Tag Archives: judaism

Sceptical about the Erasure of Women in Charedi Society? It Can’t be Ignored Any Longer.

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As Jews, we believe that we are continuing important traditions that have been paved for us by our ancestors over thousands of years of history. In many cases, we’re right. However, in some cases, new trends and behaviours emerge, that if unchecked, can quickly and easily slip into the norm. In some cases, like with a style of dress or a turn of phrase, this is harmless. In other cases, not so much.

Increasingly, Jewish publications and organizations are removing women from the picture, quite literally. This is done by creating policies where ladies are not allowed to be included in photographs, by censoring the language we use around female issues, and by redacting places where we would normally find women a’plenty.

You might have noticed this trend, and have your fingers crossed that it’s just a phase, or it isn’t going to happen in your backyard. You might have heard talk about this issue, and have shrugged your shoulders, putting it down to extreme levels of modesty, or thinking that it’s not as big a deal as people are making out. Think again.

Refusing to Print Photos of Women

Some ultra-orthodox publications have policies in place where they will not publish photographs of women. It doesn’t matter how modestly they are dressed, it doesn’t matter how old they are, it’s a blanket rule against all women being photographed for publication. Extreme examples I’ve seen in practice include a London-based newspaper photoshopping out a cardboard cut-out in the background of an all-male line-up to celebrate the opening of a new retail store. Who was the woman in the cut -out, you ask? Mrs Butterworth, everyone’s favourite maple syrup pancake mascot.

You can laugh at these examples, we all do. You can even roll your eyes and say, ‘who cares, just don’t read those magazines’ but this trend has a damaging effect on the whole community. When women are taken out of these publications, and the very image of a woman is somehow seen as harmful to the spirituality of the reader, we’re creating a reality where we’re are not seeing women as part of the community at all, ever.

The photo below shows a family home, a mantlepiece full of joyous family photos that show the lifecycle of a family. The presentation of a child’s first chumash, graduation, a new child… all of these events, and yet not a female face to be seen.

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This example shows an engagement announcement in a Jewish newspaper in America. Instead of the bride and groom happily smiling out at the readers, the publication chooses to print a photo of the groom and his future father in law, as if there is something inherently wrong with seeing an engaged couple.

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How can we expect our children to be healthy around relationships and marriage, if the very idea of seeing a man and a woman printed next to one another is treated as something immoral or wrong?

Removing any Female Content Whatsoever

For anyone who still feels like the erasure of women in publications is coming from a good (if extreme) place, the following example should have you convinced that we’re talking about a lot more than simple modesty. The photos below show the same advert in two separate magazines, one which felt the need to remove the Playmobil toy character of the woman from the Shabbat table. Would the women be removed from the game itself if it ended up in the homes of the readership? We’re building a reality where boys and girls are not seeing women as an essential and valued part of the home, or even a part of their lives.

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Creating Indecency Around Women’s Health

Let’s look at the darker side of this trend, the way that women are spoken to in these magazines and newspapers, not just the way that they are portrayed, or more accurately not portrayed. Here, you can see an advert that is supposed to be alerting women to the importance of checking their breasts for cancer. Unfortunately, many people would never be able to decipher that message from the advert itself.

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Women are not lettuce leaves. There is nothing immodest about using the words breast cancer, discussing the warning signs, or speaking openly with girls and women about the health risks that they need to be aware of. And yet, this is unfortunately not a one off event. Some publications won’t use the word breast, so describe breast cancer as “the cancer which pertains to women” despite that being medically inaccurate. If the media refuses to have these conversations, or even use the right language, what will happen if young women aren’t being provided with the right education at home?

Sexualizing Girls in the Name of Modesty

The erasure of women is both harmful and offensive, but the erasure of young girls is far more sinister. What are we saying to children when we refuse to include their photos in magazines, or blur out their faces as soon as they age past toddlerhood? We’re saying that a 3 year old girl cannot be sexual, but a 5 year old can be. We’re telling them that men will be looking at their faces in a lustful way, so it’s better to not include them, or to leave their bodies intact but make sure their faces cannot be recognized. That men will come to sin by their very images, or that there is something wrong with them being seen.

