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By John Zeleznikow

For those holocaust survivors who were interred in concentration camps in occupied Nazi Europe between 1939 and 1945, life in post-war Melbourne was blissfully pleasant.  They had successfully escaped to what they perceived as the end of their world. For countless years, they tried to forget their experiences.  Many rarely discussed their tragedies with their family.

But for a small number of survivors, life after the Holocaust was anti-climatic. Those partisans, who had heroically fought the Nazis, now had to integrate into post-war society. Their reasons for resistance were no longer relevant.  And whilst some Jews were involved in armed conflict, fighting for a Jewish homeland in British Mandate Palestine, this was not the case in Australia.

I would like to introduce you to the experiences of Avram Zeleznikow, a survivor of the Vilno (Vilnius) Ghetto who was a member of the Jewish partisan group of Abba Kovner. Before the war, in Vilno, he had been a Bund activist and Yiddish teacher.

In the ghetto he was faced with many ethical dilemmas, including whether to cooperate or resist with the authorities; how to treat the Kapos (Jewish Police); and whether to give up their commander, Yitzhak Wittenberg.

When he escaped to the forest of Rudniki, there were daily dilemmas on whether to treat local residents like innocent bystanders or Nazi collaborators. These issues resonate today, when we deliberate how to classify individuals as resistance fighters or terrorists, and what is appropriate action.

In post-holocaust Melbourne, Abram Zeleznikow was initially a labourer who eventually ran a renowned restaurant, Café Scheherazade, and became a communal activist.

Professor John Zeleznikow is in the School of Management and Information Systems at Victoria University where he specialises in decision support for enhancing negotiation.  His negotiation support software won its heat of the ABC New Inventors program. His latest book, Information Technology for Enhanced Dispute Resolution was published by Cambridge University Press on June 1 2010.

Professor Zeleznikow will be speaking on “Life at the end of the world was an anti-climax – memories of sixty years of life of a Jewish partisan in Melbourne” at Limmud Oz on Monday June 14 at 5pm.

Dear Tante Bayla,

A couple of weeks ago, my beloved and I decided to visit the Dali exhibition at the NGV for the Art After Dark session. When we arrived we were dismayed to find that the queue to buy tickets was at least an hour long, taking up the entire atrium. If we actually got in, we’d have hardly any time to see the exhibition before it closed for the day. As we were debating whether or not to stay, I spied my old high school art teacher — let’s call her Mrs Chagall — out of the corner of my eye. She waved us over to her spot at the front of the queue, and told us that her sciatica was playing up and she was going to go home, but we were welcome to take her spot in the line.

Before I could even begin to formulate a response my beloved jumped the rope and voila, we were at the front of the queue. We had our tickets within ten minutes and ample time to peruse the exhibition. But I feel guilty that we pushed ahead of all the other people patiently waiting. Was it right of us to accept Mrs Chagall’s offer? Shouldn’t we have bided our time in the queue like everyone else? (Beloved said no! carpe di queue, etc.)

What should we have done?

Guilty Art Lover, Bentleigh, VIC

Dear GAL,

This is a tough one. On the one hand, had you waited in the queue with everyone else, you could have missed out on seeing the exhibition entirely. And technically, you didn’t make the queue any longer for the people behind you – you were simply replacing Mrs Chagall. On the other hand, what you did was morally dubious. You jumped the queue. You took what wasn’t yours! In the school tuckshop line, this sort of exchange is called a “Chinese swap” (nu, primary school kids aren’t known for their political correctness) and is seriously frowned upon as the ultimate manifestation corruption and dishonesty. In thirty-six degree heat, you just gotta wait your turn for your Sunnyboy like everyone else.

But primary school morality is perhaps not the best arbiter of right and wrong. So let us turn to the Good Book, where there’s plenty of queue-jumping and dubious decision-making to reflect upon!

