#jewish identity

[applesauce42069]

When I say I am indigenous to the southern levant and that my people are indigenous to southern levant it is not a political ploy. It is actually a very deeply held part of my identity and part of the mainstream Jewish identity. Antizionists point out that Zionists used colonial language, which is true, but they conveniently forget that Zionists also called themselves indigenous. This is because

1. Jews originate in the levant

2. Jews know that Jews originate in the levant

Whether or not Israel was created (which it was) I would believe that Jews are indigenous to the levant. If Israel fell tomorrow I would believe that Jews are indigenous to the levant. If you held a gun to my head I would still believe that Jews are indigenous to the Levant. It has been a part of who Jews are since before the word indigenous was used in English discourse.

No, this part of my identity isn’t a ploy to remove Palestinian indigineity. As a population with a group identity that ties them to the land, who have heritage from the same Canaanites that I do, I do think that Palestinians are indigenous as well. WHO would’ve think that an area that has been ruled by more empires than I can count would have multiple populations who call themselves indigenous??? The levant is not like North America, whose indigenous peoples went without centuries of European contact before colonization. The levant has been being colonized for thousands of years. The indigenous population was split through this process and some were Arabized and some weren’t. Some were converted to other religions. Some weren’t. But regardless, when it comes down to it, that land is where we come from and where we are indigenous to - both of us. So fuck the Israeli government and fuck Hamas and Hezbollah and the Islamic Republic every party that is trying to keep the bloodshed going.

Also, learn history, because it actually fucking matters. Don’t choose a convenient date to start from - learn about people and their cultural identities and find out what is important to them. Because this isn’t just about Jews and Palestinian Arabs. This is about Yazidis and Assyrians and every group that is seeking freedom and peace in the MENA.

[matan4il]

Every single time I hear someone referring to a Jewish person as ‘white’ another little piece of my soul dies.

As a non-American Jew, the first time I ever heard Jews being referred to as white was when I was a full grown adult watching an American reality show. I FOR REAL thought they were making that shit up in order to generate buzz and get people talking about the controversy! That’s how foreign the notion was to me. Imagine my shock and horror to discover that THIS IS A COMMON MISCONCEPTION IN THE UNITED STATES.

It’s the way that referring to Jews as ‘white’ ERASES white people’s antisemitism, it erases our persecution at the hands of white people, it erases our suffering, it erases the OTHERING that Jews had suffered for CENTURIES from actual white people.

Based on what the skin tone of some Jews in a few places might afford them SO LONG AS NO ONE KNOWS THEY’RE JEWISH.

If you have to hide your real identity in order to enjoy the privileges of being perceived as white, YOU’RE NOT WHITE (this is true for Jews just like it is true for other white-passing People of Color).

White passing is not the same as white.

WHITE PASSING IS NOT THE SAME AS WHITE.

Jews are NOT white. Not a single one of us. Not even the ones who can pass as white, let alone all of the Jews who can’t.

[jewelleria]

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 

I am a Jew. 

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 

Then they sent me this: 

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

[magnetothemagnificent]

been thinking about this question and hopefully this won't be too awkward to ask. since judaism is itself an ethnicity and religion at the same time, imagine you have ancestors from like idk portugal who converted to judaism centuries and centuries ago and so their descendants are all jewish but don't know about the conversion part. can they call themselves ethnically jewish?

A person becomes part of the Jewish ethnicity when they convert to Judaism. Ethnicity is more than DNA, it's about your peoplehood. As a student of anthropology I honestly don't like how the rise of at-home DNA test kits have put into people's minds their identity is a complicated equation of DNA percentages. People are not math problems. If you were born Jewish you are 100% Jewish. If you converted to Judaism you are 100% Jewish. DNA tests only measure the genes you're more likely to share with certain populations, and even then they're not completely accurate. Ethnicity isn't about blood quantum, at least it shouldn't be.

Here's an example, using myself:

I've never taken a DNA test, and don't intend to, but if I had to guess it would probably give me a result of something like: 58% Ashkenazi Jewish; 25% Northern European; 15% Sephardi Jewish; 2% Northern African.

What does that tell me about my ethnicity? Nothing. It tells me percentages of DNA I have that are most likely shared with certain populations of people from certain geographic regions (haplogroups), but my ethnicity is 100% Jewish and I don't need a DNA test to tell me that, because I know I was born Jewish.

DNA tells you your haplotypes. Peoplehood tells you your ethnicity. And peoplehood is defined by the people themselves.

So yes, the descendents of converts are ethnically Jewish. All Jews are ethnically Jewish.

