Massachusetts 8, or Ramadan Mubarek

Sa'alam Aleikum and Ramadan Mubarek to all those out there fasting during these still-long days.

This year at school Rosh Hashanah services, the rabbi worked a controversial twist into his d'var torah, or sermon. He praised the efforts towards alliance, reconciliation and peace between Arabs and Jews, but claimed that the Jews - on our campus - are the ones making all the gestures, all the efforts at outreach. Every year, our Hillel prepares an Iftar - a fast-breaking meal - for the students in Al-Iman, the Muslim group on campus. There's usually some dialogue, and even singing. Sometimes, Hillelians will fast for that day in solidarity with Al-Imaners.

Not all Arabs are Muslim, of course, but he framed it in such a political context - referring to the groups as "the children of Sarah and Hagar" that he could've easily substituted "Muslim" for "Arab." And although the connotation changes, one could still use "Jew" as a counter for each. "Jews and Muslims" has a very different ring to it than "Jews and Arabs", but both still make sense.

"In Morocco," the rabbi said, "a Muslim country, the Muslim neighbors of the Jews would prepare them a celebratory meal to celebrate the end of Pesach, Passover. It would feature the things which Jews weren't allowed to eat during Pesach - most notably, leavened bread. Where is such a gesture for us, here? Where is our meal?"

I was furious to hear these words. I don't help cook an Iftar meal hoping for something in return. That strikes me as both selfish and insincere. A gesture is simply that: something to which there is no expected counter-movement. Had the chaplain of Al-Iman said something to the same effect, I would've been angry, maybe ashamed. And neither of those emotions are solid foundations for peace.

Then there was the problem with the word Arabs versus references to Muslims. There is no student organization solely for the support and gathering of students who identify as Arabic. Thus, there's no way that the "Arab students" could make a cohesive gesture towards the Jewish student community. Muslims, on the other hand, could, through Al-Iman, but who the hell are you to demand such a gesture?

I should mention that there is peace between Al-Iman and Hillel, and has been for as long as I've been here.

Rabbi, it is neither our right nor our responsibility to demand gestures of peace or outreach from the Muslim community - especially not at this moment in history. It is far more dangerous to be an out Muslim in the US than it is to be an out Jew. This might not be true in other parts of the world, but it is here. This time, in this moment, we have more security, more safety, more acceptance. It is our job to reach out, take risks, make the first steps towards peace. And it is our responsibility to accept whatever response we get with kindness and understanding, unless such a response is violent.

But, for us, at this Hillel, violence has never - thank G-d - been the case.

So where, rabbi, is your kindness, your understanding?

How dare you demand an offering, like a god?

Edit, 9/15: I learned today that Al-Iman has offered several times to make a holiday meal for Hillel over the past several years, and that the rabbi was unaware of their offers. The reason none of these meals have happened have had to do with a lack of space, or an inconvenient holiday time (like Passover, at which point Hillel would have to de-Pesach the Kosher Kitchen in order for Al-Iman to make a non-Pesach meal).

Massachusetts 7, or The Sweetness of a New Year

Note: this entry contains lots of references to both religious and secular Jewish culture. Every year I do a freewrite on Rosh Hashannah, and on Yom Kippur, and this is a part of that exercise, so I'm not going to make explanations or treat it like a normal essay.

Jews are filling my world tonight.
Just now, from downstairs, I heard a quick Kiddush
flung into the stairwell like an old pair of boots,
"boreiiiii priiiii ha'gafen..."
except they're blessing beer, if I'm not mistaken.

This year, I want my actions to be
motivated by kindness. Not nice.
It is too easy to be nice without being kind.

I held the rabbi's youngest daughter in my arms
tonight and sang shehechianu to her soft seashell ears
while her mother fed her tiny bites of oatmeal - her first
solid food.

This year, I want to celebrate the newness of things.
To do this, I must create new things.
Like pottery, and poetry, and friendships.

Shana tovah u'metukah,
good and sweet year,
sweet with the neighbor's fresh honey
tasting home's flowers on my fingertips.

Normally, I prefer savory tastes to sweet ones.

This year, I want to savor all the sweetness.
To do this, I must create sweetness.
Sweetness is when people smile at a baby
from all the way across a room while she's
in my arms, eating oatmeal.

O, G-d,
notice my prayers
like you would smile at a baby,
eating.