Three thoughts on the Jewish World

I gave a presentation the other night to a leadership group in Boston. We talked about the Jewish world and some of the mission-locations they’d visited and discussed. Cuba, Hungary, Argentina and Ukraine.

And yes, every situation is different. But still … there were three themes that looked “the same” for me.

First, everywhere you go, it’s always the vulnerable who suffer first and hardest. Doesn’t matter where. Whenever there’s trouble, or conflict, or crisis. Could be in Israel, or Ukraine or any number of places.

Second, exit strategies and phase downs aren’t linear processes. We talked about how the Joint is phasing down in certain programs and countries. But we also talked about a readiness to scale back up, if the need arises or the economics worsen.

And third, communities change not just in quantity but also in quality. When a community consolidates (say, into major cities) that may look like a “shrinkage.” But if the end result of that transition is where we can build leadership programs, JCCs, Sunday Schools and other immersive experiences … then it's not the same thing. When communities consolidate geographically we're looking at economies of scale. When it's easier to build these programs because we have more density and easier logistics.

And that's a positive.

An Attitude

Click here to listen to an inspiring sermon by Rabbi David Wolpe of Sinai Temple, Los Angeles, on JDC and mutual responsibility.

"We can save them ... how lucky we are."




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Szarvas and Memory

I loved this piece ... so eloquent and so compelling ...

Finding the Alte Heim

Pessy Katz - Times of Israel 

January 19, 2014

I found the alte heim — the old home — in the Hungarian countryside, right along the Koros River, this past summer. I did not know that I was looking for the alte heim, I no longer even believed it had ever existed as it does in the romanticized collective memory of the Hassidic community in which I was raised. But then I found it, more complex and vibrant than a Hassidic girl could ever have dreamed it to be, at Camp Szarvas, an international Jewish camp in Hungary.

Growing up in the Satmar Hassidic community in Boro Park, my world was enclosed but I was lovingly provided with everything I needed to grow into a modest, poised young woman who would marry a good learned man and build an ultra-Orthodox home that in my young imagination was always filled with a gleaming chandelier, pious sons and daughters that would carry on the traditions, and sounds of Yiddish wafting through the air mixing with the delicious aroma of freshly made kokos (babka).

Indeed, I knew from a young age that the sign of a talented hassidic balabusta (housewife) is the stuffed cabbage she lovingly prepares twice every year, once for Simchat Torah and once for Purim. I would watch my aunt as, on every Friday in the winter time, she would roast gesztenye (chestnuts) to serve after Shabbat dinner when her husband and sons would sit around the table and sing beautiful Shabbat melodies. My paternal grandmother would prepare large pans of rakott krumpli (potato casserole) for my aunts, uncles and many little cousins as a special treat for the yearly Chanukah party she would host, and my maternal grandmother would remind us at every bris, engagement party or other special occasion to praise her for standing over the stove to prepare hundreds of beautifully thin palacsinta (crepes) which she served filled with cheese, cocoa or nuts.

Long before I knew how to prepare these foods, they created the pattern of Shabbat and Jewish holidays through which our year revolved around in Boro Park. To me they became the representation of love, warmth and special Judaism. I knew that these foods and rituals were tied to the alte heim, much as everything we did was encouraged to be. We were at turns inspired and admonished to emulate the actions, clothes and emunah p’shuta (simple faith) of our not-too-distant ancestors back in Europe. Thus, even in our modern-day Hassidic lives in America, the alte heim, with the images our teachers would invoke of women in head-scarves knotted under their chins and somber men bringing freshly slaughtered chickens home for their wives to salt and kosher was very distant but also very real. It lived in our collective memory and in our aspirations of the insular Orthodox utopia we sought valiantly to recreate right here in New York City.

But as I grew older, I came to understand that insularity does not make one more virtuous, that piety as a woman did not have to be measured by what I wear, and that a broad education may be full of spiritual pit-falls but is also filled with joy. Though surrounded with love and food, I learnt that I could expand my experience as a woman, and as a religious woman, beyond the Hassidic community in ways richer and more meaningful than I had previously been allowed.

