Are ya freakin’ kidding me?

MUMBAI–A new line of bedspreads called the “NAZI Collection” has provoked fury among India’s Jewish community.

Jews in the financial capital Mumbai are now looking into legal options to block the sale of the product line, the promotional material for which features swastikas, the Times of India newspaper said Sunday.

“We Jews believe that the best part of living in India is that it is a country that has never ridiculed us or harmed us,” said Jonathan Solomon, chairman of the Indian Jewish Federation.

The makers say “NAZI” stands for “New Arrival Zone of India,” while the swastika is also a commonly used Hindu symbol.

“It really does not matter to me who feels bad about it,” furnishing dealer Kapilkumar Todi was quoted as saying.

Last year, a restaurant in Mumbai — home to around 5,000 of the total 6,000 Jews in India — had to change its name from “Hitler’s Cross” following similar complaints.

And before you start thinking bedding manufacturers are only that backasswards on the other side of the world, remember this?

Since we’re in atonement time, I have a small confession to make: I love gospel music. Look, when you don’t have cable and there’s nothing else on TV in Georgia Sunday mornings, you watch what’s there, ‘aight? And if you can get over the whole Jesus thing, it is just so dang inspiring to see those folks offering up their “hallelujahs” and “praise the Lords!” and clapping like heaven’s just gonna break open and shine through — I’ve often wished we could all kick back our chairs in synagogue and shout it out to Hashem like we mean it, sisters and brothers! (As a matter of fact, I had poem published about our people’s lack of worshipping enthusiasm. El Yenta Man thinks I should post a Youtube video of me performing it, and maybe I will one of these days…)

The fabulous news is that I don’t have to get treyf to assuage my gospel jones: Kosher gospel singerJoshua Nelson can get his “Adon Olam” on like no one’s business, y’all (watch here)! Even Oprah has endorsed him as the next big thing, and the house is gonna come down when he performs at Hallelu in Atlanta November 4. I’ll be the one with my arms raised high!

For those of you who know my synagogue in Savannah and it’s tight-lipped Protestant classic Reform tendencies, what would those Saturday morning alterkockers think of Joshua?

Okay, no one is going to disagree that Michelle Citrin is the most adorable Jewish folk moppet ever.

This guy, however, gets points only for effort:

In an effort to bring disenfranchised Jews back to the faith, the rabbi and couple of machers at a Miami synagogue thought they’d impress them by putting some prime sanctuary seats on eBay. Ready, set, open your checkbook…the bidding starts at $1.8 million.

“Besides getting to schmooze up front with the rabbi, the lucky winner’s family name will be engraved on Seats 1 and 2 of Row 1, Section DD, at Temple Emanu-El. The winner also will receive free parking, two custom-made prayer shawls and yarmulkes, and a hefty tax write-off. Plus, the winning bidder can pass the seats down to his or her children.”

Okay, with all the perks, it’s probably worth it. But I’m going to venture and say that one of the biggest reasons some Jews start to feel rejected and reject modern Judaism and synagogue life is because money and status are valued and focused on more than true spiritual thought and infusing the ancient rituals with actual meaning. Just a guess.

At the same time, it would only take one very wealthy person to lift this shrinking temple from certain dissolution.

“It has very little to do with the money,” said the rabbi. “Hypothetically, if the money comes, it would be great, but the idea was really just to be edgy.”

This guy probably thinks a black fly in your chardonnay constitutes irony. “Edgy” would have been auctioning them off for $18,00o, then buying new textbooks for the religious school. But asking for millions is totally obnoxious. And embarrassing for Jewish people everywhere.

I’m sure you’re all dying to hear how my first day of teaching at Shalom School went. I had prepared myself the best I could: I got the apples and honey for noshtime on Friday, I had a make-your-own shofar project set up, I practiced my “aleph” pose for Torah yoga, I burned copies of Oy Baby and Celebrate Kids for the classroom.

But then yesterday, while the family was having a nice Shabbat frolic in Forsyth park, I had to go and tear my gastrocnemius and klutzify my well-laid plans. Somewhere between the tennis courts and the fountain I heard and felt a sickening “shhr-ee-d” in my calf, followed by unbearable pain (and listen, I gave birth to two children au naturel, and freakin’ know what pain is, okay?) I tried to put on a brave face for the family, but I think I may have cried, not just because it hurt like a muthaf*cka but because I knew within seconds that I would not be doin’ my African Jewish cowgirl routine for my students any time soon, nor would I be walking without crutches and/or an Igor limp at least through Yom Kippur. Who knew skipping could be so dangerous?