Case in point:

Jacob convinces Esau to hand over his birthright as firstborn in exchange for THE BEST CHULENT OF ALL TIME. Aided by his mother, Rebecca, Jacob then dons a hairy disguise and steals some blessings from Isaac intended for Esau, thus starting the biggest rivalry EVA and altering the course of Jewish history for all eternity. Jacob is also considered to be the granddaddy of the Jewish nation. (Sucks to be Esau.) So it would appear that you can indulge in your queue-jumping sans guilt, safe in the knowledge that you are emulating our righteous (cough, cough) forefathers.

BUT. Jacob gets his comeuppance. He’s conned by Leah and Laban, the BEST QUEUE JUMPERS OF ALL TIME. They make you and your Beloved and look positively saintly. Leah marries Jacob ahead of Rachel, and Jacob is forced to toil another seven years for Laban until he finally gets to marry his true love. (Happy sigh.) But ultimately Rachel and Leah have a very dysfunctional, unhappy relationship, with Leah constantly flaunting her fertility and never able to reconcile herself to the fact that Rachel is Jacob’s true love. (Echoes of The Bold and the Beautiful here.) Then poor Rachel dies giving birth to Benjamin. And then there’s the whole saga with Joseph and Benjamin and the other brothers kidnapping Joseph and then pretending he’s been killed, etc. (Echoes of Dr Phil, anyone?)

So, in conclusion – queue jumping is bad. It has led, respectively, to:

1. The Arab-Israeli conflict;
2. Slavery of Jews in Egypt; (and by extension, the invention of matzah… *shudder*)
3. All subsequent Jewish suffering and persecution;
4. Bad soap opera plots (see B&B reference above);
5. Bad self-help reality TV (refer to Dr Phil).

So unless you want to initiate a world war, accidentally marry your Beloved’s sister, or end up on daytime television, I would advise that queue jumping of any sort is best left well alone.

As penance, say eighteen Hail Marys and tune in to Galus’ liveblog coverage of John Safran’s new TV show tomorrow night. (There will be no queues.)

Love,

Tante Bayla

Walter doesn't roll on Shabbos. Change the schedule.

By ariel

Should Jewish sports clubs compete on Shabbat?

This question has confronted me since early adolescence, when I began playing competitive basketball with Maccabi NSW. It was around the time of my bar-mitzvah when I faced a dilemma which took many years to resolve. With junior competitive sports in Australia traditionally played on Saturday mornings, Maccabi has forever had to enter teams in these competitions if it wished to remain a seriously competitive club and impress upon the “seventy nations” that Jews can excel in sport.

Having had a solid Jewish education, I was always taught that Jews should not desecrate the Shabbat (at least) in public. If becoming bar/bat-mitzvah is about an adolescent accepting the yoke of the commandments – the mitzvot – then how could I in good conscience continue to participate in these basketball competitions?

So I missed basketball one week in order to have my bar-mitzvah. But the following week I was back on the court, convinced I was on my way to playing in the American NBA. I eventually advanced to the U-16s competition which was held on Friday nights. Like many “traditional” Jewish families, this posed less of an issue for us because it meant that after the match we could sit down to dinner together and the following morning I would go to shul with my father.

Sometime in Year 11, I decided that perhaps the path of shmirat Shabbat – Shabbat observance – was “the right thing to do” for me vis-à-vis world Jewry.  It helped that by this time, the U-18s and subsequent adult tournaments were played on Sunday evenings.

I began to resent Maccabi for putting young Jews in a position where they misrepresented our values, and to an extent I continue to do so, if only because I believe it is plainly wrong for a representative Jewish agency to publicly desecrate the Shabbat.

I recall that sometime during this whole period a wealthy observant Jew in Melbourne offered to sponsor all of Maccabi Victoria’s sports clubs on the condition that they cease playing on Shabbat. The organisation agreed and I felt good, proving that nothing is impossible to achieve.

Shmirat Shabbat has always been central to the Jewish people’s experience and existence, at least until the last two or three generations. There is an expression that more than the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jewish people.

Today, with more unaffiliated Jews discovering the beauty of our traditions and taking on Shabbat observance (based purely on my own observations of those I know), clubs like Maccabi may struggle to maintain their membership levels over the coming generations. I know many talented sportsmen who are also frum (observant), but are precluded from participating in many Maccabi events because they are held on Shabbat. Granted, there are opportunities for adult competition on Sundays, but what about the kids whose age groups primarily compete on Saturdays (there are one or two sports which are the exceptions)?

