Jewperheroes

The story goes like this.

Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai (the Rashbi) was a great spiritual leader and teacher to many Jews in Israel in the days of the Romans. Unfortunately, the Romans had outlawed the teaching of Torah and Jewish practice. But Rashbi persevered, unperturbed by the threat of torture and crucifixion, and spoke out against their decrees. 

One day, as with all stories, the Rabbi’s enemies found out about his actions and placed a price on his head. So Rashbi, along with his son, R’ Eleazar, hid in the Beit Midrash. They taught whoever they could and learned as much as they were able. Their wives and daughters snuck them food and kept them savvy of goings on in the outside world. But then came the time when they could no longer stay in their beloved Beis.

The Rabbi and his son fled. For the safety of their loved ones, they told no one of their destination. The duo found a deep cave, with a fresh spring for water and a carob tree growing outside for sustenance. There they spent a full year, discussing the mystical secrets of creation and the Torah. 

Throughout that year, Rashbi and R’ Eleazar explored the deepest chasms of the hidden scripture, until enough time had passed that they could risk stepping out into the world again.

Upon emerging, they were greeted with the sight of a Jewish farmer, working the land. But this was the Shabbat day, and such work was strictly forbidden on the day of rest by Jewish law. Offended for his G-d and full of righteous anger, Rashbi called out to the farmer.

But the farmer did not stop.

A searing anger passed through the Rabbi, and before he could say another word or knew what was happening, a light burst from his eyes and engulfed the farmer, reducing him to ashes or knocking his head off or something else fatal but nonetheless impressive.

And a voice emerged as if from nowhere, rebuking the Rabbi. For you see, he had gained so much power from G-d's mystical secrets, but he had no idea how to harness it (it was G-d's power after all). And so the voice sent the Rabbi and his son back into their cave for another twelve years, so that they may learn to use their gifts for good. And legend has it that when they emerged, Rashbi brought with him the secrets of the Zohar, the definitive book of Kabbalah (Jewish Mysticism). And he was, for the rest of his life, one of the greatest Jewish leaders of his time.

This story is from the Gemarah (Bavli, Shabbat, 33b for those who care. Look! I did my research!), but it sounds very much like a variation on any modern comic book origin story. Think about it. A mild-mannered hero is faced with an ethical dilemma, and chooses the path of least resistance. This only draws out his enemies, and so in order to protect his loved ones, he must go into isolation, honing his skills, until he emerges with uncanny abilities. But unprepared to use them, he trains himself further and vows to use his power only for good.

When you think about it, Rashbi is the first Jewish superhero (complete with laser vision!), and really it’s kind of cool, considering the rich history of Jews and tales of supermen. Lest you think it all started when two nice Jewish boys created Superman, let me remind you of Rabbi Loew of Prague and his magical Golem.  And that's just one of the most famous stories. Jewish folklore is filled with legends of mighty heroes emerging during their people’s time of need to protect the innocent and defeat the forces of oppression. Most of these are myths, some of them are based on real figures, but the fact remains that the superhero genre was as Jewish as gefilte fish long before Stan Lee and Jack Kirby drew their first panel of X-Men.

I suppose this is to be expected. A people wandering from place to place, dreaming of having a home of their own, getting persecuting wherever they go… for sure they dreamed of having some armored titan there to stand in the face of determined crusaders, Spanish Inquisitors, and charging Cossacks. And tragic as the need for such stories is, we’ve been fortunate enough to inherit the imagination, and on occasion the stories themselves, from our ancestors.

Which brings us to the modern comic book, an especially “Jewish” cultural medium, at least judging by the giants of the genre. I’ve already mentioned the creators of Superman. Stan “Lieber” Lee and Jack “Kurtzberg” Kirby, two true New York Jews, created titles such as Spiderman, The Fantastic Four, The Incredible Hulk, and of course, The X-Men. Even the great graphic novel series, Sandman, has Hebrew geneology in the form of Neil Gaiman to thank for its existence.

