Leslea Newman
These were my people. And they were canceling my visit. I could only conclude that the mere presence of a Jewish lesbian at their school was unacceptable to them.
These were my people. And they were canceling my visit. I could only conclude that the mere presence of a Jewish lesbian at their school was unacceptable to them.
Shishi Nashim–“Friday Women”–is the joint initiative of two grassroots organizations in Akko: the Educators Kibbutz and Akko Women’s Vision. The two organizations have been working to spark increased community involvement and a new creativity among the city’s 50,000 residents, who are one-third Arab and two-thirds Jewish.
In my crafted Jewish identity, there is not a space carved out for God; instead I have chosen to define my Judaism by my bonds to various Jewish communities.
Despite the challenges of racism that many Jews of Color face daily, it is not all so dismal, and we are not solely building this community as a response to a lack. Rather, we are dreaming up new realities, celebrating each other, working to ensure we are a space for restorative dialogue, where we love and protect each other and hold oppressive behavior accountable, and sharing learning for this world and the one to come.
Many of the speakers expressed desire for a deeper partnership between Israel and American Jews, exploring the ways both communities could learn from the other.
When writing about the yetzer hara, the “evil inclination,” rabbis have grappled with the exalted algebra that if God created everything, then God must have also created this inclination. Thus, even this “evil” part of us must have some essence of the divine.
My issue with the climate movement is that in focusing on small individual responsibilities like paper straws and meatless Mondays, we fail to address bigger, systemic issues like animal agriculture, food deserts, and how billionaires can but are electing to not end hunger in America.
Sukkot is a holiday to celebrate the harvest, and though I was three stories above the earth, I celebrated my own harvest: a place to live, groceries in my fridge, a job, quiet neighbors, a laundromat down the street.
One of my favorite sweets for as long as I can remember is baklava – flakey layers of buttery filo and crunchy nuts, all soaked through with a special honey-sugar syrup until each piece is heavy with gooey goodness. I think there must be some genetic imprinting from my Sephardic ancestors who spent centuries in the Ottoman Empire for me to love it as much as I do.