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Can you think of one legitimate reason why these photos don’t contain girls faces? This is nothing short of rape culture. It’s victim-blaming before these children can even understand what that means. It’s creating a community where adults are told it’s okay to be turned on by children, and that it’s the girls’ responsibility to make sure you never see their faces, and are never brought towards temptation.

Coming up in the Rear-view Mirror

There is a well-known idea that life imitates art, that we see trends in the media, in film and television, in music and culture before we see them around us. The erasure of women in extreme fringes of Judaism is becoming more mainstream. This isn’t a problem that is confined to the far reaches of ultra-orthodoxy anymore. It’s in the papers that your modern orthodox neighbors are reading and talking about, it’s in the cross-communal synagogue newsletters that come through your door, and in the local Jewish youth center that is trying to be open to everyone.

These ideas and actions aren’t something to be ‘open’ to. Not when they are causing harm to every person in the Jewish community, both emotionally and physically.

One organization is fighting against these issues head on. In its own words, “Chochmat Nashim works towards a healthier Jewish society by raising awareness of damaging trends and policies and presenting possible alternatives. Because Judaism is better when women are heard.” From the chained wife whose husband refuses to give her a get, to the woman with cancer who has never even heard of the disease, Chochmat Nashim is fighting to make a change.

This week, Chochmat Nashim are raising funds for their important work with a crowdfunding campaign, 2 days for people to give as generously as possible. Get involved why don’t you? The time for excuses and crossed fingers are over.

The Equal Power of Solitary Prayer

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I’m not a huge synagogue-goer, especially since having my kids, (can you say, Children’s service?) but for the past 12 years, I have always gone to the services on the major festivals to say the Yizkor prayer in memory of my father.

Recently, I saw a conversation on a Facebook thread where someone asked where the custom of saying this memorial prayer in the presence of the community came from, rather than being happy to read it alone.
It took me by surprise. It had never crossed my mind that the Yizkor prayer was something I could say by myself, as part of private tefillah. In fact, in the past I have changed whole plans around for our festival lodgings, organized the day around my attendance, and even on one occasion run to three separate shuls on a particularly stressful Shavuot morning after a series of unfortunate events – all to make it into the service in time for Yizkor.

Growing up Orthodox, communal prayer is a big thing. The idea of a minyan, where ten people come together to make a quorum for speaking to God is a pre-requisite for certain prayers. However, in Orthodoxy at least, it doesn’t apply to women. Like it or hate it, women are exempt from attending thrice daily prayers with a minyan. In fact, there are very few times in the year that even the most traditionally observant of people would say that I need to be in shul, and most of those can be side-stepped if need be, by asking someone to pop round and help out by blowing you 30 shofar sounds on Rosh Hashana, or reading you a speedy version of the Megillah on Purim.

The pressure that I have put on myself to make it to shul four times a year for the Yizkor prayer has been coming entirely from an inward place – and I think, probably, a sexist one.

For women, prayer is not a communal act. Whatever we are meant to take from the services, Jewish law is very clear – we do not need a crowd to get it done right. The guilt that I feel when I think about ‘missing’ Yizkor in shul, is the same feeling that many other women, those who feel connected through prayer might feel at the idea of sitting at home this week on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, rather than trading places with their husbands and standing in shul instead.

For some reason, there is something about praying this way, quietly, without an audience, that feels like it isn’t enough. But where does that come from? Not halacha, as we said – women aren’t asked or expected to be at shul. So, why do I feel like I’m somehow not respecting the memory of my father? Why do you feel like you’re not making as much of an effort as you should be?

Well, I call patriarchy. On myself, and on anyone else who has convinced themselves that prayer alone is a lesser version of prayer in a group, just because that’s how the men are told to do it. If you want to be in synagogue, and you can make it work for you – then all power to you. Just make sure that you’re doing it because it makes you happy or it enhances your relationship with God, not because you feel that solitary tefillah is a poor (wo)man’s prayer.