The history of Jews and comic books has always fascinated me as both a Jew and an Art Major. Last year, I was lucky enough to intern for one of the larger distributors of the comic book industry, where I had plenty of assignments to read through comics from every source, from way back decades. And I began to notice a pattern, not so much in the Jewish themes of the comics (which, addressing subjects such as acceptance, fear, and prejudice are rather obvious for this post’s brevity) but in the characters themselves. 

(Note: I could go on for hours about Jewish Folklore and its influence on modern culture and comics' Jewish themes, but another time. For the remainder of this post, I will be focusing on the depiction of Jews in the comics.) 

Two of the most famous Jewish comic book characters, Erik “Magneto” Lehnsherr and Kitty “Shadowcat” Pryde are both featured in the X-Men books, the former as a villain/antihero and the latter as a member of the main team. Both are well-written, developed, and enormously popular, and have been featured in multiple TV shows and movies.

There are several other Jewish characters in the comics: Legion, The Thing, Sabra, Batwoman, and Iceman, among others (Yes, this took way too much Wikipedia and Comic Site research). But the Jewishness of these characters (with the exception of Sabra), is a minor detail at best, mentioned in passing. And none of them, none, are shown to be observant. At their “frummest” they are Israeli and mildly affiliated (not Reform or Conservative or Orthodox, just affiliated), but mostly they are presented as ‘agnostics of Jewish descent.’ Even Kitty Pryde, the de facto Jew of the X-Men, is only mentioned as Jewish a handful of times in the... what, 30 years she’s been around. My favorite of these is when she has to fend off a vampire, not with a cross like her teammates, but with a Star of David. Wow, writers. Thanks for the shout-out. Otherwise, she bears the same amount of Jewishness as most other TV and book series Jews do: she lights Hanukkah candles come the Holiday special. 

And I appreciate those shout-outs. I do. I am thrilled (nearly) every time a proud Jewish character is introduced. These are not negative depictions of Jews by any means (not even Magneto, in my opinion), and I am by no means trying to accuse the comic industry of any bias or anti-Semitic sentiment. But sometimes, I just have to flinch and wonder, is that it? But I’ll address my issues with what I call the “Hanukkah Special Jew” another time. I’m not here to talk about that.

I'd like to talk about Arsenic.

During my internship, I was introduced to a relatively obscure comic series called The Runaways, which featured teenage superheroes locked in a cathartic battle with their supervillain parents. What awkward Thanksgivings they must have. The series features characters in a variety of races, religions, and sexual orientations, even, for seemingly the first time, a “fat” female protagonist. 

Gertrude “Arsenic” Yorkes (well, there’s a Jewish name if I’ve ever heard one... Eye roll...), is the sarcastic, witty, “ugly girl” of the group (I don’t see a female Woody Allen here at ALL). Don't get me wrong, she's a great character, but...well...

Her parents are about as stereotyped as you can get: overbearing, constantly arguing, throwing around terms like “Gevalt” and “Meshugas” like confetti…oh, and evil. All of the runaways struggle with their faith and backgrounds, but Arsenic is the only one to completely reject her ancestry, and to be adamant about it. She repeatedly insists that she is agnostic, at one point hesitating to save an innocent’s soul (and life) because she doesn’t want  to take a risk for something she might not believe in. For a large chunk of the series, she refuses to use her given name (although, to her defense, that name is Gert Yorkes), in order to cut ties with her parents and her past. In my comic-book reading experience (which despite this post is actually quite limited), she’s the closest character I’ve ever seen to a self-hating Jew… or really, a self-hating any faith.

   

All of these characters, and I can’t help but ask: couldn’t one of them have actually been, you know, religious? Now, I’m not saying give them payot and Smicha and end every sentence with “Baruch Hashem.” Really, I would be very happy to see a Reform Jewish character who… I don’t know… prays every once in a while, or discusses their beliefs even once with some pride and sincerity.

Of course I would be thrilled if that character were Modern Orthodox, maybe shown lighting candles on Friday night, eating a Kosher meal, fighting crime in a costume designed in accordance with the laws of Tzniut… 

I know that comics aren’t the most highbrow of entertainment (fun as they may be), or particularly popular in Orthodox circles, but there’s plenty of precedent.

