The Lilith Blog

August 6, 2009 by Modesty Blasé

Summertime, and the camping is easy–for some

There’s no need to take your tefillin to the atheist summer camp. Just launched in the UK, Camp Quest UK, modelled on its American counterpart, offers a “residential summer camp for the children of atheists, agnostics, humanists, freethinkers and all those who embrace a naturalistic rather than supernatural world view.” Zionist ideology will be replaced by lessons in rational scepticism and moral philosophy. The quest for Jewish identity will be substituted replaced by the search for secular meaning. One thing is for sure: the atheist camp will be cheaper than any Jewish camp and the girls will come with less luggage.

Now that the fasting of Tisha B’Av is over, the folly of summer camp begins. Talking about ‘getting the kids ready for camp’ is a favourite Shabbat lunch topic, while ‘shopping for camp’ is a specific activity that Hendon mothers (and yes, I generalise) undertake with a specific passion usually reserved for, well, things I am too modest to mention. New T-shirts, shoes, suitcases, underwear, bedding, hair accessories and skirts are standard. How the world has changed – when I begged my parents to let me go to camp, I had to choose my words carefully – camp only meant Auschwitz or Bergen-Belsen.

“Going to camp” exposes the wealth divide in much of the frum community. Bnei Akiva, the movement aligned with the national-religious Mizrachi movement, costs £640 (about $1,100) for a two week residential camp, and while there are bursaries, these are usually reserved for those on welfare benefits or single parents. While your average family on middling-incomes may be lucky enough to have the £640 in the bank, understandably it may not be their first priority to send one, if not more, children to camp. For children who are not at Jewish schools, camp is the best way to develop Jewish social networks, learn more about Jewish texts and experience a Jewish lifestyle in a non-threatening environment. Anecdotal evidence suggests that Jewish communal leaders are inspired by their formative experiences of Jewish summer camp, and this is reflected in the fact that only the wealthy men and women can afford to be our lay leaders.

However, some consider camp a pernicious influence. Early this year, the German government banned the far-right youth organisation “Heimattreue Deutsche Jugend”, or German Youth Faithful to the Homeland, for trying to indoctrinate children and teenagers at their summer camps which include military-style drills and courses on “racial purity.” In Israel, concern about the extreme religious teachings in summer camps organised by Fatah and Hamas has been a long-standing issue. In Uzbekistan, the government has accused the Baptist Union of brainwashing children with religious ideas at their summer camp. Some may wonder if it is so different at Jewish summer camps that celebrate Jewish nationalism, reinforce Jewish insularity and solidarity and see the world solely through the Jewish lens. For example, Camp Gan Israel advertises itself as “Where Jewish kids are Happier, and Happy Kids are Jewisher!”

Jewisher than what?

While it’s simple when religious camps are sex-segregated, it gets a little more complicated where boys and girls are together. Naturally it is expected that they will be kosher and Sabbath-observant, however, the dress code and the relationship code is a little more ambiguous. At Bnei Akiva, there is much less talk of its revered Torah v’Avodah ideology, and more obsession with ‘shomer negia,’ (literally ‘guarding the touch’) which forbids any physical contact between the young male and female campers and their leaders. While it is comforting to parents to know that it’s unlikely their daughter will be deflowered at Bnei Akiva camp, this skewed focus on the physical relationships has ironically, created more sexual tension between its senior members. It’s no surprise that many a marriage in modern Orthodox circles was first imagined at a Bnei Akiva camp. Singles cruises geared for all the religious unmarried men and women in their 30s is all about re-creating the romantic possibilities of a Bnei Akiva summer camp.

What about the homesick child at summer camp? In my day, you’d cry yourself to sleep and put on a brave face during the day and soon afterwards, it would all be fine. The mobile phone has changed the summer camp experience forever. For a while, they were banned from summer camp, but this year, most youth movements have conceded to pressure to allow the children to bring their phone to camp. The problem is that generally, the children will ring their parents, or email them from their Blackberry (the hand-me-down phone of choice when their parents upgrade their own phone) at the slightest complaint or indignation. Children no longer have to rely on their inner resources and resilience – they can always phone home for comfort and succour.

