#jewish religion

[elder-millennial-of-zion]

I really appreciate your blog.

Your normal about gerim, right? I've seen people use us as a reason to deny Jewish indigeneity, completely ignoring that many if not most Indigenous peoples had practices of "adopting" people into their culture/religion/community before colonialism- the only difference is that instead of getting rid of the practice we just formalized it.

Ilysm <3

This is the second ask I’ve gotten about gerim, which is funny because my dad is one.

Whoever uses gerim as an excuse to delegitimize Jews in any way doesn’t know anything about Judaism. Or indigeneity. Or much about religious and cultural developments throughout history at all really.

If conversion somehow made the Jewish people and Jewish heritage and history less legitimate, Halacha wouldn’t allow it. If hundreds of years of rabbis can be “normal” about gerim, random uneducated goyim on the internet can be too.

[claraameliapond]

Rabbi Dovid Feldman on the misuse of Judaism by the state of Israel : " the state of Israel does not represent all Jews and certainly does not represent Jewish religion. According to Jewish religion all of this is criminal , all of this is forbidden."

[mrfleshwizard]

Christianity the only abrahamic religion where angels have free will, God have a son. Islam human and djinn have free will, angels don't. Judaism human the only one who have free will while demon & angel only following G-d will

Noted.

[dragoneyes618]

God cannot be much of an Almighty, is has long since been observed, if anything we say in prayer is new to him, or useful, or capable of having an effect. If God exists, he is omniscient. If he knows everything, he knows the future, including any future prayers that we may utter. If he knows the future, it is for practical purposes fixed; and if the future is fixed, prayer is waste motion, the moving of pieces after the game is over. I figured out this neat dead end, or read it somewhere, at the age of twelve or thirteen, and maybe I stopped praying for a while; I cannot remember.

But if I did I started again pretty soon. Dead end or no, a man wants to praise God for the marvels of life, and to ask to be spared its terrors if possible, and to give thanks for what he has in hand, in healthy, family, and work. He wants to, that is, if a sense will not leave him that God is there. In Judaism praying for benefits is a very small part of the liturgy. Most of it is commitment of one's fortunes to God, and meditation on sacred writings which put in clear words the few great points of our religion. Its daily aim is a renewal of religious energy through an act which declares one's Jewish identity and one's hope in the Lord.

- This Is My God, Herman Wouk, page 91

[realjaysumlin]

American Religious Leader Louis Farrakhan Explains Why Whites Fear Black...

Listen to the people who call themselves white and how they refuse to listen to people who attack their whiteness and listen to the Black Indigenous People who speak the white people narrative about themselves.

Jewish People are a religious belief and not a racial identity because they also claim their whiteness even though the Jewish religion is hated as much as Black Indigenous People, Islam and others who don't fit their Christianity beliefs system.

But these same people follow the narratives of what so-called white people tell these people who they are as a racial identity and include the religion of Jewish people as white. This is why racism still exists because of whiteness and everyone is promoting white supremacy instead of rejecting this big lie because there's no such thing as white people on earth, it's a made up title.

[mediaanalexis]

In Hebrew, the word “Chased” translates to the emotion that God feels towards his creation. The grace, benevolence, and compassion that God feels towards us, we as humans, are expected ideally to feel towards God in turn. But just as God loves our imperfection, the same could be said of us towards God. In the book of Genesis, many Jews disagree with God’s actions. He can come across as vengeful, angry, harsh, and even downright cruel. From everything he did to Job, ordering Abraham to kill his son Isaac, the God of the Old Testament seems far from perfect. But this, it seems, is what makes the Jewish religion so fascinating.

God seems blatantly unperfect, but the Jews’ love for God never ceases, even with His faults out on full display. It is far easier to love an omnipotent, omnibenevolent God. If God were perfect, then we’d love Him for being perfect, which is conditional love. But we are not meant to feel a conditional love for God, just as God is not meant to feel a conditional love for us. The Jews’ love for God does not rely on His lovability, perfection, or any of His other traits. Just as we are forgiven, we must forgive Him.

To see all of someone, and still decide to love them forever is the kind of pure love we have for others-and that God wants from us. The Jews believe that all human beings are “Betzelem Elohim”, or created in the image of God. If all humans are created in the image of God, that means all love, not just the love we feel for God, is a kind of holy act.

However, some Jewish writers feel the opposite. Philip Roth, for example, in The Dying Animal, sees all love as a form of obsession. He believes that the act of loving-not just romantic, but also platonic love- makes people feel as if they are empty and that only through the love of another, can you be filled up. He believes that people are born whole but that “love fractures you. You’re whole, and then you’re cracked open.” And while he does make an interesting point, time and again, Jewish literature mirrors the love humans have for each other with the relationship we have with God. Just as Roth proposes, Love doesn’t make you any more whole; however, it is a form of connecting with the sacred within you that is a mirror of God. To love is to practice radical kindness and compassion which catapults positive change. And that positive change ripples outward, and through that human action, holiness on Earth can ensue.

Love is more than the sum of its parts-it’s so large and encompassing that it becomes intertwined with religion in its own right. For example, Psalm 145:8 exemplifies how we become more holy when we love. When we unconditionally love, we become more like God who is “abounding in steadfast love,” ultimately creating a better world. Love makes humans kinder, more devoted, more forgiving: it ultimately creates salvation on Earth. Through love, we mirror God, creating heaven on Earth.

