By all outward appearances, the JFS applicant, identified only as “M” in court papers, is Jewish. But not in the eyes of the school, which defines Judaism under the Orthodox definition set out by Jonathan Sacks, chief rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth. Because M’s mother converted in a progressive, not an Orthodox, synagogue, the school said, she was not a Jew — and neither was her son. It turned down his application.

As we say in my home town, oh no you DIDN’T!

However irritating the school’s selection criteria are to me and some other liberal, progressive, Reform, unaffiliated, Conservative, take-your-pick-of-non-Orthodox Jews, this is hardly the first time that non-Orthodox Jews, especially non-Orthodox converts, have been classified as “insufficiently Jewish.” So the situation is hardly surprising.

What is surprising, at least to me, is a) that the court ruled that the policy was against British law and b) their rationale for that decision. While religious groups in the U.K. are allowed to practice discrimination based on religion, the ruling classified this school’s policy as race- and/or ethnicity-based discrimination, which is illegal.

To wit:

The court ruled that it was an ethnic test because it concerned the status of M’s mother rather than whether M considered himself Jewish and practiced Judaism.
“The requirement that if a pupil is to qualify for admission his mother must be Jewish, whether by descent or conversion, is a test of ethnicity which contravenes the Race Relations Act,” the court said. It added that while it was fair that Jewish schools should give preference to Jewish children, the admissions criteria must depend not on family ties, but “on faith, however defined.”
The same reasoning would apply to a Christian school that “refused to admit a child on the ground that, albeit practicing Christians, the child’s family were of Jewish origin,” the court said.

Fascinating.

Serwer draws a parallel between divisions in Jewish communities over Israel and divisions in (U.S.) Black communities “about loyalty and authenticity.” Describing Netanyahu’s characterization of David Axelrod and Rahm Emanuel as “self-hating Jews” based on their support of a settlement freeze, Serwer writes,

What makes this kind of argument particularly interesting, however, is how much it resembles intraracial arguments between black folks about loyalty and authenticity. In the eyes of those who support all of Israel’s actions uncritically, the “Juicebox Mafia” are “House Jews”: Jews whose positions on Israel are motivated by their internalizing long-standing anti-Semitic myths and identifying with those who seek to oppress the Jewish people. These Jewish conservatives are, ironically enough, embracing the same kind of bare-knuckle identity politics as the blacks they love to hate.

Also, this totally resonated with me:

I’ll cop to caring about Israel more because I’m Jewish—but that doesn’t mean I’ll evaluate its actions uncritically out of blind loyalty. In fact, in most cases it’s precisely because liberal Jewish bloggers care about Israel that they’re critical of its actions: They see Israel’s behavior in the region, particularly its treatment of the Palestinians, as harming Israel’s long-term interests.

Serwer’s post hits on a particular type of parallel between Jewish communities and U.S. Black communities that (while perhaps ignoring the overlap between the two groups) is too often left by the wayside when these communities are discussed. How can we learn from the way different groups handle intra-community tensions and accusations of self-hatred? How can we use a grounding in identity as a strategic move, positioning ourselves as uniquely able to critique specific actions because they have been taken in our name(s)?

I delve into the race politics that marked my adolescence (and hip-hop’s) because the manner in which their sharpness has blurred is the backdrop for “Toward A More Perfect Union.” Hip-hop is now America’s dominant youth culture. It still dislocates whiteness, but in a way far less conducive to personal growth or rigorous assessment of injustice. White hip-hoppers of my era constructed elaborate rhetorical structures intended to accommodate paradox, to acknowledge the devilishness of white supremacy without condemning ourselves. Today, white youth are confounded by a different paradox: the divergence of cultural capital and hard capital in American life.

Largely because of hip-hop, American coolness is coded and commodified more than ever as American blackness. White kids all over the country believe, based on the signifiers flashing on their TV screens, that blackness equals flashy wealth, supreme masculinity, and ultra-sexualized femininity – interrupted occasionally by bursts of glamorous violence, and situated in a thrilling ghetto that is both dangerous and host to a constant party. They feel locked out of the possibility of attaining that lifestyle, because of the color of their skin. They don’t know where to find a workable identity, unless they embrace the “I’m a fucking redneck” ethos of Levi Johnston, Sarah Palin’s future son-in-law. All this strikes them as oppressive, and their resentment is compounded by the fact that they possess no language with which to discuss it.

