Shma: The Balcony

The Balcony
In honor of the 350th anniversary of Jewish life in America, Israeli Ruth Calderon shared her observations about living as an Israeli in America and her perceptions on the complexity of American Jewish identity. As she moves acrostically through the alphabet – America, Bank, Camp, eventually ending with "Zionism" – Calderon offers American Jews an opportunity to view their everyday experiences through an Israeli prism

AMERICA - Only those of us who were not born there call it "America." Now that I live here, the name brings on a knowing smile when pronounced with an Israeli accent. The America of my dreams was built on images impressed on me as a youngster during sultry Tel Aviv summers. It seemed like the dream of Provencal people of "the real place," while my life was a mere reflection of it, as Rome appeared to a small villager. On television and in the movies, everything in America appeared as perfect as the ideals in Plato's world. Ice cream at a Tel Aviv kiosk was simply not the same as a sundae at a diner. In America, I knew, there were places you could wear a taffeta dress. It was cold enough to cuddle up under a down blanket. Movie stars included people other than Moshe Ivgi, and there were gentiles, not just foreign workers. In America there were real seasons, each one with its unique feel: falling leaves in autumn, snow and mittens in winter, the wild blooming of spring and a real summer vacation. In America, I could celebrate the non-Jewish holidays: giving candy to a child on Halloween and eating a chocolate egg on Easter. From America, Israel appears as an unrealized ideal, not as an exhausting reality, and Israelis are still somewhat envisioned as modern-day biblical heroes. America is the ability to live with all of this and feel at home.

BANK - In America, the bank has no sense of humor. It is as simple as could be: either there is money in the account or not; there is no room for negotiation. Even the strict opening hours of the bank can be shocking for someone used to the Israeli bank, where the status of one's account depends on the individual's family and relationship with the clerks. The bank is generally the place where the Israeli in America learns his limitations. The clerk will listen politely and then explain that it is impossible to withdraw even one dollar if there is no money in the account.

CAMP - In the American summer camp -- with leaves in 15 shades of green, a calm lake surrounded by geese, and good-natured counselors -- spoiled children, used to television and junk food, live without telephones, computers, or television, eat three nutritious meals a day, and enjoy every minute of it. They write letters to their parents and get over their homesickness. After two weeks, they no longer want to go home and would prefer to stay for two months (if their parents could afford it). The amazing thing is that our children enjoy their time without all the electronic gadgets that almost seem to be growing out of their bodies -- these are the same children who can barely survive Yom Kippur without electronic gadgets -- proving that when camp is taken seriously, it can be one of the most significant learning experiences of childhood. At the same time, parents at home experience a temporary "empty nest"; the summer can be eye-opening.

An Israeli summer is entirely different, since the children do not go away but rather rule at home without limitations: they consume whatever food is in the house, sleep most of the day and spend most of the night out. As the end of the summer and the beginning of the school year approach, the prayers of parents -- especially mothers who work at home -- fill the skies of the holy land with gratitude.

DECK - The wooden deck adjoining the kitchen, which leads from the house to the backyard, is one of the great blessings of America. The dream of every middle-class couple is a private house. But realistically, aside from short-lived adventures in planting vegetable gardens, based on the illusion that home-grown basil and fresh tomatoes will make us into Provencal people and fill our lives with simple romanticism, and aside from children who want to ride the see-saw (since there is no neighborhood playground, every house has its own), or dogs who need to poop, most of us are suburban city-dwellers and do not need to relax on the lawn. The ideal compromise is life on the deck.

But this is no small matter: a cup of coffee on the deck is much more than a cup of coffee in the kitchen. It offers contemplative times to watch the leaves falling around the house in the early morning or during the long night and bless their inventor. It is the pier into nature of the homo urbanicu.

EXPRESSIONS -- Conversations are structured around stock phrases. Thus you will hear "I can't wait" in connection with almost every meeting, and every meeting ends with "It was great." At a business meeting, someone will almost certainly say "to be on the same page" and any creative idea will be described idiomatically as "out of the box." To a foreign ear, all of these expressions sound as if all the partners in the conversation have accepted rules for translating their thoughts into a few dozen common phrases and have agreed not to say anything unique.