This week, I hope to make it through the doors of my shul, to listen to the melodies of the prayers I grew up with, to fast alongside the rest of the community, to feel the strength in numbers as we pray for a good, strong year ahead for us all. There is so much to love about communal prayer, and the experience of synagogue, especially on the High Holy Days.

However, for the first time, if I don’t make it there, if my kids need me at home, if the fast is making me feel weak, heck – if I just decide that I don’t want to, I won’t feel less-than. I’ll open up my machzor, I’ll proudly find the Yizkor prayer, and I’ll honor the legacy that my father left – a daughter whose words are valid and powerful, not because she is standing in the presence of men, but because she knows that she stands in the presence of God.

The Usual Suspects of… Pesach Prep

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Pesach is quite literally right around the corner. So please do allow me this spot of procrastination from finding out what’s growing behind my fridge-freezer to identify some of the usual suspects of this time of year. The people we know and love around this Jewish festival.

1. The Early Bird
‘10 weeks to Pesach!’ she cheerfully coos somewhere around Tu Bishvat. ‘I’m so behind schedule, I haven’t even started on the curtains yet!’ Presumably those curtains double up as picnic blankets. ‘When will the shops start stocking Pesach food, I’ve hardly even begun baking, and it’s Purim in a month! Oy!’

Flourless brownies in the chest freezer, cupboard stocked with potato starch and seventeen jars of jam, she’s good to go. In fact, she’s so far ahead of herself that her Seder table is set a fortnight before the big night itself, along with fully topped up wine glasses and matza that will no doubt be totally stale by… oh wait, no, it will probably taste the same. Carry on.

2. Last-Minute Lucy

On the other end of the spectrum is everyone’s favorite late-comer to the party, there to make us feel better about ourselves… to a point, anyway. If she hasn’t even begun cleaning, it’s probably fine that my cleaner has cancelled this week and I haven’t even thought about surface covers, right? And if she hasn’t started running down the freezer, then I’m sure I have time to convince my family they want to eat three aluminium foil pans worth of chametz schnitzel this week. At least, I think it’s schnitzel, I’d need to scrape off the ice to be sure.

The humble brag of the last-minute Lucy can be heard far and wide as the days slip away towards the festival. ‘Oh I haven’t even started shopping yet’, she will say, two days before chag. ‘Cooking? Me? No no, I’m only entertaining seven families with six kids each, no need to go overboard.’

Listen carefully as you light your yomtov candles and you might hear her flex her knuckles, get up from the sofa and search for a dustpan and brush. ‘Hmm, I’d better get started’ you might hear her say.

3. The Pesach Protestor
You’ll recognize this one, whose natural habitat is Facebook posts where she can complain about something. The topic can vary, ranging from the cost of Pesach food (‘Outrageous! It’s just PAPRIKA’) to the amount of cookies people are making. (‘Can’t you people live without cakes and cookies for one week? It’s just eight days! In our house, we just eat fruit and vegetables, and nothing else. I don’t even VISIT the Pesach grocery store, except to laugh at people.’) She’s also very very upset that you’re making Pesach rolls, which are absolutely not in the spirit of things.

How dare you all spend that hard-earned money on making the festival enjoyable for yourselves and trying to create carbs-based snacks that your toddlers won’t turn their noses up at? Don’t you know that our ancestors were slaves in Egypt? None of you are being nearly oppressed enough.

4. The Planner
This one is probably on your speed dial, the one with all the spreadsheets and the knowledge of the rare ingredients that supposedly make Pesach pancakes “just as fluffy” as the regular kind. (It’s tapioca flour. Or is it almond meal? Hang on, let me send her a quick text.)

She’s got all the answers, has made Pesach fifteen times, and is totally happy to share her wisdom. Where can I buy that shankbone from again, and should it go in the freezer? Can she check with her grandma which apples she used for that awesome Charoset last year? What’s the optimal salt to water ratio?

Her menus are colour coded, she knows the place to get the cheapest baking chocolate, and if you look stressed out and pathetic enough, she might even make you a batch of macaroons so you don’t need to spend all day separating eggs. Never leave me.