Jewish camp providers have to pander to parental demands and expectations to ensure cash flow, while children learn that their needs and their happiness is all that matters. Narcissistic children calling their parents from summer camp does not augur well for the future of the Jewish community – a community that desperately needs visionary leadership, selfless membership and a deep commitment to ensuring that Jewish values permeates all communal activity. As long as summer camp remains accessible only to the privileged, the community has no idea what talented and dedicated young people are waiting to be discovered.

–Modesty Blasé

Cross-posted on the Jerusalem Post blog.

The Lilith Blog

August 5, 2009 by Maya Bernstein

CEO, Home

I recently finished reading Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace. I did skim, quite liberally, many of his more philosophical chapters, which tend to begin with a question like, “What is Power” and end, fifteen pages later, with the conclusion that, “Power is Power.” Overall, though, I loved each page, and loved the experience of sinking, fully, into a rich novel, living each day with the shadows of Prince Bolkonsky, Pierre, Princess Marya, and, of course, Natasha, by my side.

Natasha, a spirited girl, full of vigor and passion and potential, marries happily at the end of the book. She is something of a feminist, insisting on nursing her own children, “in spite of the opposition…who revolted against her suckling the child.” But, Tolstoy writes, when she marries, she “abandons at once all her accomplishments,” for “she had absolutely no time to indulge herself in these things.” In embracing, fully, her home life, she must abandon the passions, talents, and pursuits that had defined her as a full human being.

In my own home, which my husband and I have worked hard to make a space of equals, there is no question that, with time and children, the daily decisions, big and small, have become, more and more, my responsibility. It has been my choice – albeit a choice that seems straight out of Tolstoy’s philosophical chapters, a choice that has felt, to some extent, inevitable, dictated by some Greater Force, making me “subordinate to certain laws…[such as] gravity,” Maternal Love, Responsibility, and, perhaps Guilt, laws with which I did not quarrel “once [I] had learned them.”

A friend recently shared his winking outlook on the subject. He claims that his wife makes all of the small decisions – like where to live, where to send the children to school, what home to buy – and he makes all of the big decisions – like who God is, world peace, and how to split the atom. Another friend often refers to his wife as the “CEO” of their household, and refers any questions he receives from me to her. My husband mused that, in the male view, the woman can be CEO of the home since The Man, secretly, perceives himself as President of the Board. In Israel, where it is incumbent upon all couples to take a religious course before they marry, the woman is often referred to as the “Minister of the Interior,” and the man as the “Foreign Minister.”

Can we have it all? One might have expected that our society would have changed more since Natasha decided to stay at home, nurse her children, and stop singing. Is it inevitable that, in embracing our roles as wives and mothers, we abandon, or significantly modify, or, even, simply forget, our personal dreams?

–Maya Bernstein

The Lilith Blog

July 30, 2009 by Maya Bernstein

Instructional Swim

It is finally upon us – the Jewish annual summertime killjoy – Tisha B’Av – the ninth of Av. My daughter came home from her Chabad day camp last week with her bathing suit. “Why did they send this home,” I wondered aloud as I scraped the remnants of her peanut-butter sandwich off of the straps. “We’re not going swimming anymore,” she told me somberly. “Because of Moshiach (the Messiah).” I made my best muppet face and tried to nod understandingly.

Tisha B’Av, an annual fast-day, marks a number of calamities that occurred throughout Jewish history, most notably the destructions of the first and second temples. Traditionally, the period of mourning which culminates on Tisha B’Av begins three weeks earlier, on the seventeenth of Tamuz. During this period of time, referred to as the Three Weeks, some Jews refrain from listening to live music, shaving, or cutting their hair. Weddings are traditionally not held during this time. The mourning intensifies after Rosh Hodesh Av – the first day of the month of Av, and continues through the nine days preceding the fast day. During this time, some refrain from eating meat, doing laundry, and – swimming. Precisely when most people in the Northern Hemisphere are splashing in the water, we remember that we have been singled out throughout history, and, in commemoration, put our bathing suits on the shelf and sit on the side, trying to shade ourselves from the hot sun.

