struggled so much as an adolescent that somewhere along the way, I lost my humor. I look back at my journals from when I was a kid and even from the age of 8 or 9, I was not journaling, I was writing jokes. At boarding school, I started doing slam poetry and my English teacher pointed out to me how funny my poetry was. From there, I got more into comedy and specifically performing stand-up.
I went to undergrad at Knox College and there they let me open for every comedian who came to our school to perform. Lynne Koplitz and Pete Holmes from Comedy Central took me out to dinner after I opened for each of them, and they gave me great feedback and helped me get started in the comedy world.
Tourette’s for sure plays a role in my comedy. Growing up with Tourette’s was not easy. The more I became okay with myself and my differences, the more I was able to laugh about the awkward moments from Tourette’s. Embracing those moments really helped me develop and shape my humor. Having Tourette’s has taught me to live in the moment and to not anticipate the way people may respond to my Tourette’s, or else I would have constant anxiety. The same goes for when I do stand-up. I also think having Tourette’s allows me to see the world a little bit differently and probably has even wired my brain differently – in a fun way.
NN: You describe the Jewish community not knowing how to support you. What do you think your congregation could have done differently?
Pam: This is a tough question and I am always very careful not to place blame on the congregation. They really did care for my family and me, and I won’t deny that I was overwhelmingly disruptive. So instead, I look at what all congregations and communities can do today and moving forward. I think the biggest two things are education and empowerment. First, we must educate not necessarily about diagnosis, but on ways to be creative in the classroom, sanctuary, or even in less structured programing, to make sure that we are not only creating a safe space, but a space that grows with every person. After education, empowering the community comes next. Creating a successful, inclusive community should not belong to a single individual. The rabbi or education director can’t do it all. The entire community must see inclusion as a priority and then they will work to ensure that every person feels valued and accepted.
NN: You describe the awesome Jewish camp that supported you. Were you scared/hesitant to go to the camp? How did you and your family know it would be a supportive space?
Pam: I began going to Jewish camp, Goldman Union Camp Institute (GUCI), when I was in the 3rd grade and my Tourette’s got worse around the time I was in 5th grade. Even though everyone in the camp community already knew me, I still chose not to go back to camp that summer because I was hesitant to be seen in public. It took a big leap of faith for me to go back the next summer. My mom did her best to prepare the camp and I created a packet of information on Tourette’s. I also created a little speech to explain Tourette’s to my peers in an age-appropriate way and included some humor. It was the first place that I started really advocating for myself and figuring out what my style of self-advocacy would look like.
NN: I love the way that you describe Moses and God's relationship. When did you begin reading and studying Jewish texts and looking at them with a lens of inclusion?
Pam: While in graduate school, inclusion and teaching kids self-advocacy skills became a main focus of mine and the topic of my thesis. In my research I found that there are TONS of resources online for parents to go into schools and explain their child’s disability, but almost NO resources for kids to explain to their peers. That stuck with me. So, when it came time to choose an internship, I asked the URJ if they would allow me to spend my internship hours creating inclusion resources for NFTY regional staff. While creating the resources, I spent a great deal of time researching texts and quotes, reading blogs, and asking questions to rabbis, educators, and youth professionals. I thought a lot about whether or not I should curse or celebrate the moment in the Torah where God tells Moses that Aaron can speak for him if he needs help. After thinking about it, and talking it over with rabbis, I decided that even if the solution may not have been perfect, it was God getting creative to support Moses, and that is something to celebrate.
The more I go into communities to speak about inclusion, the more my thoughts and views on texts have been shaped. I have learned a lot from the communities that I have worked with!
NN: Dreams for our Community and inclusion for five ten and fifty years ahead:
Pam: My hope is that we start embracing differences (not only Tourette’s!) and are more creative about how we welcome people into our communities. No parent or child will ever again feel like they do not have a place in a Jewish community.
I often hear parents complain that their child’s camp or religious school experience was negatively impacted because a child with special needs was in their class or cabin. This could not be more frustrating for me, given my personal experiences and my work in the field of Jewish Education. So, my dream is that every parent and child is able to see how wonderful it can be to get to know someone who is different from them. That instead, the parent thinks, “How amazing that my child got to meet so many different types of kids!”, or “How amazing that the counselors created a community of kids who all have different passions and goals,” and that they will be delighted that their child will be able to embrace those who are different. I hope that 50 years from now the term “inclusion” will be a thing of the past because we will be too busy living in an incredible world where every person is valued, not despite their differences, but because of their differences.