Were any of this utterable, one could present them with reams of evidence demonstrating that in all the important ways, white people in America are anything but marginal. Traditional markers of prosperity – the inheritance of wealth, the rates of home-ownership, the comparative levels of education and income and incarceration – reveal just how privileged whites remain relative to blacks. A recent study conducted at Princeton University revealed that a white felon stands an equal chance of being granted a job interview as a black applicant with no criminal record, and there are dozens of other studies that each speak volumes.

Nonetheless, confusion persists even among the kind of coast-dwelling, liberally-raised, relatively well-educated white kid I once was about the basic facts of racism today – to say nothing of everyone to their ideological right. They want to know if the playing field is level; they can’t tell, and they’ve got their fingers crossed that it is because if it’s not they’ve got to confront things no one has prepared them to face. Many of them would rather believe, and in fact suspect, that it is slanted in black people’s favor.

At the very least, they’re eager for a kind of moral compromise, one with an air of the fairness so appealing to young minds: racism cuts in both directions. Anyone can be its victim, just as anyone can refuse to perpetrate it.

This is what Barack Obama provided on March 20th in Philadelphia. After a succinct but powerful summary of institutional racism’s history and its practical and psychic effects on black people, he added that:

“a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don’t feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race… as far as they’re concerned, no one’s handed them anything…. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African-American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they’re told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time… to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns – this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.”

Obama’s insights about white anger are salient, but to characterize ire at affirmative action and at the thought that others might think them prejudiced as ‘similar’ to the frustration felt by the victims of entrenched structural racism is disingenuous, and even irresponsible. I don’t dispute that white resentments should be addressed, if only because white people will refuse to grapple with race unless they are allowed to centralize themselves. But to begin such a discussion – the mythic National Dialogue on Race – without acknowledging that structural racism ­is a cancer metastasizing through every aspect of American life is impossible. Call it, to borrow a catchphrase from the foreign policy side of the election, a precondition.

***********************

On the other hand, the pressure on Obama to denounce Minister Farrakhan – which directly preceded the pressure to denounce Reverend Wright – offered the candidate a chance to speak a difficult truth to a valuable constituency and play a role in genuine healing. Certainly, Obama’s rhetoric spoke to such a desire:

“What I want to do is rebuild what I consider to be a historic relationship between the African-American community and the Jewish community. I would not be sitting here were it not for a whole host of Jewish Americans who supported the civil rights movement and helped to ensure that justice was served in the South. And that coalition has frayed over time around a whole host of issues, and part of my task… is making sure that those lines of communication and understanding are reopened.

But rather than turning to that task, Obama proceeded to do precisely what the current, sorry state of black-Jewish relations demands. He iterated his rejection of Farrakhan’s endorsement, citing the Nation of Islam leader’s anti-Semitism, and left it at that.

For twenty-five years now, the specter of black anti-Semitism has been used as the rationale for tremendous Jewish disinvestment – practically, emotionally, financially – from the black community and the legacy of progressive work that blacks and Jews once shared. A handful of comments from civil rights-era black leaders provide most of the evidence. For many in the Jewish community, Jesse Jackson will always be the man who called New York City “Hymietown” in 1984. Al Sharpton will always be the man who inflamed a tense situation in Crown Heights in 1991, and Farrakhan will always be the man who, in 1983, called Judaism a “gutter religion.”

The fact that all three have apologized, moved on, and made amends does not seem to matter ­­– that Jackson was instrumental in restoring peace to Crown Heights, that Sharpton’s 2004 presidential run was an exemplar of inclusiveness, that Farrakhan has been meeting regularly with a group of rabbis for more than ten years now, in an effort to mend fences.

Nor does it seem to matter than none of these men speaks for the black community at large, or that Obama’s candidacy and the emergence of hip-hop generation leaders and grassroots political organizations prove that the civil rights generation is no longer in the driver’s seat. They remain central in the Jewish memory of my parents’ and grandparents’ generations. Their comments are frozen in amber, never to be forgotten or forgiven. Thus, denunciations of Farrakhan – despite the declining influence of his organization and his own outreach to the Jewish community – remain red meat for many Jewish voters.

