Hiatus

Be back after finals!

Music for the Season: Fall 2012

Another seasonal playlist?!

I'm not very good at listening to new music, but there's some of that stuff on here. Hope you find enjoyable.

Do you have any music recommendations? Let me know.

Why?

I'm trying to write little bit of a phenomenology of everyday life for practice. Here's a phenomenology of the question, "why?" .... Because, why not? (I couldn't resist) No idea if this makes sense, but it's my first attempt! 

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We might ask ourselves what the most important question is, but doesn't even this asking require a preceding question? The "What" here must necessarily come after a conception of "Why?" When asking What one is inquiring about the nature of something. It's a simple inspection of properties which presuppose some short of shared understanding of that which is the focus of our attention. That which is the subject of my asking immediately becomes an object of inspection. Scientists are very good at answering questions of "What?" Epistemologists are skilled at answering "How?", but one should consult a metaphysician for an attempt at "Why?". An answer might not be available because unlike determining the properties of something in order to determine why something is, we might not have a shared conception of it. In fact its conception is that which is most elusive, prompting an originary examination. "What" is not the only question we can ask although it would sometimes seem that it is such given the way we tend to speak. All we must do is start with experience and explain it without diminishing it. To ask what is to always already restrict an experience. The phenomena that are associated with asking the question "Why" relate to an overflowing of being. This excess is demonstrated in the imaginations ability to perceive that which is through a reference to that which isn't.  Curiosity finds it force in going beyond what is. This is why "Why" finds it relevance in metaphysics as it is that which is beyond the physical. 

Winter is Coming

When I first moved to Chicago my old boss, a proud midwesterner, would reassure me that winter was the time when we all slowed down. My mind would drift to images of cocoa, days at work that were spent in cozy sweaters watching snow fall outside, and intimate conversations by fireplaces. These things are tenable, but but most of the winter consisted in taking frantic pictures of EVERY TIME it snowed, trying not slip on ice, and wondering why the heck did I move away from my home which was 80 degrees in January?

This winter is supposed to be worse. I don't know if I'm mentally prepared for it. Like a trauma victim I get flashbacks to when it was painful to be outside or what it felt like to take off a bajillion layers every time you went inside. I'm just whining. I'm not a midwester yet, prairie folks don't whine. I need to compose a Lutheran sensibility about that matter and buck up! After all, didn't I spend every winter of my childhood "snow hunting" only to come up empty handed each time? No need to hunt anymore. There's stilly something romantic in waking up and looking out your window and saying "first snow of the season". Of course followed by running throughout the house like a mad woman waking everyone up by screaming"SNOW, THERE'S SNOW!!!!"

Check back in with me in a month. Winter is coming. Prepare. I was born in the long summer. 

Politics as Usual

In thinking about the state of the world and the global poverty crisis I think one can quickly arrive at the conclusion that we are doing something wrong. We are the privileged in the world who have obtained such privilege through hundreds of years of oppression, colonialism, and a general lack of concern for the rights of others. Thomas Pogge has something to say about this, so does Peter Singer. Both believe that the "developed" nations are responsible for the massive scale of global poverty, Pogge approaches the issue from a more palatable standpoint of positive rights while Singer (in true fashion) argues that we possess a positive duty to the poor. 

Before continuing I'd like to throw out some facts. More people die from conditions relating to poverty than have ever died from any genocide combined. To eradicate poverty would be cheaper than to engage in a war for change. And as Pogge says, to this regard our institutions are engaged in the biggest cover up of all history. Certainly if we can argue for intervention in the Holocaust we can also argue that we must do something to prevent all of these unnecessary poverty related deaths, right?

I think so, but we can still ask ourselves whether this a reasonable comparison to make given that the extremity of the Nazi case? Is it the same thing to directly infringe on the human rights of an other in a face to face situation than it is to perform the same act, but from an anonymous distance? I believe that there are a couple of methods of approaching this question that will provide insight as to how there is ultimately little difference between these two cases where guilt is concerned. In either case we must recognize that others have the positive right to life, for instance, which we have violated either whether it be indirect or direct.

Firstly, by taking a utilitarian approach one can see that the plight affecting the world's poor is just as bad or perhaps if not worse according to the strict utilitarian, than the atrocities committed by the Nazi's. World poverty produces substantially more harm than fascists ever did and it is less costly to eradicate than fascism is because it does not require military engagement, for instance. If it is our goal to maximize good or pleasure and decrease suffering then we have ethically failed. The utilitarian approach however possesses limitations that do not seem to appeal on a moralistic level in the sense that we might not want to limit our responsibility to just the “worse off” atrocities; rather, we can aim to maintain the basic rights of subsistence for everyone.

