Culture – Page 21 – Don't Gel Too Soon

IS JOHN STEWART A POLITICAL KING (QUEEN) MAKER? DOES COMEDY RULE? SHOULD IT?

I used to run a television newscast for teenagers. It was tough to get them to pay much attention to the news, so one of the features I experimented with was "If you don’t know the news, you can’t get the jokes." Dennis Miller was doing Saturday Night Update then, and sadly, wouldn’t talk to us, so the idea failed. It wasn’t that original anyway; humor has always been part of American politics. But I wanted the kids to care more about it – and I thought that connecting news and cool comedy would help. I’m pretty sure I was right; political comedy is certainly a factor this year’s campaign. If you’re my age, you’re probably sitting there thinking "Hasn’t this woman ever heard of Mort Sahl? Yup. He’s just turned 80 and his political humor is as sharp as ever. But he didn’t have a daily "Daily Show" as a podium. Look at this:

I started thinking about this because this headline just appeared in the Media Bistro LA edition – which linked to this piece in the Washington Post. Comedy, at least this year, is an important factor in the campaign. Of course, Bill Clinton rebounded from one of his many backslides in 1992 with a saxophone-playing appearance on standup comedian and talk show host Arsenio Hall’s show. This clip, in fact, appeared on Channel One, the show I used to run!

That was the second time Clinton used nightly talk as a life preserver. After this disastrous keynote convention speech in 1988

Clinton went on the Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show and did the same thing. Not quite comedy but definitely popular culture. Carson had a unique impact, too. A wise Republican political consultant told me he could tell the mood of the country by listening to which jokes audiences responded to on The Tonight Show. So this year, despite all the fuss about Comedy Central, is not the first time that the worlds of entertainment and comedy have had more than a small role in choosing our leaders. And those are just in the past few elections. (OH, and don’t forget JibJab. )

We aren’t alone, of course. The 18th Century British cartoonist William Hogarth, is still taught in political propaganda classes. This one, The Times, is an example.

The difference today may be the ubiquitousness of any information that emerges; it’s not just in some elitist newspaper, it’s all over the place. It may also be the diminished influence of what used to be our respected news media. Young people (and others) turn to comedy not just because it’s arch, and fun, but because it’s less pretentious and heavy-handed, and treats audience members as co-conspirators rather than as a single passive body.

I worry that the deflation of our leaders that comes from the Comedy Central syndrome is as scary as it is useful. Americans like to believe; that’s part of the appeal of both Obama and McCain, I think. And it’s possible to believe without mindless acceptance. But if all, or most of one’s information emerges from the acerbic minds of comedy writers, does it undermine any capacity to follow a leader in what are truly perilous times?

Franklin Roosevelt, through his Fireside Chats and other communications with Americans, was able to bring the country along as war drew closer. Doris Kearns Goodwin, in NO ORDINARY TIME*, one of my favorite books, tells the story of one chat in particular. FDR asked Americans, in advance, to get a
map of the world and follow along as he described the current state of the war. Maps sold
out. And the Americans who had bought them sat there by the radio and followed as Roosevelt spoke. You don’t need comedy to inspire confidence when you have that kind of respect for your audience. I guess you could say that FDR was a kind of rock star who had built such a relationship with Americans during the Depression that he was in a different situation, but still, it’s a provocative example to place against 5 minute guest spots with Stewart or Colbert.

This has been long and a bit rambling because I’m trying to think it all out here – and I still don’t have an answer. I do think it’s going to be interesting to see how long this trend lasts — at least in this incarnation.

*go to the link and search inside under Fireside Chat and map and you will find the story (pg. 319)

PETE SEEGER, JOE HILL, MUSIC, VALUES , PAST AND FUTURE

I once had the opportunity to interview BB King. In preparation, I brought his latest album home and played it for my sons. The older, then around 5, asked me "Why is this man named King mommy. Pete Seeger is the king of music, right?*" Well, how do you answer that? Our boys grew up on the Weavers, the Almanac Singers, Pete and Arlo at Carnegie Hall… all rich with wonderful songs (with pretty wonderful values) for children. I asked my husband, no folkie, why he didn’t complain about the "noise" – and in fact joined us every Thanksgiving at Carnegie Hall to hear Pete and later Pete and Arlo. He said (I’m paraphrasing here) "It’s offering them something whole to believe in. Even if they don’t always believe it – they’ll understand the feeling of believing – and always seek it." As far as I can tell, that worked.

Rerack a few years though — to the Vietnam war, when songs like this informed some of my earliest political ideas.