I don’t pretend to have a solution to the sport on Shabbat dilemma, but I contend that it is a communal dilemma, which should be addressed seriously. We are blessed to live in a free and fair country where all ethno-religious cultures are respected. There is no reason why the Jewish community should have to renege on its most quintessential traditions for the sake of amateur sports. I do not believe others would do the same.

I am convinced that a number of solutions to this problem will emerge, given serious consideration. None will be perfect, but one will be the best of the lot and we should run with it when it reveals itself.

Ariel is a full-time Jew with an interest in a variety of Jewish issues, and a passionate political analyst with a keen eye for hypocrisy and mismanagement. In order to pay bills, Ariel works as an electrical engineer in the Energy Supply Industry, but is not responsible for any electrical failures you may have experienced recently. Hopefully, someone will listen to what he has to say.

By Jewin’ the fat

My brother-in-law announced quite casually one Friday night that he was planning to run 100km in under 24 hours. Through the bush. All in one go. At first, our family went through the five stages of an unexpected Shabbat announcement.

Shock.

Disbelief.

Ridicule.

Questioning.

Acceptance.

In the name of Oxfam Australia, he and three of his friends were going to push themselves to their physical limits, along with hundreds of others, to raise money for less fortunate communities in the Asia Pacific. Which, according to the Jewish spirit of generosity and focus on Tikkun Olam and Tzedakah, should have been an inspiring, fulfilling way to spend a weekend.

Members of Code Pink 4 Peace protest the sale of Ahava products

Except that a few days ago, I read a disturbing news story online which made me reconsider. Oxfam International allegedly dumped Sex and the City star Kristen ‘Charlotte’ Davis from its corps of celebrity ambassadors. Why? Because she is currently contracted as the ‘face’ of Ahava skin care products, which are produced beyond the Green Line.

According to Oxfam, this ‘disputed’ territory, namely Kibbutz Mizpe Shalem on the Dead Sea coast, is the site of “settlement trade” to which they “remain opposed”. According to a source quoted in the New York Post, “From an Oxfam perspective, Ahava is a polarising company and Kristin shouldn’t be involved with it.”

According to an email I received from a representative of Oxfam Australia, the following statement stands as the ‘truth’ of the issue:

“I would like to assure you that the NY Post story (”Sex star, Oxfam split”) is not correct: Oxfam remains committed to maintaining Kristin as our ambassador and Kristin remains committed to Oxfam. Furthermore, this issue in no way changes Oxfam’s and Kristin’s future plans together. We do not currently have plans for publicity work while we work through the Ahava issue. It would indeed be a shame for this incident to be used by others to distract from her great work with us.”

Am I missing something?

If we are going to say there is a conflict of interest (namely, that the operating systems of Ahava and the ideology of Oxfam are in opposition), then why did Oxfam accept Davis’ services as an Ambassador? It’s not like Davis is being paid for her services – in fact, Oxfam benefits greatly from the fact that Davis is a television and movie star (who can forget her turn in Melrose Place?).

But then again, if she isn’t being paid to represent Oxfam (as she is with Ahava), is her personal ideology, or any divergence from the ideology of Oxfam, necessarily an infringement upon the legal or contractual obligations of her volunteer service? What about the thousands of volunteers who walk the streets collecting signatures – does Oxfam care about their personal affiliations? Or for that matter, about those of the hundreds of paid staff they employ?

Raising money to build clean water filters in schools or provide micro finance to women in underprivileged communities is honourable, vital work. As Australians with means, we should give generously. But without prejudice?

Can we afford to deny these deserving communities financial aid on the basis of our political affiliations, or conversely, are we to ignore the unfair politicisation of charity work as we blindly give money to an organisation that no longer sees the wood for the trees? Can we legitimately support certain initiatives like Oxfam Trailwalkers, while feigning ignorance about the differences between Oxfam’s clear ideological persuasions and our own?

When it comes to Kristin Davis, at what point does it become hypocritical to be paid by an Israeli company, while volunteering for an organisation that raises money for Palestinians?