Growing up in the modern Orthodox Jewish world, I went to summer-camps where, during this period of time, Instructional Swim was allowed, and Free Swim was taboo. You couldn’t have too much fun in the water, but they had to somehow fill those long summer days. I remembered those doggy-paddling days when, after the girls were tucked into bed, on the Eve of the Eve of Tisha B’Av, I snuck out for a swim. As I flew through the water, I tried unsuccessfully to suppress the overwhelming dolphin-like joy I feel half-way into the swim, and then wondered why I was trying to suppress it. On my way home, the week-old moon peeked at me from the twilight sky. We looked at each other, and I realized that I still hadn’t quite figured out my belief and practice system. I then had a moon epiphany: everything I’d thought was true about grown-ups, including the notion that they knew what was right, let alone what they thought was right, was illusory. Instead, our cycles are like the moon’s – moments of shining clarity, moments of hidden uncertainty.

This week, to fill the time that she’s not swimming, my daughter is, together with the other three-year-olds at camp, building the Beis Hamikdash – the Temple – brick by brick, by doing mitzvot, good deeds. I love her camp. I love the idea that we, with our little dimpled fists, and our passion, and our vision, build the world we want to live in. I wonder, though, if somehow, we could build in our bathing suist, splashing and soaring through the moonlit-water.

–Maya Bernstein

The Lilith Blog

July 22, 2009 by Maya Bernstein

Road Trip

My husband, Noam, and I just returned from vacation. Swimming in a lake, hiking in the mountains amidst a sea of wild flowers, late afternoon ice-cream cones, and French toast for breakfast. Each activity, though, was asterisked – “swimming” meant spending hours gathering rocks, putting them in pails, and making sand mud-pies. “Hiking” involved the number of footsteps we could take before running out of pretzels, raisins, and juice boxes. The ice cream included enough napkins for us to feel personally responsible for the destruction of the natural forest around us, and the delectable breakfast was consumed at 7am. We took the kids.

The trip involved many hours of driving in each direction with two children under the age of four. We did the hokey-pokey (yes, you can do it sitting down) several hundred times. We sang “Hello, Everybody” several thousand times. I told stories about Maki the Magic Monkey and did my monkey-face for so long that my cheeks hurt for hours afterwards.

On the way back, the kids immediately both fell asleep. Noam and I looked at each other and let out a deep breath. We grinned. We’ve tired them out, we told each other. They’ll sleep at least three hours, maybe four, and then we’ll be nearly home. We put on Nick Drake. We busted out the chocolate. After about half an hour, I fell asleep, only to be awakened, five minutes later, by the baby, who was yelling her sister’s name at the top of her lungs. I stuck the pacifier back in her mouth, but to no avail. We became possessed with trying to prevent her from waking up her sister, who had spent the majority of the way there screaming, “When are we going to be there?” I gave her a box of raisins, which was, within moments, dumped in the car seat. I gave her toys, which were, immediately, flung to the floor. We got desperate. I gave her some old batteries, which she clanked together for a few minutes. Finally, Noam passed me his phone – the Holy Grail. That would buy us at least six minutes of silence. I sighed, and looked out the window. Only three hours and seven minutes left, I thought. Suddenly, my phone started ringing. “Shut it off,” Noam whispered. “Put it on vibrate!” I scrambled to retrieve it, pushing aside peeled crayons and doll clothes. When I finally found it, I held it in my hand, staring. The screen said “Noam.” It took a minute to register, and then I started laughing. “It’s our daughter calling from the back seat -she’s trying to reach me.” I turned and looked back at her. She gave me a newly toothy smile, and yelled her sister’s name, finally waking her.

Vacation with children is asterisked. Its elemental components – sleep, the free choice to do what you want when you want, and feeling cared for – are severely compromised. And yet, those moments – the toothy baby smiles, the wonder in their eyes as they see snow-capped mountains for the first time, and, forgetting to whine, run through patches of yellow wildflowers – glow within, lingering, like sun-kisses, as true vacations do.

–Maya Bernstein

The Lilith Blog

July 20, 2009 by Mel Weiss

Israel, America, and the changing political status quo

Sometimes, Israeli politics and U.S. politics can seem very far apart, very separate, very disconnected. And then there are months like this one.

As the question of settlement expansion in the West Bank gets hotter and hotter, the question of what President Obama will, can and should do is burnin’ up as well. Furthermore, it seems to have suddenly come to the attention of many Jewish communal leaders that not everyone shares their stance on settlement expansion (and, more systemically, how the U.S. should engage with Israel). Depending on whose figures you trust, it sounds like that coveted youth demographic stands largely to the left of the line.