Want more Pam? Visit her website and follow her on twitter.
Pam: Thank you so much! The past few days have been incredible. I am overjoyed at how everyone has embraced me and connected with my story. This is a message that I have been talking about for quite some time. It is so important to me and I have wanted to yell it from the top of a mountain. I am so lucky that ELI Talks gave me this opportunity to share my feelings on inclusion, specifically within the Jewish community. I also feel incredibly thankful that the Union for Reform Judaism and NFTY (NFTY is the Reform Jewish Youth Movement) have been so supportive of my work with inclusion. In fact, at the URJ, I recently stepped into the role of Inclusion Specialist for all of our URJ Youth Programs, as they too see the value of putting a focus on inclusion.
I am hopeful that my video will have a lasting impact, and it is already starting conversations all over the world about how we talk and think about inclusion.
NN: Was your sense of humor always strong? Can you describe how you got started and developed yourself as a stand-up performer? Has Tourette's impacted you as a performer?
Pam: I think I was always funny, but struggled so much as an adolescent that somewhere along the way, I lost my humor. I look back at my journals from when I was a kid and even from the age of 8 or 9, I was not journaling, I was writing jokes. At boarding school, I started doing slam poetry and my English teacher pointed out to me how funny my poetry was. From there, I got more into comedy and specifically performing stand-up.
I went to undergrad at Knox College and there they let me open for every comedian who came to our school to perform. Lynne Koplitz and Pete Holmes from Comedy Central took me out to dinner after I opened for each of them, and they gave me great feedback and helped me get started in the comedy world.
Tourette’s for sure plays a role in my comedy. Growing up with Tourette’s was not easy. The more I became okay with myself and my differences, the more I was able to laugh about the awkward moments from Tourette’s. Embracing those moments really helped me develop and shape my humor. Having Tourette’s has taught me to live in the moment and to not anticipate the way people may respond to my Tourette’s, or else I would have constant anxiety. The same goes for when I do stand-up. I also think having Tourette’s allows me to see the world a little bit differently and probably has even wired my brain differently – in a fun way.
NN: You describe the Jewish community not knowing how to support you. What do you think your congregation could have done differently?
Pam: This is a tough question and I am always very careful not to place blame on the congregation. They really did care for my family and me, and I won’t deny that I was overwhelmingly disruptive. So instead, I look at what all congregations and communities can do today and moving forward. I think the biggest two things are education and empowerment. First, we must educate not necessarily about diagnosis, but on ways to be creative in the classroom, sanctuary, or even in less structured programing, to make sure that we are not only creating a safe space, but a space that grows with every person. After education, empowering the community comes next. Creating a successful, inclusive community should not belong to a single individual. The rabbi or education director can’t do it all. The entire community must see inclusion as a priority and then they will work to ensure that every person feels valued and accepted.
NN: You describe the awesome Jewish camp that supported you. Were you scared/hesitant to go to the camp? How did you and your family know it would be a supportive space?
Pam: I began going to Jewish camp, Goldman Union Camp Institute (GUCI), when I was in the 3rd grade and my Tourette’s got worse around the time I was in 5th grade. Even though everyone in the camp community already knew me, I still chose not to go back to camp that summer because I was hesitant to be seen in public. It took a big leap of faith for me to go back the next summer. My mom did her best to prepare the camp and I created a packet of information on Tourette’s. I also created a little speech to explain Tourette’s to my peers in an age-appropriate way and included some humor. It was the first place that I started really advocating for myself and figuring out what my style of self-advocacy would look like.
NN: I love the way that you describe Moses and God's relationship. When did you begin reading and studying Jewish texts and looking at them with a lens of inclusion?