I.L. Peretz, in his short story If Not Higher, reveals that through love for humanity, every action with this in mind can release the divine into the world and reveal God. His protagonist in the story, the Rabbi, not through traditional prayer in Temple, but through charitable action reveals his love towards God, and therefore by extension, his love towards humanity. By expressing his love through kind acts, he mirrors the steadfast love that God has for us and helps to build a heaven on earth.

Peretz posits through subtext that religion should be less about rigid rules or traditions, and more about the practical love we must have for humankind. His story “If Not Higher” shows how heaven is in our reach: it is not unattainable, because it exists in our hearts. If God made us in His image, then God lives in us. The idea of having so much love at our disposal to spread just like God does is a responsibility we must not take lightly.

[liberty1776]

Exposing Kabbalah & Mysticism

[anonymousdandelion]

A general tip for students who are sending those dreaded Religious Absence Emails to your professors: Rather than asking permission to take the day(s) off, politely let them know that you will be taking the day(s) off.

In other words, consider not saying this:

"May I miss class on [date] so I can observe [holiday]?"

It's not that there's anything wrong with the above, per se. But because it's phrased as a request, it risks coming across as optional — a favor you hope to be granted. Problem is, favors are not owed, and so unfortunately asking permission opens the door for the professor to respond "Thanks for asking. No, you may not. :)"

Instead, try something along the lines of:

"I will need to miss class on [date] because I will be observing [holiday]. I wanted to let you know of this conflict now, and to ask your assistance in making arrangements for making up whatever material I may miss as a result of this absence."

This is pretty formal language (naturally, you can and should tweak it to sound more like your voice). But the important piece is that, while still being respectful, it shifts the focus of the discussion so that the question becomes not "Is it okay for me to observe my religion?", but rather, "How can we best accommodate my observance?"

Because the first question should not be up for debate: freedom of religion is a right, not a favor. And the second question is the subject you need to discuss.

(Ideally, do this after you've looked up your school's policy on religious absences, so you know what you're working within and that religious discrimination is illegal. Just in case your professor forgot.)

[mysharona1987]

[awakefor48hours]

I saw a post about this so now I'm curious

New poll with more options if you want there

please consider reblogging for a larger sample size unless you're planning to say something that's anti-theistic

[buddhistmusings]

I'm feeling very alienated from people around me because of my refusal to participate in antisemitism, and I'm not even Jewish, so I can't IMAGINE how so many of you are feeling out there. I almost feel silly for feeling alienated about it. It's causing some real reflections when it comes to how I view myself politically. It's like here I am thinking, "No, we're against ALL oppression, right guys? .... right, guys?" 🦗🦗🦗 And it sucks knowing that a. the alienation I'm describing pales in comparison to what Jewish people might be feeling and b. that it probably isn't even that surprising to you all. Antisemitism is so perennial, cyclical, it insists on coming back again and again, rooting itself in places where people otherwise wouldn't expect it. It's Samsaric.

I almost feel like I'm being gaslight- "I'm not antisemitic, I'm just saying that Jews are harvesting the blood and organs of children!"

Like, bro, what else would that be? If blood libel isn't antisemitism, what counts as antisemitism?

This post is probably a bit jumbled, but I hope you're all doing well. ❤️

[alostwanderernotfound]

Do you think maybe that there’s a chance you are REALLY, REALLY behind on current events & the statue is the beast? I mean literally. Like the statue sits there until the apocalypse & then it turns out it’s an actual robot that a consciousness can switch into when they decide it’s the right day. I’m sorry to be scary, but It is. It’s not just a warning. This is really happening, just like all those other signs you see are also there. It’s there because it’s supposed to be hidden in plain sight to then be switched on, just like other things/statues/etc hidden in plain sight. You’ve been warned many, many times, but each time until the end there’s always a chance to change the future. It’s never hopeless, but you have to come to terms with the fact this has been right in front of you for a very long time. Do you want to take it seriously or do you want to ignore it till it’s too late? The decision is always in your hands.

[thejewitches]

No antisemitism, bigotry, or proselytization will be accepted. We will be watching closely & utilizing the delete and block buttons as needed.

Are you unclear on the history of Messianic Christianity? Here is a resource, unaffiliated with us in any way! We encourage you to read it.

We wrote this because we’ve been caught in the trap of messianic “resources” made to trick Jews.

This post was chosen by our Patrons, who support us in the work we do. Become a Patron now.

Like we say, context is key. Jews have been using fish as protective symbols for centuries…but that isn’t the same as the Jesus fish! Red flags come in varying shades. Always use context & look for more before making assumptions.

Remember: interfaith solidarity doesn’t include coercion, trickery, subterfuge, appropriation & lying.

[mrfleshwizard]

Judaism is very complex religion and their g-d is unlike with christian and islam something beyond human comprehension. Judaism acknowledge their g-d are both good & evil, christian and islam they are quick to say their god are loving

That's actually cool. Similarly to gnostcism. When Demiurge is believed to be source of evil, but isn't just evil itself. He's evil and good. Monad, the gnostisc true god, isn't good either.

[hachama]

Judaism is a religion, but it's much older than most people's understanding of the term.

Judaism is an ethnoreligion, the religion of the Jewish people.

We're not Jews because we practice Judaism. We practice Judaism because we're Jews.

[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