In fact, Pete has been a hero of mine for more than 40 years (How is that possible?) As I sit watching the AMERICAN MASTERS documentary on his life, I can’t stop thinking about all the hope, idealism and dreams tied up in his music – at least in my life — and, for a time, the lives of my sons. Seeger always has believed that music has infinite power; his own music made us believe that we could bring about the world we dreamed of. I’m embarassed by how much I long for those feelings; it’s probably one reason Barack Obama and his young supporters interest me so much – they remind me of…. ME. Pretty feeble, isn’t it? To still be whining about long-lost days and dreams. Most of all, to feel such rage and sadness at what we weren’t able to do for our children; we leave them a world, in many ways, so much tougher than the one we inherited.

Pete, though, would hate such talk. I once met him, around the time that there were civil rights battles raging in the old Chicago Back of the Yards neighborhoods that Saul Alinsky helped to organize. I asked him if it didn’t bother him that the residents there revealed attitudes so contrary to what had been fought for — for them — just a generation ago. His response "No. When people are empowered they have the right to want what they want. If we believe in empowerment we have to accept that too." NOT a usual man, Mr. Seeger.

The music was more than a transmission of values though — from "A Hole in My Bucket" to Union Maid. It was our family soundtrack. One of my kids was watching WOODSTOCK while he was in college, and was astonished to hear Joan Baez singing Joe Hill – and to recognize it from when he was little (this is a bad YOUTUBE version; the proportions are off, but just listen..

In our house, that old labor song had been a lullaby. I’d learned it from Pete’s concerts. Recently, so many years from those lullabies, another family favorite presented us with a great, rolicking tribute to this remarkable man. I wanted to end with a more of this (way too) sentimental tribute to Pete, but the joy of watching another generation up out of their seats in song is probably a better way to end. Right?

*He went on to become an enormous BB King (and Albert, for that matter) fan, for the record.

BITCH IS THE NEW BLACK – WHAT DO WE THINK?

This is old now and all over the interweb PLUS all the feminist listservs that reach my mailbox. What’s the verdict? Funny? Post-Feminist? JUST funny? Too true to BE funny? Too funny to be true? Other? Check one (or more…)

AN ARTISTS’ COLONY, THE ORIGINAL HOLOCAUST MEMORIAL, THE CRAZY JERUSALEM MARKET AND 7 MILES ON MY PEDOMETER

This was a remarkable day. In the first place, according to my pedometer we’ve walked seven miles! Even more importantly, of course, was where we walked. Our first stop was an accident – wandering toward the Old City from our apartment we ended up in the lovely old neighborhood of Yemen Moshe. Symbolized by the windmill at the top of the hill upon which this old neighborhood is built, it has long been highly desirable and glamorous place to live – full of artists and intellectuals. Now there are also dozens of galleries and shops – but we just strolled around en route to the oldest parts of the city.
From there, we went into Old Jerusalem through the Zion Gate – a way we’d never been before, and explored the area around an old Armenian church, when suddenly we came upon this sign

At first we weren’t even sure it was for real — we’d certainly never heard of it and both of us are pretty well-schooled in Holocaust lore. As we drew closer, we were shocked to find a small entrance to an equally small courtyard offering the gateway to “The Chamber of the Holocaust” and this sign:

From there we moved into a small, cave-like room whose walls were covered with stone tablets, much like grave stones, dedicated to lost towns in the countries of the Shoah. Three rooms and an outdoor courtyard were covered with the “headstones” and all the rest of the exhibits were, old, faded, primitive and clearly created with love, outrage and very little money. Somehow, the very “scotch tape and cutouts” quality of the exhibits magnified the grief and determination of those who had created them. It was a remarkable moment in our day. Here are a couple more photos:

The “cave” with the headstones to lost cities and towns.

One of several walls of photo- graphs of lost souls. There are more, but this is enough. Lots of other things happened today but this is where I want to leave things. I’ll try one more post before Shabbat but if I don’t make it, I’ll catch us up on Saturday night.

Here’s just one preview though – of Jerusalem’s favorite market – Machene Yehuda. Good night for now.

JERUSALEM, THE WALL, AND THE SEPARATION OF WOMEN AND MEN

Early this morning, in a gray, chilly rain, around ten of us went to the Western Wall (the Kotel) to say morning prayers. It’s always very moving (and sometimes upsetting) to go to the Kotel. I’ve been there in summer and fall, alone, with our kids and with groups, to a bar mitzvah and a paratrooper regiment induction (all Israeli military take their oaths there), when I was first pregnant 30+ years ago, and placed a prayer for our new child’s health into one of the cracks, and countless other times. One thing remains true. There’s the
really big men’s side….

and the really small and usually (though not today) ridiculously crowded women’s side. Surprisingly, the separation, like that in the synagogue, doesn’t bother me. If I were a young mother whose sons and husband were sitting together while I sat alone, I might feel differently but for some reason I like being with my "sisters" on the women’s side, not worrying about the spiritual condition of anyone but myself. It’s peaceful.

