Silent Night
[First Person]
If you are on Main St. in Flushing on a school day at 5 o’clock, you will see us. Running across the crowded Main street as fast as we can, our mid-calf pleated skirts flapping around our knee socks, untucked baggy button down shirts waving behind, heavy backpacks thumping up and down, we know we look funny. We really don’t care how silly we look or how many people yell and beep at us for getting in their way. If we don’t catch the first bus we’ll miss the 5:30 train and have to wait till the 6:10, not getting home until 7. It’s worth looking stupid and maybe getting hit by a car. So Monday through Thursday at 5 o’clock you can catch the show on Main St. and 73rd Ave.
Once and a while you might stand there wondering where we are and why the show has been canceled. Some days we have to stay late for yearbook meetings or play rehearsals. By the time we leave there aren’t many people out. We walk slowly to the bus stop, maybe get some pizza, and wait patiently for the bus to come. However much I dislike getting home after 10, I prefer the late night bus rides. The Q44 is unusually quiet and there’s a multitude of empty seats to choose from. It’s nice to get on without my chest heaving and sweat pouring down my back.
One night around Christmas time a friend and I take one of our rare late bus trips. The bus is empty of passengers, it’s just us and the driver. We ride past a couple blocks, enjoying the silence, and the driver pulls over to pick up some people. A large group of black kids file in. They’re about college age and are joking and laughing and having a good time. They sit down across from us. They smile at me. I smile back. The bus drives on. Everything is quiet for a bit. A couple blocks later the stillness is broken. One of the kids begins to sing,
Silent night, holy night . . .
The others join in a beautiful harmony and I realize that they are part of a choir and are probably fresh from practice.
All is calm, all is bright . . .
The bus driver’s shockingly deep resonant voice booms out of the speakers.
Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild . . .
My Soprano now, quietly singing the words I learned in public school chorus years ago, joins in for the last lines.
Sleep in heavenly peace . . .
We all finish together.
Sleep in heavenly peace.
“Man,” exclaims the baritone driver, “that girl’s got a set of pipes!”
I blush as we all laugh and clap. I notice that my friend is grinning in an embarrassed sort of way, shaking her head and looking up at the ceiling. I get this look from time to time. It’s a mixture of amusement and shock. Sometimes I think I do crazy things just to get that look. This was not one of those times.
As we get on the train at Jamaica my friend is still shaking her head and grinning.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“Whatever,” I say gruffly. “It’s not as if I broke halacha or anything.”
She just smiles and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you did that.”
I am a little uncomfortable at how incredulous she is but mostly I am amazed by the incident. How interesting it is that though my religion of choice continually, to my dismay, keeps me apart from those outside it, those outside it are the ones who can hear my voice.
Thinking about it now, years later, I wonder why it didn’t occur to either of us at the time that we were making a far greater spectacle of ourselves almost getting hit by cars as we ran across the street in our uniforms than my singing a Christmas carol on a bus, one late night.
Printable Version
The roots of why you were expected to not relate to the others on the bus run very deep in the culture.
In fact, the word for ‘holy’ in Hebrew is related to separation and division (‘consecration’). I think that it’s a very important point to stress. Many religions are fundamentally exclusionary; and far from bringing us together, in fact, they encourage us, command us(!) to separate ourselves from the rest of humanity. קדושים תהיו!
To seriously consider that the very notion of holiness is tied to the commandment of always remaining separate from the world means that deep down Judaism is strongly opposed to the concept of unity among humanity. I think it’s fair to say that there is no shared humanity in Judaism. The sages even argue over whether non-Jews even have a soul. They all agree that certainly a goy doesn’t have the same “level” of a soul as a Jew, never mind issues of the afterlife etc.
That’s why the idea of referring to all nonjews as “goyim” has bothered me. It’s a real tragedy that they often think of the world as divided between “yidden” and “goyim”.
The ghetto mentality has really gotta go. But I guess it’s hard to let go of a concept that’s so deeply enshrined in the theology.
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And that, Zelig, is one of the reasons I am a heretic. If that belief is normative Judaism, then normative Judaism is evil and must be rejected or repaired.
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That was great! I went to that school and that really brought back memories of watching my friends dodge cars. Ahh good times.
Seriously though, the descriptive aspect was wonderful and you also really captured the ridiculous attitude of the school.
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Zelig:
“To seriously consider that the very notion of holiness is tied to the commandment of always remaining separate from the world means that deep down Judaism is strongly opposed to the concept of unity among humanity. I think it’s fair to say that there is no shared humanity in Judaism.”
Not true. For those interested in the truth, I recommend The Universal Jew: Letters to a Progressive Father from his Orthodox Son, by Yosef Ben Shlomo Hakohen (Feldheim publishers).
“The sages even argue over whether non-Jews even have a soul.”
Not true.
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A partial list of sources on this issue are listed in the comments on this page http://failedmessiah.typepad.com/failed_messiahcom/2007/08/so-another-goy-.html
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Zelig – I took a look at the page and it doesn’t back you up. Yes, there are some postings that seem to, but there are others that don’t.
Statements out of context are not the full story. Even Jim the Catholic there recognizes that. A few harsh-sounding statements from a couple of Hassidic and Kabbalistic sources don’t necessarily represent mainstream Judaism.
I think that is a problem with some of the Hassidic rebels. They may think that all Hassidic teachings are mainstream Judaism. That is not necessarily the case.