Recognize yourself? A happy Pesach to all the characters listed above, whichever one you may be. May you find plenty to do with all your leftover egg yolks (Pro tip: google Pesach thumbprint cookies), have minimal stress in the lead-up, and enjoy your holiday with family and friends!

What Are You Afraid Of?

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There is a petition doing the rounds, collecting signatures in connection with Relationship and Sex Education, set to become mandatory in 2020. The petition asks that parents be allowed to decide for themselves whether their children be taught RSE at school, or if they would like their children to sit out of these classes altogether. I’ve had it shared with me four times today, by parents of differing religious levels and from various schools, but all of whom have children at Jewish schools in London.

The party line seems to be that parents know their children better, understand what they need in more depth, and should have the final decision as to what they need to know around sex and relationships.

The first point that stands out to me is that some parents don’t know what their children need as well as they think they might. If you grew up in a sheltered environment, you may not realise the dangers and realities for today’s children. On the contrary, if you grew up un-sheltered, you may not be aware of how little your children understand in comparison to what you did at that age. Unhealthy relationships can form at any age, and you’re not with your child 100% of the time, so why not give them the skills and education to recognise and speak up when something isn’t right?

One in 20 children in the UK has been sexually abused, over 90% by someone they know. In many cases, this is the parents themselves, the same people who the signers of this petition believe have the kids best interests at heart. I call this line of thinking naive at best, and dangerous at worst. Of course, the majority of us would never hurt our children intentionally, but for those who do – being able to opt out of RSE means that their children may never learn the language or even the understanding to speak up when something is terribly wrong behind closed doors.

By making this a religious issue, we’re giving sexual predators a reasonable excuse to hide behind when they politely decline on behalf of these children. By pretending that there is any difference to these frightening statistics within our religious bubble, we’re sticking our heads in the sand and doing all of our kids a disservice.

We live in a world with so many unknown dangers. We provide our children with helmets and kneepads and road safety lessons. We give them rules for what to do when they’re being bullied, or how to speak up when something is unfair or unjust. If your child cuts themselves – they know to get a plaster, if they have a headache, they understand how to ask for Calpol or take a lie down.

The move to make RSE mandatory for all children is a way to ensure that our kids have all the tools and words they need to speak up when something is posing a danger to their emotional, mental or physical wellbeing. To recognise that their body is their own and they get final say over what they do with it. Just as importantly, to recognise that other people’s bodies are their own and that they need to respect that, too. These lessons of kindness and consent, in an age-appropriate way, not only keep them safe – but allow them to grow into open and communicative adults who can form intimate and loving relationships, not just with a future spouse but with friends and family too.

For anyone who has been sent the petition, and is considering signing it, I would urge you to look below at the suggestions from the Department of Education as to what these mandatory RSE lessons will cover.

-Different types of relationships, including friendships, family relationships, dealing with strangers and, at secondary school, intimate relationships;
– How to recognise, understand and build healthy relationships, including self-respect and respect for others, commitment, tolerance, boundaries and consent, and how to manage conflict, and also how to recognise unhealthy relationships;
– How relationships may affect health and wellbeing, including mental health;
– Healthy relationships and safety online;
– Factual knowledge, at secondary school, around sex, sexual health and sexuality, set firmly within the context of relationships.

Many might argue that it shouldn’t affect me or anyone else if their child doesn’t take part in these lessons. I couldn’t disagree more. Creating a culture in our schools where we can use religion or any other excuse under the sun to opt out of essential education for our children’s wellbeing is dangerous. It means there is a subsection of our schools that aren’t being taught how to speak up for themselves or others, or how to treat their peers with respect in line with today’s emotional understanding. And that’s everyone’s concern.

The Usual Suspects of… The Recipe Groups

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This time of year is one holiday after another for us Jews, and as such, it’s also one meal after another. When a festival runs into Shabbat, we get a three day whammy, which gives us at least 6 meals to prepare for, and for some over-eager beavers, 9+.

