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Around the time my daughter turned 16 years old, she cut off
most of her thick, long hair for an edgier and hipper look. She began to
perform slam poetry, and she announced that she no longer saw herself as
Jewish. Being Jewish, she said, just didn’t figure very much in her sense of
identity, and she found greater authenticity in performing poetry or doing
community service than in reciting Jewish prayers to a deity that neither she
nor I believe in.
I was not all that shocked by my daughter’s announcement.
Having interviewed dozens of teenagers about their Jewish identities as part of
a research project, I knew that teens — much like adults — respond to the fact
of being Jewish with feelings ranging from intense pride to utter indifference.
I also knew, from following these teens years later, when they were in college,
that the meaning of being Jewish had already changed for many of them and would
most likely continue to do so throughout their lives. Indeed, as
socio-psychologist Bethamie Horowitz and others have pointed out, Jewishness is
not a static condition but rather a journey with various twists, turns, and
detours along the way. In a similar way, I have described the experience of
Jewishness over the course of one’s life as a loose spiral. We circle back to
revisit a variety of issues related to Judaism and Jewishness; each time, we
approach the experience of Jewishness from new perspectives and with new
investments and understandings that emerge in response to other changes in our
lives.
For many Jews, the feeling of Jewish authenticity involves a
sense of connection to a romanticized or idealized image of the past. Living in
or just visiting the land of Israel, enjoying Klezmer music, assuming the
lifestyle of an observant Jew, or checking one’s DNA for a “Jewish” marker may
provide a sense of unbroken tradition and peoplehood. This idea of
authenticity, however, has often been critiqued and deconstructed as an
essentialist myth that merely serves to legitimate favored forms of identity
while delegitimating others.
Much has also been written (see the March 2011 issue of Sh’ma for
several essays on Jewish identity) about the postmodern freedom to “construct”
or “invent” Jewish identity in a myriad of ways ranging from contemporary
ultra-Orthodoxy to Torah Yoga and Jewish “mindfulness.” And even the notion of
“the Jewish people” is less a fixed body with natural boundaries than a
continually reimagined community with contested rules and conditions for
recognition and membership. It is obvious that claims about authenticity can
never really offer a scientific test of purity, a “Good Housekeeping” seal of
approval, or a warranty against change. Some of what is now accepted as
authentically Jewish will eventually be abandoned and some of what is now
rejected will later be reclaimed. In this sense, each individual’s search for
Jewish authenticity is a microcosm of the collective process of redefining
Judaism at different moments of history.
The desire for Jewish authenticity, therefore, has both
retrospective and prospective dimensions. On the one hand, it situates one in
relationship to one’s personal and group history; it provides a sense of
existential orientation and protection; and it, thereby, offers a provisional
home in the world. But the goal of authenticity is simultaneously a warning to
be careful of claiming too much certainty at the present moment — recognizing
the permanently destabilizing power of the future to shatter and rebuild the
foundations of our world in ever-new ways.
For both of these reasons, the issue of Jewish authenticity
remains compelling and inescapable. In some ways, authenticity resembles other
ultimate human goals like “salvation,” “enlightenment,” or “utopia.” All of
these concepts are most useful as ever-receding targets that beckon people to
construct identity and community, but also to resist complacent acceptance of
the status quo, mechanical repetition of the past, or unquestioned conformity
to the consensus of one community at a particular moment in time. There is
probably some Zen-like truth to the idea that those who claim most adamantly to
have found or achieved Jewish authenticity are also those who lack it in a
deeper sense.
Ultimately, what I wish for my daughter is a Jewish journey
that is intellectually and psychologically honest, vibrant, and creative; one
that values questions more than answers, while avoiding the pitfalls of
premature closure and rigidity. I trust that she will discover authentic forms
of Jewish expression for herself as she redefines her past and plans for the
future. I can’t predict whether slam poetry will be part of that process, but
if the singer Matisyahu could use reggae to find a sense of Jewish authenticity
for himself, then why not?
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