Of course, in all parts of observant Judaism there’s an undertone of the perplexing – why must women and men be apart for so many of life’s critical moments? Some of the rules, however they are justified, are difficult and I’m struggling to be available to understand them. The toughest right now, because we’ve just been learning it, are the Laws of Family Purity and the physical separation of husband and wife any time there is a presence, or recent presence, of menstrual blood. It’s confusing enough dealing with periods, and the "clean" days after one’s period ends, which must pass before any kind of physical contact (not just sex) is permitted. Of course rules like these are observed to different degrees by different couples. Some make token acknowledgment of the requirements. Some sleep in separate beds. Some don’t sit on the same couch if there is only one cushion. SOME won’t even pass a bottle of milk from one hand to the other but place the bottle on the table for the other to retrieve. OK. That’s a choice – it all comes from brief mentions in the Torah, this is how it’s been interpreted and it’s so private that each couple finds its own way of living within the law. Women also find their own ways of dealing with what could seem a real stigma. One of my favorite teachers says it’s a time to "reclaim one’s body for oneself" and further, that the physical restrictions cause couples to deal more openly in verbal terms with many of life’s issues, because physical contact isn’t part of the equation. I just listen and work to be open-minded – I have learned that much about this world into which I’ve moved becomes intelligible over time – and not to condemn that which I haven’t had a chance to absorb.

Even more confusing and the hardest of all, for me, are the rules of childbirth and miscarriage. Because we bleed after childbirth, once we are free of birth pains and no longer in distress, in many families the husband does not touch his wife again after that initial support during birth, until the bleeding stops. One rabbi’s rule: "Help physically as much as you need to during labor – but the minute the baby is born – no more." Others say that a post-partum woman is still "sick" so deserving of as much love and affection as she requires. The same divisions exist after a miscarriage. The bleeding preempts physical contact once the initial trauma is over. This is tough stuff. (There’s also lots to say about the Mikvah – a ritual bath married women visit before resuming sexual relations after periods or childbirth. I learned an enormous amount about that today from a generous young, newly-married friend who’s also on this trip. But I think it’s another post altogether. I acknowledge that here so you don’t think I’ve omitted it altogether.)

I have waited over a week since our class about this before I posted, in order to allow myself time to think about it. I’ve brought myself to a position of tolerance and acceptance; those who believe that this is the way God wants us to live, or believe that these are God’s laws which cannot be broken no matter how we feel — these loving souls should "live and be well" within the life’s rules they’ve chosen. I’m through with condemnations of everything I don’t agree with. I used to think so many things — things that this life has taught me were just ONE WAY of seeing the world. I’m working on reaching that attitude toward these rules of "family purity."

They arise today because of this trip to the Kotel – just one more separation — that placed this new family information in sharp relief. I’ve been troubled by it – probably always will be. But I consider it real growth that I’m working to understand, not deride, these ideas. What better place to do that than in this holy city?

MOVIES, AIRPLANES AND (ALMOST NOT) ARRIVING IN ISRAEL

Never a dull moment. After a relatively uneventful flight from Dulles to Frankfurt – even two movies I wanted to see (Michael Clayton and Gone Baby, Gone) we went to the Lufthansa desk to pick up our boarding passes for the Frankfurt-Tel Aviv leg of our trip. The airport was teeming despite the fact tat it was only 7AM. This is such a big transit point that flights come in from all over the world and you think nothing of passing women in abayas, Africans in full regalia, European speaking every language in the EU and of course Americans of every conceivable type. Even though the airport is in one of, if not THE major commercial cities of Europe, the variety is such that you don’t really think of yourself as being in Germany but sort of floating in some netherworld.

After waiting in a very long line, we finally reached the ticket agent, who took quite some time to pull up our information. This is very unusual in a German institution, especially Lufthansa, which is always completely efficient. Then we found our why. Rick’s passport expires August 11th. Today is February 18th – a week short of six months. Israeli security requires that a passport be valid for at east six months after scheduled arrival in Israel. He’s a week shy of that and we spent an anxious couple of hours in the Lufthansa business class lounge waiting to see what would happen. But when the flight was finally called, (and after we went through Secrurity causing a ruckus as my Macbook Air emerged to flounce its way through the Xray machine) we waltzed onto the plane with nary a question. Much ado about nothing — but given the German penchant for regulations and the Israeli attitude toward accommodation, it could have been otherwise.

