the power of visibility
I've waffled about posting this, about when to post it, but vaznetti was nice enough to look it over for me, so up it goes. I won't be online much over the next 24 hours (first day on a new job means I'll be lucky to check my e-mail, I'm guessing), but any questions, comments, discussion among yourselves...go for it. Just, play nice, folks.
~~~
Being Jewish is not something that's been easy for me to talk about online or offline even before the recent anti-semitism-on-LJ messes that I could have happily lived forever without experiencing. I think of myself as more culturally Jewish than religiously, but either way, I self-identify as "Jewish" right after "American" and well before "white," since in the U.S. that usually means a variation on WASP. Anyway, after the last mess, which is unfortunately not the most recent one, people asked me to elaborate on comments I'd made in Vanzetti's journal, and I eventually came up with something starting from a fannish place, thereby giving myself a common point to start the talk.
There are many, many reasons to love the West Wing episode "Shibboleth."
There's: "We're writing a very important Thanksgiving proclamation." "And possibly a new action-adventure series."
There's: Knife after knife after knife, and a knife passed on from father to son.
There's: The turkeys. CJ and the turkeys (which can't be pardoned by a president, no matter what you think).
And there's: "It's not the First Amendment, it's not religious freedom, it's not church and state, it's not...abstract. It's the fourth grader who gets his ass kicked at recess because he sat out the voluntary school prayer in homeroom. It's another way of making kids different from other kids. And they're required by law to be there. That's why you want it front and center. The fourth grader. That's the prize," and Toby looking down, not answering when Leo stares and asks, "What'd they do to you?"
I know, I left out the part that gives the episode its title. But that last thing up there is the message regarding religion that I take away from the episode, because it means something to ME.
That's where I started, and it's not a bad place to start. But where I really want to go required waiting, apparently, because the sermon that my temple's newest rabbi (who is, terrifyingly enough, younger than I am) delivered at Yom Kippur morning services solidified the hook I'd already developed.
"On Yom Kippur we confess our sins of commission, those we actively do, and our sins of omission, those things we do not do. Lo tuchal l'hitalem -- What [Medieval commentator] Rashi understands is that it's so much more often the chet of omission, of omitting another from existence, that causes invisibility. In our rushing, our self-absorption, our aversion to the risk of getting involved, we cause invisibility, bisgaga, unintentionally. Doesn't make it hurt less, though."
That's only part of what she covered (and the entire sermon is well worth the read, whatever religion you are or aren't), but it's the big pointer to where I want to go: a place where I can pick apart the concept of and issues with invisibility and visibility, and how "you're only as oppressed as you let yourself be" isn't quite true, on the Internet or off.
Invisibility can be a choice on the part of the invisible party, it can be imposed upon a person or group from the outside, and it can happen via a joint agreement. Just about everyone experiences each of these to some extent, so please don't think I'm trying to claim that this is unique to Jews or to me. From what I've seen recently and what people have said to me, though, not everyone understands or knows how they apply here, so I'm going to try to explain.
Sometimes I deliberately blend in, because honestly, it can make my life easier to be seen as part of the majority. Choosing to be invisible is incredibly easy, actually, and mostly involves keeping my mouth shut; some people can't get away with it, but through the genes I've gotten from all over Europe, there is no way that you could tell I'm Jewish by just looking at me, and it's somewhat depressing the number of times I've been thankful for that. It's also easy because while there are small details that aren't ingrained in my very being, fannish osmosis has nothing on the osmosis of Christianity that takes place thanks to simply living in this country; I've sought some of the information out, to better understand most of the people around me, but I don't know that someone who's Christian could see just how much of your religion is worked into everyday life in the U.S., and how a person gets the indoctrination whether they want it or not.
When it comes to that type of invisibility, that's all on me. No one puts up a sign saying it's time to go stealth, now. There isn't a decree or law, either, not here (since I can't personally speak to it, I'm not going to get into the times and places where that has been an issue). Each and every time I've chosen to not be visibly different, it's been my choice. Which doesn't make it better -- makes it worse, really, because it's me denying who I am, and how is anyone else supposed to know if I don't speak up -- but it's under my control and that makes it my problem-solution.
Then there's the invisibility that's done to me. I say it that way even though it's not always a conscious action on the part of the do-er, because this isn't a legal matter, and it doesn't matter whether that person or group is plotting to make me and mine disappear -- it's happening.
The "holiday" party that has a Christmas tree and no menorah. Christmas Day as a federal holiday. Passing around Easter candy. Invitations to pizza during Passover. Commenting or telling jokes in front of me about Jews and power/money/Hollywood/pick your stereotype. Being told obliquely or outright that my concerns aren't real concerns. Whenever I'm standing there thinking, "You don't even bother wondering whether I'm the same as you, do you? That's just not something that occurs to you, and I don't know if it's better or worse that I don't know whether you'd care to find out." Any of it. All of it. I am assumed to be somebody I'm not in these situations, or it's made very clear that what I think or believe isn't of any importance.