Let’s return once again to our favorite team roster, the X-Men. Sooraya “Dust” Qadir is a Sunni Muslim who fights crime beside the other X-Men, all the while wearing a niqab and abaya. Kurt “Nightcrawler” Wagner is a Catholic priest, and often the moral center of the group.

Certainly, there could be room for one observant Jew. If anything, their religious observance and restrictions could add a touch of flavor to the character.

Honestly, I don’t see this ever happening, on TV or in the comics. As someone pointed out to me, a vast majority of Jews in general are non-observant or agnostic, and this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Anyway, I should probably be grateful there’s been no “token Jew” superhero, because knowing the comics, he’d probably end up going by “HEBREW MAN” or “LION OF JUDAH”, and end up looking like this:

And I just don't think that’s how you’re supposed to wear a tallit and tefillin. 

Doom?

I was minding my own business the other day, surfin’ the seven seas of the interwebz, when suddenly I was assaulted by an acquaintance of mine (who shall be heretofore referred to as L) who I was only vaguely aware reads this here blog.

“That blog you and your friends set up is very offensive. You guys are snobs… you think you’re better than everyone else. Why do you have to put your elitism on display?”

L went on to say that even though we’ve had bad experiences with the community, we shouldn’t make our issues with the community public. It just isn’t right for us to shame our fellow Jews.

Now, listen here, audience. L was treated like utter garbage by her yeshiva high school because her parents failed to donate money, jewels, and offer sacrifices to Rah, the Sun God. She doesn’t come from a “designer” family, so they have been treated like cellophane by the sad excuse of a community they inhabit. When I first met L, we bonded over being outsiders – we were in the community, but not of the community. Her reaction was completely unexpected.

Why L feels the need to defend the people who have made her life miserable is beyond me. She has ranted against them herself, but now that others have taken a more public stand, she jumps to their defense.

Perhaps if more people vocalized their concerns and complaints instead of passively allowed things to continue just as they are, we might see a bit of change…? Dare I hope for such a thing?

Or are we doomed?

Flying and Fritters

Something crystallized for me earlier this week, a real-life realization of a story someone once told me.

The story: An Israeli who taught in an Orthodox school was seen by her students while driving on Shabbat. They accosted her -- how can you drive on Shabbat, don't you know it's forbidden, you are a sinner -- to which she replied, and what about you? You are forbidden to live outside of Israel. We each choose how we sin.

It might be distressing to acknowledge, yet it was one of the wisest theological comments I'd ever heard. Everyone picks and chooses the components of their own Judaism. This is simply true, as much as we might intend -- or pretend -- otherwise.

That said, it was just an instructional story until Sunday, when I tossed a friend into the back seat of an airplane, got into the front seat, and flew out to Montauk for lunch.

I stuck to my kashrut principles once we got there, but it was she, not I, who said tefilat haderech -- something I should say but generally don't -- at 3,500 feet over the south shore of Long Island. Unsurprisingly, a discussion started after I stuck with my salad and declined the corn fritters. Does being stricter about kashrut but more lax about prayers make me a worse Jew? A better Jew? A hypocrite?

Perhaps there's something to be said for the way Jews get along seemingly everywhere other than here, namely by acknowledging that, yes, we each do this a bit differently, in our way, but we are all respected parts of the same community. Maybe we Jews of New York should try it. We won't, of course, but maybe we should.

Cheeseburgers on Pesach? Jewish Tattoos? Shaking girls' hands? They're all different shades of the same thing, and not so much about what we practice as much as how we choose to do so. On a micro scale, in any case, the combination works out nicely: I fly the airplane while she says tefilat haderech, but all in all I'm the cheaper date.