How can this be, when the Ferraros, Imuses and Lotts of the world tiptoe back into the mainstream after a few probationary months, their best intentions unimpugned? Even Gibson, whose anti-Semitic rant was truly epic, had his incoherent, responsibility-dodging apology promptly accepted by the Anti-Defamation League, a Jewish watchdog group that has never stopped vilifying Farrakhan.

The story behind the story is complex, one of changing identity in a changing country. Perhaps no two groups in America share such an intimate history as Jews and blacks; by turns it has been beautiful and tense, unified and vituperative. Both groups have been shattered and scattered, displaced and enslaved, and both have made outsized contributions to the cultural life of America. Both communities, perhaps by the nature of diaspora, have wide margins, in addition to existing on the margins of American life. By this I mean that the ratio of people who feel ambivalent, ambiguous, full of unresolved questions about their blackness or their Jewishness, is high in relation to the number of people nestled snugly in the bosoms of those communities. The pain and perspective engendered by this double marginality are important ingredients for art, and in the desire for social justice.

Jews and blacks have been united by this shared Otherness, and also pitted against one another because of it. At the root of the Jewish retreat from the coalition of which Obama speaks is the way in which Jewish assimilation has relied on the immutability of black Otherness as a foil. It has been an Other more Other than their own, and sometimes one to measure progress by their distance from.

As the Jews have been accorded more and more of the privileges of whiteness, many have decided, consciously or otherwise, that it behooves them to change their bedfellows. Fifty years ago, it was far more difficult for Jews to be complacent or hypocritical about race: they didn’t have the option to pay mere lip service to the cause because they understood that they were implicated in it, both as potential victims and potential oppressors. The benefits of whiteness were fewer for Jews, and more readily contested. Thus, the morality of allowing them to accrue was easier to address honestly, and find lacking.

Read the full piece on TheRoot.com.

Adam Mansbach is the author of several novels, including ‘The End of the Jews,’ winner of the California Book Award, and the bestselling ‘Angry Black White Boy.’

The world has descended upon Rabbi Alysa Stanton. From coast to coast and continent to continent, global media trumpet the ordination of “the first African-American female rabbi.” Whether it’s The Forward, Jewish Telegraphic Agency, The Jewish Week, CNN, Black Entertainment Television, the Huffington Post, The New York Times, and seemingly every other Jewish and secular media outlet, all of them, by-and-large, cover the same facts:

“Alysa Stanton is the first mainstream African American female rabbi in the world. A convert to Judaism after being raised in a Pentecostal family, she was ordained by Hebrew Union College on June 6, 2009. She is the new congregational rabbi of Congregation Bayt Shalom in Greenville, North Carolina.”

That’s the whole story. That’s where most of the media stops. What interests us is what is not covered, the questions that are not asked.

America’s response to Stanton’s ordination calls for introspection and self-examination by the larger Jewish community. It is true that Alysa Stanton’s ordination is a historical moment that should be celebrated. However, disproportionate attention is paid to her gender, racial background, and path to Judaism when her work and character should receive equal coverage, if not be at the forefront. What’s more, the emphasis on her being “the first” downplays a decades-old, increasing shift in the fabric of American Jewish life.

Rabbi Stanton’s ordination did not happen in a vacuum. She is not the first person of color to become a rabbi, nor is she the first woman of color to become a rabbi. Just as Rosa Parks wasn’t the first or even the second to refuse to move to the back of the bus, Stanton is the rabbi of color who received the attention of the mass media. It is true that she IS the first African American female rabbi. Yet it needs to be acknowledged that other Jewish clergy of color who are not of African American descent have preceded her in mainstream synagogues, and more are in rabbinical school or on the way. Furthermore, Jews of color who are currently serving as presidents of congregations and working on synagogue boards are not the first to do so.