A thought experiment comes to mind: If one were driving along the highway in a brand new Mercedes, but was shocked to see a bloody and almost dead victim of a tragic accident on the side of the road, one would almost always stop pick up the passenger and drive them to the hospital even it meant ruining the interior of the car. It is hard to conceive of a person who would say “Sorry, but the repairing this leather would just be far too costly” and drive away letting the poor individual bleed to death. Yet we are constantly exposed to stories, images, and appeals to help from those in need. If one is starving to death in far away country or even in your own country for that matter, wouldn't it be just as wrong to ignore the cry for help from a dying individual just because of a financial burden? Should proximity to an individual limit our rights to them? A possible response that could be made is that this argument relies too heavily on a notion of “positive duties”, yet perhaps if we alter the scenario to include that it was you who accidentally hit the individual by the road we can see where Pogge's distress lies.

It is not just that we are actively choosing to ignore the call of others in distress, but that they are in distress because of our actions. This is a good point for critique; yet, there are many convincing counter arguments, which demonstrate that we all possess blame where world poverty is concerned (without going into those here and now). I believe that to say that we as individuals don't have say over our institutions is to some degree express a real concern for the state of affairs. Still, if enough people are willing to admit that we have no control then surely we must also desire control? And if control cannot be given under such a corrupt system then we are responsible to change it.

The danger resides in a resignation. One might resign themselves to the notion that they cannot help to alleviate global poverty, that they cannot change their corrupt institutions which ensures global poverty's continuation, or even that they are not able to stop the genocide of a group of people as undertaken by a fascist regime. In any of these cases it is a resignation of one's agency to corrupt institutions that allows for death of others to continue. I think that we always have to believe that we can change things for the better, no matter how disenfranchised we may be in reality. If one has the slightest opportunity to voice what is wrong with the world then we must take it and if one does not have a voice we must act so that they can be assured one.

The argument that many individuals in wealthy nations for instance, are too victims of corrupt institutions, is not lost on me. In this respect we are in the same boat as the Germans; however there is a key difference here. Unlike the German's world poverty is primarily caused by immoral institutions that are built upon a histories worth of corruption. This system is highly more complex than what occurred under the Nazi regime although its affect is similar. Because the guilt here lies primarily with institutions it is not that we should all be punished for actively and intentionally harming millions of people, but rather that we need to be woken up from our apathetic slumber and realize the realities of the institutions that we support via our very benefiting from them.

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I also just had to share this video although I believe it is more closely related to Singer's argument in favor of positive duties. Essentially Singer says that if we gave up on the most minimal of luxuries and instead donated that money we could eradicate world poverty quickly and efficiently  Here is Louis CK talking about just that!

Revisiting Desire in a Metaphysical Context

Some more thoughts on this subject just because I think it's interesting!

In the way that metaphysics appears as the study of being we can examine that which gives being meaning and possibly call it desire or eros. To talk about that which isn't is simply to talk about a separate but particular reality of influence. I do not have access to eros since that which I most desire is always already out of my reach, in this way we can see an alternative version of metaphysics presented: metaphysics is that which does not claim mastery over reality, but seeks to engage with the reality of experience. It appears that philosophy is transcendent in this way and has something to say not about infinity itself, but our relationship to it via desire. This picture of metaphysics is presented as an alternative to the one painted by what seems to historically be the philosophical approach, at least taken by modern philosophers who sought mastery of the world through the lone self as the “master thinker”. Instead here we are confronted with a self that is lacking and in this lack desperately reaches out towards the infinite in an already failed attempt.

This relates to my initial feelings of solitude as associated with this concept of desire. The notion that that which does not exist could force me into self awareness via an encounter with infinity is quite alarming. Furthermore the idea that we are reaching out towards others who will always be out of my reach in an attempt to answer their call in our own wounded and failed fashion is solitude at its best. There is something poetic in this notion I think, that despite the insurmaountability of it all we are required to keep responding; yet, I wonder if others also see this relationship between philosophy and desire in such a fashion.

What are your thoughts?!

Is desire a condemnation or a blessing? What is the meaning of our efforts? I would be interested in an existential perspective on this question as well. 

A Wandering Mind

Sometimes my mind wanders in class. Totally normal. This is what happens:

I'm also practicing my cursive. Coming along-ish?!

Reflections on Desire

[Read the following question in the Carrie from Sex and the City journalism format please...]

In these postmodern times we can find a new richness in meaning to the old tradition of desire?

Okay, so this sort of question is really Carrie Bradshaw's style; however, if prompted I would answer that we feel the pain of want more often and more fiercely today. Whether this does or should permeate and even drive philosophical inquiry is maybe another matter to take up. Desire's particularly interesting character lies in that it is a longing for what is not; the notion that human beings can be so compelled by what isn't is rather extraordinary. My initial reaction however is one of sadness because to know that human existence is driven out of absence comes with a profound feeling of solitude. I find the discussion of the Cartesian ideal about philosophical autonomy relevant here. I don't prescribe to a particular standpoint with regards to an autonomous philosophy; however, it does seem to me that it is possible that philosophy is a way of reaching out towards others from a place of solitude. Perhaps the original lack that we feel is an absence of others and then maybe of an Other, who help to alleviate feelings of solitude by supplanting them feelings of purpose or direction. One of the best ways to ensure a long lasting connection and guard from feelings of absence is to ensure it in the preservation of ideas, the philosopher’s fecundity.