Jewsic

Firstly, I’d like to apologize to everyone who was expecting a post last week. For those of you who didn’t know, the holiday of Shavuot fell out last week from Tuesday night to Thursday night. Due to the cooking and preparation involved in simply getting ready for the holiday, nevermind the fact that I couldn’t write anything for the stretch of the three nights and two days that made up the actual holiday itself, lest I be smote by god, an executive decision was made that Arbitribe would go on official holiday vacation for the week. And so I schlepped up to Washington Heights to spend chag by The Ginger Man and S, and good times were had by all. However, that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t thinking about what to write the whole time, and so without further ado, this:

We are in a very interesting time of year right about now, musically. The 4-6 week stretch coming right around late May/early June is a unique period for an avid music fan, and it is also quite important. Its uniqueness lies in the fact that it is not technically significant on its own; it’s only noticeable because it is the one time on the musical calendar that has nothing special about it, kind of in the way darkness is noticeable only in that it’s an absence of light so you can’t see anything. It’s the time when bands embarking on early summer tours have had the albums they’ll be touring behind out for a month already and when bands embarking on late summer tours won’t be releasing their albums for another few weeks. As such, a musical vacuum of sorts is created. To fill the void, we music nerds generally pick this time to revisit some old favorites that don’t get nearly enough airtime anymore due to all the new stuff that’s been released.

During the 2011 version of my annual perusal of my musical back-catalog, I happened upon two bands that fall into the same category, Israeli Bible Prog Metal. Orphaned Land and Amaseffer are both comprised of Israelis, and they write prog metal concept albums about biblical stories. It’s pretty awesome to be able to start a long night drive home from Jersey with an 11 ½ minute epic about the 10 plagues followed by a 3-song musical interpretation of the Mabool clocking in at just under 20 minutes. Around the time that happened (Saturday night, three weeks ago, just in case you were wondering), I decided my next post would be about music, specifically music and how it relates to Judaism. Conveniently enough, Orphaned Land and Amaseffer (that’s an Americanization of Am Haseffer i.e. people of the book, by the way) offer a wonderful segue into the topic I would like to discuss in that vein.

To begin (because the last three paragraphs weren’t a beginning, duh), I’d like to relate a story that ticked me off, cuz hey, why not get right to the rant? It was about 5 years ago that I was first getting into types of metal other than the loud screamy kind (thanks for the prog, Sim), and during that time is when I first discovered Orphaned Land. There was a song I heard that I really liked and wanted to play for a former friend who had given up a lot of non-Jewish music over the course of the previous few years, citing a modified “you are what you eat” philosophy as his reasoning. While I respect and understand that, I figured that a song by a Jewish Israeli band about the biblical flood should have been alright. One day while we were driving around, I started the song, mentioning that it was a Jewish band but not exactly typical. He was really digging the song, but then something snapped during the first chorus, at which point he shut the song off and told me he didn’t want to hear any more of it. I asked why and he told me it wasn’t Jewish music and he didn’t want to expose himself to it. I asked what wasn’t Jewish about it, and he told me it wasn’t in Hebrew.

Am I the only one who has a problem with that? I mean on principle; it’s not like I was pissed because I didn’t get to finish my song. Let’s look at the facts here: We have Orphaned Land, a Jewish Israeli prog-metal band, and a guy who was a fervent metal fan in a previous lifetime but has since sworn off non-Jewish music. What I have trouble understanding is how a song by Israeli Jews about the biblical flood “isn’t Jewish” just because it isn’t in Hebrew. Hebrew doesn’t automatically mean a song is Jewish. Anyone ever heard of Synergia? Or better yet, Subliminal?

I get that this is just a minority opinion of one guy who I don’t even speak to anymore because he’s gotten so holier-than-thou that he thinks I’m a bad influence, sinner that I am, but I’ve encountered similar situations that all come back to the same core issue: Jews…um…errrrr…I gotta be honest I don’t even have a clue what the driving force behind this one is, it just comes back to more of questions. Why is it that when my friend wants to walk down the aisle at his wedding to the theme from Jurassic Park, a gorgeous orchestral piece, he gets shot down by his mother? Why is it that one of the songs sung in my other friend’s shul on Shabbat is actually a modified version of a Christian church hymn, but when he gets up to lead the davening he gets shouted down for trying to introduce the Skywalker Theme from Star Wars? Why is it that when yet another friend introduces a song to the Shabbat table and everyone digs it, it’s not allowed to be sung again once someone discovers it’s track 8 on an Orphaned Land album, ignoring the fact that it is actually a traditional Sefardi pizmon that’s been sung by Jews for centuries?