FLAG -- It is impossible not to notice that this country is covered with flags. I can't get used to how Americans degrade it: a flag tablecloth, a pair of clogs -- the left in stripes, the right in stars -- and flag bathing suits. If someone in Israel wore a blue and white bathing suit with a Star of David, he would probably end up in the hospital, if not in court.

I ask myself: what are Americans trying to prove? Who are they trying to convince? Is there such a great lack of confidence in America's nationalism that so many flags must be displayed? Nationalism has been suspect ever since the Second World War. National identity remains, but with a tinge of ambivalence. To an intellectual Israeli, flying a flag seems like a vulgar, unrefined, and dangerous activity. It raises suspicions of sacrificing the individual's identity to the masses of the nation.

Last year, at a lecture in a synagogue sanctuary, the speaker stood between the Israeli flag, on a mast topped with a Star of David, and the American flag, on a mast topped with an eagle. To an Israeli, an eagle is a symbol that the Roman Empire wanted placed in the Temple to demonstrate their rule over the Jews. In Israeli public school, I learned about our refusal to submit to the eagle; Jewish independence and national honor depended on it.

I found it difficult to concentrate on the lecture. Viewing the two flags, I began to understand that American Jews do not believe that their acceptance of the imperial identity makes them less Jewish and, to my surprise, after the initial shock, I agreed. Now I see the beauty in American patriotism -- how it coexists with independent cultural identities in positive and non-threatening ways. The stars and stripes serve mainly as the rules of the game and the government refers to itself without embarrassment as an administration. Public servants are perceived not as prophets or thinkers but as people of action. There could be something to this.

GARBAGE - At night, on my way home in suburban New Jersey, I look at the garbage that is waiting for the morning collection. American garbage is amazing! By mysterious signals that I can't see, my neighbors bring out different types of garbage on different days. Maybe there is a phone number to call that tells you the rules. Maybe once, long ago, people were told "every second Monday of the month we bring out the newspapers -- pass it on!" Some nights, next to each driveway rest huge brown bags full of paper to be recycled. Other nights, carpets are rolled in a tidy fashion to look like sausages. There are also "big toy" nights when sidewalks look like a Fisher Price outlet.

Where do people get so much stuff to throw away? Is anybody watching while we take a white cabinet from the street for my daughter's room, or a nice rug for our basement? And where do these neighbors get the patience to wrap up a cabinet as if they were exporting it, or roll a rug? But this garbage, and the way it is treated, is a hint. Through the garbage cans I learn to respect the people here even more. Moreover, I learn how the order, peace, and quiet of American garbage disposal enhances my standard of living. And although not yet a partner to this process, I am like a child who has not yet been immunized, but is protected from the disease because all the other children have already had their shots.

HOW ARE YOU - It's the line of the sales people and acquaintances in the elevator. How am I supposed to answer this question? Do they want the standard, "Finethankyouandyou" or would they prefer the honest, "The truth is I am not so well this morning"? Is the question really about how I am doing, or is it simply a way to say "good morning"? Regardless, I learn that I like to be asked how I am -- even by a salesperson who learned this ritual in customer service lessons. Her question affirms my existence. And sometimes after a long day in the city with no familiar faces, it makes all the difference.

INTERIOR - Outside, squirrels replace the Israeli garbage-can cats, and the well-manicured entrance-way shrubbery maintained by a gardener is often not seen by those living in the house because they enter their homes through their garages.

Inside, the American suburban home contains a large living room that no one ever sits in, and the plastic cover (real or imaginary) seems to be removed only to receive guests. The living room is so fancy that I don't feel like putting my feet on the sofa or eating watermelon in front of the television. In many houses the kitchen is more old-fashioned than the European or Israeli kitchen. It is large, made of wood or stainless steel, and not often used. City people generally eat out, and the suburbanites buy it out and eat it in. I do not find the usual Israeli scene -- a family on a weekday night gathering round a table to eat salad and eggs with the radio giving the news and the windows open to the night air. Here, families rarely eat together on week nights. The commuters come home exhausted, eat a quick something, and go to sleep.

The children's bedrooms seem to be designed out of a catalog, around a single color or theme: Barbie, nature, hunting. Kids' rooms are, of course, equipped with a computer and a television. They do their homework, like the rest of the western world, while all of their electronics are at work. The den, or family room, is the primary space. It is the messiest, the most informal, and the coziest. There, you watch television together, play, sit in your sweats, and eat. The den, generally situated downstairs, is where life is happening like a rehearsal that has no performance.