Philosophy is Eros because it is the search for that which will never be realized. Human existence is Eros by nature because we are driven towards that which we will and never could see completed. I believe that there is sadness in this notion and beauty as well. That is, if all that we have created for ourselves has been out of a feeling of lack that can never quite be satisfied. If the absence that we desire is characteristic of the Good and if it's beauty that we are disposed to crave, this picture for me becomes more palatable. In relationship to the idea of solitude, it seems that being able to commune with the Good, this ultimate Other, would be the most satisfactory completion of our desire because it is the lack of the Other's presence that we feel so deeply. It appears that we are searching for a perfection that couldn't possibly be found in the realm of existence, yet it is precisely because we feel its absence so strongly that we know of its possibility.

I am reminded of the Kabbalist origin story told by Isaac Luria. The story goes that in the beginning everything was God and it was perfect; however, if God takes up all the space in the universe, there is no room to create within this God's infinitude. The first act of creation is then an act of retraction. In this negative God space, God places the vessels that contain the elements of creation and into the vessels God puts the divine light. Yet, these vessels cannot contain the divine the light and so the vessels shatter. What is then left are sparks of the divine which are contained within everything. According to this story any act of creation first requires a contraction or absence, yet what motivates this creation is an inspiration via “light”.

Perhaps it is relevant that since I am not a religious person my first intuition upon dealing with God language is to attempt to secularize it. I don't necessarily think that this is a bad thing because we often employ difficult words such as God, when we have representations of beauty all around us, though I do think that there is inspiration in our desiring what is un-worldly beautiful. I believe that we're pre-disposed towards what is Beautiful or Good, and that it is able to provide us with a sense of meaning that draws us out from feelings of solitude is wonderful. That we are constantly desiring what is impossibly Good in that it is unobtainable, is even more wonderfully human.

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This entry is adapted from a response paper I wrote for grad school. Oh yeah, I'm in grad school now for philosophy... anyways, I thought it might work for this blog as well! 

Judaism and the Environment

The following is the text of a presentation I gave for my work, it's more "personal" in nature than I prefer to post on here. But it's time for a new post, so I thought I would recycle it.

Lately I've been thinking about the tensions between religions and the environment though, so I'll do a little article providing a counter argument to what I've presented here.  Debating with yourself is fun right?!

Environmental justice, a concept dear to many of my contemporaries, is for me also greatly intertwined with my Jewish background.

Judaism is a culture and tradition that I was born into, but a faith that I didn’t truly ascribe to until relatively recently. In Florida I grew up with a bit of ambiguity surrounding what it meant to be Jewish. My mom, a Lutheran from Illinois, converted to Judaism when she met my dad who had a typical “Mizrahi” or Middle Eastern Jewish experience growing up in Iran. Both are agnostics who attend a reform congregation and decided to send my sister and me to an orthodox day school for six years. Confusing is one way to frame this sort of upbringing, but I think it was the ever present political and at times religious dinner discussions that probably were my formative influences in how I approached faith. 

I believe that environmental justice is a form of social justice - not only because human beings are inevitably intertwined with the fate of the Earth, but also because we have a responsibility towards that which is other and furthermore greater than ourselves. I think that the Earth certainly commands such respect. The Hebrew word for land is “adamah” from the root “adam,” which means man. In the creation story God creates humankind from the Earth; a particularly astute observation by our ancient ancestors, but it’s a teaching that we’ve departed from in the modern age as we’ve become, well, increasingly less and less human. These days it seems that we rarely feel the “adamah” the land within our being “adam” or human.

Judaism is a religion that is tied to the land; from its explication of our very being, down to the myriad of laws that are supposed to govern our interactions with the land. Last year I worked at the Urban Adamah Program in Berkley, which is a Jewish organization that is attempting to create a farm that observes Jewish agricultural and moral laws. I had an opportunity to explore contemporary applications of Jewish traditions on the food justice movement, which involved everything from practicing “Pe’ah”, which literally translates to corner – a practice where you leave a portion of your harvest for those in need of food. Or even the simple act of saying a bracha a line of prayer before eating and creating the intentionality around the piece of food that I was about to consume, was portrayed with new understanding perhaps because for the first time I was growing a large portion of the food that I was eating.

The symbiosis between these two values: Judaism and environmentalism to me is evident. Yes I would probably still be interested in environmental work if I wasn’t Jewish, but I’m not sure that Judaism could exist without it’s connection to the environment.  My own relationship to environmental justice has been nurtured through Judaism and provides deeper meaning and motivation for me as go on to exist with the aim of positive impact in this world. I believe that environmental justice is a form of social justice - not only because human beings are inevitably intertwined with the fate of the Earth, but also because we have a responsibility towards that which is other and furthermore greater than ourselves. I think that the Earth certainly commands such respect. The Hebrew word for land is “adamah” from the root “adam,” which means man. In the creation story God creates humankind from the Earth; a particularly astute observation by our ancient ancestors, but it’s a teaching that we’ve departed from in the modern age as we’ve become, well, increasingly less and less human. These days it seems that we rarely feel the “adamah” the land within our being “adam” or human.