When it comes to where we donate our ten percent, are we being hypocrites? If you are for one cause, do you automatically need to be against another?

Is humanitarianism a zero sum game?

(Read the original article here.)

Dear Tante Bayla,

We have been blessed with three intelligent, sensitive, creative, independent-minded children. But the fourth, our youngest, is turning into a conservative little son-of-a-neo-con. We don’t know where we went wrong. Normal teenagers have posters of Ben Harper on their walls; Mark* has a picture of Joseph and Hadassah Lieberman’s 2008 Channukah card. Instead of spending half of Sunday sleeping, he reads the Fin Review and works on developing his online business model. Whatever that means.

Look, we love Mark, he’s a good kid, studies hard, respects us, etc. But the problem is that he wants to study LAW, then go into FINANCE and make (quote): “shitloads of money”. He keeps threatening to vote for the Coalition in the next election. We just want him to play guitar, wear t-shirts with slogans and study something fun, like literature or art or surfboard making. In short, we want him to be more like us.

Help!
Ageing Hippies, East Malvern, VIC

Tante Bayla

Dear Ageing Hippies,

So your son wants to be a lawyer and make money. My condolences.

I totally get where you’re coming from: of COURSE you want your son to be just like you. Ultimately, all parents do. They’re not meant to admit it, but all that unconditional love is really just code for “please be like me”. This shouldn’t be the case, of course. It is bad and selfish and parents should not be bad and selfish; they should embrace diversity in all its beautiful diversity, especially when it comes to their children.

Great. Now that we’ve established your political incorrectness (tick!), let’s move on to the actual advice:

I have to admit my limitations in advising you on this matter. I am, after all, a tante – not a mameh. My knowledge of child rearing is derived mainly from popular culture. In fact, all of what I know about anything is derived from popular culture. (This is because I studied something ‘fun’ at university. I now earn about $8 an hour working in retail. But I’m really fulfilled, you know?)

Therefore, allow me to dip into the venerable pool of wisdom that is popular culture. Fortunately, there’s a movie that explores exactly the predicament you find yourselves in: The Rage in Placid Lake (2003). (‘Rage’ is a memorable film, mainly because every time I remember it I think, “Must remember to not see Ben Lee act ever, ever again.”) Basically, what happens is this: Ben Lee’s character, Placid, is raised by hippie parents. He rebels and goes to work for an insurance company. Meanwhile, he’s got a lovely best friend, played by Rose Byrne, whose father expects her to become a great scientist and she’s not sure she wants to. Of course, Placid’s in love with Rose Byrne but he doesn’t realise it. Can’t quite remember the rest, but they end up together and I think Placid gets over wanting to be a capitalist because he’s got Rose Byrne.

Ooh! And actually there’s another movie worth mentioning: Everyone Says I Love You (1996). (Everyone Says I Love You is memorable too, mainly for the fact that Drew Barrymore appears to not be wearing a bra in most scenes, and also because we’re supposed to believe that Julia Roberts would fall in love with Woody Allen.) Anyway, there’s a minor subplot involving Alan Alda’s son, Scott, who, despite being born into a sickeningly-sweetly-neurotic uber-liberal Upper East Side pseudo-intellectual family, starts talking about the right to bear arms and voting for the GOP and other awful non-liberal values. Happily, it turns out Scott has a benign brain tumour (or maybe it’s his thyroid, not sure), and once it’s removed he reverts to family type and presumably ends up writing a thesis on post-colonial paradigms of off-Broadway masculinity at Berkeley. Or making surfboards.

To conclude:

There are two distinct possibilities for you to explore here: either young Mark has some sort of not-too-serious undiagnosed medical condition, which, once resolved, will return him to you in his full, prodigal glory. We can only hope. Make some appointments at Cabrini.

Another possibility is that he just needs a girlfriend. In which case he’s much like any other adolescent male – too many hormones and not enough sex.  I’d suggest sitting tight for the next couple of scenes, as the problem may be resolved in a neat cinematic arc, a la Placid and Scott.

