Talidating com

23-Feb-2020 23:53

All three of these young women–Sophie, Tali and Abby*–are deeply engaged in Judaism, religiously, affectively, intellectually and culturally, and they chose to attend colleges with substantial Jewish populations, where they each assumed various positions of Jewish leadership.(Tali is currently in college; Sophie’s about to graduate; Abby finished a year ago.) They also chose to attend colleges with very liberal values, and, as feminists, they were not looking for universities with Orthodox populations.Like you lead a Seder for other campus Jews and it feels really empty, like you’re ‘performing your ethnicity.'” Tali and Sophie concurred.Tali added, “Even in the context of Jewish summer programs, I’ve experienced such a huge gap between me and the other Jews in terms of practice and knowledge.“With Jews on campus, I couldn’t davven with my full voice–because I was one of the only voices–and they weren’t a group that I could talk through my spiritual practices and decisions with.So I joined the gospel choir and moved into a Buddhist campus community, and that works,” said Tali. “Living on the Lakota reservation in North Dakota was one of the most Jewish times I ever felt.Since high school, even when I’m with Jews who’ve opted in as Jews, I’m so often the ‘resident Jew.'” Third, they said I’d be surprised to find that it’s largely seen as racist (or otherwise discriminatory) for a Jew to want to date or marry only other Jews.

My 91-year-old mother confirms (I just checked in with her) that her children’s experience, thirty years on, seemed to her worlds apart.There are Buddhist, Muslim and religiously non-identifying students on campus; there are those who define their faith not heritably but through choice; there are many international students; there are gay, bisexual, queer and straight students.In other words, “there are multiple dimensions upon which I might experience a person as ‘us’ or ‘them,’ ‘same’ or ‘other,'” said Abby. Another minority person might feel ‘same.’ Or someone might feel, depending on the social criteria, very ‘same’ on certain levels and very ‘other’ on others.” The young women attributed feelings of “sameness” to a range of experiences and identities: “Anyone at college who identifies as religious, even if their religion is different.” “Someone of a different minority culture who’s really committed to that, intellectually and emotionally.” “If you have a complex understanding of sexuality.” “If you’ve converted and you care about being Jewish, that’s ‘same,’ but if you’re nicely acquiescing and going through the motions for me, that’s ‘other.'” “Israel is a big part of my identity, as is Hebrew–that feels ‘same.'” “Liberals–a no-brainer.” As for “other”: “The idea of a God-given Torah feels ‘other’ to me.” “Orthodox experience in which women are spectators.” “Anyone not living with white privilege, or living with food insecurity, or truly living in poverty–they’re ‘other,’ but I don’t like to confront this.” “As someone working with the poor, they don’t feel ‘other’ to me, they feel ‘same,’ but I acknowledge our differences.” “Jews who don’t identify as Jews.” “Homophobes.” And it gets complicated and paradoxical.If I were less narcissistic, I might have noticed, indeed, that my parents’ Jewish young-adulthood was very different from mine.They and their siblings all, for example, married first-generation American Jews from Trenton, New Jersey–how shtetl is that?

My 91-year-old mother confirms (I just checked in with her) that her children’s experience, thirty years on, seemed to her worlds apart.There are Buddhist, Muslim and religiously non-identifying students on campus; there are those who define their faith not heritably but through choice; there are many international students; there are gay, bisexual, queer and straight students.In other words, “there are multiple dimensions upon which I might experience a person as ‘us’ or ‘them,’ ‘same’ or ‘other,'” said Abby. Another minority person might feel ‘same.’ Or someone might feel, depending on the social criteria, very ‘same’ on certain levels and very ‘other’ on others.” The young women attributed feelings of “sameness” to a range of experiences and identities: “Anyone at college who identifies as religious, even if their religion is different.” “Someone of a different minority culture who’s really committed to that, intellectually and emotionally.” “If you have a complex understanding of sexuality.” “If you’ve converted and you care about being Jewish, that’s ‘same,’ but if you’re nicely acquiescing and going through the motions for me, that’s ‘other.'” “Israel is a big part of my identity, as is Hebrew–that feels ‘same.'” “Liberals–a no-brainer.” As for “other”: “The idea of a God-given Torah feels ‘other’ to me.” “Orthodox experience in which women are spectators.” “Anyone not living with white privilege, or living with food insecurity, or truly living in poverty–they’re ‘other,’ but I don’t like to confront this.” “As someone working with the poor, they don’t feel ‘other’ to me, they feel ‘same,’ but I acknowledge our differences.” “Jews who don’t identify as Jews.” “Homophobes.” And it gets complicated and paradoxical.If I were less narcissistic, I might have noticed, indeed, that my parents’ Jewish young-adulthood was very different from mine.They and their siblings all, for example, married first-generation American Jews from Trenton, New Jersey–how shtetl is that?In that world, Jews were largely Jewishly literate–they’d gone to Hebrew school, had immigrant grandparents (or sometimes parents), their families belonged to synagogues.