Judaism is a religion that is tied to the land; from its explication of our very being, down to the myriad of laws that are supposed to govern our interactions with the land. Last year I worked at the Urban Adamah Program in Berkley, which is a Jewish organization that is attempting to create a farm that observes Jewish agricultural and moral laws. I had an opportunity to explore contemporary applications of Jewish traditions on the food justice movement, which involved everything from practicing “Pe’ah”, which literally translates to corner – a practice where you leave a portion of your harvest for those in need of food. Or even the simple act of saying a bracha a line of prayer before eating and creating the intentionality around the piece of food that I was about to consume, was portrayed with new understanding perhaps because for the first time I was growing a large portion of the food that I was eating.

The symbiosis between these two values: Judaism and environmentalism to me is evident. Yes I would probably still be interested in environmental work if I wasn’t Jewish, but I’m not sure that Judaism could exist without it’s connection to the environment.  My own relationship to environmental justice has been nurtured through Judaism and provides deeper meaning and motivation for me as go on to exist with the aim of positive impact in this world. Judaism is a religion that is tied to the land; from its explication of our very being, down to the myriad of laws that are supposed to govern our interactions with the land. Last year I worked at the Urban Adamah Program in Berkley, which is a Jewish organization that is attempting to create a farm that observes Jewish agricultural and moral laws. I had an opportunity to explore contemporary applications of Jewish traditions on the food justice movement, which involved everything from practicing “Pe’ah”, which literally translates to corner – a practice where you leave a portion of your harvest for those in need of food. Or even the simple act of saying a bracha a line of prayer before eating and creating the intentionality around the piece of food that I was about to consume, was portrayed with new understanding perhaps because for the first time I was growing a large portion of the food that I was eating.

The symbiosis between these two values: Judaism and environmentalism to me is evident. Yes I would probably still be interested in environmental work if I wasn’t Jewish, but I’m not sure that Judaism could exist without it’s connection to the environment.  My own relationship to environmental justice has been nurtured through Judaism and provides deeper meaning and motivation for me as go on to exist with the aim of positive impact in this world.

A Utilitarian Perspective on Social Justice

I've recently been trying to figure out what to do with this life of mine and as you can probably understand it's a difficult process. Yes, there are certain things that I definitely gravitate towards... creativity, justice work, having the opportunity to not stare at a computer for eight hours a day. These are all elements that I'd like to incorporate into my life, but when it comes down to I keep coming back to the same answer: be happy and help to make those around me happy. Life seems so short that to me this seemed the best use of it. But my mind retorts, "Leila that is utterly selfish! You have one life to live and you squander it on happiness? Where are your grand plans?!" This entry will be a justification to myself that happiness is indeed a good measure "doing the right thing" for yourself and for others.

If you had to boil moral utilitarianism down to a catch phrase, I believe it would be "maximize pleasure and decrease pain." Essentially, one can measure the moral worth or how "good" an action is, by placing its consequences on this spectrum. For example, I love relying on utilitarianism to justify my vegetarianism because it's so darn difficult to dispute! If you're interested in reading more about that particular argument, click here.

Let's talk about social justice. I understand that it centered on the idea of human rights, but can we extend the notion past simply ensuring that our basic rights are met? I think so. Utilitarianism suggests that for instance, the right to life is good, because arguably one would suffer less and suffering is usually undesirable. So the question then becomes, when we’re talking about social justice what is it that we are fighting for: equality, dignity, and our basic rights?

My thought is that those things wouldn’t necessarily be worth fighting for if they didn’t illicit some sort of happiness response within us. For instance, I feel good when I’m treated with dignity and I feel dignified when I’m given equal status with others. Rights then become constructed tools to help us actualize happiness, rather than being innate in of themselves good things. This argument would also lend itself nicely to a relativistic approach to morality that accounts for changes in what constitutes a “right” given a particular cultures conception of what allows for a happy of good life.

I’m a dabbling utilitarian, a relapsed moral universalist who has lost too many arguments. The thing is utilitarianism just makes so much sense, even if it doesn’t appeal to my romantic sensibilities. Such is life I suppose, we start out thinking we’re in it to do “good” and then we eventually realize we do it all for a little happiness. 

Measuring a life in fireworks

I sometimes think that I can measure my life in fireworks. It's a privilege that was afforded to me growing up in a country with a pension for them and a state that has a full industry that relies on them (theme parks, I'm looking at you). We can measure our lives by so many different things... achievements earned, friends, lovers, hairstyles, flights taken, or Chipotle burritos eaten. Fireworks though, they have a certain romance about them in of themselves. They are the ultimate symbol of grandeur - for a moment in time everyone stares up at a glittering sky and marvels at the wonders of human creation against the backdrop of a vast unyielding universe.