The holidays are a time for family, so it isn’t unusual to have crowds of 20 or more around your festive table, and unlike the stories I’ve heard told of Xmas dinner, there is no set menu of Turkey and Cranberry sauce to keep to, so the opportunities are endless.

If there is one place to people-watch this time of year, it has to be the Kosher recipe groups on Facebook, where if you’re lucky, and very very quiet, you might catch sight of these rare breeds in their natural habitat.

1. The Substitutor

This poster pops up on most dessert threads, mainly to make you feel really bad about yourself. Questions include: ‘Have you ever made those brownies with apple sauce instead of sugar?’ (No, I’m not insane) and ‘What do you substitute the margarine for in that kugel?’ (More margarine. it’s a margarine kugel. Go away. )

Sometimes they just pop in to lie to you, with such classics as ‘I made that omelette without eggs and it tasted completely identical’ as well as ‘My kids said they loved the beetroot and courgette muffins more than the chocolate chip ones.’ Fool me once, shame on you.

2. Mrs What’s Missing?

Just when you’ve made the executive decision that everyone is going to have cereal and milk for Friday night (and like it) here comes Chaya from Brooklyn with her “menu”. It’s not a restaurant, Chaya.

Guys I really need help!! So far, I have Challa and home-made dips, chicken soup with all the trimmings, BBQ schnitzel, honey roasted chicken, salt beef, broccoli and potato kugels, sweet and sour rice, popcorn cauliflower, 3 salads, and then for dessert it’s ice cream, salted caramel brownies and a pavlova. I feel like I’m missing something, what am I missing? Oh ps: it’s just me and my hubby thanks.

Chaya? Chaya! Pick me! I know what you’re missing! It’s about seventeen more humans, and a nap.

3. The Amnesiac Shopper

Now I know I went to the grocery store this morning, and I know that I picked up a whole lot of food, but for the life of me, I’m not sure what any of it actually is. Does anyone recognise this odd looking vegetable? Or know what I can do with it that will feed 7 adults and 4 kids including a 13yo who doesn’t eat vegetables?

What about this cut of meat? I think it’s called number 5. Or maybe it was 9. I’m pretty sure the Butcher said it was pickled. or maybe he said it should be pickled. Did I remember to buy pickles? Does anyone know where I left my car?

4. The Amateur Masterchef

Some of the photos I see on the recipe groups are pretty impressive, from Challot that look bakery-bought but probably taste better, to chocolate babkas that are practically food porn, as well as incredibly fiddly pastry and meat concoctions that I would never be able to achieve.

But sometimes, no matter how much you call it herb encrusted salmon with an assiette of wilted tender stem garden produce, it’s still gonna be fish and green veg. And whatever joy describing your lightly browned beef on a bed of puréed chickpeas gives you, it’s still the mincemeat and hummus that takes five minutes to make and you discovered at your mother in laws house. #sorrynotsorry

5. Harbinger of Doom

With love to all the over achievers out there, I still have to give a shout out to my people. You know who you are. (Hint: you put jacket potatoes in the slow cooker for one of your Rosh Hashana meals, but forgot to heat the baked beans. Yeah, there you are.) You probably head to the recipe groups out of sheer voyeuristic pleasure, or maybe to ask whether that turkey roll you forgot about at the back of the fridge is still good to eat. If you’ve done the latter, you’ve probably met the Harbinger of Doom before.

“I made chicken soup 3 days ago, can I still eat it?”
“Absolutely not, bin it.”

“Oh. What about this potato kugel, it was defrosted about a week ago?”
“Are you kidding? Definitely not. Throw it away.”

“How about this yoghurt? The best before was just yesterday..”
“Do you want to make your kid sick? Why risk it?”

“I opened this cheese earlier on, but I left it on the counter for half an hour and-“
“Throw it away. Use gloves. Can’t be too careful with bacteria.”

Jesus lady, how about this sealed packed of biscuits? Is it okay if I eat these while I try to recover from my new food phobia?

But don’t worry dear reader, you aren’t alone. Check the comments for dozens of hardy women who are on your side, and are guaranteed to have shared their war stories to make you feel better.

