Believing in Child Labor, Sweatshops and Torture

For whatever reason, a lot of Christian-oriented blogs are coming across my radar lately, but it's not as though Jews have a monopoly on social justice.

This post discusses how the ways in which we act may or may not accurately reflect what we think we believe. That's a rather convoluted sentence (for a rather convoluted concept), so here's an excerpt:

"Take the example of buying chocolate from a corner shop. If I know, or suspect, that the chocolate is made from coco beans picked by children under the conditions of slavery then, regardless of what I say, I believe in child slavery."

Of course, it's not that simple. It's worth reading through the comments as well for a variety of perspectives.

Breaking up with God

I found this piece over on Huffington Post very interesting. It's written by a woman who throughout her life has struggled with her relationship with G-d, even hearing a calling to become an Episcopal priest. As of her writing this post, she and G-d are no longer together.

My relationship with and opinion of G-d has always been ambivalent. I'm grateful that my sponsoring rabbi specifically said that belief in G-d wasn't a requirement of conversion. Sometimes I long for the security of a firm belief in a deity with specific characteristics, but then I remember that that way lies fundamentalism in its unpleasant sense, and I don't want to go there.

Is G-d required for democracy?

At a graduation I attended recently, the keynote speaker suggested that, in societies where most people follow all of the laws all of the time, human societal obedience is based on a fear of punishment. This punishment can come from either a human dictator or G-d. He further suggested that, in order for democracy as we understand it to work, the society must be predicated on the latter, even if that society has drifted (for better or worse) from its faith-based roots, e.g. the United States.

He further posited that dictator-based societies upon which democracy is imposed from the outside tend to break down rapidly. He used Haiti as an example of this; ousting the Duvaliers, as bad as they were, did nothing for Haiti's political stability, and the country still struggles today.

This is, of course, a simplification of what he said, which must in and of itself be a simplification of the concept; I'm sure tomes could be written about this, but he had to fit it into a small part of a graduation speech. A quick Internet search does not reveal that he's written about this, but I'll see if I can't find something more in-depth later.

Making a Jew

I've now been a Jew for both a Jewish and a Gregorian calendar cycle. I've found it most interesting, although very difficult to put into words, how much of a difference the conversion ceremony made in my experience. It broke down the last wall that I hadn't even realized was there, and now any residual discomfort I may have felt as a "not-quite-a-Jew" is totally gone. I had none of my previous December anxiety (which I thought I'd written about, but I don't see it. Maybe I wrote it somewhere else), was comfortable enough to host our seder (albeit in a nervous way) and no longer feel the need to qualify my Jewishness with "by choice".

Unless somebody asks, and then I'm also completely comfortable discussing my journey without feeling defensive or like I have to prove that I'm sufficiently Jewish to claim the word.

(I've been asked twice "You're Jewish? I thought you were Irish" (meaning Irish Catholic). By the same person. Who is Jewish. I really like this person, and I do have Irish heritage, but twice?)

I found this article, entitled "How We Make A Jew", while looking for something else. My own mikveh experience was very similar to this and was immediately followed by a conversion ceremony at the synagogue and then Qabbalat Shabbat services. And then a festive oneg at our favorite bar-and-grill.

I felt so blessed then by the warmth and acceptance I received, and that blessed feeling has continued ever since.

Celebrating death?

A week ago today, the world learned of the death of Osama bin Laden. I have been sitting with this ever since, trying to decide what, if anything, to say.

I have not been able to summon much of an emotional reaction to the death itself. I do feel a certain relief that he's gone, but not more. I suspect that, had I lost anyone in the 9/11 attacks, or had I lived in NYC or DC, I would feel differently. But I was living in the middle of the flyover states at the time, and, while we were alarmed and dismayed, I don't think many of us really considered ourselves or our community a likely target.

I was, however, rather distressed to see the celebrations in the streets. It's not that I don't understand the impulse, and I certainly don't mourn his death. Maybe it's just that mob mentality of any kind makes me nervous.

Several of my friends indicated that they would have preferred to see bin Laden captured and put on trial. Since I can't imagine that such a trial wouldn't have ended in the death penalty for a completely remorseless man anyway, I'm actually fine with the way it went down. Any trial would have just been a public spectacle.

In searching for the midrash about God chastising the angels who sang when the Egyptians were drowning, I found this blog post, posted about Parsha Beshalach (this year, I think...before bin Laden's death, anyway).

I particularly liked this portion of the post: "God 'does what He has to do,' but that doesn’t mean it isn’t tragic that there are bad people. It is so sad that people choose to hurt people, and punished they must be! But God mourns that loss of a human being who just couldn’t use his/her life in the right way. How can we internalize this message, and where can we apply some of this perspective?"

I don't believe that any particular emotional reaction to this is wrong. And I hesitate to compare this country's jubilation over an evil man's demise with the celebrations in certain countries by certain segments of their populations in response to 9/11...the events are hardly equivalent.

So I sit with my discomfort and worry about backlash and pray that I and my loved ones never find ourselves on the wrong end of any kind of mob.

חג שמח

Chag Sameach Purim!

So here's an article about why we're supposed to drink ourselves stupid on Purim.

C and I drank ourselves toasty at our synagogue's 21+ Purimshpil last night, but not to the point of embarrassment. Yes, drinking is a mitzvah, but still, we have to be welcome back there.

One of our fifty-something friends did come wandering up to us near the end of the night, asked if someone nearby was someone else (there was a slight resemblance between the individuals in question, but not THAT much) and then declared that he was in no way responsible for anything he said.

"What did they put in YOUR drink?" we asked.

"I don't know, but whatever it was, it's pretty good!" he said.

We think he doesn't normally drink much. We made sure somebody else was driving him and his entourage home.

American Judaism and Racism

This article was posted a couple Martin Luther King Jr. Days ago. The article itself is interesting; the comments are fascinating, involving a lengthy exchange between the author and an American Jew who sees no racism in American Judaism.

I think it's fairly obvious that segregation definitely exists; I attend a multi-thousand family synagogue (I mean, most of them don't go regularly), and I can count on one hand the number of non-white congregants I see on a Friday night. And I live in a diverse metropolitan area. I personally know one family who chose not to join our congregation because they did not think it was racially diverse enough for their half-Asian children (and honestly, I tend to agree).

That does not mean, of course, than any individual Jew is a racist, but that many Ashkenazic Jewish organizations don't do much to encourage racial diversity.

Anyway, the article and comments go into much more detail with much more basis than I can do here. Go forth and read.