[askjumblr]

I was told growing up that my mother's mother was raised Jewish and my mother's grandmother and great grandmother were born Jewish, though I was raised atheist. I believed this wholeheartedly and considered myself a ba'al teshuvah - studied Torah, kept kosher, observed yomim tovim, (occasionally) attended services, etc for the past decade. Unfortunately, I recently discovered - very conclusively - this is not the case. There are absolutely no Jews in my ancestry at all as far back as the 1700s. I didn't intentionally lie to my synagogue, my friends, or my coworkers, but I lied nonetheless. I want to talk to the rabbi and ask about conversion, but I'm honestly pretty shaken by the whole discovery and have no idea how to start or what to say. Does anyone have any ideas?

.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Andrew Lapin

JTA — A comic book festival in Vancouver said it has banned an Israeli-American artist because of her past service in the Israel Defense Forces, after apologizing for allowing her to participate this year.

The Vancouver Comic Arts Festival then deleted its statement apologizing for allowing Miriam Libicki to exhibit at the event, which took place earlier this month, after the Canadian Jewish News published an article calling attention to the affair.

According to the news outlet and social media screenshots, the statement did not name Libicki but referenced her and her work and said she would not be allowed in the festival in the future.A Stop to the Trucks - The Times of IsraelKeep Watching

“The concerns regarded this exhibitor’s prior role in the Israeli military and their subsequent collection of works which recount their personal position in said military and the illegal occupation of Palestine,” said the “Accountability Statement,” posted to Instagram.

The statement went on to say her appearance was the result of “oversight and ignorance” and that it “fundamentally falls in absolute disregard to all of our exhibiting artist’s [sic], attendees and staff, especially those who are directly affected by the ongoing genocide in Palestine and Indigenous community members alike.”

In her own statement, Libicki, who explores Jewish identity in her work, called the ban “illegal” and said it was “bad for all artists of all political orientations and backgrounds.” She added, “I have consistently, publicly been pro-peace” and supportive of the establishment of a Palestinian state.

“Because of the vulnerable populations I work with, I prefer not to discuss my specific political views in public,” she wrote in a statement shared on Wednesday by Jesse Brown, a Canadian Jewish publisher and journalist. “I believe all policing of artists’ personal identities and nationalities is wrong.”

But after the CJN article was published on Wednesday, the festival deleted its “Accountability Statement.” It did not immediately respond to a Jewish Telegraphic Agency request for comment.

[chanaleah]

an personal narrative speech on israel i wrote for school

note that this was written for an audience who mostly doesn't know anything about Israel.

essay below if the images are not working for you/you have a screen reader

I was at Hebrew School, my legs against the cold plastic chair of the over-air conditioned synagogue basement, and I was bored. My eyes fell over the posters on the wall — the Rambam’s ladder of Tzedakah, common Hebrew words, and a large map, almost my size, of Israel.

I had looked at this map so many times, so many days. But I had never really looked at it. My eyes traced the coastline … Ashkelon, Ashdod, Tel Aviv, Haifa, Akko. In the center, Jerusalem. At the bottom, Eilat. And at the very top, the little tip wedged between Lebanon and the Golan, Kiryat Shmona. 

Israel is a small country, about the size of New Jersey, located in the Middle East. It borders the Mediterranean Sea and is home to almost 10 million people. It is the only country with a Jewish majority, but it also has large Arab and Druze minorities. Many holy sites for the main three Abrahamic religions — Judaism, Christianity, and Islam — are located in Israel.

As a kid growing up in the Jewish community, Israel was a common topic of conversation. We had Israelis come and visit us, a lot of us had family there, and most people we knew had visited Israel. We learned the Hebrew words for things like ice cream (glidah) and dog (kelev). We used the Hebrew pronunciation of words like hummus (huh-miss), which we said houmous (choo-moose).

We celebrated the new year of the trees in January (which doesn’t really make any sense in [redacted]) and we prayed for rain during services.

Really, whether or not we said it, we knew, we could feel, that everything we did… our prayers, our traditions, all traced back to Israel.

But here’s the weird thing… I’ve never been to Israel. I’ve never even really been close to Israel. I’ve never swum at the beach in Tel Aviv, never walked the cobblestone streets of Jerusalem, never felt the heat bearing down on me as I climbed Masada. I’ve never placed a folded up prayer in the Western Wall, never smelled the aromas of spices and herbs at a shuk, never read the ancient names on the graves at the Mount of Olives. And even though I’ve never stood on the grounds my ancestors stood on, put my hands where they did, and breathed the air they breathed, I can still feel these places. They’re in my DNA… literally. 