And that feeds right into the invisibility by joint agreement, which is a dreadful combination of the two above, and it's the one that truly scares me, because it's about fear. Judaism -- even (or especially) on LJ, it seems -- is a religion and race and topic that's been shoved to the bottom of the dark cellar with the broken stairs and consciously forgotten, and so many of us don't pull it into the light and make people look in at least part because we're afraid to find out who's going to be lining up to kick it back down there.
When I read the comments and posts that have gone around recently, I think I'm reading them the way a majority of Jews are: as the latest in a very long series of blows. There's a cumulative effect of assumptions and thoughtlessness. There are, as Vanzetti has pointed out this time, buzzwords. There are seemingly "little" and "harmless" words and acts that make me physically cringe and flinch, because they hit bruises that have been caused over a lifetime. I dread making this analogy, but it's like living with a form of mental abuse, and you learn -- deliberately or through experience -- how not to invite new attacks, i.e., how not to make a fuss/draw attention/force visibility.
Back to that sermon, now, though, the unintentional causing of invisibility, and the idea of "only as oppressed..."
Thing is, that last bit up there, the third kind of invisibility, isn't one that can be easily dispelled by the invisible. It can be done, sure, but the price isn't always payable. What I'd like anyone who reads this to think about is making the solution a joint agreement, as well.
lenadances wrote in a comment to Vanzetti:
I feel like sending food, which is the way of the Midwestern Lutheran to show sympathy... except that in this case I think it would be more useful to make a solemn pledge that the next time I hear somebody talking like that, I kick them in the (physical or metaphorical) crotch. Otherwise it's like I'm saying this is okay, and it's not by any stretch of the imagination okay.
And that made me happier than anything else I'd read all day, because that's it. That's what's necessary.
"It's not enough to ask individuals to make themselves visible, vulnerable, [but to] create a community in which it's safe to do that."
My rabbi was using a story from the Talmud of a lost ox. She pointed out that the Torah, as people learned to understand through the Talmud, encourages the creation of a community "in which, sometimes at personal cost, we do indeed proactively agree to make each other visible by reaching out and seeing one another, hearing one another, responding simply because we share the same space, pasture our ox in neighboring fields, have adjoining stalls in the market."
And that's the final point that I want to be taken away.
Yes, we as Jews of any stripe have to speak up; nothing can change unless we initiate the change and continue to work at it.
But everyone else who lives in the same world we do needs to help make sure that when we do try, we're not beat down for it. Because we can get somewhere on our own, but nowhere near as far as we could with some assistance or, at the very, very least, some acknowledgement that what we're saying is worthy of attention.
~~~
Being Jewish is not something that's been easy for me to talk about online or offline even before the recent anti-semitism-on-LJ messes that I could have happily lived forever without experiencing. I think of myself as more culturally Jewish than religiously, but either way, I self-identify as "Jewish" right after "American" and well before "white," since in the U.S. that usually means a variation on WASP. Anyway, after the last mess, which is unfortunately not the most recent one, people asked me to elaborate on comments I'd made in Vanzetti's journal, and I eventually came up with something starting from a fannish place, thereby giving myself a common point to start the talk.
There are many, many reasons to love the West Wing episode "Shibboleth."
There's: "We're writing a very important Thanksgiving proclamation." "And possibly a new action-adventure series."
There's: Knife after knife after knife, and a knife passed on from father to son.
There's: The turkeys. CJ and the turkeys (which can't be pardoned by a president, no matter what you think).
And there's: "It's not the First Amendment, it's not religious freedom, it's not church and state, it's not...abstract. It's the fourth grader who gets his ass kicked at recess because he sat out the voluntary school prayer in homeroom. It's another way of making kids different from other kids. And they're required by law to be there. That's why you want it front and center. The fourth grader. That's the prize," and Toby looking down, not answering when Leo stares and asks, "What'd they do to you?"
I know, I left out the part that gives the episode its title. But that last thing up there is the message regarding religion that I take away from the episode, because it means something to ME.
That's where I started, and it's not a bad place to start. But where I really want to go required waiting, apparently, because the sermon that my temple's newest rabbi (who is, terrifyingly enough, younger than I am) delivered at Yom Kippur morning services solidified the hook I'd already developed.
"On Yom Kippur we confess our sins of commission, those we actively do, and our sins of omission, those things we do not do. Lo tuchal l'hitalem -- What [Medieval commentator] Rashi understands is that it's so much more often the chet of omission, of omitting another from existence, that causes invisibility. In our rushing, our self-absorption, our aversion to the risk of getting involved, we cause invisibility, bisgaga, unintentionally. Doesn't make it hurt less, though."
That's only part of what she covered (and the entire sermon is well worth the read, whatever religion you are or aren't), but it's the big pointer to where I want to go: a place where I can pick apart the concept of and issues with invisibility and visibility, and how "you're only as oppressed as you let yourself be" isn't quite true, on the Internet or off.