Pam: While in graduate school, inclusion and teaching kids self-advocacy skills became a main focus of mine and the topic of my thesis. In my research I found that there are TONS of resources online for parents to go into schools and explain their child’s disability, but almost NO resources for kids to explain to their peers. That stuck with me. So, when it came time to choose an internship, I asked the URJ if they would allow me to spend my internship hours creating inclusion resources for NFTY regional staff. While creating the resources, I spent a great deal of time researching texts and quotes, reading blogs, and asking questions to rabbis, educators, and youth professionals. I thought a lot about whether or not I should curse or celebrate the moment in the Torah where God tells Moses that Aaron can speak for him if he needs help. After thinking about it, and talking it over with rabbis, I decided that even if the solution may not have been perfect, it was God getting creative to support Moses, and that is something to celebrate.
The more I go into communities to speak about inclusion, the more my thoughts and views on texts have been shaped. I have learned a lot from the communities that I have worked with!
NN: Dreams for our Community and inclusion for five ten and fifty years ahead:
Pam: My hope is that we start embracing differences (not only Tourette’s!) and are more creative about how we welcome people into our communities. No parent or child will ever again feel like they do not have a place in a Jewish community.
I often hear parents complain that their child’s camp or religious school experience was negatively impacted because a child with special needs was in their class or cabin. This could not be more frustrating for me, given my personal experiences and my work in the field of Jewish Education. So, my dream is that every parent and child is able to see how wonderful it can be to get to know someone who is different from them. That instead, the parent thinks, “How amazing that my child got to meet so many different types of kids!”, or “How amazing that the counselors created a community of kids who all have different passions and goals,” and that they will be delighted that their child will be able to embrace those who are different. I hope that 50 years from now the term “inclusion” will be a thing of the past because we will be too busy living in an incredible world where every person is valued, not despite their differences, but because of their differences.
Want more Pam? Visit her website and follow her on twitter.
WELL VERSED
An Island Of CreativityCaroline Harris
Shira Dicker and David Chack leading "Seven Minutes Between Heaven and Earth"
On a gorgeous August afternoon, I had a seven-minute sabbatical on Governor’s Island. It was spiritual, uplifting and unforgettable.
Art Kibbutz, an international Jewish artist residency on Governor's Island, presented “Seven Minutes Between Heaven and Earth,” a creative, ecologically-mindful interpretation of shmita this past Sunday, as part of Shmita ArtFest.
Shmita is the sabbatical year for the land in Israel mandated in the Torah, the seventh year in a seven-year cycle in which the land must lay fallow to regenerate. These days, it is being re-envisioned by Jewish thinkers and environmental activists as a worldwide obligation to help preserve and protect our planet. Art Kibbutz, founded by writer Patricia Eszter Margit in 2010, is embracing the concept of shmita as a source for artistic inspiration as well. The artists participating in the summer-long residency on Governor’s Island have been painting, printing, sculpting, writing, performing and collaging their interpretations of shmita in a house that dates from 1810.
At Shmita ArtFest –- presented in partnership with LabShul, Romemu, Hazon, Jews Against Hydrofracking, Jewish Art Salon and Schusterman Foundation’s ROI Network -- visitors had the opportunity to meet and talk with Jewish artists informally. Sunday's conversations focused on the personal meanings of shmita. Painter, sculptor and teacher Tobi Kahn moderated a panel discussion featuring Yona Verwer, mixed-media artist and founder of the Jewish Art Salon; Amichai Lau-Lavie, writer, performer and founder of LabShul; and Margit. The panelists and other artists in the audience agreed that freeing oneself from the strictures of one's normal life -- for a sabbatical year or for Shabbat -- is a liberating and creative experience.
For me, just “Seven Minutes between Heaven and Earth” proved the point. Imagined and produced by Shira Dicker, with David Chack chanting the shmita rules from Deuteronomy, this "flash mob” involved participants by asking them to consciously place themselves between heaven and earth -- to lay down on the lawn, backs against the cool grass.
What otherwise would have been a brief respite in the summer sun was transformed into a seven minute shmita as I listened to an experimental jazz composition performed by Kobi Arad. Rabbi Arthur Waskow's inspiring words reminded us of the connection between "adam" (person) and "adamah" (earth), urging us to take action to heal the earth.
Art Kibbutz is located in Building 6B, Nolan Park, Governor's Island. Artist studios are open to the public on Sundays through September 10th from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m.
Caroline Harris is an amateur photographer and a partner at the law firm GoldmanHarris, LLC.Read More
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