However, in spite of having a mummified lower leg and a significantly cramped style, I did make it to Sunday school almost on time, thanks to El Yenta Man, who acted as my sherpa for the day and shlepped my tote bag. I had six fairly well-behaved kindergarteners who didn’t mind taking the elevator and chimed in readily for “Hinei Matov.” The madracha (helper), a darling teen named Haley, happily sheparded those in need back and forth from the bathroom. We read stories, sat in a circle, discussed the amazing uses of the word “shalom.” (Our class greeting is now a double-thump with the fist on the heart and a two finger salute: Shalom out, man.)

They didn’t even make much schmutz with the apples and honey. I feel like I should have bought one of those “EASY” buttons. So I gotta offer up some thanks to the heavens for a fine first day. With the exception of the girl who wouldn’t speak until the last half hour and wept through snack. And the whole gimp business. Oh, and the kid who appeared to have a raging case of selective deafness and tried to manhandle the congregation’s ancient shofar. But all in all, a productive morning of Jewish education.

*Woodcarving “Lady With Crutches” by Susan Hagen.

Have you ever had to explain to a non-Jew the difference between being Jewish and being Israeli? I’m not so patient, so next time I’ll just show them this first episode of the Jewish Reconnection Project.

Founder Todd Schetchter has other reasons for producing it: “It’?s meant to give viewers a sense of the diversity of Jews around the world and to let college age people express their own ideas about Judaism. Ultimately, we hope that helping disparate groups of Jews understand each other will make for a stronger, healthier Jewish community.”

It’s nothing terribly sensational, just two groups of young Jews talking about their lives, about how Israeli Jews take their Judaism for granted and the isolation of American Jews and why it’s not so easy to openly support Israel on American college campuses. The funny thing is that I had almost the same exact conversation last month with the Israeli three kids spending their summer as slaves camp counselors. In that gruff, no nonsense way Israelis have, 19 year-old Nitzan shrugged when I asked if her family was religious.
“Eh, why should we be? We are reminded of our Jewishness all the time. Only the Jews that make aliyah from somewhere else are religious.”

I’ll have to watch the future episodes of JRP with the hopes that these kids find more, not less, common ground…

Ynetnews brings us a most interesting love story: In Paris, Rabbi Jonathan Levy was more than happy to help Protestant minister Catherine Schtorkel explore her recently discovered Jewish heritage. They fell in love, and because the bride is halachically Jewish, the pair were wed in Jerusalem six weeks ago.

However, Schtorkel is keeping her day job. “I’m still a Protestant minister and I still believe in Jesus.”

Hmm. Levy’s congregation was so outraged by their leader marrying outside the faith that they fired him. “I wish my movement was as tolerant as it preaches others to be,” said the rabbi.

The couple is planning to move to Israel within the next two years, where they will presumably a more sympathetic community.

*Cartoon by Jordan B. Gorfinkel borrowed from JewishWorldReview.com.

Forgive me, friends, for the dwindling frequency of posting. Today, however, when I thought I might toast my tush on the beach while drinking a few beers for the first and last time this summer, our Creator has chosen to station a giant dumping weather system over the entire Southeast and so provide me with some time to catch y’all up on the Yenta. While I usually loathe blogs that detail the reasons for why its author hasn’t been around, I’m going to indulge in some boring self-referentia just this once:

Last weekend, the whole family attended a family bar mitzvah in Raleigh, NC, at Congregation Beth Meyer. Forrest the BM boy delivered his Torah portion perfectly, mazel tov!, and I was totally blown away by Rabbi Eric Solomon. He’s a young hip guy from Brooklyn with little kids, and his wife — also ordained — shares in the cantor duties for the congregation. Together they bring such an invigorating combination of tradition and presence to the bima; it was like having the cool kids teach Torah. Reb Eric made a point to explain each prayer and go over the melodies as part of the service, which those of us who didn’t go to yeshiva really appreciated.