So, why aren’t the people of color who preceded her in the rabbinate getting equal press coverage? Over the course of American history, a social construct of race developed and the racial binary of white vs. black arose as those in power separated themselves from African Americans, who were—and still are—systematically oppressed. As immigrants came to the United States, they were either classified as black or assigned a non-white status. To this day, that non-white status is often applied to certain ethnic communities including Asian Americans, Latinos, and even Jews at times. Neither black nor white, depending on the situation, all of these groups are classified as the middle ground of America’s social construct of race. And while certainly all of these populations receive media attention, African Americans receive more attention, while Anglo-whiteness remains the norm and groups in the middle ground are often rendered invisible.

Even though the Jewish community is negatively affected by this power dynamic, it is not immune to this systemic habit of ignoring people who are not black, but also not white. We should be beyond the black/white binary in the United States. It seems that in the case of Stanton’s ordination, the U.S. press is gloriously pursuing shock value over critical journalism, marketing sensationalism, and emphasizing the supposed improbability of a black person, let alone a black female, becoming Jewish and a rabbi.

To move beyond this systemic polarization, it helps to know that the number of Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform rabbis of color is already significant. Three prominent rabbis—among many–come to mind. Last month was the ten-year anniversary of Korean American Angela Buchdahl’s graduation from cantorial school, followed by her ordination as a rabbi in 2001. Cuban-born Rabbi Rigoberto Emanuel Viñas is ordained as a rabbi and master Torah scribe. Colombian-born Rabbi Juan Mejía, who intends to work with crypto-Jews in the American Southwest, graduated this year from the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York.

While information about rabbis of color is readily accessible, some misinformation is still being reported. Take for example a May 29 report from the Associated Press claiming that the only known black male rabbi graduated from American Jewish University (undoubtedly referring to Rabbi Gershom Sizomu of Uganda). On the contrary, there are many black male rabbis in Orthodox communities. In many of these communities, a man who studies in yeshiva for a certain period can choose to take the requisite exams to earn smicha, thereby becoming a rabbi.

There is no doubt that Alysa Stanton has broken ground and established herself as a leader. She has gained not only worldwide interest, but respect as well. Among those who know her, she is seen as a gracious and reflective person who can inspire and aspire while keeping her feet solidly on the ground. Through her studies and her compelling personality, she has become an ambassador for a group of Jews who have long been ignored. Yet, she herself says she is committed to serving all Jews.

After this initial introduction of Stanton, we hope that the media will turn its focus to issues of substance and content. Tiffany Rivka Gordon, an African American rabbinical student at Hebrew College in Boston, says, “I’d like to hear about Alysa’s thoughts on halacha and holidays, not so much about what she is.”

Gordon also notes, “After black and female, Alysa is identified as a convert, which just speaks more to the myth that Jews of color in this country are automatically converts.” We ask, why focus on the rabbi’s conversion with no concurrent investigation of her current conceptions of spirituality, her views on Israel, or her rabbinic interpretations of contemporary halachic debates or ethical dilemmas? Not to mention, according to Jewish tradition, a Jew is not supposed to remind another of his/her conversion.

The media frenzy around Alysa Stanton’s ordination has opened the possibility of improved coverage of Jews from a variety of ethnic backgrounds, but in order to be relevant, journalists must dig deeper. Fortunately, times are changing. According to Gordon, “My own personal experience is so not colored by my skin.” Instead, she says, “People genuinely want to know what my opinions are as a young Jew, not only as a Jew of color.”

As those who know Stanton well can testify, she is a spiritually inspiring rabbi who has much to give and many lessons to teach. As she states with conviction, “I believe that it is a new era for changing, strengthening and deepening our faith in humanity, regardless of one’s religious creed or spiritual practice. I believe this is a time where hope needs to be embraced with all of our might… I have committed my life to being a rabbi of the people, a rabbi of hope.”

April N. Baskin is a Schusterman Insight Fellow. Corinne Lightweaver is a writer and editor in Los Angeles.

I recently got a piece published in Bridges: A Jewish Feminist Journal. It’s an essay I co-authored with my friend Nzinga, about our experiences as African American Jews. She converted to Judaism, and I was born Jewish; so, in the essay, we create a compare-and-contrast dialogue, looking at race politics in the Jewish community and how we’ve navigated the different ways other Jews have responded to our claiming of Jewish identity. We titled it “Second Glances” to reference the fact that we get a lot of double-takes when we tell people we’re Jewish.