If not, you’ll just have to don suits, become lawyers and start working in finance. For the rest of your lives. (Reverse psychology is nothing if not a commitment.) It’s the least you could do for Mark, really. Hopefully the thought of his parents muscling in on his territory will be enough to turn him towards something more… fun.

Love,

Tante Bayle

* Name has been changed.

Dear Izzy,

I seek your advice. I frequently go to Shule on Shabbos but have difficulty getting food at the Kiddush that follows the service. No matter how hard I try, I always seem to end up standing with an empty plate, looking in dismay in the direction of a table of food that is surrounded by an impenetrable circle of men and women who shield whatever food that is left from any attempt by me to retrieve some small scraps.

What am I to do?

BD33, Caulfield, VIC

BD33:

Not long ago I was at a kiddush for the baby naming of a friend’s great-granddaughter.  I went to get a knish, and there happened that there was only one left.  I could see that the Rabbi had his eye on this knish too.  Well, just because he’s the Rabbi, I suppose I’m meant to just let him have the Knish. Far Vos?

Anyway,  both the Rabbi and I grabbed this same knish, and one thing led to another, and as I rained down blows upon him, I realised there had to be another way.  But I don’t really know what that way is exactly.  Anyway, I need to go out to the bank now, and then to pick up some bagels, so I’ll hand you over to by son-in-law Hymie who wants to write something to you.

Zay gezint,

Izzy

Dear BD33,

It’s Hymie here. I know exactly how you feel. I have much the same problem myself. You want to be polite. You wait for the brocha to be recited. You are careful to avoid pushing past elderly men and women. You politely engage in small talk with someone who says hello. And before you know it – whoosh – the food is gone.

My own friend Morry has no such problems. Even though he is much more portly than me and normally very slow moving, he manages to weasel his way right next to the table, stands there with a plate chock-full of food, eating and talking loudly, an immovable object planted right in front of a platter of cakes, blocking any attempt by me or anyone else to retrieve even one small rugelach.

It got so bad for me, one day I decided to bring my own food to Shule.

I made myself a bagel with smoked salmon and tomato and pickles. My wife Miriam had made an apple strudel and a chocolate babka and I took one piece of each. I hid this food in various pockets of my suit and made sure I took the largest tallis I had to provide additional camouflage at Shule. But I must say I didn’t enjoy the service. I was as nervous as anything. Of course all the food I brought was strictly kosher and the particular service I attended that day was, how should I put it, not at one of the most orthodox Shules. But the thought of being discovered made me nervous and I couldn’t concentrate on any of the service.

Once the service was over, I avoided the rush to the food at the Kiddush, took an empty plate, and then managed to retrieve all my food from the various pockets of my suit and sit down at a table. Everything was now going very well. The cakes were extremely good. For the first time ever, Morry left the food table and came over to say hello. His eyes went wide with envy when he saw my plate. He even asked where I got the cakes from! Oh joy! I told him I just managed to get the last piece of chocolate babka!

I tell you, the walk home from Shule that day was one of the happiest in my life. It was so good I took some extra detours to make the journey longer.

Unfortunately, Miriam wasn’t in a good mood when at last I arrived home. “Why did you take one slice from each of the cakes I left out? How can I give them away tomorrow at the fete … etc. etc.” My good mood was fast dissipating. When at last she finished I apologized to Miriam. I asked her what she was going to do with the left over cakes. “Oh,” she replied “Morry came by after shule so I gave them to him”.

So you see BD33, I am not in a position to advise you. And of course I’m not going to ask Morry. How to get food at a Kiddush is still a mystery to me. But I think it has more to do with personality than with technique.

Sincerely,

Hymie.

As with many children of the Jewish day school system, my childhood was peppered with intriguing anecdotes and extraordinary stories of a far off Holy Land, where Jews are welcomed into their own nation, and the ground flows freely with milk and honey (I was soon to find out, to my bitter disappointment, that the allegory of flowing dairy foods was merely a metaphor for a land of abundance).