The traditions of the Jewish community connect me to my roots. When the kingdom of Judah, where Jews are from, located in modern day Israel, was taken over by the Romans, the Jews were forced out of our homeland, and we became dispersed throughout the word. As Rudy Rochman, an Israeli activist, says, Judaism “is a portable suitcase of a native people's identity that was created to preserve who they were after their forceful displacement from… Israel.” Every Jew throughout the world, no matter where we are; in the United States, Israel, or France, continues to carry this suitcase that connects us back to where we came from.

Today, when I celebrate Jewish holidays, I know there are people halfway around the world doing the same things I’m doing. They sing the same prayers, eat the same foods, and participate in the same traditions. They are all drawing from a suitcase that looks a lot like mine.

Today, about half of the world’s Jews live in the United States, and about half live in Israel. My traditions and culture connect me to all Jews, but my traditions also tie me to that land. I know that if I wanted to, or if I needed to, I could move to Israel. I could become a part of that country — the country I already love so much. 

But today, there are a lot of challenges with loving Israel — at least in the sense of the modern nation state. Currently, Israel is locked in a conflict with Palestine — a conflict you’ve probably heard about in the news — that has been going on for over a century. Today, neither Israel nor Palestine are completely innocent or guilty in this conflict. Israel, as much as I love it and feel connected to it, has done a lot of things I disagree with. And it’s hard for me to love Israel when I constantly see things in the news that make me facepalm, and when I know that the Israeli government is doing things I don’t agree with.

I love Israel. But love is complicated. It’s not black and white. I love Israel as my homeland, the place that birthed my people. And that love is paradoxical. I accept it as it is now, and I want it to get better. 

But now that I think about it, I realize that love means caring enough for something that you’re willing to work for it. Love means believing that peace, and a better future, is possible. Love means that a better way will be found. Because you don’t just walk away from something you love when it doesn’t meet your expectations.

So someday, I will go to Israel, and when I swim at the beach in Tel Aviv, walk the cobblestone streets of Jerusalem, and feel the heat bearing down on me as I climb Masada — I’m not going to be thinking about news headlines or military operations. I’m not going to be thinking about disappointment and failures. I’m going to be thinking about the three thousand years of history and tradition that led me back to the land of my ancestors.

[hippyaltaccount-blog]

I am currently collecting data for my PhD dissertation project looking the lay perceptions of Jewish identity. This is the first study of 4 and I am looking for volunteers to chat with me about their Jewish identity!

Anyone who is 18+, born and raised in the United States, and identifies as Jewish (whatever that means to you) is eligible regardless of level of observance!

If you are interested, feel free to reach out to me directly or email JIDstudy@hawaii.edu. If you are not interested but would be willing to take a survey down the road, let me know and I can be sure to include you on my survey email list when studies 2 and 3 are ready to go.

[cata613]

Although times are dark right now, we can all be lights. חג חנוכה שמח 🕎

[artandthebible]

Queen Esther

Artist: Hugues Merle (French, 1822–1881)

Description: Portrait of Biblical Queen Esther

Genre: Religious Art

Date: 1885

Medium: Oil on Canvas on Masonite

Collection: Private Collection

Queen Esther

In the biblical book named after her, Esther is a young Jewish woman living in the Persian diaspora who finds favor with the king, becomes queen, and risks her life to save the Jewish people from destruction when the court official Haman persuades the king to authorize a pogrom against all the Jews of the empire. Written in the diaspora in the late Persian/early Hellenistic period (fourth century B.C.E.), the Book of Esther is a Jewish novella that deals with the enduring issues of preserving Jewish identity and ensuring survival amid cultural pressures and hostile enemies in a foreign land.

[mental-mona]

Pesach is the festival of Jewish identity. It is the night on which we tell our children who they are.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks zt"l, The Chief Rabbi’s Haggadah (Essays), p. 15

[applesauce42069]

I remember when I met this guy, this kippah wearing Orthodox Jew, who I had spotted in one of my lectures and wanted to connect with because. Jews. And we were in the same discussion group and he introduced him self as “[english name], but you can call me by my indigenous name, [hebrew name]” and it changed my fucking life

[matan4il]

I love you, Jews whose Jewishness comes from conversion.

I love you, Jews whose Jewishness comes from their dads.

I love you, Jews whose Jewishness comes from being adopted by a Jewish family.

I love you, Jews whose Jewishness comes from choosing it, from embracing it even when halacha doesn't make it easy or automatic, comes from connecting to its teachings and meaning whether religiously or culturally, from exploring it even when you were born into it through your mom so you seemingly don't have to, from holding it up as something beautiful and worthy whether as a secular or religious Jew, from being proud of your Jewish ness even when the world tries to make you feel ashamed of it, from looking at the world being hateful to Jews and deciding their hate is only going to fuel your love for your Jewishness and your fellow Jews that much more.