My pursuit of intellectual independence and greater religious expression as a woman – whether it was receiving a college education, completing political internships, or becoming an active participant in progressive Orthodox institutions – was from the beginning coupled with the desire to maintain not just a loyalty to halakha but the purity of the joyous traditions with which I was raised. I knew early on that this challenge would by no means be a simple one, that of trying to mesh traditions so rooted in a specific and enclosed world with a reality that strives for open-ness and intellectual honesty. But then, this past summer, this challenge found reprieve in the most unexpected, yet beautiful, of places.

It was while completing a year-long fellowship in Israel that I first visited Budapest. In Budapest the stuffed cabbage of Simchat Torah was sumptuously displayed in the Christmas markets; the many foods of my childhood literally filled the streets. The language I had heard only through the mutterings of my elderly bacsi’s (uncles) andneni’s (aunts), which we all delighted in, was now all around me, spoken by young and old in bars and in museums, and the humor and the sensitivities of the people in this foreign European country were intimately familiar to me. I knew after that first visit that I had to return and indeed, when I did this past summer as a staff member at Camp Szarvas, in the south of Hungary, I understood why. Camp Szarvas was my past and future melded in one perfect place in the present.

Every summer, 1,500 campers from over 25 different countries participate in Camp Szarvas, sponsored by the Ronald S. Lauder Foundation and the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee.  Under the clear Hungarian sky and searing sun, my days at Camp Szarvas with Jewish teenagers from all over the world, were filled with international sports competitions, art projects, peulot (educational activities), bonfires, talent shows and of course, as every Szarvas-er will tell you, the iconic wandering Jew, who led many educational and entertaining activities throughout each two-week long session. I was fascinated and delighted to see how in its unique, dynamic and joyous way Camp Szarvas allows each participant, whether Hungarian, American, or Latvian, to live and choose their own Jewish identity, while ensuring the possibility of finding community.

As a staff member for the Szarvas Fellowships, the American cohort at Camp Szarvas, it was a constant thrill to be able to facilitate these experiences for my campers. But one morning at camp I could not contain my enthusiasm and joy when we walked in from morning mifkad (line-up session) and I noticed the breakfast set on the tables. My campers looked on in confused amusement as I exclaimed excitedly over the bowls of steaming hot tejberizs. This special oatmeal broth, I explained, was the same breakfast that had previously been served to me only at the Hassidic girls’ camp I attended for eight consecutive summers in the Catskills, in New York. This food, to me, evoked warmth and Judaism and sincerity. It conveyed home.

At home now at Camp Szarvas, however, I sang and danced with people from all over the world, discussed ideas and thoughts, wore what I wanted, and explored Jewish identities, preferences, meanings and affiliations freely, as I once could have only imagined. And most thrilling of all, I could not only bond with them over our shared love of palacsinta (crepes), but I could share who I was, as a woman, as an American, as a Jew, as a Hungarian, and as a fellow human being, along with everyone else at the camp. And I knew this experience of open-ness, of sharing and of joy was shared every day by each of campers and the staff from all over the world there with me.

Somewhere along the way, between learning the camp cheers of Bulgarians and of Romanians, between facilitating discussions about the role of Israel in the lives of Jews worldwide and between dancing to Yaakov Shwekey’s v’hee sh’umdah and to Hava Nagila, my image of the alte heim began shifting. At Camp Szarvas, with the familiar foods and personalities around me, I knew that the alte heim was very real and in its own, even better way, continues to exist. It is filled not with black-hatted followers, but with Jews of all sorts who are vibrantly working to mesh their Hungarian lives with their dynamic Jewish identities and are creating their own niche in Jewish culture.