I regularly drink milk that’s spoiled and I’m still here to tell the tale!

I once ate a schnitzel that I found behind the couch, and I’m FINE.

I don’t even bother cooking the meat and my kids haven’t complained yet! Granted, they are kind of quiet.. Chavi, you ok honey?

5. The Shameless Brag

A relative of the humble bragger from the online mums forums post, when this person moves over to the recipe groups, she has no need to be coy. Posting photos of the oddest brags, from a fully set Seder table a fortnight before Pesach, to six dozen chocolate cakes “all ready for the freezer!” She must live in the Ice Bar, she has so much space to cook ahead of time, and she will absolutely post the recipes for all of these “delish treats” as soon as she has a spare minute. Which is good, because the F’s on her post are getting a bit out of hand, and the natives are getting restless.

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Have I missed any of your favourite recipe group regulars?

My View from Behind the Curtain

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There’s a lot been written lately about feminism and Judaism, or at least-about women’s roles in our faith. While I wouldn’t say personally that I feel invisible behind the mechitza, I do struggle with women who are blocked from getting the most out of their orthodoxy, especially where it feels like it comes down to custom or tradition rather than Jewish law.

Losing a parent is the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. I don’t grapple with it daily, but it has the power to move me to tears with literally no notice whatsoever, at any given moment. It’s scarred me and shaped me in ways I probably couldn’t describe, and some ways I can.

Judaism has guidelines for losing a parent. And to me, it’s one of the most beautiful areas of Jewish law. From the second a parent dies, their family has rules to follow. Don’t leave the body alone, call the chevra kadisha, say the shema prayer.. the list of laws and customs goes on, from those first impossible minutes until years later, when we light a memorial candle on the anniversary of their death. And the intensity of those rules lessens as time goes on.

The first week, your every waking minute is filled with people visiting you sit shiva, while for the month, the restrictions of new clothes and luxury are enough to keep you aware of your loss but also able to forget for small periods of time, get on with work and friendships and daily life. The entire year, you exclude yourself from social gatherings where you might not feel comfortable, but your life begins to move on, often without daily reminders of your status as an avel. To me, it felt like God was walking me through the process of grieving, not letting me sweep my feelings under the carpet, but also helping me put myself back together without drowning under the weight of it.

But there were moments. Moments where I still feel like my grief would have more bearing, more status somehow, if I were a man.

Standing by the graveside at my fathers funeral, they asked the men to step forward to take part in an incredible mark of respect, to help fill the grave with earth. My family, my friends, people who knew us all my life came close to take a spade and begin the labour. When I asked to join in, eager to honour my father this last time, I was asked to wait while a groundskeeper ran to fetch something. When he came back, he brought with him a small trowel and some ready turned earth in a bucket. They offered me a token, a ceremonial act, like the action of lifting a shovel was going to be too much for me. Like they couldn’t see that the act of not lifting it would be far heavier to carry. Needless to say, I took the spade. But I don’t know that other women would know to insist.

During the week of shiva, men need a minyan, ten men to join them in prayer, three times a day. It means that your home is filled with people, pretty much all of your waking hours. We take breaks, for meals or for rest times, but the company is necessary. It surrounds you with stories of your loved ones, with people who care about you. It’s healing. As the only person sitting shiva, I didn’t need a minyan, so we didn’t always have one. The mornings, I slept in until visitors arrived to see me, and in the evenings, I had to leave the room while the men prayed, standing in the kitchen or the hallway, wondering why I felt shut out, if the reason they were there was me. I chose to say the Kaddish prayer that week, and they chose men to say it with me, to make it more “appropriate”, some of whom I had never met before, turning around at the sound of a woman’s voice standing out from the crowd

I didn’t have to say Kaddish at all that year, and so I didn’t. I asked someone I love, someone who loves me to say it for me, and they did. They went to shul every day, three times a day, and did the action of a grieving child for me. They said my words, my prayer, because even if I had chosen to go, orthodox Jewish law dictates it would be better if a man was doing it too. Some would say that a man needs to be doing it too. That even if I take the nineteen years we had together and pour all of those feelings into every word I say, they don’t really count.