Whatever, I guess it’s just another question about Jewish closed-mindedness that I’ll never understand, and yes, I’m well aware that there are obviously going to be exceptions to that rule (as anyone who knows my dad can tell you), but I can only speak from my own experiences. Maybe can someone enlighten me? I just don’t get it. This isn't me being angry and stuff, just confused. To me, as you have already read, music is about how it moves you and moves through you. If a song is going to move you, why does the source matter?

Song of the Day: Wave of Babies - Animals As Leaders

An American Jew in Europe

New York, at times the center of the modern universe, seems to have a unique disconnect from the rest of the world, as if crossing the Brooklyn Bridge or the Midtown Tunnel changes the laws of science, or more topically, Halacha.

Since my very Hungarian family and I travel to our old Motherland an average of once a year to visit relatives and get reacquainted, I have front row seats to watch the disconnect. Most of the time it consists of my sister and I joking about how our spoiled American butts can’t handle European toilet paper (but this is okay, because we present-day Americans aren’t the most pampered people history has seen). 

The more fascinating, and sometimes deeply frustrating, version of the disconnect, though, is this strange Halachic language barrier between New York Jews and their foreign brethren.

You see, there is one system of Halacha, but many social standards based on it. These vary in practice and strictness depending on where you come from. Take, for example, Shomer Negiyah. I certainly see the reasoning behind keeping repressed and twitchy pubescent boys and girls from touching, whether or not I agree with it in every situation.  The kicker is that while we Relig-Jews in New York have been trained obsessively in this rule, we don’t realize that it is by no means standard globally, even among the Orthodox.

In Hungary, for example, even our most observant friends aren’t Shomer. I grew up getting polite cheek-kiss greetings from a family friend who wears a black hat. And sure, New York versus Europe is clearly a case of "Potato, Po-tah-to" (with a rolled ‘r’ or two), but it isn’t the difference that bothers me. Sometimes those who were brought up with the rule are not prepared to deal with those who weren't. My problem comes when the emphasis on keeping the rules (or our inability to deal with those who don’t) gets in the way of us acting like human beings, when it causes us to degrade and embarrass people on the other end.

A friend of mine who arrived “fresh off the boat,” so to speak, a few years ago (who grew up and remains Orthodox) told me about the first time he was introduced to a few religious, good, American, college girls.

Yes. They actually ran away.

What these tactless and clearly confused girls failed to realize is that they’d effectively tainted his view of American Jewry for a long time to come. Before I’d heard this story, I’d been surprised at what I saw as my friend’s unnecessarily careful way of tiptoeing around every movement and word when meeting new people. Nobody likes to be judged and made a fool, especially not the new guy. The girls were lucky he’s secure enough in his faith not to let their behavior turn him off from it. 

But the New York/Europe detachment stretches far beyond the borders of social standards, into the realm of serious, unarguable Halacha: Kashrut.

We New Yorkers may complain that more things aren’t available Kosher, or when Starbucks arbitrarily changes its drink base to apparently include slugs, but the truth is that we are incredibly lucky to even have those little OU and OK symbols to guide us, to have our pick of good (if insanely expensive) restaurants at our disposal. Most countries don’t have a system of Kashrut certification at all, or if they do, it is used on only a fraction of food items, due to lack of either demand or cooperation from food factory owners.

These countries handle Kashrut by their own methods. In Hungary, Kashrut “certification” goes by word of mouth. True, Budapest boasts three (really good) Kosher restaurants, an un-freaking-believable Kosher Café, and two or three grocery stores/butcher shops, but the selection of staple items are severely limited. And that’s in the biggest city in a country with one of the largest Jewish communities in Europe. Forget the little towns in countries like Luxembourg.