And as I was learning about my new-found Hungarian community, my Hassidic community was coming into focus too. On Friday night, a week into my Szarvas experience, we gathered our campers on an outside terrace. Campers and staff members of many different countries joined us as, swaying in unison, we sang Shabbat melodies together under the shooting-star filled Hungarian sky. Sitting at that circle I held a book of zmirot (Hebrew songs) that my mother had given me to take along on my trip. It was a special book because in addition to the traditionally found Hebrew zmirot, this one included old Yiddish songs too, and one Hungarian song. The song of szol a kakas, about a bird lost in the forest and longing to find its way out. This song, which also tells its metaphor of Jews in exile longing for the Land of Israel, is one that all the men and boys of my Hassidic community know.

My brother learnt to sing szol a kakas in both Hungarian and Yiddish when he was a bright eyed three-year old boy at cheder. During Jewish holiday meals he and my cousins would proudly sing the song in Hungarian along with my grandfather, who’s face behind his long beard would have a wistful look every time they sang this song. Was he truly yearning for the Land of Israel, as the bird in the song? As a child, I could never tell. But as I sang szol a kokos on Friday night at Camp Szarvas along with my many new Hungarian friends, I understood that my grandfather was longing too for the land of this song. A land that I too had come to love.

When moving beyond the Hassidic community in which I was raised, I understood that I was choosing to live a life of choices, of inter-weaving my Judaism with other facets of my identity.  When I came to Camp Szarvas with a community vastly different than the one in which I was raised, yet right near where it began, I found that it was a choice and challenge that many of my international Jewish peers share. But what I came to understand most deeply was that, like me and my peers at Camp Szarvas, my grandfather and the community he sings for has in their own way made those choices too.

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/finding-the-alte-heim/

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A Century of Service

I love this video ... yashar koach (well done) to my colleagues who created it. Makes me proud ....


Since 1914, JDC has been empowering the most vulnerable Jews around the world, bringing relief to those who need it most, and making a powerful investment in the Jewish people's future. Explore our global impact, from the former Soviet Union to Israel and Europe to North Africa. And join us for our next 100 years!

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¡Viva Jewish Buenos Aires!

With a quarter of a million Jews, Argentina is home to one of the largest Jewish populations in the world — and one of its most vibrant. 

Aided by JDC support, creative programs, and dynamic community institutions, the community has rebounded from a devastating 1994 terrorist attack and the financial crisis that plagued the country at the start of the millennium.

Today Buenos Aires is at the vanguard of global Jewish innovation, and an exciting place to be Jewish.

Know Your Impact

Pioneering Global Jewish Revival ...

Turf

On a mission recently in Europe I led a discussion about "turf."

Turf is one of those Jewish-community concepts that we all know what it is when we see it. It's a combination of institutional pride, territorial protectiveness and - sometimes - overeager delineations that block cooperation and detract from community-building.

So when we talk about turf in American Jewish community life, it's often seen as a negative. Someone is being overprotective, or mean-spirited, or overly competitive against a different organization, for example.

And yet ... increasingly I've noticed how important turf is, especially in some of the countries in which we work where the Jewish community is still building up its sense of identity.

When you look at countries that, for some seventy years were cut off from all organized aspects of Jewish community life, it's not surprising. And then, in the early 1990s, precisely when the Joint returned formally to these countries and started working with these communities, all those on whom we would have built leadership programs ... were precisely those who got up and left. All those with the strongest Jewish identities were among the first to make aliyah, or move to Europe or the States.

So the revival of Jewish life took time. It couldn't have happened in the early 1990s. And the way to build Jewish community was - and is - through pride in institutions, through belonging, through participation.

Brick by brick, JCC by JCC, Hillel by Hillel ... You need turf to build a community.