I was also reminded daily that in my Australian reality my parents were paying good money to send me to a top Jewish day school, and cursed be I should I not take full advantage of the plethora of Jewish and Hebrew based subjects and opportunities (which, to my bitter disappointment, were limited to one or two modern Hebrew classes a week and a little ethno-religious history), get a banging Tertiary entrance mark, become a lawyer-doctor, get married and produce offspring for my parents to dote over on the weekends. It’s the fifth commandment after all – Honour thy Mother and Father (And be damned if you don’t do as they say).

And so it was – for years I was ping-ponging back and forth between the Zionism dream, and the ersatz Diaspora Zionist reality. But like thousands of other young Jews, I broke the mould, defied my parents (by studying Journalism and spending my gap year in Israel. As well as the summer break in second year. And 10 months at the end of my degree) and became a product of my Jewish Zionist education.

But the success story that eventuated was the parental nightmare: highly politicized, staunchly Zionist, with a hopeful entrepreneurial spirit and chomping at the bit to move half way across the world and make their dreams come true. In short, when I called home one warm April day to inform my parents that Israel was my homeland, and Aliyah was the only way up, I was shocked to discover I was talking to a brick wall. And no sooner had I mentioned my intentions, my parents were demanding my return to Australia. Months later and quite begrudgingly, I did arrive back, and quickly understood the reason I had felt so trapped.

These days, Jewish parents in Australia invest hundreds of thousands of dollars in their children’s Jewish-Zionist education, which by definition encourages them to ensure their destiny is intertwined with Israel. For most people, that implies donating money to ambulance services and soup kitchens in Jerusalem, or continuing the tradition of providing their children with a Jewish education. For others, it might even include sending their children on a trip to see the country and its people for themselves.

But, for most of these pocket-book Zionists, it is easier to write a cheque. The possibility of actually moving to Israel… well, it’s too rash, too extreme, completely out of the question, what about my friends, but I have a job here, I will need to talk to my partner, what would my parents say…

Well, I know what my parents would say, because they said it. Loud and clear – never mind drug addiction, alcohol abuse, marrying the wrong person, pregnancy out of wedlock – the fulfillment of your Jewish-Zionist identity? Over my dead body. And the sick thing is that part of me understands the struggle – as a parent, you want to give your child every opportunity, every chance to excel, to realize their potential, to become a strong, independent character with a keen moral compass. You just don’t envision them actually taking on the challenge and achieving that.

So what would your parents say if you told them you wanted to honour their gift to you, and become the person they imagined you would?

Maybe the question to ask is not what your parents would say, but what they should say. And they should say yes. Because the hardest thing of all for a Jewish child would be to honour hypocrisy.

At Galus Australis, we are concerned that our community has forgotten the importance of utilising the wisdom of our elders.  That’s why we’re doing something about it!  We’ve recruited a genuine Zaida, as well as a Tante, to answer any questions our readers might have.

So for those of you who have any questions on any topic whatsoever, please direct them to either Izzy (izzy@galusaustralis.com) or Bayla (bayla@galusaustralis.com), and they’ll be only too happy to tell you what to do. Or where to go.

Dear Tante Bayla,

For the past twenty years, my father-in-law (let’s call him Motek) has been responsible for running our pesach seders. The seder is a contentious ritual in our family – Motek favours a speedy, cut-through-the-maggid-to-the-fressing bit, as does my husband, J. I prefer a more philosophical and intellectual approach; drawing from various haggadot as well as readings from secular-Jewish and non-Jewish sources. My brother-in-law is quite frum and likes a very traditional, Orthodox (and long) seder. My sister-in-law, like Motek and J, just wants to eat ASAP (but I think she’d like all of our our children to participate more).
Anyway, dear Motek is getting on in years and recently announced his abdication from the Head of Seder post. He feels it’s time to pass the role on to the next generation. I can see conflict brewing, come pesach-time. How do we find an amicable way to resolve our differences?