A group of contributors to Bridges, myself included, are doing a reading at Afikomen Judaica in Berkeley this Sunday, May 3rd, from 3 – 4 p.m. The event is free and open to the public. I’ll be reading excerpts from “Second Glances.” I’d love to have JVoices folks at the event.

Attached are all the details, including info on the other speakers, or read more on Facebook.

Originally posted on Duluth News Tribune

Considering that John Hope Franklin was a historian — or rather, very likely the leading historian in America until his death on Wednesday at age 94 — I’m embarrassed to say I can’t recall exactly when or where we met.

What I do remember, other than it was in Boston about a decade ago, is that the towering figure both physically and intellectually was nothing like I expected. Instead of a stentorian academic who could destroy my historical musings with a single word, he turned out to be affable, folksy and encouraging. It was an impression he gave to countless others.

“There was a quiet calmness in his voice that was a deep stability, even if it was just saying ‘hello,’ ” said Sister Edith Bogue of the College of St. Scholastica. “He was just somebody you would listen to and who would listen to you, somebody you would respect.”

Though later a college professor herself, Bogue first knew him simply as “John’s dad,” the father of a middle school and high school classmate at the University of Chicago Laboratory School in the 1960s.

“He was the type of parent you could talk to about what was going on in class,” she said. “He would listen as though it was equally important as what was going on his life.”

By then, the senior Franklin’s life already had made an impact on the world. Along with recording history — through his definitive work, “From Slavery to Freedom,” and many other books — he helped change history, contributing to the NAACP’s 1953-54 case in Brown v. Board of Education. As Thurgood Marshall prepared to argue that the then-prevailing doctrine of “separate but equal” was counter to Congress’ intent in the 14th Amendment, Franklin was tapped to find out what exactly Congress had intended nearly a century earlier.

“Answers to these questions required a knowledge … that few lawyers possessed,” Franklin wrote in “Mirror to America,” his 2005 autobiography. “Historians, to the rescue!”

Similarly, Franklin was participating in another turning point of civil rights history when Bogue frequented the family’s home in Chicago’s Hyde Park neighborhood.

“I remember watching the [1965] march from Selma to Montgomery [on television],” Bogue said. “His son John never said, that I remember, ‘my dad’s there, that’s why my dad’s not home,’ but he was.”

Franklin was quick to discount any notion that being a historian and an activist were mutually exclusive.

“I think knowing one’s history leads one to act in a more enlightened fashion,” he said in a 1994 magazine interview. “I cannot imagine how knowing one’s history would not urge one to be an activist.”

Three years later, in his 80s, that activism would lead to his most public role when President Clinton asked him to lead the President’s Initiative on Race, an effort criticized by some for talking too much about the subject and by others for talking too little about it. Two central themes were an official apology for slavery and reparations to slave descendants and those dehumanized by segregation — such as Franklin himself who, despite his Harvard Ph.D., dozens of esteemed professorships (the last at Duke University in North Carolina, where he died) and more than 100 honorary degrees, suffered many indignities.

“I learned our history through him,” Harvard law professor Charles Ogletree, a protégé of Franklin’s and a mentor to President Barack Obama, said in a statement. “The 1921 Tulsa Race Riots caused his father, Buck Colbert Franklin, a lawyer in Tulsa, to have his office destroyed. Dr. Franklin overcame this setback. He is a legend.”

And a gentle, dignified, and personable one.

“He could just be with us and talk,” Bogue said.

Robin Washington is news director of the News Tribune. He may be reached at rwashington@duluthnews.com.

CK: Your rendition of Adam Mansbach’s novel, Angry Black White Boy (ABWB), is now in it’s third extended running at Intersection of the Arts, receiving rave reviews from theater critics and staged to sold out audiences. Tell us how this novel spoke to you in a way that made you want to produce it for the stage.

DW: It’s very cinematic and dramatic. When I first read ABWB I saw it real clear in my head and knew that it was an important story for me to get inside. I am someone who is in constant reflection about my work and this novel came to me at a time when I was really questioning my place as a white Jewish man in a Black art-form. It seemed like a great vehicle to utilize and explore white privilege, mine and others, history and guilt, cultural tourism and, ultimately, the truth of what I really stand for. Plus it was a tremendous challenge, and as an artist, I needed that.