Even my father-in-law noticed. “He didn’t try to make anyone feel bad that they didn’t know the Hebrew,” he said, and I know he was thinking back to his own childhood when reiterating the chants perfectly was more important than understanding what they meant. Reb Eric brought a relevance to Saturday services that felt almost shocking, but it’s something we could sure get used to ’round here.

At the sports-themed party that evening, Forrest got the requisite chair ride to the DJ’s truly awful “Yiddish medley” that might have downloaded from the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack, but it was a special simcha nonetheless. Of course, my mother-in-law and I tore up the dance floor to ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.”

So then it was back to work, which I’m still just loving. My second issue just came out and I’m really pleased with the final product; the sales staff and our new graphic designer are such fine women. Putting together a magazine, interviewing subjects, hiring photographer and choosing products from businesses that I want to give a little free publicity feels like the role I’ve been working towards ever since I got my first editorial assistant job and realized that having a bachelor’s degree in creative writing might not mean I was doomed to wait tables for the rest of my life. Last week I served on a panel with a few other editors on “How to Write for Magazines,” and the journalism professor from Savannah State University has invited me to come speak to her classes this semester — it’s almost like I know what I’m doing. Almost. Sometimes, though, I still feel like the girl with the shaved head and hairy armpits living in her VW van armed with nothing but her journal and a chamsa for good luck.

I’ve been stressing out a little about my lesson plans for Shalom School, which begins next week. We had a staff meeting last week, and I was the only teacher whose classroom materials hadn’t arrived – I panicked at the thought of my charges blinking vacantly at me while I tried to teach them the “David Melech Yisrael” hand jive a cappella for two straight hours. But then there was talk about combining my kindergarten class with Wendy Cohen’s pre-K group, which would not only solve space issues but create a fun synergy, since Wendy’s just super cool and we’d have a big raucous group who could create a thunderous “Hinei Mah Tov.” So no worries, though I was firm that I still want my holiday rug.

And wait, the commitments keep on coming: By far, the most exciting thing I’ve been invited to be a part of lately is Do You Hallelu? in Atlanta, an interactive concert presented by Synagogue 3000 starring legendary Jewish musicians Debbie Friedman, Theodore Bikel, kosher gospel singer Joshua Nelson and Neshama Carlebach. The brain child of Craig Taubman, this veritable Jewlapalooza will be huge – 3500 people! I’m going to be doing some “live blogging,” which I thought entailed me sitting in the audience quietly recording my thoughts, but I found out last week that they want me onstage. I can’t imagine why me at my laptop would be that compelling, especially if I’m sitting in my underwear and one of my husband’s tattered fraternity shirts like I am now, but I’m sure the brilliant folk of Craig N Co have something in mind.

I’ve also been distributing the latest issue of American Jewish Life to Savannah’s synagogues and the JEA as a favor to editor Benyamin Cohen. I’ve got one for you in the trunk of the minivan (along with the current issue of skirt!) or, if you’re not on my route, check out the online version.

Let’s see, what else? The JEA has asked me to teach a “Klezmercize” exercise class to the seniors, and as much I would love to, I can’t find a spare hour once a week during the day to do it. It’s a shame, ’cause I have some Jewish music that’ll kick those yentas tushies (Hip Hop Hoodios, anyone?) and my mother-in-law would absolutely love it (Come to think of it, maybe all the dancing we’ve been doing ’caused the rain?) I haven’t said “no” yet, but I only have 24/6 like everyone else, y’know?

There are also the matters of both children starting school this week, our new mostly well-behaved dog Clarabell (she looks a lot like this. Cute, cute, cute), Thursday’s deadline for the October issue and the upcoming Holy days. There’s always more to do (I just remembered El Yenta Boy needs a new tie for synagogue) but while earlier in life I might’ve collapsed under the weight of so many responsibilities, opportunities and activities, mostly I’m just so grateful for such a crowded plate. (Except when I’m not, and then no one better ask me to so much as tie their shoes for them.)

So this rainy day of “nothing to do” can’t be perceived as anything but yet another blessing. Hope your Labor Day weekend is as blissfully un-laborious.

Actually, I didn’t do too badly on the National Jewish Outreach Program‘s little quiz (certainly better than the Halvah guy, anyway.) How’d you do?