Thanks,
BaSeder, East St Kilda, VIC

Tante Bayla

Dear BaSeder,

So, “dear Motek is getting on in years”, is he? Oh, you can barely contain your glee, BaSeder. Admit it! Finally, the alte kaker has bowed out. A power struggle forming! This is your big opportunity to come out on top! And there’s a lot at stake, too – shalom bayis, boredom, plagues, continuity, tradition, whinging children, religious differences, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, getting to eat your kneidlach before midnight.
BS (hmm), this is a matter of urgency – spiritually, politically, etc. Though you’ve couched it in much more PC-language than I would have – shkoyach! That does, however, say something about the sort of seder you’d run, and I’ll be frank – it’s not my cup of salted water. I’m a Motek sort of gal at heart. After many, many years of seders (of all sorts of ideological and religious affiliations and permutations), I get it. We were slaves, The Almighty redeemed us, now we’re free, let’s all hold hands and talk about Darfur for ten minutes, etc. These days, I just want to eat my roast chicken and gefilte fish and make Masterchef-esque looking korech structures from multiple layers of charoset, lettuce, matzah and maror.
Having said that, I admire your noble, post-modern proclivities. I get where you’re coming from. As far as I can see, there is only one fair way to resolve a power struggle in our post-modern, self-referentially ironic, inter-webzy world: a reality-TV style competition. Truly, is there any greater arbiter of cultural value today than a child with a mobile phone, opposable thumbs and a working television? NO! (Your sister-in-law will love it!) Picture it: SederMaster Australia. A cook-off, read-off, learn-off, source-gathering-off SPECTAC. A different contestant eliminated each week. The process would culminate in a epic, six-hour seder-off, with the winner crowned SederMaster by the children in the family until death (or senility)!

I love it. I’m on shpilkas. Someone get me The Shtick on the phone.

Love,
Tante Bayla

Izzy

Traditionally in Jewish culture, knowledge and wisdom are passed down from the elders to the younger generation.  Together with a historically higher than average literacy rate, this has been one of the keys to Jewish success in education, business, and life learning.

At Galus Australis, we are concerned that our community has forgotten the importance of utilising the wisdom of our elders.  That’s why we’re doing something about it!  We’ve recruited a genuine Zaida, as well as a Tante, to answer any questions our readers might have.

So for those of you who have any questions on any topic whatsoever, please direct them to either Izzy (izzy@galusaustralis.com) or Bayla (bayla@galusaustralis.com), and they’ll be only too happy to tell you what to do. Or where to go.

Dear Izzy,

Ever since I became a vegetarian at 18 during my year away in Israel, I have tried to date only girls who are also vegetarian (or vegan).  However, lately I have been wondering if I am making a serious error in limiting myself to vegetarian girls.  On one hand, I think the relationship would be much easier when both parties have similar dietary restrictions, be it kashrut, vegetarianism, gluten-free, or lactose intolerance etc.  But on the other hand I wonder if limiting myself in this way makes me run the risk of missing out on meeting my soul mate.

What’s your advice?

Adam, 22, Caulfield, VIC

Dear Adam,

Vegetarian!  What, are you crazy?  What kind of mishega’as is this?

You don’t eat meat? So what do you eat?

Do your parents know you are a vegetarian? Are they upset?

My advice to you is start eating meat like a normal person.  Look, if you don’t want to listen to me, at least try just a little piece of meat – you never know, you might like it.  It’s not going to kill you.

Zay Gezint.

Most of us were raised to believe that you were a Jew because your mother was Jewish. That Jewish descent passes through the woman. And no doubt we have all heard the various reasons that rabbis and others have given for this over the years. My personal favourite is the one that says women are more spiritually advanced than men and hence the Jewish spiritual DNA can only be passed through them. I mean, obviously spiritual DNA can only be passed through women, why would we have ever thought otherwise?

On a more serious note, however, the idea of matrilineal descent has major ramifications for many Jewish people. In an era where more and more Jewish boys and girls are meeting people from outside of their culture, maintaining the racial and ethnic purity of the people has never been harder. And it is especially hard on the Rabbinate to try and enforce their notion of spiritual purity with very few punitive measures available to them.

But lets examine for a moment the origin of this matrilineal descent concept. Within the 4-cubit-wide confines of rabbinic logic, the source of all Jewish laws and customs is the Torah, as interpreted by the Rabbis of the Mishnaic period (i.e 200BC-200AD). And sure enough, the Mishna is quite clear on the matter. Kiddushin 3:12 states that to be considered Jewish one must be the child of a Jewish mother or a righteous convert. For the rabbi it is simple – case closed.