Now we’re in Tel Aviv – back at the wonderful Nina Suites in the arty neighborhood of Neve Tzedek, and enjoying what I”m pretty sure is a nice funky neighborhood about to turn into the unaffordable Soho of Tel Aviv.

But we’re jet lagged and grubby and so now we’re going to sleep. But I’m leaving you with one extra photo – te kind you show to your kids in the “gee wiz” years They were de-icing the wing right outside our window as we waited to leave Frankfurt.

COOL, HUH?

LEAVIN’ ON A JET PLANE – ISRAEL AGAIN

Tomorrow – Sunday afternoon – we leave again for Israel. I’m amazed that we’re returning so soon and will be curious to see how it feels to be with a group instead of just the two of us. Last time was so perfect; that always makes me nervous – it’s not good to try to recreate perfection so we have to just allow this trip to evolve as its own.

We’re staying in a beautiful apartment in a great neighborhood and have great plans – I promise to keep you posted here.

JEWISH SEX, HONOR AND HOLINESS

Sex and religion have always seemed at odds. Stories of sexual impulsivity have been with us forever – King David and Batsheva , Anna Karenina, , Atonement , Prince Charles, presidents, senators, preachers and ball players. So it’s not surprising that human beings struggle to maintain heavy sexual controls within the rules of faith. Any faith.

In a class this week though, we studied the unique textual perspective toward sex within Judaism. The great teacher Laura Shaw Frank, about whom I’ve written before, returned for four weeks to teach the Orthodox "Laws of Family Purity" — an unfortunate term since, for me at least, the first association I make when I hear "family purity" is "racial purity." But never mind, that’s another
conversation.

There are complicated laws concerning marital relations, menstruation and other issues within the intimacies of marriage and we will study them for the next three weeks. Last night though, we began at the beginning. What do Jewish texts tell us about the place of sex in a Jewish life?

The premise: that sex, within Jewish life, is part of the holiness of families, and serves to hold families, and traditions, together. "How can we say the "evil inclination" (sex drive) is very good? It is to teach us that if there were no evil inclination, a man would not build a home for himself, and wouldn’t marry a woman and wouldn’t beget children.*" The bottom line appears to be that honor, decency and institutional preservation depend upon sexual desire – which in turn, in those working to control it within themselves, leads to the creation of and adherence to civilization, marriage and family.

Beyond that, these connections must work on three levels — the interpersonal, between man and woman (or man/man or woman/woman, but not then), the cosmic – with God – and historic – with all of the Jewish people. Always, sex is meant to allow us to honor one another and therefore honor God. Throughout the class I kept thinking of this — it seems to sum it all up. A young soldier, leaving for war, trying to explain his departure to his beloved. It’s going to be interesting to see how all of this supports some of the more unusual Orthodox rules of physical intimacy. Stay tuned.

To Lucasta, Going off to the Wars
Richard Lovelace
(1618-1658)

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As thou too shalt adore;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.

*Kohelet Rabba 3:16

ASTOUNDING JEWISH WOMEN: THE JEWISH ORTHODOX FEMINIST ALLIANCE

A little over ten years ago some remarkable women, all Orthodox Jews, decided that the only way to have an impact on the role that women play in worship and governance in the Orthodox world was to organize. Under the leadership of the legendary Blu Greenberg, JOFA ( Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance) was born.

From the beginning of my involvement in the Orthodox community, just three and a half years ago, I’ve been urged to be part of this group. For a long time, and still, I feel a bit under-equipped. I can argue for change and believe in it, but I can’t cite the texts that support either current or possible future perspectives, and in Orthodoxy the texts are a big part of every Halachic (religious rules) argument. I study quite frequently now, but compared to those who grew up in the parallel universe of Jewish day schools and have such a head start, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel confident in my knowledge. Even so, I have spent much of this weekend at a JOFA conference here in Washington, and it has been thrilling. And disturbing. But thrilling.

There was a film — Mekudeshet — about the Agunah – women whose husbands refuse to grant them a Jewish divorce. Orthodox women, without this Jewish divorce, or "get," can’t remarry. Any children they may bear are illegitimate and may only marry other "children of the get." Clearly, as in any other form of spousal abuse, it’s a control issue. Abusive husbands, men living with new women and even with new children, can leave their wives in limbo forever. This is one of the areas JOFA works to change.