My favorite moment comes at the end, when everyone gasps at the big finale and claps. It's the ultimate movie that I've come back to see at various different points in my life. Here are some:

I am 21 with my best friend Suzie. I am home from studying in England and she is home from college. We travel to the ocean and meander around a floating dock swelled with party goers. We watch the smoke from the fireworks drift over the Atlantic ocean. 

I am 9 and visiting L.A. It's the 4th of July and we spend way too long looking for a space in a full parking garage. We bring a blanket out to a hilly park and sit as a large family to see the fireworks. I am upset because of the loud noises.

I am 15 and at Disney World. The firework show begins and I have my first kiss. I think that this is unbelievably corny, but appreciated my boyfriends dedication compositing the perfect moment.

I am 22 and I've just biked through crowds of families and hippies. Arriving at an inlet in the San Francisco bay me and my friends who also work on the farm put down our bikes and lay in the grass. I look at them with their heads on top of each others bellies with fondness. 

I am 17 and in Boston, it's the 4th of July again and I sit in a harbor with new friends who will soon become old acquaintances. It's my first time away from home and I feel exhilarated with independence. 

What are some of your most vivid memories of fireworks?

Animal Intentions

Don't ask me how I end up where I do on the internet. One click leads to another and you get the idea, it's a slippery slope. The other day I came across this 2 year old article in the NY Times about the Sea World Killer Whale trainer that was killed mid-performance. It's a sad story to be sure, but I found myself giggling at lines like these in the article:

"There were no signs of foul play on the part of anyone other than the whale, but questions about the mammal’s intent continued to linger."

"His [the whale's] record is hardly clean."

“This was not an insane, uncontrollable act, this was premeditated.”

I think what struck me most about this article was the strange double standard that our society holds animals to. This article was arguing that evidence shows that the whale, Tilly, was most likely killing with a plan out of some sort of anger. The article references that other animals, such as Chimpanzees, also kill with intent supposedly giving the grounds for the animals euthanasia... a similar practice to what we do with some humans who also willfully kill.


Does anyone else see the double standard here? If we're going to take the plunge and say that some mammals have the capacity to plan a murder (whether or not this is actually true is irrelevant) then why do we insist on their enslavement? Is Sea World enslaving dolphins? It seems to me that if we are willing to grant sentience to these mammals, then we can also argue that they are being imprisoned without consent. Sure it may be silly to think that we need "obtain consent" from Shamu, but is any more silly than debating his revenge plots? 


In my opinion the moral of the story is that as a society we need to be consistent about our representation of animals. It doesn't seem right to anthropomorphize them on the one hand and then use them for cosmetics testing on the other. I hope that we can vere on the side of dignity and respect for all creatures, even if it turns out that Tilly the whale was just acting out of a natural impulse. Either way, it seems like we want to believe that other species feel more than just instincts.  

Read the article here:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/26/us/26whale.html?_r=1

This....

This I Believe...

What follows is a "This I believe" style essay that I was asked to write about Israel. All of us in our house will be sharing our essays with each other and now I wanted to share it with you!
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I believe that it is our duty to put the well-being of others before ourselves. I believe that if everyone did this we would live in a world where our needs were met. I believe that this world will be hard to achieve, but that we have to start somewhere. I believe in leading by example.

I believe that when discussing the future of Israel, what is at stake is not a political issue but rather a moral one. To understand why I believe that this is so, let me tell you a bit about where I’m coming from. I grew up reciting the Israeli national anthem, every day in elementary school. We said it right after we said the pledge of allegiance. It wasn’t until middle school, when I was first becoming politicized and refused to pledge allegiance to any state that I started thinking critically about what I had been told was our homeland. I had learned the history, but it seemed wrong. How could you give land to the Jewish people, even after something as horrible as the Holocaust, when it wasn’t their land to take? My dad having studied international law in school quizzed me from a young age on both international etiquette and rights. By the time I was 14 I believed that the expansion of the state of Israel was in violation of both international law and basic tenants of human rights. I believe that human beings have a right to self-determination, a home, and the dignity that comes along with it.

In high school I labeled myself as an “anti-Zionist” and I believed that the matter of Israel was strictly political. It was easier to renounce what was supposed to be my homeland if I framed it in those terms. I became involved in many anti-Zionist networks and political groups, but I also grew weary of their methods and rhetoric and took a step back as I was entering college. I became so hesitant because I believe that making Israel a political issue can lead one to lose sight of an inherently human about it. In college I was caught between worlds. I had my world of books and ideals, where on paper respecting others absolutely seemed so simple. Then there was reality. I became a more active Jew and more comfortable with organized religion, yet somehow Israel was supposed to be intertwined with my Jewish identity? I couldn’t place it much like I couldn’t place gefilte fish in my Jewish memory. I had no real connection to it despite what others had told me to have.