Invisibility can be a choice on the part of the invisible party, it can be imposed upon a person or group from the outside, and it can happen via a joint agreement. Just about everyone experiences each of these to some extent, so please don't think I'm trying to claim that this is unique to Jews or to me. From what I've seen recently and what people have said to me, though, not everyone understands or knows how they apply here, so I'm going to try to explain.
Sometimes I deliberately blend in, because honestly, it can make my life easier to be seen as part of the majority. Choosing to be invisible is incredibly easy, actually, and mostly involves keeping my mouth shut; some people can't get away with it, but through the genes I've gotten from all over Europe, there is no way that you could tell I'm Jewish by just looking at me, and it's somewhat depressing the number of times I've been thankful for that. It's also easy because while there are small details that aren't ingrained in my very being, fannish osmosis has nothing on the osmosis of Christianity that takes place thanks to simply living in this country; I've sought some of the information out, to better understand most of the people around me, but I don't know that someone who's Christian could see just how much of your religion is worked into everyday life in the U.S., and how a person gets the indoctrination whether they want it or not.
When it comes to that type of invisibility, that's all on me. No one puts up a sign saying it's time to go stealth, now. There isn't a decree or law, either, not here (since I can't personally speak to it, I'm not going to get into the times and places where that has been an issue). Each and every time I've chosen to not be visibly different, it's been my choice. Which doesn't make it better -- makes it worse, really, because it's me denying who I am, and how is anyone else supposed to know if I don't speak up -- but it's under my control and that makes it my problem-solution.
Then there's the invisibility that's done to me. I say it that way even though it's not always a conscious action on the part of the do-er, because this isn't a legal matter, and it doesn't matter whether that person or group is plotting to make me and mine disappear -- it's happening.
The "holiday" party that has a Christmas tree and no menorah. Christmas Day as a federal holiday. Passing around Easter candy. Invitations to pizza during Passover. Commenting or telling jokes in front of me about Jews and power/money/Hollywood/pick your stereotype. Being told obliquely or outright that my concerns aren't real concerns. Whenever I'm standing there thinking, "You don't even bother wondering whether I'm the same as you, do you? That's just not something that occurs to you, and I don't know if it's better or worse that I don't know whether you'd care to find out." Any of it. All of it. I am assumed to be somebody I'm not in these situations, or it's made very clear that what I think or believe isn't of any importance.
And that feeds right into the invisibility by joint agreement, which is a dreadful combination of the two above, and it's the one that truly scares me, because it's about fear. Judaism -- even (or especially) on LJ, it seems -- is a religion and race and topic that's been shoved to the bottom of the dark cellar with the broken stairs and consciously forgotten, and so many of us don't pull it into the light and make people look in at least part because we're afraid to find out who's going to be lining up to kick it back down there.
When I read the comments and posts that have gone around recently, I think I'm reading them the way a majority of Jews are: as the latest in a very long series of blows. There's a cumulative effect of assumptions and thoughtlessness. There are, as Vanzetti has pointed out this time, buzzwords. There are seemingly "little" and "harmless" words and acts that make me physically cringe and flinch, because they hit bruises that have been caused over a lifetime. I dread making this analogy, but it's like living with a form of mental abuse, and you learn -- deliberately or through experience -- how not to invite new attacks, i.e., how not to make a fuss/draw attention/force visibility.
Back to that sermon, now, though, the unintentional causing of invisibility, and the idea of "only as oppressed..."
Thing is, that last bit up there, the third kind of invisibility, isn't one that can be easily dispelled by the invisible. It can be done, sure, but the price isn't always payable. What I'd like anyone who reads this to think about is making the solution a joint agreement, as well.
lenadances wrote in a comment to Vanzetti:
I feel like sending food, which is the way of the Midwestern Lutheran to show sympathy... except that in this case I think it would be more useful to make a solemn pledge that the next time I hear somebody talking like that, I kick them in the (physical or metaphorical) crotch. Otherwise it's like I'm saying this is okay, and it's not by any stretch of the imagination okay.
And that made me happier than anything else I'd read all day, because that's it. That's what's necessary.
"It's not enough to ask individuals to make themselves visible, vulnerable, [but to] create a community in which it's safe to do that."
My rabbi was using a story from the Talmud of a lost ox. She pointed out that the Torah, as people learned to understand through the Talmud, encourages the creation of a community "in which, sometimes at personal cost, we do indeed proactively agree to make each other visible by reaching out and seeing one another, hearing one another, responding simply because we share the same space, pasture our ox in neighboring fields, have adjoining stalls in the market."
And that's the final point that I want to be taken away.
Yes, we as Jews of any stripe have to speak up; nothing can change unless we initiate the change and continue to work at it.
But everyone else who lives in the same world we do needs to help make sure that when we do try, we're not beat down for it. Because we can get somewhere on our own, but nowhere near as far as we could with some assistance or, at the very, very least, some acknowledgement that what we're saying is worthy of attention.