Each year now, on the anniversary of his death, the yartzeit, I head to shul and I say the Kaddish prayer, quietly, respectfully behind the mechitza. If the other men notice a man who has yartzeit, they might offer him a special mitzvah, leading the service or holding the Torah.

Me? Me, they don’t notice at all, and they wouldn’t have anything to offer me even if they did.

Don’t get me wrong, I understand the logic and the reasoning behind the laws for women and men. The way it would be impossible to get to shul three times a day with small children in tow, the way we believe that a woman’s spirituality lends itself to needing less outward signs of our faith, the rules of modesty and how they manifest in clothes and song and power struggles. Some of these things I agree with, others less so. But I believe in the package of orthodoxy, and I feel like I matter and have a role to play. But when it comes to grief, I suddenly get a glimpse into how other women might feel, not just in mourning but in prayer, in community, in education. Like their voice is being silenced, like they have nowhere to stand, like they don’t count.

All I know, is that my father meant to the world to me, and I to him. But in a million small ways, Judaism tells me that I’m not quite enough to honour him all on my own. I need a mans help to do that to its full potential. A brother, a husband, an uncle, hey- any relative will do. So long as they’re male.

It’s one small area of Jewish law, and you don’t even consider it until it’s thrust upon you. I hardly think about it any more, just once a year, when I stand behind that curtain. Not invisible, but not quite visible enough either.

Bah Humbug

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It’s that time of year again, and while I love Chanukah as much as the next Jew, it’s impossible to get away from the Xmas spirit. Winter sales, goodwill to all, and chestnuts available at every corner shop, what’s not to love?

Well, a few things actually. And maybe you’re all too close to see it, but with all the respect in the world, let me give you a run-down of the things I would change if my household kept Christmas.

1. The menu.

I think it’s fair to say that the whole of Xmas day centres around the big festive meal. For thousands of years people have been gathering around the dinner table and breaking bread together to celebrate this pinnacle in the Christian calendar. But who came up with the ideas for the grub? On what other day in the year would anyone choose Turkey, the arguable worst meat of choice to be the centrepiece of the meal? Beef, Lamb, Duck, even Chicken is preferable to Turkey any other day of the year. Let’s call a spade a spade here, Turkey is dry and hasn’t got much flavour, hence why you’re spending 2 to 3 hours preparing stuffing and sauces to accompany it. To top it off, although no one’s arguing with roast potatoes, does anyone eat Brussel Sprouts at any other meal the entire year? Let alone the weird tradition of Cranberry sauce, a foodstuff that just doesn’t exist whatsoever outside of December 25th.
Lastly, every meal should be complimented by the grand finale of dessert. And dessert will never ever mean fruit cake. I don’t care what you call it, or how much alcohol you add to it (although it probably helps), a Xmas Pudding is not dessert. Give me chocolate cake, give me ice cream, even something citrus-y would round off the meal well. But why are we pretending that Xmas pud is in any way appetising? In my house, it would be Haagen Daaz and sticky toffee pudding, maybe with a pavlova on the side. Extra points for the fact that none of those options takes months of my life to prepare. If I wanted to spend 2-3 months feeding something in small increments daily, I would buy a hamster.

2. The decor.

Love the Christmas lights, in fact I think we should add that to Judaism, a festival where we decorate the outside of our homes with ostentatious flashing lights and various plastic accompaniments. I can just see my home now, with a rendition of the 10 plagues of Egypt on my front lawn, and a replica of Mount Sinai on the roof. Fab.
This brings me to Christmas trees. Excellent idea I would even up the ante. Let’s bring all of the outside in, creating an indoor Xmas garden, complete with flowers and grass (astro-turf if need be) and why not woodland creatures, so cold at this time of year and in need of some Xmas spirit just as much as you.
Yes, I’m joking. But it is kind of weird that you bring a tree into your living rooms. Doesn’t it make a crazy mess of needles and twigs? Doesn’t it brings in bugs and the like? Do you have to buy a special spray for that? So many questions.