I decided to go on Birthright, though only if I could swindle them a little (that’s another story), see Israel myself, and be an active voice of criticism throughout the trip. What I experienced validate all of my political concerns, but something larger came up. I think the best way to illustrate it was what happened when I went to the Wailing Wall… I wailed. I felt the pressure of thousands of years of history, pain, tears, and it was beautiful. It was overwhelming. I was reminded that in the end this is a human issue and I believe that politicking is an excuse we humans use to forget because it’s harder that way.

I believe in the words of the Torah when it states that we are to be a light unto other nations. I believe that means that when the world is at its darkest our tradition reminds us to not stray away from who we are. I believe that the task of being the chosen people is not a gift, rather it’s a responsibility. I believe that Jews must be ever vigilant in our pursuit of justice and that our tradition teaches us that justice begins with the other. I believe that if it weren't for others there would be no Jewish people and so our responsibility begins there. I am truly afraid that turning our backs to this most fundamental principle will bring about an end to the Jewish tradition. I believe when we are afraid for our well-being, we need to reevaluate our tactics of self-defense, because I believe that those very protective decisions might bring about our end.

Native Birds

It takes a certain kind of person to live in the Midwest. As Garrison Kealer would describe it, the ideal individual would have a gruff sense of humor, a sturdy frame, a modest personality, and a love of misery. No such truth is further exemplified than on my way to work every day. There's always a gang of these husky pigeons, puffed up, and sitting atop a ledge. They just look pissed off and you know, if I were a pigeon living in Chicago I would be pissed off too. On a recent trip to San Francisco I marveled at the svelte pigeons there, it seemed that even they had jumped on board with a West Coast mentality. Yesterday I managed to capture one of the disgruntled Chicago pigeons and so I thought I'd portray him against his West Coast counterpart.

Also, check out this story told from the perspective of a Chicago pigeon in the Third Coast International Audio Festival. Click hear to listen to Flocks of Grey

Those California Birds don't know how good they got it!

That's a bird who has seen too many winters...

Kosher Simplified?

What follows is a written version of a presentation I'm giving on what Kosher means. Funny enough, I don't keep kosher... wonder if that comes through in the presentation?

When discussing what it means for something to be “Kosher” we actually need to go back in time. Around 3000 years back to the beginning of Judaism. And though we don’t know exactly how long Jews have been keeping Kosher for, archeologists have found ancient kosher labeling stamps that allow us to date the practice to at least fifteen hundred years ago. Really where is there else to start but in “the beginning” or rather at least at the beginning of the Torah (or Old Testament). I think it’s important to start off in this location because we are supposedly given God’s ideal structure for a world. The Garden of Eden is about as utopian as it could get, which is only furthered emphasized by how it looks so different from today’s world in so many ways. In terms of framing the short discussion that we are about to have, I’d like to offer up the following interpretation before we get into the nitty gritty of what it means to keep kosher.

In the ideal state of symbiosis that was the garden of eden, there were very few rules (and perhaps as the story goes one very big one), but after the flood and the destruction of humanity to start anew we entered a world full of rules! Yet, instead of thinking of these “rules” as commandments dictate from high above, I’d like to instead frame it as a practice of intentionality. In other words, that in a chaotic and flawed world we require practices that re-orient us towards our own humanity.

Okay! So now for the nitty gritty! What does “Kosher” literally mean? It comes from the Hebrew word “Kasher”, which means “fit”. So something is Kosher if it is fit or suitable for eating. Though it is also important to note that the term does not only have to be applied to food, it could also be applied for instance to ritual objects. There is no such thing as kosher “style” foods. For instance, a Jewish deli may be un-kosher, it just might contain food familiar to the eastern European Jewish tradition. Something is also not “made” kosher. An animal either is or isn’t kosher, and if it is it must be slaughtered properly to maintain its status as kosher. But we’ll get to that later.

It is estimated that about 15% of Jews in America keep Kosher, but keep in mind that there are varying degrees of what “Kosher” can mean to different people. Often times this depends on both the region you are from and your personal interpretation of Jewish laws. It’s hard to determine why Jews started keeping Kosher in the first place? Was it driven by a moral ideology? By the health concerns of the time? Or by a practical desire for a more sustainable lifestyle? Nobody knows, but this latter reasoning is one that I’ll take up later and explore in a modern context.

The story goes that in the beginning all creatures had a vegetarian lifestyle. Animals and humans lived in a pleasant relationship to one another. Thus, at this point the notion of “keeping Kosher” was not necessary. It was only until after the flood and humanity was supposed to begin fresh from its past corruption that God allowed humans to eat the flesh of other animals. Yet, we don’t see the actual laws for kosher until the time of Moses when the Jews have left Egypt and were wandering through the desert. So this is a relatively long passage that lays out all of the “clean” and “unclean” foods. Everything from a badger to an ostrich (both not kosher by the way) appears here. In addition there are some rules of practice that follow this passage, for instance even if an animal is kosher, one is not allowed to eat it if it has died a natural death. These laws a bit complex and so let’s try to look at the most simplified model.