Mission to Minsk … and more

Lovely article in the Jewish Voice of Rhode Island By Susan Leach DeBlasio

Friday, 16 August 2013 20:27

PROVIDENCE – Eddie Bruckner, Jewish Alliance of Greater Rhode Island’s vice  president for financial resource development, and I experienced Minsk and Israel  on a Jewish Federations of North America mission with 96 other lay and professional  leaders from across the United States and Canada. Missions are peripatetic,  transformational summer camps for grownups. There’s no sleep, only days and  nights filled with inspiration, education, training, and bonding with our counterparts  and instant new friends. The mid-July mission was no different. In Minsk and Israel, we visited programs sponsored by the American Jewish Joint  Distribution Committee (JDC), the Jewish Agency for Israel (JAFI) and World ORT.  Each of these organizations, collaborating on a continuum of services with the dollars  we (and other donor organizations) raise, ensures the renewal and vibrancy of Jewish  life all over the world. Today, about 25,000 Jews live in Minsk, the capital of Belarus (birthplace of Marc  Chagall, Shimon Peres and Meyer Lansky), the first country invaded by the Nazis  and the last liberated by the Allied Forces. The Nazis slaughtered 80-90 percent of the  Jews in Belarus, and the Communists imposed official anti-Semitism for decades after  the war, obliterating entire generations of Jewish knowledge, tradition and communal  life. We began our visit to Minsk by exploring Yama (“pit”), a deep depression carved  out of the earth where 5,000 Jews rounded up from the ghetto were shot to death in  just one day. There we recited Kaddish and heard from several young leaders of the  Jewish community as well as its head, Leonid Levin, an architect and sculptor.   Descending by the stairway into the pit is his statue of 27 soulful figures about to die.   In his remarks, Levin reminded us, “Each of us could have been in that line.”   Transporting us from those tragic moments in the pit, where “the ashes of our people”  are buried, he summed up the successful rebirth of Jewish life in Minsk with his  dramatic conclusion, “We are few, but we are Jews.” Jewish life flourishes in Minsk today. There are synagogues, schools, summer camps,  young leader and cultural enrichment programs, Shabbatons, family retreats,  newspapers and kosher food, with a robust infrastructure of Jewish social service,  cultural and philanthropic organizations.  The Minsk Jewish Campus, a thriving  social, cultural and educational center, is the central address for Jewish communal  activity.   JDC, JAFI and World ORT are partners in their efforts to promote and  sustain Jewish identity and care for the community’s needy and vulnerable. Together,  with support from the Alliance, they are saving a generation of young Jewish adults  who would otherwise assimilate into obscurity. JDC’s Hesed Rachamim Welfare Center provides medicine, food, home care,  cultural life, companionship, winter relief and home repairs for the last generation  of elderly victims of the Nazis and life under a Communist regime. As Dov Ben-Shimon of the JDC explained, “Jews don’t need our help getting out of  any country in the world today. They need our help in staying.” Their needs arise from hunger and thirst – hunger for food and sustenance, thirst for  Jewish community and belonging.  Eddie and I shopped for groceries for 86-year old  Tatiana, who lives alone in a tiny room of a communal apartment. We had an  allotment from the JDC of 100,000 rubles ($11) to spend. We bought chicken, oil,  tea, kasha, bread and noodles.  We all contributed to add oatmeal, fruit, potatoes  and eggs. Astonishingly, many young people we met exploring and celebrating their Judaism  did not learn they were Jewish until they were into their teens.  Sometimes a  grandparent or aunt let them know, or they discovered old family papers or a  siddur (prayer book) in a shoebox in the attic.  Yoni Leifer went to shul for the  first time when he was 11.   After Jewish summer camps and Hebrew school, he made aliyah, and then after  serving in the Israeli army and attending university, he returned home to Minsk to  work for the JDC. In Volozyhn, we visited the world-renowned Volozhyn Yeshiva, the site of the  Second Zionist Congress and the “Harvard” of yeshivas, attracting the greatest  Jewish intellectuals of the time (from 1803 until 1939).  There, we met Vladimir  Levitskiy from Moscow and other Jewish young adults participating in an  “Expedition” program where they do community service projects across the former  Soviet Union and learn about their Jewish heritage.  Vladimir is 21 and first learned  he was Jewish three years ago.  Since then, he has been to Israel on Taglit-Birthright,  traveled all around the United States, participated in a number of cultural programs  sponsored by JDC and JAFI, and hopes to return to Israel on a MASA program.   Together we spent several hours cleaning a Jewish cemetery next to a monument  memorializing the mass grave of thousands of Jews killed by the Nazis. Recognizing that Jewish adolescents and young adults need multiple touch points in  their lives to concretize their Jewish identity, these agencies sponsor summer camps,  Birthright trips and Jewish schools, to create a long-term immersive experience in  Jewish life.  JAFI runs summer camps where children learn local Jewish history,  Jewish customs and practices. At one camp, I met Kseniye, 19 and a counselor, who  did not learn she was Jewish until she was 9 and had an opportunity to attend the  camp.  As they learn to engage young campers in the Jewish community, counselors  develop their own Jewish identities. In Israel, we traveled to Haifa, Afula, Jerusalem and other areas where programs  rescue children at risk, provide services to those in need and integrate immigrants,  including Ethiopians, into Israeli life.  At a World ORT science and math campus  focused on “program-based learning,” we launched rockets and enjoyed other  experiential learning opportunities with 14- and 15-year-old scientists. One personal highlight was a visit to a JDC-run father/son sports program in Afula.  Fathers and sons must commit to spend 90 minutes each week together with coaches,  counselors, and other father-son pairs. Together they practice and play soccer, but  what they really learn are social skills, teamwork, confidence, self-esteem and responsibility.  The program successfully strengthens the relationship between father  and son, and their lessons spill over into all other areas of their lives, generating  emotional wellbeing, family relationships and better school attendance and grades. The Alliance has been ensuring a vibrant Jewish community for nearly 70 years  both domestically and overseas. As the central address of Jewish philanthropy in  greater Rhode Island, the Alliance provides care for people in need and support to  Israel and collaborates to develop a strong Jewish community for the next generation. As the great Lubbavitcher Rebbe Schneerson cautioned, “If you see what needs to be  repaired and how to repair it, then you have found a piece of the world that God has  left for you to complete. But if you only see what is wrong and how ugly it is, then it is  yourself that needs repair.” I invite all of you to join the Alliance and me this year to help repair the piece of the  world left for us to complete. Susan Leach DeBlasio ( sdeblasio@apslaw.com) is vice chair for financial resource development of the Alliance. http://jvhri.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=4381:mission-to-minsk--and-more&catid=41:community&Itemid=62