The exact nature of this back-and-forth is sometimes obscured; basically, the idea being pushed by Obama and his Jewish supporters both in the U.S. and in Israel is that settlement expansion in the West Bank needs to be curtailed. The settlements, of highly dubious legality, ought not be allowed to grow, including via “natural growth,” which is a made-up term with all the scientific accuracy of “partial-birth abortion.” The thinking behind this line of argument is that the ideal end to The Situation is a two-state solution; part-to-all of the Palestinian state will be made up of the West Bank; it may be way too late to remove settlements there, but it will be easier to work through the excruciating minutiae of redrawing the maps—as well as convincing everyone to approach the table seriously—if those settlements stop growing. As in, right now.

The opposition to this idea, headed by Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu and agreed to by many Jewish American organizations, including AIPAC, is that “natural growth” is a legitimate right of Israeli settlers. (Sometimes, to be fair, the argument has been that Netanyahu can’t keep his coalition together without ceding that right.) The Israeli Supreme Court has already ruled that the government’s right to set policy in the settlements overrides the rights of settlers there, and, in general, governments are usually granted land-use rights superceding those of individual citizens. (In the U.S., a verison this right is known, and occasionally abused, as eminent domain. There’s also the concept of zoning laws, which is underpinned by the same principle.)

If the issue is totally confusing to you, well, maybe that’s because it’s meant to be. Obama’s firmer stance is seen as indicative of some loss of support for Israel, and it’s got at least one segment of American Jews worried. Of course, that may be because the rise of an alternative stance threatens their political hegemony.

Obama, meanwhile, keeps trying to remind the Jewish world that he’s working on striking a very difficult balance in making progress with both sides, though informal reports indicate that he looks good doing it.

And, in other news, the politician described as “Israel’s Sarah Palin” is getting her moment in the spotlight. There are some great—I mean, awful—“But can she see Russia from her house?” jokes that I won’t make. I do suppose that it’s a sign of some kind of progress to have women on all sides of an issue. Tzipi Livni received such a large amount of media attention before the election; it’s of course only right and expected that other female politicians receive their due as well. It’s great to see that women can lead on the political left and the political right; that doesn’t require any women do automatically conclude that either is correct.

–Mel Weiss

The Lilith Blog

July 9, 2009 by Modesty Blasé

Blaming the world's tragedies on women's immodest dress

In Hendonistan, there’s a new message that’s been circulated via email and posted on relevant notice boards inside one particular shul (although by the time you read this, I understand the notice will have been taken down). In a paean to Mea Shearim typography, the black and red banner in this popular Orthodox London shul requests that girls and women maintain proper halakhic [according to Jewish law] standards of dress in shul. They are to refrain from ‘low necklines, see-through and short-sleeve tops and short skirts.’ And finally, there is the classic plea ‘Please help us to preserve the Kedushat Beit Haknesset.’ [sanctity of the synagogue]. Yes, all that holiness resting on the errant elbow of a Hendon housewife.

In Hendonistan, formerly known as Hendon, large numbers of Muslim women wearing their jilbab and hijab share the streets with young Orthodox women in their swirling denim skirts that sweep the ground. ‘At least,’ think all the women in sheitels and long sleeves, ‘we don’t have to cover up ourselves like THEM. We’re so NORMAL.’ Yes, it’s perfectly normal, as some rabbis have cited, to blame the tragedies of the world on the immodest dress of women.

The case of the three yeshiva students in a Japanese jail for allegedly smuggling some drugs is a recent example that highlights this worldview. In the May 1st edition of the Five Towns Jewish Times, there is an advertisement written in the name of Mrs. Goldstein, the mother of one of the boys in jail. Distressed by her son’s situation, she explained that Harav Hatzadik Rabbi Yakov Meir Schechter was asked what could be done for the young men. “The tzaddik’s answer was precise. A hisorrerus [awakening] – in tznius [modesty] will surely be a big z’chus for the yeshua [salvation].”

The advertisement continues with emotional blackmail; “The commitment of righteous women to improve in any area of Tznius carries more weight than all efforts combined. Your contribution in the form of a personal undertaking can be the deciding factor in their fate. Who can remain idle at this time?”

