bitrei-zuzei

[bitrei-zuzei]

can’t remember when i posted this but goodness, still true.

honestly my desire to remain on planet earth rn is so close to zero it is incredible

[bitrei-zuzei]

In Trump v. Hawaii, Roberts wrote that Korematsu was wrong the day it was decided and has been overruled in the “court of history.” He missed the point. The problem with relying on history is the vast number of people who have to suffer in the present.

The constitution isn’t some beautiful guarantee of social rights. But it’s all we have. Liberals have tried to stretch it to fit our ideals, and conservatives have tried to shrink it, expecting something else to fill the void. But the only thing in that void is the kind of cruelty that Trump wants to bring back—the “other” in cages and resettlement camps.

Today is the day that Justice Kennedy--never a liberal, don’t you forget it--resigned from the court to make way for deeper, further right-wing jurists.  This, after a slap-on-the-wrist concurrence in Trump v. Hawaii. It is a very dark, bleak day. The Supreme Court is more partisan than it ever was, and a right wing court will be devastating as it begins to hear cases that critically engage with the composition of our democracy, minority rights, protections for criminal defendants, and appropriate ways of policing. 

I wish I had something beautiful to say about hope and strength and perseverance. All my words today are tied up in stories about suffering. 

[bitrei-zuzei]

We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.

After 87 courageous years on this earth, Holocaust survivor and Nobel Peace Prize laureate Elie Wiesel (September 30, 1928–July 2, 2016) has left us — and left us his timeless, increasingly timely wisdom on our shared responsibility in ending injustice. (via calcifart)

[bitrei-zuzei]

Male Stoicism is backed up by an incredible amount of emotional labor from women

Like men are able to get away with never expressing of requesting help with their feelings because women are trained from a very young age to observe men, watch for signs of emotional need and environmental stressors and deal with them without being asked.  It’s why women worry constantly about emasculating the men in their lives but men never worry about “efeminating” the women in their lives.

Men are “stoic” only because they don’t have to communicate in order to get their emotional needs met.

[bitrei-zuzei]

It ends or it doesn’t. That’s what you say. That’s how you get through it. The tunnel, the night, the pain, the love. It ends or it doesn’t. If the sun never comes up, you find a way to live without it. If they don’t come back, you sleep in the middle of the bed, learn how to make enough coffee for yourself alone. Adapt. Adjust. It ends or it doesn’t. It ends or it doesn’t. We do not perish.

Caitlyn Siehl (via lotsofpinkplaid)

[bitrei-zuzei]

Once upon a time in the 1980s, when I was a twenty-year-old graduate student full of arrogance and attitude, I worked in the Hebrew books and manuscripts division of the Judaica Department at Sotheby’s New York. My boss was the “Judaica expert,” the late, great Jay Weinstein, a man truly deserving of his title, which he bore with immense modesty and humour. My own title was also “expert” but, by way of contrast, it only exacerbated my supercilious arrogance when I found myself called to the front desk to meet a client… The client I was about to meet on the day I am describing had called a week before to tell me that he was in possession of “a very old Hebrew book.” I was not looking forward to the encounter, since auction experts know very well that the hoi polloi consider anything more than ten years old to be ancient and hence of untold value. Disabusing clients of this notion as it applies to their particular treasure is an often painful but necessary task… Mr. X, I was dismayed to find, embodied all my worst fears. Stooped, elderly, still in his coat, and eager — very eager. Authoritative and disdainful though I made myself, he was simply unimpressed by my “impressiveness.” With total focus and trembling hands, he reached into a plastic shopping bag and produced, wrapped in newspaper older than I was, his “treasure” — a book of Psalms, printed in Warsaw in 1920. I couldn’t believe this monumental waste of my precious time — a brand new book of Psalms would be worth more than this! I was exasperated by this schlepper, and I wanted to tell him so. I wanted to show him the real treasures — gold, silver, ancient, and precious illuminated manuscripts — that had been entrusted into my “expert” care. I wanted to show him the door as I told him with authoritative disdain, “That book is worth whatever you paid for it!” But at that moment, like the angel in the legend who moves Moses’ hand toward the glowing coal rather than the glittering crown, thus saving his life, some kindly spirit moved my tongue. And instead of that anticipated send-off, I faltered, “Um, what did you pay for this?” The old man drew himself up to his full 5 feet, 2 inches. “For this, I paid seven days’ Auschwitz bread,” he replied with a dignity that totally deflated my pose. It seems that the Nazis had caught him with the little Psalm book, and as a penalty for possessing it, imprisoned him without food — only water to drink — for an entire week. Like Moses touching the coal to his lips, I was struck dumb. “This,” I stammered, “is too valuable for us to sell.” And I stumbled out of the room, a changed young man, with a new appreciation of what is meant by the words precious, valuable, and treasured.

Marc Michael Epstein, Skies of Parchment, Seas of Ink: Jewish Illuminated Manuscripts (via jewishhenna)

[bitrei-zuzei]

[bitrei-zuzei]

also why do you keep KFP but not K in general?

i’d wager that a sizable portion, if not the majority, of jews try to stay k for p. 

also fast on yom kippur despite never going to shul throughout the rest of the year. i might as well do the minimum of religious observance, and the dietary restrictions for passover and yom kippur are the easiest rituals to fulfill. i’d also bet that a large number of catholics or muslims have similar stances to lent or ramadan, even if they’re not particularly religious the rest of the year. 

does it surprise you that “secular” jews actually observe some rituals?  

[bitrei-zuzei]

day one of passover: gosh what a nice holiday :) fun traditions :) freedom from oppression :) wine :)

day six of passover: i will literally physically fight every single human i see eating a bagel today

[bitrei-zuzei]

Looking to sell this goat. It’s only little, so asking price is 2 zuzim ONO.