CK: ABWB tackles issues of race and Jewish identity head-on. You yourself cross worlds in your artistic work, from working during the day at The Hub at the JCCSF, to performing with your hip-hop band, Felonious, at night. Undoubtedly, you think a lot about what it means to produce art where identity, race, culture and history are at the core. So, what are the tensions that keep you up at night? Where do you worry that you’ve crossed the line, if at all? And, what lines do you want to push and question in your work?

DW: What doesn’t keep me up at night? I am a new father of a 7 month old boy and just seeing the world through his eyes is enough to make you worry about everything.

I grew up in a first generation, post Holocaust suburban family where assimilating and making money was important. There is a lot of anxiety and fear built in, fundamentally, so really I see the work that I do as a healing agent first and foremost. For myself and my family. For my dead grandparents who could only dream of the freedom that we take for granted. This freedom has afforded me the privilege and, dare I say, the right, to demand that I get what I want. But you never get what you want when you want it and your character is the space between what you want and what you get. So I am in a constant battle with trying to be somewhere I am not, and the urge to figure out how to eventually get there.

ABWB is a play about race, black and white specifically, and is performed by 2 black dudes and 2 white dudes. There are clear lines that can get crossed. Misinterpretations and assumptions that are pitfalls everywhere, like who gets to say the word Ninja and who doesn’t. Ninja is our off stage substitution for the N word. Like if you are reading someone’s part and they say that word but it’s not your line you have to say Ninja. Like if we’re NOT in performance and we are doing a line-through you say Ninja. It’s a line that doesn’t EVER get crossed. We’re just sensitive to it.

CK: What does this production say, for you, about your artistic work, and the lessons you hope to inspire in others in engaging in art as a form of rattling and challenging the collective imagination?

DW: What I learn by working at Intersection and with Director Sean San Jose is that the art is the community center. The center piece for the discussion. And you need to be able to include others at that table. That if you are only creating a play or a piece of art for the sake of itself or with a single focus – to make money, fame, authority, whatever – that it’s a very limited road. You get to the answer very quickly. I only want to be challenged, whether that means a I do a comedy next or figure out how to create a song cycle that is a call and response with time and space, I want the work I do challenge me in a way that is scary. Like, can I do this? What will this say about me? What will I learn about myself? And then I want to work my ass off to see if I can pull it off. I think the missing piece for all of us is the reality of how much work it’s gonna take to get out of your own way and let the unknown rise to the surface.

CK: Do you have any other projects you’re currently working on?

DW: Yes, The Stateless Project which is about the history of my family in Hamburg, Germany. It is based on some real life experiences of discovering that The Wolf Brothers (my great grand parents) were famous vaudevillians in Hamburg before the war. They wrote the most famous song from Hamburg in 1911. In 1938, the Nazis said it was now a German song and no longer belonged to the Jews who wrote it. The Stateless Project is a multi-disciplinary, international art project that aims to build new forms of Holocaust remembrance and cross-cultural dialogue.

CK: Without giving your workshop session away in full, give us a taste of what you hope to share with participants about art and identity.

DW: It will really depend on who is in the room. It’s about looking at who comes and what they are trying to do and really explore the best modes and sources to get at self through art.

Ashkenazi Privilege Checklist:

___ I can walk into my temple and feel that others do not see me as outsider.

___ I can walk into my temple and feel that others do not see me as exotic.

___ I can walk into my temple and feel that my children are seen as Jews.

___ I can enjoy music at my temple that reflects the tunes, prayers, and cultural roots of my specific Jewish heritage.

___ I can easily find greeting cards and books with images of Jews who look like me.

___ I can easily find Jewish books and toys for my children with images of Jews that look like them.

___ I am not singled out to speak about and as a representative of an “exotic” Jewish subgroup.

___ When I go to Jewish bookstores or restaurants, I am not seen as an outsider.

___ I find my experiences and images like mine in Jewish newspapers and magazines.

___ My rabbi never questions that I am Jewish.

___ There are other children at the religious school who look like my child.

___ My child is never questioned by adults or children about whether he or she is Jewish based on skin color.

___ People never look at me and say “But you don’t look Jewish” either seriously or as though it was funny.

___I am never asked how I am Jewish on Jewish dating websites or dating events.

____I can arrange to be in the company of Jews of my heritage most of the time.

____When attempting to join a synagogue or Jewish organization, I am sure that my ethnic background will not be held against me.