In order for an animal to be kosher it must be: a vegetarian, have a split hoof, chew its cud. So a dog is not kosher because it has paws and a pig is not kosher because it doesn’t chew its cud. Fish have to have scales and fins; they also mustn’t be bottom feeders. That’s why crustaceans, shark, eel, and cat fish are not kosher. Birds of prey are not kosher and all reptiles and amphibians are also not kosher. All insects are not kosher except for the grasshopper. PHEW alright.

Let’s talk briefly about some additional laws of Kosher that are widely practiced. The Torah pretty much just gives the “what” of kosher, but doesn’t really provide the “why” for keeping it. The Talmud or Oral Torah, which is a series of rabbinical debates provides that why and with it things become just a bit more complicated. You know the old joke, two Jews in a discussion yields 100 different opinions. Well has this um, useful chart depicts determining whether something is kosher to eat in today’s world can be a complex process. Let’s focus on a couple elements:

SLAUGHTER: single cutting motion along throat with a non-lacerated knife, post-mortem exam for disease, injuries, or abnormalities, and the blood drained.

UTENSILS: The Torah says that one must not cook a child in its mothers milk. Or in other words, don’t cook meat in milk. Thus the Talmudic scholars argued that in addition to not eating a cheeseburger, we must separate milk and meat utensils. The material of the utensil affects whether it can be made kosher again. Ex. Glass can and ceramic cannot.

VEGETABLES: Sometimes you’ll see a hecksher on veggies; this means that they have been inspected for insects.

WINE: produced for non-religious purposes is not kosher. Vodka, gin, etc. is fine. There is no provision against alcohol in Judaism.

So those are some highlights of the what and how of keeping Kosher. Now let’s discuss the business of keeping kosher. Though the labeling of Kosher foods has been around for over a thousand years, it would be hard to imagine that the complexities associated modern day life in our highly industrialized society wouldn’t affect the practice of keeping Kosher. Today there are many different kosher symbols placed on foods and I can’t say that it’s not political. Certain symbols are acceptable within some communities while others are not. Whether or not a labeled item can be considered kosher is determined by the rabbinate or head rabbis within a certain branch or movement within the Jewish tradition. As an aside it’s interesting enough that some non-Jews purchase kosher labeled foods because they associate it with a healthier and more human option. The idea that kosher food is necessarily both of these things is a controversial topic that we’ll spend our last few moments exploring.

We live in a world where most businesses operate under the simple principle of profit and again this affects the kosher industry as well. Too often in an effort to maximize profit standards are compromised. One such kosher processing plant was the recent focus of what happens when standards are lowered. You may be familiar with what has now come to be known as the “Postville Raid” of a Kosher slaughterhouse about 4 years ago. Essentially the agriprocessor was employing around 400 illegal immigrants, but many higher up employees were charged with being in severe violation of labor laws amongst a number of other human rights violations. This raid rocked the Jewish world not only because it brought to light a number of injustices that were close to home, but also because it meant that the meat the plant had been producing was un-kosher since dignified treatment of humans in addition to animals is fundamental to the Jewish tradition.

The response for many was a turn back towards what many people saw as the core values of what it meant for something to be kosher or “fit” for consumption. They sought to reclaim the notions of care for the earth and all its creatures that were said to be part of its tennats and move away from the highly industrialized practice that it has become. This took the form of organic free-range kosher meats, farms that specialized in practicing ancient agriculture laws such as Pe’ah leaving the corners of your field for those who are in need, or even practicing vegetarianism in order to fulfill textual interpretations of the Torah. In today’s world with all of the human driven problems that our environment faces, perhaps what it means to for something to be “kosher” or fit for consumption is that it was produced in a sustainable and ethical manner, which maybe would look closer to the ideas presented in the Torah and Talmud.

There are many local and national organizations that are focused on this idea of Eco-Kashrut and are finding ways to practice more sustainable forms of kosher in their own food production, advocacy, and educational outreach. I can say that as I Jew I find this movement to be an inspiration because it is essentially declaring that “Yes, we are going to find a way to preserve our rich culture and tradition, but do so in a way that is a spiritual alignment with our must fundamental beliefs of Tzedeck or justice.”

The following appeared in Avodah's blog. It's an adaptation I wrote of an earlier post I wrote in here. Let me know what ya think. It's a bit jargon-y. Oh well.