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ploni, are you saying that after reading the book you recommend everything will fall in place? Are you saying that if we send a copy to all heretics here they’ll be caught speechless? All their questions will dismantle like a house of cards?
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I was specifically responding to:
“‘The sages even argue over whether non-Jews even have a soul.’
Not true.”
The page I linked to has a discussion on the issue as a whole, but one thing that is clear there, is that there are definitely some sages that say what I said they do.
Just because in certain circles of Judaism, tolerance is the norm, does not mean that the racism and xenophobia in the rest of Judaism can be overlooked or excused.
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I think that the idea of separation being necessary for “holiness” is an inherent idea in Judaism. For example, the Cohanim are set aside for service in the temple and so they have a slightly different set of rules. As a convert, I can’t marry a Cohain any more than I can marry a non-Jew.
The fact is, I believe in the Torah. It is a test for me to see if I can follow it and still be connected to people who don’t. I think I’m passing since at least half of my friends are irreligious or non-Jewish and we all respect each other’s beliefs. In this story I was trying to show certain difficulties I have with being religious (kol eisha and separation from non-Jews) and how in this one instance I was able to connect the two. Because of the nature of the law of kol eisha, there is nothing wrong with me singing with non-Jewish men. For me, singing is a spiritual thing, so at that moment I felt more connected to them than to “my people.” It was an interesting moment in the ongoing struggle towards, as Zelig put it, “unity among humanity” while keeping the Torah.
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On the idea of the soul argument, I may be wrong to do this (I am told I am wrong by many observant Jews) but when there are arguments among the sages and one of them, or maybe more, says something that I find completely wrong, I say that I think they are wrong. It does not surprise me that there are a few sages who debate whether or not non-Jews have souls. I can disagree with them without disagreeing with the Torah. Like I said, though, many religious Jews think I can’t. “What? How dare you argue with Ramban?” Even if I point out a sage that supports my view, I still, apparently, am not allowed to say one of them was wrong. I do it anyway.
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Pez, thank you. I’m so glad you liked it!
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Sarah, I liked it too. At what age did you convert?
In the kind of Judaism I was raised in, what these Rabbis said was to be considered holy and respected. The torah shebaal peh aspect is taught to be just as important as the torah shebichsav. That is the attitude that I find so dangerous today. To think that all these kids are being indoctrinated in this bs should be outrageous. We certainly shouldn’t be excusing it!
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I’m glad you liked it. I converted when I was 14, my brothers when they were in their early 20’s, I think. I have an odd family.
I know what you mean about how we are taught to view the Rabbanim. I even understand why it is done. But . . . I think everyone needs to realize that they were people, not angels. People make mistakes. The biggest problem I ever had/have with Judaism is the gemara where these sages are arguing and one keeps saying if I’m right let this miracle happen. After all these miracles happen, the other Rabbi says that Torah is not in the hands of heaven. Basically, all our halachic decisions have always been made by imperfect human beings. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal to look at something a great Rav said and think, you know, he’s wrong.
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Sarah, Do you regret converting?
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Wow, that’s a tough question. I will say that I regret doing it at such a young age, when I don’t think I fully realized the ramifications of what I was doing. I believe in the religion and that is very hard for me. It would be easier if I either didn’t believe, and so the conversion wouldn’t matter to me, or if I believed but didn’t convert, because then I wouldn’t have to keep all the commandments or feel guilty when I don’t. Because I chose to become Jewish, I feel that it’s worse when I break laws, and as I’m human, no matter how good I am there will always be something I’m doing wrong. However, I would not say I regret converting, because that would also mean I regret my husband and my kids, which I don’t. I do occasionally like to imagine how my life would be different if I never converted, but I can’t possibly know if I would be happier. So . . . I guess that’s a no.
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Or maybe sometimes.
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Sarah, for instance, if Einstein and Oppenheimer would disagree on a detail of nuclear physics, can someone who just studied a bit of physics in high school say Einstein is wrong? After all, isn’t Oppenheimer saying the same thing? The idea is that you should know your place, and that your opinion against the Ramban means zilch, even though you might have some rishonim on your side, and technically you might even be right.
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Kaf, my opinion on the Ramban does mean zilch. But let’s say I tell someone that I believe that non-Jews are just as important to this world as Jews are, and then they say, “If you believe that, how can you also believe in Judaism, since Rav So and So says that this world was created for the Jews.” I have to reconcile my two beliefs and sometimes that means saying that one of them is wrong. How much Torah does one have to learn before they have a right to an opinion on it? I always try to gain more knowledge and I always base my opinions on what I know. Just because someone knows more than me doesn’t necessarily mean they are right. I do not lightly disagree with the Ramban, or any other Torah master, or anyone that obviously knows more than I do. But, I cannot just sit back and say that because someone knows more than me I should take what they say as fact. Do you get what I’m saying?
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Sarah, I totally hear what you’re saying, and I have thought about this issue a lot myself. How much do I need to know before I’m entitled to opinion. For a while, my attitude even was that since there are two views on any given topic, for example whether God exists or not, and there are and were men much smarter people than me on both sides of the argument, why should my opinion count for anything, even to myself? After all, I know that they are smarter than me, so I respect they’re decisionsmore than my own. So basically, that would mean that I have no way of really knowing anything, since once my opinion is taken out of the equation, how can I know who is right?
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Yeah, I get what you’re saying. For what it’s worth, I value your opinion, even if you’re not the Ramban
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