3. The list of demands.

This one is actually pretty serious, as I’ve read that the average household will spend £868 on Christmas this year. Nearly a thousand pounds on one day of the year, that just can’t be affordable for 95% of the UK. And meanwhile your kids are sitting at home writing a letter for Santa? A magical being that flies in, drops off their hearts desire and leaves again without so much as a thanks for him or his hard working elves [AKA unpaid midget workforce]. (Seriously, does anyone’s kids write thank you notes to Santa?) Doesn’t the whole thing seem a bit entitled? From the outside looking in at least, it seems like the last way I want my children to consider the presents we work hard to provide for them. Maybe it’s a little Scrooge of me, but I like to think that I would use the opportunity to talk to my kids about wants and needs, earning and spending, and ask them to think of one or two things they really want, which Santa won’t be bringing, but their hard-working parents will be.

4. The Xmas season

This is a tough one, because we all enjoy some of the elongated Xmas perks, such as Starbucks red cups which appear Nov 1st, or Xmas songs on the radio from what feels like mid-summer. But when I try to get an email response at work on December 3rd, and get told that the company are “winding down for Christmas”, it can really make me feel peeved. Similarly, spending the whole of December attending various Xmas lunches and functions with the people I anyway see and speak to every single week can be a little grating. Cmon boss, just give us the afternoon off if you’re trying to make us feel festive. It would probably cost you less.

Any other holiday traditions that you would scrap?

santa

 

 

And a very happy Jew year to you, too.

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It’s that time of year again, and my newsfeed is littered with pictures of apples doing honey bucket challenges, and smiling families wishing everyone a happy and sweet new year.

For Jewish people around the world, this year has been pretty much the opposite of happy and sweet, and the situation in Israel has been foremost in all of our minds. The homes of the three boys who were taken and murdered earlier in the year will have empty places at their tables this Rosh Hashana, and many Israelis are still living in fear. But despite this, I have received calls and texts, messages, emails and even the odd card through the door, wishing me and all the Jewish people all the best for the year ahead. And it makes me proud.

Earlier this year, a teen evoked a small media frenzy, and a slightly larger social media backlash to a photo she took of herself at Auschwitz while on a class trip. The world erupted with anger at the ‘Auschwitz selfie’ taken at the scene of so much horror and tragedy, and that she had the nerve to stand smiling with a face full of make up at the site of murder and genocide.

And I knew at once why she did it. (Or rather, I knew at once why I would have done it. As it turns out, it was some kind of memorial to her late father, and she had none of the intentions that I jumped to conclusions over, but it got me thinking.) So here is why I would be proud to take an Auschwitz selfie.

I was 19 when I visited Poland, in the year of mourning for my dear father, and a few months on from my year living in Israel. I had probably never felt quite so close to God, and if I’d realised how fragile and transient that stage is, I would have appreciated it a lot more. I remember being told that concentration camps were a place of death, and it was right to be sad and to cry. But cemeteries, they were a place of life, a place to rejoice. If these people had graves, with names on, with markers or even headstones, that meant that someone buried them. Someone lived on after them to remember them, to place the memorial, to visit and to upkeep it. We were there now, reading these peoples names, wondering and imagining about their lives, and then most importantly, going home to continue our own, because of them and others of their generation and their bravery.

A selfie at Auschwitz? A smiling face amongst all that terror and death? I see it as a flag, a symbol of our endurance. After all, there are no smiling selfies of Nazis. Just last week, a Nazi of almost 100 years old was prosecuted for being an accessory to nearly 300,000 murders. But we Jews? We are still here, we exist, we live on. We smile.

And as I look over my newsfeed, at hopeful and excited faces and witty cartoons, happily taking the place of the videos of Hamas insisting Israel are driven into the sea, calling for the death of each and every one of the Jewish people, I can see life everywhere I look. It is our ability to look to the future, to believe in the strength of our faith and our homeland, and to smile in the face of terror that keeps us united. More than that, it is what keeps us alive.

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Wishing a happy, healthy and successful new year to each and every one of you!