In America, space between the houses adds to an existential loneliness; the house isolates its residents. Coming out of the electric garage does not let you say good morning in the parking lot or elevator, and courtesy says that you do not call after 9:00 P . M . Almost each yard has its own basketball net, seesaw, and slide; only the less wealthy neighborhoods have public playgrounds. The American dream is also an exercise in loneliness.

JERUSALEM – America chooses to see Jerusalem as it was on the seventh day of the Six Day War. Although the media is full of images to the contrary, Americans are reluctant to let go of the dream of the heroic Jerusalem found in prayerbooks and hagadot . Where is the view of present-day Jerusalem – the hardscrabble city that is becoming ultraorthodox, victimized by terror, a city full of poverty whose center is fighting for its life, devoid of citizens and tourists alike? America holds on to the old Jerusalem as a husband who sees in his aged wife only his youthful bride.

KITSCH – Buttons proclaiming "peace," "love," and "happiness," gaudy brooches, patterned sweaters, a garage full of holiday decorations to use once a year, holiday spirit and Santa Claus in the mall, Protestant sermons in shul, introductions that include more than one superlative, diamond engagement rings, thank you notes for EVERYTHING, and the communal groan of "awwww," are what Israelis discard as kitsch. After two years in America I am surprised that I have come to be comforted by them.

LONELINESS– Loneliness is America's middle name.

MOTHERHOOD – The social pressure and structure of the American workday, along with the distance from one's extended family and the lack of affordable day care, all conspire to create – here in the bedrock of modern feminism – a difficult place to be a mother. While never explicitly stated, there is a belief that good mothers stay home. Talented American women – who earned coveted degrees and battled in the male-dominated workforce – are giving up their careers to stay home and raise children. I now appreciate how much easier it is to combine motherhood and a career in Israel. Bringing my child to day care in the morning, where he is given a hot meal along with all of the other neighborhood children, made it easy for me to be a mother. And knowing that I would leave my job at three or four to collect my child, along with all the other mothers, made it easy to have a career outside the home. There are needy children and families everywhere, but here in America there are so many women who need to have jobs and need to be mothers too. It might not be a bad idea for one of the Jewish women's organizations to turn a little attention inward and start an affordable day care system.

NEW JERSEY -- The New York experience is felt in its fullest from across the Hudson. The commute frames any activity that happens there as the city forces you to dress, perhaps in a trench coat, and board the train (always after a wait on the platform with newspaper and coffee) in hand, as if you were part of a secret army all headed to the same destination, only to find your comrades returning home with you in reverse at the end of the day. The suburbs are the opposite of and complement the New York streets where you are unable to stop walking for hours. New Jersey is comfortable, like a rehearsal; New York is the performance. Here, in New Jersey, we walk the streets in sweatpants with no makeup, shopping in outlet stores without making a production out of it. New Jersey is a solution for New Yorkers who want gam v'gam (that and that). Both the black pants and the sweat pants, the rehearsal and the performance, the activity and the quiet so that we can appreciate the noise.

OH MY GOD (AND JESUS) -- These two phrases (the Jesus never far from the God) come up in every other sentence, so much so that it has even made its way into Hebrew slang. We don't say elohim, elohim ...Does this reaffirm the every day existence of God in American life, or is it simply an empty phrase that is tossed around without meaning? Do we (grandmas and preschoolers alike) constantly break one of the ten commandments as we take the Lord's name in vain?

PHYSICALITY -- When I return from Israel, it is not only my casual clothes that I put away in the closet, but also my body. Returning to America is a return to a disembodied state. To a life of sport clothes. I see that in America people walk the streets with minimum physicality. They wear clothes that protect them like armor; people touch less, and they make fewer actions as they move. When someone bumps into me in a line, or walks into my private space, he apologizes as if he has offended me. Mothers hug their children less and kids are bundled into carriages and strollers. Teachers do not touch the children in school, perhaps because they are afraid of being sued. In the gym, you work on your body as a piece of equipment that needs maintenance. All the attention you give to your body in this gym is just that -- "to" your body, not "in" your body. After exercising, you shower and go back to the Puritan way -- not sensual, sexual, or personal. Bare skin is less exposed here. Almost no one walks barefoot. It is polite for people to maintain distance. America lacks eros . In business meetings there is no tangible tension between men and women. Only the construction men dare to give a compliment or whistle after a women -- and very few women let themselves enjoy it.