We Are Still In the Desert

Posted on April 3, 2012

By: Leila Shooshani

Photo by: Gregory Jordan via CC

As we approach the Passover holiday I’ve begun to wonder about the experience of wandering through the desert. You know the story: we were once slaves in Egypt, but before we reached the land of milk and honey we first had to traverse a barren landscape for forty years. Many chose not to leave, many Jews stayed in Egypt where suffering had become acceptable, familiarity comfortable. That’s one of the most amazing and tragic aspects of being human I suppose, our adaptability. Even the tiniest cage can seem like a home. Rabbi Hanoch of Alexandria said, “The real exile of Egypt was that the Israelites learned to endure it.” Yet, what counteracts this tragic aspect of humanity is a desire for escape – to abandon what is known in favor of… in favor of what? Hope in ourselves and one another?

During the Passover seder each year we recite “we were once strangers in Egypt.” Our prison was such that we could not see the other, we could not find ourselves liberated through her. The desert is symbolic for deprivation because even outside the confines of slavery, one is still not quite free; for instance, by being dependent on allowance of resources allocated by heavenly control (manna). Vast and unyielding, the desert seemed to have no end, and for those who died without reaching its borders, it didn’t.

In the nothingness of the desert, all you have are stories of hope. The Torah is the ultimate story because you not only interact with it, but it interacts right back. We treat the Torah as if it were another person. Yes we clothe it, kiss it, and provide it with a home; but we only do these things because we’re able to speak with the Torah as if it were another person. Moses, the mute liberator, delivered us to the nothingness where in order to survive, we require to be amongst interlocutors that would provide us with hope enough to make it out of the desert. In Judaism we transcend the brutality of the world through others and through our texts or stories, which we treat as other and in that way my existence is indebted to your very being.

I can’t help but notice the similarities between the Hebrew words for desert “Meedbar/מדבר”and for speech “Medabear/מדבר”. It seems that in its typically poetic and deeply profound fashion, the language is telling us that yes, when you have nothing in the world the only thing you have is each other. Storytelling, dialogue, sharing, aren’t these the foundations of the Passover Seder anyway? Scratch that, aren’t these the foundations of the entire Jewish tradition?

Our liberation story as a Jewish people is not one with a happy ending. During the seder we sing “Ha Lachma” about the bread of affliction and pronounce that “now we are slaves” and that next year we hope to be free. Yes, in the Torah we did eventually make it into Israel, but our history is far from over and we are still making it today. I believe that we are all “still in the desert.” We live in a world that sees an unimaginable degradation of human dignity; whether it is through poverty, war, or sheer inability to love or even recognize my neighbor as myself. Our journey is far from over. It is not enough to cease being strangers in Egypt, although we see the other and thus understand the ethical obligations we have to them, we have not reached freedom. This Passover let’s recite together “We are still in the desert,” because our only way of actualizing a just world is through each other.

Leila Shooshani is from Boca Raton, FL and attended New College of Florida. She is a Congregational Outreach Worker at Faith in Place, which helps people of faith understand that issues of ecology and economy-of care for Creation-are at the forefront of social justice.

Thoughts from an intern

Much of my job includes data entry, here are some thoughts that arise during the tedium:

• Good handwriting is not to be underestimated. I vow to be better myself!
• Really, this many people are still using aol and hotmail? Gmail is a minority in the world of sign up sheets apparently.
• Can't figure out if the mysterious oddly spelled last name is correct or the fluke of poor handwriting? Google it! Google has all the answers...
• People living around now are in the best situation in terms of getting awesome email names... soon every name will be taken! Or do email domains filter much like we filter through the cycle of life?

Essentially this blog ended up extolling the Google, oh well...

Spring has Sprung

Today the weather made a dramatic jump into the mid sixties, which left me feeling giddy on my way home after work. As I took my usual route from the grave yard I could't help but reflect on how it didn't feel like winter anymore...

The grave yard felt alive! The sun was setting and there was a bounce in my step.

It was pretty windy, but that only made me feel like a rock star.

Just two days before this is how I looked walking the same route.

I switched my iPod playlist from pleasant to FUN and jammed out to this:

Drinking on Purim

Babylonian Rabbi, Rava, said “A person is obligated to get drunk on Purim until he cannot tell the difference between ‘blessed is Mordecai’ and ‘cursed is Haman’.”

After having learned “the full” story of Purim I now interpret the mitzvah to get black out drunk on this holiday a bit differently. You see the story of Esther and Mordecai doesn’t end with the Jews salvation and peace in Persia, no it ends with the Jews salvation and then the total annihilation of their enemies (women and children included). Wow.

Perhaps we drink on Purim to drown out our collective sorrows for past deeds? We drink to the point that we can’t tell a difference between Haman and Mordecai to demonstrate that the same evil willingness to destroy existed with both of them, reducing them to the same person even without the aid of alcohol.

The holiday itself is a bit schizophrenic. A fast leads up to it – a sobering tool for remembrance and then a total loss of consciousness during the day itself – getting that drunk is never fun. Fun and games on the day of Purim itself aside, perhaps we’re meant to wake up with a really bad hang over the day after; nauseated by our existence just as our ancestors must have felt after they committed such atrocities.

Most of our holidays our about remembrance, but I have a feeling that Purim is about forgetting.