Despite all the persecution, hatred and violence turned against us, we've survived for thousands of years because somehow, we never let them convince us there was anything wrong with what we are, even when what we are was The Ultimate Other, and therefore had to be rejected. You all are this generation's reincarnation of this Jewish certainty, that there is nothing wrong with us, no matter what they say about us. That we are not lesser just because we're different and misunderstood. That we are worthy of the same rights, even when they vilify the term we use for that.

I love you all, I'm so glad you exist.

[sefaradweb]

Macron, French Jews call for action after antisemitic rape of 12-year-old girl

🇪🇸 El 19 de junio de 2024, tras el violento ataque antisemítico a una niña de 12 años en Francia, el presidente Emmanuel Macron y grupos judíos franceses exigieron una acción contundente. Nicole Belloubet, Ministra de Educación, describió el crimen como "abominable" y pidió una respuesta de "Justicia, Escuela, República". La víctima fue violada por menores de 12, 13 y 14 años, quienes actuaron en represalia por su ocultación de su religión a uno de los agresores. La comunidad judía, incluyendo al Gran Rabino Jaim Korsia y el CRIF, pidió una investigación detallada y destacó el alarmante aumento de casos de antisemitismo en Francia. El caso, que refleja un aumento en la violencia antisemítica, también reveló comentarios antisemitas en el teléfono del exnovio de la víctima.

🇺🇸 On June 19, 2024, following the antisemitic rape of a 12-year-old girl in France, President Emmanuel Macron and French Jewish groups called for strong action. Education Minister Nicole Belloubet condemned the crime as "abominable" and advocated for a response of "Justice, School, Republic." The girl was raped by boys aged 12, 13, and 14, who attacked her because she had concealed her Jewish identity from one of the suspects. The Jewish community, including Chief Rabbi Haim Korsia and CRIF, demanded a thorough investigation and highlighted the alarming rise in antisemitic incidents in France. The case, revealing antisemitic comments on the ex-boyfriend's phone, underscores the increasing violence against Jews.

[magnetothemagnificent]

The Learned Son: Was privileged enough to get a Jewish education, and grew up with a passion for Jewish learning and Judaism. Always knows the answer to a Judaism question, and can come off as a bit haughty sometimes, but does have the best intentions.

The Evil Son: Grew up with access to racial and economic privilege, and because of this, decided that antisemitism isn't a big deal anymore and that Judaism and Jewish culture isn't relevant. Unlike the Simple Son and the Son Who Does Not Know To Ask, the Evil Son had access to a Jewish education and community, but they rejected it.

The Simple Son: Had a minimal exposure to Judaism, but has a true love for Judaism and wants to learn more. They did not have access to a Jewish education, and so they always have so many questions.

The Son Who Does Not Know To Ask: Is so overwhelmed by Judaism that they don't know where to start or what they want.

[radioactivespiderblood]

Jewish Damian Wayne thoughts

Ok gentile here

I'm trying to get back into writing fic and I'm working on a DamiJon fic featuring Jewish Damian.

Like, there are so many amazing possibilities for this! At some point in living with Bruce (who's canonically ethnically Jewish but was not raised Jewish) he decides to go to Sabot service one week. He ends up really liking it and going every week (or as many as possible) until he decides to get serious about being Jewish. Ra's would probably disown him for not bowing to him and valuing God above him. Good riddance if you ask them.

Eventually he would have a bar mitzvah (which would be a huge event because Wayne) and the entire Batfamily would be there. I guess Superman would keep an eye on Gotham for a bit?

Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Cass, Tim, Steph, Duke and Kate are all invited of course. (Jon and Lois too, a shame Clark couldn't make it)

Jason and Talia have to get creative. Talia is probably crouched in the rafters somewhere. Jason is security.

Mara al Ghul (Damian's cousin) might be hiding in the shadows somewhere. Who knows, does she love him? Does she hate him? Bruce's old friend from boarding school Oliver Queen is invited. Minhkhoa Khan somehow managed to get invited. Harley Quin and Poison Ivy are there, invited or not, cheering loudly. Cassandra asked to invite one of her model friends, Kori Anders. No one can stand to say no to Cass, not even Damian.

Everyone got very drunk at the party and Bruce did take Khoa home. He does not regret it. He does wish he remembered it. Barbra did not drink a drop, knowing she'd have to remove embarrassing pictures and videos from the internet. (If she keeps a little bit for blackmail no one would blame her. That shit was gold)

Damian doesn't care as long as no one gets murdered nothing gets set on fire and he gets to have one day where nothing goes wrong. He has way more fun than he expected.