But for those of us who for whatever reason see it fit to doubt the reasoning of pre-industrial scholastic logicians who were part of a nationalist populist political movement arguably responsible for the two most catastrophic wars in Jewish history up until the Holocaust, well, we have to search beyond the Mishna and its peculiar methodology of Biblical interpretation.

A straight reading of the Torah leaves one with a fairly overwhelming impression that in Biblical and pre-Biblical times, all notions of tribal descent were passed through the father. There are numerous characters in the Bible, for example Judah’s sons, Ephraim, Menashe and the children of Moses who all had non-Jewish mothers and were all considered Jewish. The rabbis conveniently explain that all of their mothers converted to Judaism but as with most rabbinic statements, they bear little relation to any literal reading of the text and require the application  of the arcane science of drash to force those meanings out.

In addition to this is the overwhelming number of references to the father’s tribe being the most important, to all descent occurring through the patrilineal line, the generation lists that only mention fathers and the constant reference to the Gods of Forefathers, implying that tribe and religion are the domain of the male.

And this makes perfect sense. We know that the Biblical and pre-Biblical society was highly patriarchal, both for the Israelites and the Hebrews and for most people around the world at that time. If a Jewish man married a non-Jewish woman what was happening in effect was that the man was taking her into his tribe, she would be absorbed in to the new people, and thus her previous identity and her previous gods would be irrelevant.

What is equally clear to all historians of this matter is that at some point this changed and matrilineal descent took over as normative practice. There are a number of arguments put forward, each with greater or lesser degrees of evidence to back them.

There is the idea that it originated with Ezra, when he forced Jewish men to banish their non-Jewish wives. There is another idea that it was instituted after the Bar Kochba revolt as a leniency to the children of women raped by the Romans, so that an entire generation of children would not be lost to Judaism. There is a further idea that in contrast to paternal descent, maternal descent is certain and provable.

But the truth and historicity of any of these reasons is not the real point. The real point is that according to the best evidence that historians can bring up:

1. Once upon a time Jews believed in patrilineal descent
2. At a later period they changed to matrilineal descent
3. No one has ever really understood exactly why this change took place

Despite the overwhelming historical evidence pointing to a tradition of patrilineal descent, the Halacha is steadfast in its exclusive acceptance of matrilineal descent.  As far as Halacha is concerned, if the Mishnaic sages interpreted a biblical verse in a certain way – then come hell or high water their interpretation will stand until the end of time.

What is important for us is the following: Why as a community do we allow ourselves to be bound by the interpretation and tradition of the Halacha? Why do we allow questions of such fundamental importance like “Who is a Jew?” to be arbitrated by a system that borders on the superstitious?

Being Jewish is not a superstition – it is a very real and powerful experience that transcends the narrow and stringent practices of Halacha. Most of us feel very comfortable being Jewish without keeping any real Halacha at all. The question of whether one can be Jewish without keeping the Halacha was answered long ago. The question now is slightly different:

Can a community claim to be Jewish without relying on the Halacha for definitions of its own Jewishness?

Even though most of us feel entirely Jewish as individuals without the need for any formal Halacha in our lives – we have left the ultimate Jewish character of the community entirely in the hands of the Halachists.

The Halachic system performed a great service to the Jewish people. Arguably it guaranteed the survival of the Jewish people for 2000 years without a homeland or a sovereign state of our own. Yet the great epoch of the Halacha is at an end. We may not be living in the era of redemption, but neither are we living in the Exile proper.

As a community we need to rethink our relationship to the Halacha. Instead of accepting it as a ruler and master, we should adopt it for what it actually is – a frame of reference. The word Torah etymologically derives from the word “hora’ah” or guidance. In the language of our most ancient forefathers the word Torah did not mean law but guidance.

If we saw the Halacha as a guide to our ancient traditions, rather than hard and fast law, we would be in a better position to fashion a Jewish experience that is congruent and consistent with the way we actually live our lives.