QUEUE – The American queue is a place of tranquility for me, albeit with imperfections. Whether it is the queue in the supermarket or for the train, it always seems to be moving, even if slowly, and there is a feeling that you will be served. The people in line are quiet and patient. I am not on constant guard that someone will try to take my place, and if that should happen, it is not unlikely that we will find some common ground.

RABBI – The variety of rabbis available here is, unfortunately, unimaginable in Israel. Rabbis, the voices of the Talmud and Mishnah, invented Judaism as we know it. To be a rabbi is to be an innovative, critical, and determined leader. Most American rabbis have not assumed that pinnacle of spiritual leader — neither in the American public sphere nor even in the Jewish community.
Is it a lack of classic textual education and Hebrew? Is it a lack of intellectual freedom while having to renew a contract with the community’s baal habatim? I don’t know, but I do wish we would see (on both sides of the ocean) more Heschels and Gordons, more Bialiks and Martin Luther Kings, more of those spiritual and religious leaders that affect the real agenda. More individuals who believe that tikkum olam v’or l’goyim are about using the Jewish lens to address the human experience, more rabbis who use their voices to fight for health insurance for all. I would like to see more rabbis who say “I have a dream…”

SHABBAT – I miss the lead up to Shabbat. Friday mornings at the neighborhood café, reading the newspaper’s weekend edition oh so slowly, seeing everyone and discussing major gossip and world issues in the same breath. The streets drawing quiet, the shops closing, the last minute stop for supplies. And I miss Shabbat. Friday night — dressing up, going to your parents (or his), lowering the volume on the news to make Kiddush, and hearing the neighbors doing the same from the balcony. Saturday morning: our children lazy in our bed, people walking the streets to shul, or struggling against crowds in the parking lot of the beach. The sun comforting everything away and sun drunk, we walk into the sea full of thanks. Shabbat afternoon: a big lunch, another long nap, and the evening Motzei Shabbat blues.

TZEDAKAH – American society is not fair. The rich are very wealthy and the poor often have no prospects. The country makes no pretense to provide equally for all. There is no serious discussion of national welfare, equal education, or opportunities. In response to this, the Jewish community has returned to a traditional concept of justness. Jews do not expect equity from the government, but feel a moral responsibility to reduce injustice and help wherever possible: they care for the needy, rescue the oppressed and give charity. American Jews, in part, organize their tzedakah like this because they have given up on a fair American state. Giving up on a just Jewish state is a serious matter. And as more Israelis start to give in this “heart-warming American manner,” it hints at the fact that they are starting to lose faith in Israel’s capacity or intention to provide for its people. Like most Israelis, I am aware that the Jewish State is also full of injustice and corruption, and certainly doesn’t provide its non-Jewish inhabitants what it gives to Jewish Israelis. But in Israel this lack of justice is not accepted. People rage against it and fight it: youngsters in youth movements; adults in summer evening discussions with friends; protesters in the plazas; single mothers in a march to Jerusalem. Israelis maintain a faith that life can be made better, that we should not just accept the situation as is while busying ourselves with charitable activities.

On the other hand, how impressive is American charity! Bar Mitzvah boys pledge charity. Adults give their time and money to charitable causes. The tax authorities view charitable donations as an important factor in the economy and provide significant tax exemptions to stimulate and increase charity. The state in Israel provides proper ideas about a just and equitable world, but has brought about the deterioration of the individual Jew from a position of responsibility toward the poor of his city to a position of bitterness and complaint.

UNIFORM – America loves uniforms: for nurses, police, postal workers, bus-drivers, doormen, Wall Street investors, the military, and street construction workers. There are also non-standard-but-obvious uniforms: summer and weekend clothes, official work clothes, khaki and white, khaki and a golf shirt, comfort casual for a suburban housewife. People here are recognized by the clothes they wear more than anywhere else in the world. Perhaps because of the great size of the American scene, it is impossible to notice the details. Clothes send a clear indication of identity and purpose: white-collar or blue-collar, master or servant, are we having a business meeting or a casual visit? The dress code is mandatory, and a mistake in dress can create serious social discomfort. Our behavior in personal interactions is dictated by the uniforms we wear, which indicate the roles we are playing. Not everyone is original. Dress is a language; it sends specific messages about one's identity based on the costume of choice.