There is also a small outlined box for you to fill in “I, so and so, daughter of so and so, hereby, bli neder (without making a promise) undertake … upgrade my tznius performance by …” Three blank lines are left for you to fill in before sending the note to Mrs Goldstein in Monsey, New York. Conveniently, a few suggestions are offered in addition to the usual hem length advice:

* Refrain from brisk walking as a form of exercise
* Refrain from eating/drinking in public areas, especially where men are present
* Shoes/heels/fitted with a rubber sole
* Learning hilchos tznius (the laws of tzniut) daily.

What is a woman meant to make of this? Holding women’s actions accountable for the fate of these young men serves to abrogate the personal responsibility of those who committed the crime. How is a man meant to respond? Is he really meant to believe that his mother/wife/daughter/sister is the harbinger of all bad tidings pending her fashion sense? Has thousands of years of Jewish history and our complex relationship with the Divine been reduced to a schmutter [piece of cloth]?

In Hendonistan, there is no shortage of rabbis and teachers willing to instruct women how to dress appropriately. Treating the women like children who need to be reprimanded is foolish – their only sin is perhaps too much disposable income with which to buy the latest fashions. While some women simply scoff at this modesty policing, many teenage girls are having a visceral reaction to the way that some lessons in school are hijacked to remind them of the importance of modesty. Critical and condescending teachers are not going to save the Jewish people.

However, if you are concerned about your wardrobe, there are some solutions for a modesty makeover. Try Sleevies – a sleeve extension with an elastic band at the upper arm that you pop underneath the original short sleeve. You can transform your whole wardrobe with this simple device that creates a ¾ sleeve on every top. For suspect necklines, wear a TeeNeck which is a “shirt supplement designed to wear with a lower cut top.” Or if you’re nifty with a needle, a new book by Rifka Glazer is all you’ll need. Seams and Souls: A Dressing, Altering and Sewing Guide for the Modest Woman published by Feldheim (who else?) claims to be a ‘a comprehensive guide to sewing and shopping for clothing that conforms to the proper standard of tznius. It will help you decide which clothing to buy and which to avoid or discard because they cannot be altered to meet halachic standards, plus it offers many creative solutions for tznius problems.” There is a wide range of creative tips and techniques for tznius solutions for sewers at all levels and over 250 modest, easy-to-follow diagrams for altering the most problematic parts of garments.

In Hendonistan, I am afraid that sewing up the seam will lead to sewing up the soul.

–Modesty Blasé

The Lilith Blog

July 9, 2009 by Maya Bernstein

Babysitting

I was roller-blading with my kids in the double stroller this past Sunday, heading from morning mud-pies in the park to summer peaches at the farmer’s market. As I weaved my way through the crowd of shoppers, a woman who attends the same yoga class that I do caught my eye. She smiled, and asked: “Are you babysitting?” My eyes widened with surprise. I had to stop and think for a minute. Then, as I skated by her, I found my voice, and shouted – “No, they’re my kids!”

I guess I could take it as a compliment. Though, I had thought that after birthing two children I would no longer be confused with a graduating 8th grader. (And I’m sure that she wasn’t using the term in the way that supermarket women use it with my husband when they smile at him ask if he is “babysitting,” implying that, somehow, a father’s spending time with his children is a perk – especially impressive if he’s also doing the shopping). But I was surprised by my reaction – that momentary pause, during which I actually had to think – am I babysitting?

There have been multiple times – last week, in fact – during which I look at my girls and think – who are these creatures, and what are they doing in my bedroom? I wonder – how long does it take to sink in?

I remember buying prenatal vitamins for the first time. I’d been married for almost three years. When I looked up from my wallet to give the guy at the check-out counter my credit card, I was surprised by how cute he was, and how he was looking at me, and I blushed. I was pregnant! I was buying prenatal vitamins! Happily married! It’s like buying tampons. It took me years to feel comfortable. I’d have a running dialogue in my head – they’re not really for me – I don’t need these. I’m buying them for my mom. For a friend. Please don’t look in the bag. When I was working at my first job, I had a meeting with a woman at her house, and her four-year-old daughter answered the door. She looked me up and down and asked: are you a grown-up or a kid? I could not answer.

How long does it take for your life to catch up with you? To realize that those kids in the stroller are your kids? And, is it okay, when, on that rare occasion, you’re skating solo, no stroller to set your course, to, for a moment, forget?