___I can ask synagogues and Jewish organizations to include images, and cultural traditions from my background without being seen as a pest.

___ I can enroll in a Jewish day school, Yeshiva, and/or historically Jewish college and find Jewish students and professors with my racial or ethnic background.

___I am not discriminated against in the aliyah process for being a Jew of a different ethnicity.

___I know my ethnic background will not be held against me in being called to read the Torah.

___ I know my racial or ethnic background will not be held against me if I attempt to join a minyan in prayer.

___ I do not worry about being seen or treated as a member of the janitorial staff at a synagogue or when attending a Jewish event.

___No one at my synagogue will attempt to assign me to a ethnicity to which I do not belong. (Example: Assuming all Jews of African descent are Igbo or Ethiopian).

___ I do not worry about access to housing or apartments in predominately Jewish neighborhoods.

CK: Today you’re celebrating the 8th Anniversary of the organization you started, SWIRL, and it’s continual growth and success as a national multi-ethnic organization that challenges society’s notions of race. Tell us how this all got started, and what it’s like to watch your organization continue to grow.

JC: My work with Swirl primarily grew out of a real need for community. Since I had grown up very much between and outside of communities, I was determined to create something for those who had also experienced having “one foot in and one foot out” – mixed race individuals. Additionally, I decided at the start that Swirl would also serve interracial couples and mixed families. We have always been inclusive of anyone who feels that their experiences challenge this country’s traditional notions of “race,” culture, and identity.

I also created Swirl because I wanted to raise consciousness about what it means to be mixed race. In 2000 (and still to this day), this country is challenged by an unfortunate dynamic. Many of us still prescribe to old notions about what it means to be “this race” or “from that culture.” There are a wealth of misperceptions without many opportunities for dispelling racial myths in a cross-cultural space. People of all communities are challenged by these sorts of racial assumptions every day whether they are subtle instances or painfully obvious, and mixed heritage people are no exception. I knew that mixed race people needed a space to challenge these ideas and a platform for voicing their realities. I wanted (and still want) people to know that being mixed is not about being the most beautiful because we represent the coming together of races or that we are gifted with “the best of both worlds.” These are superficial notions and don’t represent the wide range of experiences that one might have if mixed. As any community, Swirl represents a diversity of experiences. Just as there is not one way of being Black or Asian, there is not one way to be Mixed. Swirl has always aimed to be a thoughtful voice on mixed identity and how “mixed” fits into our country’s larger conversations about race.

It’s amazing to see Swirl continue to grow, especially considering that I didn’t initially have expectations that we would go beyond New York City. I also didn’t always anticipate that our mission would shift in the ways that it has, but it was hard to truly imagine what we would be dealing with 8 years later. Mixed race organizing was still not happening widely when we first got started, so we weren’t quite sure of what to expect, how things would shift, and what the community would need from us several years later. Today, we are still building communities, but with a wider reach. We want to continually challenge society’s notions of race and we want to work with other communities to do this together. We realize that we will never really successfully confront this nation’s dysfunctional ways of dealing with race if we don’t collaborate cross-racially and cross-culturally.

CK: What changes have you seen in your work since the 2008 election?

It is amazing to see the kind of momentum that has been building since Obama started campaigning. We have had multiple chapters start up in this past year and I think his leadership and presence has had something to do with that. The fact that he speaks about his mixed heritage openly and proudly, and that he talks about diversity inclusively (recognizing that it is more than just a black/white issue) is inspiring to a lot of people. I think that he has given hope to our younger generations in particular, which has gotten a lot of people involved in ways they weren’t previously. It’s encouraging to see so many talented people stepping up into leadership for Swirl in cities across the country.

Listen to Jen Chau and Carmen Van Kerckhove of Racialicious.com on The Brian Lehrer Show, discussing the implications of a mixed-race future and how Barack Obama’s candidacy changed the discussion about mixed-race identity.