Jews Move ...

I gave a briefing the other day on the Jewish world and how it has changed in the last twenty years.

One of the most interesting aspects of this change has been the dynamic focus of Jewish migration.

Jews are a migratory people. In fact, for the last 150 years or so, you can see a clear trend of Jewish migration, every 20 or 30 years. But what we’ve seen in the last 20 years is a massive exponential growth in global Jewish migration.

So much so, in fact, that Jews are now the most migratory people in the world.

One quarter of Jews in the world today live in a country other than the one in which they were born.

Think about that for a moment and what it represents.

Change, diversity, opportunity. Risks, challenges, new horizons.

All of this is happening right now.

And this means that the vast majority of Jews today live in a very small number of places. Since the early 1990s, one of the most interesting trends of Jewish life has been consolidation.

Most of us live in a very small number of countries. The vast majority of us (some three-quarters) live in just the US and Israel.

And there's a positive side to this contraction, in that Jews have moved and are moving to wealthier, more stable, more accepting societies. They're moving away from dangerous and under-developed places to “better” homes.

There's also a negative side, because we’re going to lose a lot of history and culture.

But what really fascinates me is that when we talk about consolidation, we’re looking not only at what's happening between countries but also inside them.

Urbanization is a critical component of this contraction, of this consolidation.

We’re becoming an increasingly urbanized people. 80% of the world’s Jews live in only 24 cities. That’s the twenty-first century Jewish migration. And 52% of us live in only five cities … Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Haifa, New York and Los Angeles.

By the way, the equivalent percentage for the world’s population as a whole is something like 50%. In other words, whereas something like 90% of Jews live in cities of a million people or more, only 50% of the world’s population live in big cities.

And as we move to the big cities, to the stable countries, the nature of Jewish life is going to change dramatically …


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