–Maya Bernstein

The Lilith Blog

July 8, 2009 by admin

Share your thoughts on the summer issue

The summer issue is up! Share your thoughts and responses below.

The Lilith Blog

July 1, 2009 by admin

Of Therapists and Old Ladies

I have a confession to make: I do not believe in therapy. Over the course of my life, I have seen countless therapists, especially during my tumultuous college years – and yet I can’t point to a single successful experience. And so in recent years, I have developed my own “talking cure” — one that enables me to interact with the world in a way that seems more sensible and meaningful given my needs and values.I say that therapy has never really helped me. But I am not even sure what would constitute successful therapy. How do we trace the course
of our own development as human beings? How do we know when we have become better or more actualized (as the lingo would have it)
individuals? Rarely does therapy (at least as I’ve known it) involve the setting of clearly-defined goals, and thus it’s very hard to judge when the patient is “better.” A therapist is not like an eye doctor who gives you a vision test and a prescription for glasses; with therapy, the test questions are ongoing, the prescriptions are vague, and often the world looks even blurrier as time goes on.

I am also troubled by the power dynamic in the therapy situation. The therapist takes money (generally very high sums!) from the patient,
and it is therefore in the therapist’s interest for the therapy to continue a long time – a clear conflict of interest, given that presumably the patient who is “healed” would not need the therapist anymore. I once tried to leave a therapist and was told that that I was sabotaging my own recovery and preventing myself from getting the help I needed. What could I possibly say in response to these words, which undermined the very foundations of my capacity for agency? And so I felt I had no choice but to return again and again to expose myself even further – if I’d fail to disclose any information, the therapist would tell me, once again, that I was sabotaging my own recovery. The therapist, in contrast, would say little (how maddening!) and reveal nothing about him/herself. A friend once told me that he paid $100 for a therapy session, only to hear himself speak for 50 minutes – the doctor grunted, but did not say a single word. “You listen to me for free,” my friend said to me. “Why should I pay for it?”

(more…)

The Lilith Blog

June 24, 2009 by Maya Bernstein

A Modest Proposal

Don’t worry. I’m not going to purport that we eat them, nor will I wax poetic on how juicy and delicious those baby pulkes would be with Soy Vay. Though I’ll confess that the idea has occurred to me. And it has been confirmed by other parents who have told me – “when they’re little, they’re so cute, you could eat them. When they grow up, you wish you had.”

It’s summertime, and, as is our custom, we are preparing to visit family on the East Coast. We fill carry-on knapsacks with enough food to last a week, enough toys to keep our children busy for what turns out to be at least ten minutes, and never quite enough diapers and changes of clothes. My husband tries to sneak in the New York Times, but I always pull it out and stick another coloring book in instead. We go to see our parents, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins, friends, and, our grandmothers.

Whenever we go to NY, we head over the George Washington Bridge to visit my grandmother and Genya, my childhood nanny. Both of these women live alone in big apartment buildings. Both are witty, smart, curious, and fun-loving. Both have outlived their partners and many of their friends. Both have loving family members who live nearby, but who are also busy with their own lives. Both have ever-glaring televisions. Neither can drive. My grandmother, a self-proclaimed Luddite, has learned to navigate the Internet, opening new avenues for interaction – but virtual ones, nonetheless. Whenever we visit them, they confess to me that it is so hard to be alone, so lonely.

I remember the profound loneliness I felt when I first became a mother. I had left my job, and was spending day after day alone with my infant, nursing, changing diapers, timing naps, taking walks. It got so bad that I studied for the GMAT just for fun. That phase passed, but the feeling of being alone in the world with a new baby made an impression on me. There is a window of time, after the initial exhaustion of giving birth, and before the busy days of preschool and play-dates and Music Class and swimming lessons, where the baby and her caregiver are alone. And today, so many of us live far from family members who can fulfill a primal need for “oohs” and “aahs” and “I remember” stories during that window of time.

Here we have two groups of women – lonely, desperate for meaningful human interactions – who can fulfill profoundly each other’s needs. The older women will ooh and aah, and share their stories, and the new mothers will have an audience for their precious little ones. Can we somehow connect these generations who have so much to gain from one another, but whose interactions are often limited to squirming supermarket aisle conversations or cross-country trips across a long bridge?

–Maya Bernstein