VACATION – Americans take their vacations as seriously as their jobs. Twice a year, like clockwork, once in summer and once in winter, they make their plans and leave the city – to nature, to the sea, to Europe. There are special vacation clothes, vacation activities, sometimes even a vacation car and house. There is much forethought and planning that goes into a vacation, resulting in an organized yet predictable "break" from everyday life. But Americans seem to take a vacation from their everyday life with the caveat that they will find the elements of their everyday life in their vacation days. Unless, however, this is a vacation to Israel, in which case Americans hire a travel agent to help them pack their everyday lives into manageable luggage that they schlep on a five day jam-packed itinerary that highlights "every" great tourist attraction from north to south. Then on their next vacation to the sunny Bahamas or the Caribbean, one vacationer asks the other vacationer: "Did your kids get to shoot M-16s when you were in Israel? Mine were quite good shots."

WORK – Work is America's civil religion. When you ask someone, "How are you?" his or her first response concerns work. Kindergarteners work hard, complete projects, develop skills, and bring home the fruits of their ef-fort in the forms of paper-mache, clay, feathers, and pipe-cleaners. The older ones work hard in school only to spend afternoon hours on homework. They push themselves to get into good col-leges. This is their job. Parents leave for work while it is still dark and return home after nightfall. No one leaves until 5:00; they eat at their desks out of plastic containers and no one takes their "coffee breaks" in cafes. At 5:00 the secretaries leave, and the executives compete with each other for the dubious distinction of "last to leave." Offices are op-pressive – ugly with fluorescent lighting. An occasional figurine or motivational poster attempts to give the gray plastic cubicles a personal touch of home. And while we are on the subject of home, there is work to be found there too. Stay-at-home moms used to be out of the corporate rat race, but now there are special races just for them. The devoted gym attendee, the gourmet cook, and the ex-pert minivan chauffer are all notches on the achievement ladder; managing the overflow-ing portfolios of their children (piano lessons, dance classes, soccer practice) requires the skill and savvy of the highest level executive.

Keeping their bodies in shape is work, as is, oftentimes, marriage and intimacy.

XMAS – Nine-year-old Naomi saw Christmas decorations in a store for the first time and was mystified. I asked her if the deco-rations attracted her, and she said: like men's fashion: it's nice, but not for me.

YELLOW BUS – Yellow buses start to make their rounds the week before school starts; middle-aged drivers present themselves to little children at the end of the summer, say-ing, "My name is Jack. I will wait for you here every day. Don't run, and always put down the garage door because of the squirrels." These simple things restore our faith in the good-ness of the world. In addition, the style of the yellow bus looks deliberately antiquated, as if a child had drawn it. It travels slowly and difficultly, like a car from the previous century, rattling and protected by draconian laws: Woe to the driver who dares to pass the yellow bus while it is letting children off. Yellow buses belong with fire hydrants, mailboxes, and the policeman exiting the donut shop while on his beat; these are the symbols scattered along the American streets. Like motherhood and apple pie, they attempt to conceal the fear of poverty, loneliness, and in-significance just beneath the surface.

ZIONISM – After three years, having enjoyed the best delights of America while also acknowledging its challenges, I long for home – for the bright blue light, simple belonging, being immersed in Hebrew, to once again be part of the majority, for constant cre-ative midrashim on Jewish customs, concepts, and values, which are ever-present while not intrusive. I miss seeing people without calendaring them into my palm pilot weeks in advance. I long for my memories. I crave the smaller dimensions of everything – my Vespa instead of the N.J. Transit, boutiques instead of the Gap, and knowing that America is just across the ocean.

QUESTIONS -- Why must everyone raise their voices at the end of their sentences so, like, it sounds like a question?

Ruth Calderon is the founder of Alma College in Tel Aviv and Alma, NY. Her book, The Market, the Home, the Heart, is being translated to English.


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