[bitrei-zuzei]

one of the most fascinating parts of the passover seder—one of the most eminently quotable, as well—is the narrative requirement that you envision yourself as someone who was taken out of slavery. in many ways, this is a call to action, to social justice: we are tasked with remembering the oppression of our people, and we must look around the world and see the oppression of others. we may not close your eyes and enjoy the victory of freedom: we must mix celebration with sorrow, taking wine out of our goblets with our fingers when we remember the plagues wrecked on the egyptians. this requirement shapes many sedarim all over the world, and i think it allows us to emerge as better people from the eight days of passover, hungry for the thick lushness of bread, for complicated meals and flavors and tastes. for the simplicity and comfort of routine.

but this requirement and call to action is not the only part of the passover seder that instills us with the promise of change. and while a lot of people—including myself—like focusing on the mandate to justice almost exclusively, this year i’ve found myself thinking much more about the happily ever after, about the gift of the ten commandments, the burden of freedom, and that elusive land of milk and honey. this year, for a number of extremely personal and emotional reasons, i’ve been thinking about the way passover is a promise of the future, not just a mandate of the past. the way passover creates a template, tabla rasa, for the year to come. the way it’s a beginning, the way it instills hope, and the way it creates structure for the year to come.

this year i’ve been thinking a lot about after. not just about dayenu (”it would have been enough,” we say, noting our liberation from slavery, our release into the desert, the gift of the torah, the gift of god’s presence), but also about the moment moshe looks over into the land of israel, forward and onward and into the future. the moment the children of israel cross into the land, the moment they put down roots and call themselves tribes of judah, reuven, binyamin. the moment they find names for themselves, find homes, find places where they can plant crops and expect to see them sprout. the moment we, as a wandering, placeless people, put down roots. the moment we become more than a faith–the moment we become a people. the moment we stop worrying about yesterday and today; the moment we can start worrying about tomorrow.

i’ve been thinking a lot about that moment. the apex of self-definition, of coming together, of community and of promise. not because it’s the end of the story, barely mentioned in the haggadah. but because it’s the beginning of the story, in a sense. it’s the moment we put down our history books, sweep away the remnants of food and wine, and talk to one another. it’s the moment we stop remembering, and it’s the moment we make plans. what will we do tomorrow? when do you think we’ll wake up? what time is it–do you think our seder was longer or shorter than anyone else’s? it’s the moment that i remember that my father is one of a few hundred heads of my family who have worn a kittel and stood at the front of our table and said we were slaves and now we are free with a voice that is terribly scratchy and getting older and fainter every year.  one day i will stand at the head of that table with my partner, and it will be me making that proclamation of faith. i will be the next in the line of jews who celebrate, commemorate, and then continue. 

the seder gives us the gift of reflection. it’s a memorial. it’s a lesson. but sometimes i think it’s more than that–it’s the promise that even in the darkest of times, even in the bleakest of moments, there is always an after. there is a the bed that awaits us after the seder, after we put away our plates and glasses and trudge into bedrooms cool, dark, and welcoming. after the matzah crumbs have been swept off the table, after our stomachs are heavy and our hearts are light with wine and wonder. there is a later. there are eight days of dusty crumbling meals, eight days of regret, eight days of difficulty. eight days where we are reminded of the lowest points in our history–of those people who are still at their lowest points. the mandate of social justice, the call to action, the requirement to see suffering and to address it.

but then there is the ninth day. there is the tenth day. there is the week after, the month after. there is the opportunity to begin again, to look at the body of law handed to us in the vast, empty expanse of desert, and say i will, i can, i must. it is the promise of an unbroken chain, of thousands of years of judaism stretching in every temporal direction. it is the memory that wherever you go, the roots of your story will follow you. you are not alone, and you will never be alone.

this promise of tomorrow is especially meaningful to me. i’ve been thinking a lot about freedom blessed by the constraint of law and by the necessity of compromise. i’ve been thinking a lot about the future. both of these things sound difficult and terrifying sometimes–unbearably overwhelming, unacceptably heavy burdens. but lately i’ve also been thinking about the opportunity of the seder to impose order on all of this chaos��on the chance i will have to set aside a short period of time to reflect, to mourn, to dedicate myself to grounding my story in memory. and then i will be given the imperative of thinking about the future, about tomorrow, and about the promise given to the am, to my people. 

my grandfather once told me that jewish history is the promise of thousands of stars that was given to avraham. everything else is a consequence. he never told me that being jewish meant that you will never, ever be alone. you will never be just history. you will always have tomorrow.

now i think he never said this because he knew he didn’t need to. because he knew, one day, i’d figure it out.

[bitrei-zuzei]

Fantasy story where kids looking for the afikomen accidentally wander through a portal to another universe and have to find it to get back to the seder.

[bitrei-zuzei]

Songs were sung—mostly off pitch—passages were read, wine was drunk, and there was food.

The Editors’ Passover Menu via Food52

[bitrei-zuzei]

[bitrei-zuzei]

this is like a million times better than american apparel’s holocaust pajama pants but that’s a really low bar to be aiming for, H&M.

[bitrei-zuzei]

honestly my desire to remain on planet earth rn is so close to zero it is incredible

[bitrei-zuzei]

There are very few of us Jews in the world. We neither caused the world’s problems nor hold the answers. So if we’re not central to whichever issue of the day—and typically, we’re not—maybe consider leaving us, as an entity, out of it.

The Problem with Comparing Syrian and Jewish Refugees by PHOEBE MALTZ BOVY (via bitrei-zuzei)