If you want to keep kosher in Budapest (and few Hungarians do), you’re going to have to cough up an arm and a leg for a package of salami, and travel to the former Ghetto to pick it up. There’s simply no way to only eat certified-kosher products.  Many European countries work the same way, if they have any Kosher restaurants at all. Going back to Europe means I get to live this interesting sort of double-life, relying on unofficial lists and friends’ recommendations instead of a convenient label for two or three weeks a year. It also means I get to see many variations on this discussion once I get back:

What truly cracks me up is when those products which are available Kosher in Europe and Israel, which are made in one factory and distributed globally, are denied in only one place, and that’s the one with the largest Jewish population in the world: the USA. The perfect example of such an item is the old favorite: Bailey’s Irish Cream Liquor.

Bailey’s is “not recommended” as Kosher by the Orthodox Authorities in the United States. It is, however, used in such delicious food items as Ben & Jerry’s Dublin Mudslide ice-cream and Bailey's-Flavored Haagen Dazs, which bear Kashrut certification. It is also certified Kosher in places such as England, Australia, and Israel. The mysterious case of Bailey’s has confused me for years, and I’ve heard every answer from “it’s actually perfectly alright” to “there’s a separate bottling plant in the US which is not Halachically acceptable.”  I’ve asked around and researched online, discovering along the way that yes, there is just one recipe and one bottling plant, and yes, the stuff I get in Budapest is fine. But it’s not fine here. I truly don’t get how this works.

Anyone who has known me for about five minutes knows of my interest in the varying standards of social and Halachic law across the globe. I enjoy my chance to see both worlds. I adore the Hungarian Kosher Café and love my time in Budapest (which I highly recommend as a beautiful and culturally rich travel option). I often complain about how closed-minded and cliquey New York Jews are.

But of course, there’s a reason my parents left the place, the same reason all of my European friends left their hometowns, and it isn’t because they were bored. This summer, I finally got to see it firsthand.

Things in Hungary (and Europe in general) are not great for Jews right now. With the economy the way it is and with an ultra-right wing party in parliament, it’s becoming increasingly acceptable to be a full-blown xenophobe, Gypsy-hater, and anti-Semite. I’ve been told about graffiti in France and rocks through windows in Greece. I know my parents’ stories of hiding their religion during communism and of their escape to the US. I remember when my sister got called “a dirty Jew.”  But a week ago (finally, it seems), I got to see it myself.

My parents took me to the south of Hungary, to a beautiful little city where cobblestones line the streets and porcelain fountains make the town square interesting. We had an awesome time touring, and at the end of the day, we sat down in the town square for a snack, and my father realized he had to daven Mincha.

He walked to the edge of the square and stood behind a tree, as any davener might do in public, and started to pray while my mom and I dug into the sandwiches we’d brought from our Budapest apartment.

As we ate, we began to notice the huge, apparently steroid-popping guys sitting near us, joking amongst themselves. I thought amusingly about how one of them bore an uncanny resemblance to a character from my neighbor’s old Street Fighter 2 video game (the other one looked like a fat hobo). But the farther along we got in our sandwiches, the more my mom, and then I, began to hear what they were laughing about.

  

Eventually, my dad finished praying and joined us. And the Street-Fighter guys got louder.

That was about as far as they got before my mom said “That’s it!” and told my dad (who hadn’t heard or noticed anything) that she needed to find a bathroom in a building across town NOW. She ushered us out of the town square before telling my dad what happened. He shrugged and said, “We’re here. What do you expect?”

The truth is, I love going to Hungary anyway, and this little incident wouldn’t keep me from it. After all, I’ve been travelling back and forth since I was born, and this is the first time I ever got “Jewed” (in Europe, anyway). But at that moment, I couldn’t help my sudden longing for New York, for my friends, for Kosher-Certified pizza, even for speeches on sleeve length technicalities to roll my eyes at.  

We New York kids, who grew up in the States, who have never been beaten up for wearing a kippah, who have clicked our tongues at the awful anti-Semitic things they do somewhere else… we are so lucky that we can complain about Bailey’s lack of a label. As we sped-walked away from the town square, all I could think was man, am I spoiled. Am I lucky to live where I do, when I do. Well, that and Steroid Man, someone really ought to kick your butt.