More universal were the panels. One, on gender roles in K-12 education, was very provocative. In many Jewish day schools study of religious texts moves from coed to single-sex after somewhere around the 5th grade. Of course when we do that by choice, and call it women’s education (I went to Smith and found it enormously liberating) we appreciate the freedom to be ourselves and not be cowed by louder, deeper voices. The difference is that in Jewish education, when genders are separated, it’s more often for holiness, the perceived gender difference in roles and the presumed "danger" women bring to distract men than it is to empower young women to learn more completely. It’s an interesting question. When we choose it, many of us love- and are grateful for – single-sex education. Quite correctly, I believe, resent it bitterly when we are "banished" to the girls classes, leaving the boys behind. Is it possible to truly assimilate what is useful for girls in studying only with one another if there’s no other choice? Or is it always going to re-enforce the frequent sense of gender inferiority that this conference works to remove?

My choice for the second panel was one dealing with women and text – and all the factors of interpretation that emerge as more and more women become fluent in religious texts. You aren’t going to believe this but for a long time, women were not allowed to study many of the interpretive works, and held in a kind of limbo as far as religious learning was concerned. Change is coming in this arena though – from the co-ed Maimonides Jewish Day School, founded in Brookline, MA in 1937 and emerging as the institution that broke the stranglehold on single-sex text Talmud study, to all the new institutions like Drisha to deeply educate women in text and religious rulings (Halacha.) Now it’s common for women to study these works. I go to class every Tuesday night – but it’s still considered "progressive" to offer girls (and women) equal access to all learning.

I always find it empowering, even inspiring, to attend conferences of women. Every year my days at BlogHer are treasures that sustain me all year. WAM!, the Woman and Media conference, has the same effect. This one, though, was especially moving. Brainy, funny, lively and open, these Orthodox women are working to change more than a government, an attitude or a movement. Sustained by and committed to a faith more than 5,767 years old, observant in the laws of Kashrut and family law, they work to ensure that Jewish life will be even more meaningful, and equal, for their daughters (and sons) than it has been for them.

SAD MUSIC, GREAT BIG SEA, STONE PONIES, BEATLES – RIDING THE WAYBACK MACHINE

Have you ever heard a song that caught you up short and brought you almost to tears? Boston to St. John — sung by Great Big Sea, does that to me, no matter how many times I hear it. In fact, when we pass over St. John on the way to Europe and it shows up on the map on the little TV, I get weepy just hearing it in my head. What is it about this romantic, acoustic song accompanied by a pipe and a guitar? Just listen (this one has lyrics posted) – it’s a nice thing to end the week with.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over the wonder of what music has come to mean to me, again. Of course I was a typical teen fan, and then in my college years obsessed with Bob Dylan, the Beatles, The Doors, Cream, anything by Ellie Greenwich, anything from Motown, Linda Ronstadt (especially the Stone Ponies phase) – listen to this primo girl song:

I also loved the great folkies like Pete Seeger, Arlo Guthrie, Phil Ochs, Judy Collins, Joan Baez ( oh – and Peter, Paul and Mary (need I go on?) and Simon and Garfunkel — among others. Then I went into semi-retirement. I made mix tapes for my kids – Good Day Sunshine, Hippy Hippy Shake, Here Comes the Sun, the Garden Song, Carolina… you name it. And we sang a lot. But the deep, gut-wrenching feeling you get when the music drills right to the center of your soul — that all came back more recently. And differently. Once, my Deadhead son asked me why I had never gone to one of their concerts. The answer was peculiar, I guess. I heard all my music for free at marches. And peace rallies. Who needed to buy tickets?

The music was, literally, the soundtrack to my life. Every song I hear pulls a movie into my head — me on a bus to Manhattan for a march, in a boat on Paradise Pond with my boyfriend, dancing like crazy someplace or other. Now, though, the music seems to bring the mood to me, rather than meeting it half way. I can be moved from zero to 60 – solid to weepy – in about one chorus. Maybe it’s the passage of time. Maybe it’s that I hear far more of it alone. Maybe it’s just that much of what I listen to evokes other times in my life. Today, driving home, I had my iPod plugged into the car radio, on random shuffle, and Pete Seeger singing All My Life’s a Circle did it. Again.

Of course, anything from the Juno soundtrack just makes me laugh. And lots of Bruce just makes me want to dance. It’s not all sad stuff. I guess I should try to figure it out, but I’d rather just think I’m newly available, or RE-newly available, to those feelings. And be grateful for the music that brings them.