Since the elections, I have been bothered by the claims of “racism is over!” Yes, Obama becoming our President-Elect is a big and meaningful step for this country. However, we cannot rest assured that this takes care of all of our issues around race. How I wish his Presidency erased racism! If you aren’t convinced, visit some of our nation’s urban public schools. The racial achievement gap is still here and going strong. Perhaps what Obama provides is an opportunity – with him in office, we will hopefully confront issues of race because he models it. But I know, and Swirl knows that our work continues. We are excited for the momentum that has been created, and we will continually work to support change in this country. To shift the culture of how we deal with race is going to take effort from all of us – it is not enough to have a President of color in place. We all have to take responsibility.

CK: This Sunday, you’ll be joining Inside the Activists’ Studio as a featured presenter, a Jewish change-maker. Give us a taste of what you’ll be discussing about your work at SWIRL.

I am excited to meet with other Jewish change-makers – how often do activists come together to really support one another and share our learning? Most of the time we focus on our work, not ourselves. I will be sharing some of my experiences on how to continue to fight while maintaining a healthy and happy lifestyle for yourself. It’s a challenge, especially when you are so passionate about your cause and want to throw everything into it, but it is important for us all to ensure sustainable lives for ourselves. We need to be in this work for the long haul! I am excited for us to reflect on this and share support.

“I’m Not White, I’m Jewish” is the name of the song featured in the YouTube video above. The rap song has clear sociological issues. As the performing artist strums along to his guitar, the camera pans around the room of Jewish preteens. And almost every face in the room? White, of course. But hey, as the song claims, “I’m not White, I’m Jewish.”

It’s no secret that signs across the United States used to read “No Niggers, No Jews.” But at some point in time, Jews started to enjoy the benefits of white privilege in America. It is that same white privilege that the song attempts to deny. Who wants to be white when whiteness seems to equal racism? Who wants to be white if that somehow takes away from Jewish identity?

But things are much more complicated than that. At least, they are in America.

White is a race. Jewish is an ethnicity. Not all Jews are white. America has a complicated racial landscape. It insists on singular cookie cutter identities when people are actually enjoy rich swirls of racial and ethnic identification. There are white Hispanics and black Hispanics, because Hispanic is also an ethnicity. Still Hispanics across the board do not enjoy white privilege…unless, that is, they can “pass” for white.

Somewhere along the line, Ashkenazi (Eastern European) Jews started passing for white. And it is these Jews that enjoy white privilege. Though they’ll try to deny it. Why? Shame. The same shame that any self-respecting white person has about America and Europe’s history of racism. So, instead of associating themselves with racism at all, they deny their whiteness and their white privilege. If I went around denying that I was Hispanic or Jewish, would anyone take me seriously?

My husband and I read many books on racism together to try to understand where the other was coming from. My husband became irate when reading on particular book that focused on institutionalized racism. “What the hell is that?” He was infuriated by the idea that he was somehow complicit in institutionalized racism. It took years of being in an interracial relationship before he realized that in many ways, we are all complicit. He noted that institutionalized racism even comes in a Shampoo bottle that you see every day at the drugstore. It says that pin straight hair is “normal” and anything otherwise, is not.

White Jews, despite their whiteness, enjoy a privilege that other whites do not. Despite looking white, they are still considered the Other. They are not the Protestant Christians one thinks about when they picture “American.” They, like other minorities, identify as a hyphenate. They’ll announce…“Hi, I’m a Jewish-American,” the way I tell people I’m a “Latina-American-Jew.” Jews ARE different than other whites.

Still, it’s one thing to focus on one part of one’s identity. In the Hispanic grocery store, I’m a Latina first, an American Jew second. In synagogue, I’m a Jew first, an American Latina second. It’s quite another thing to deny part of one’s identity, “I’m not white,” because of discomfort or because one sees themselves as something else.

Face it, in America, how one sees themselves is only part of the equation, how one is perceived is the other.

That’s why in America, Barack Obama is just black, instead of the more politically (and biologically) correct term: “BIRACIAL.”

Also check out:

Stuff Jewish Young Adults Like: Denying that they are white

And the slightly more academic…

I’m Not White, I’m Jewish But I’m White by Paul Kivel

x-posted from Aliza Hausman: Memoir of a Jewminicana