A Tangible Reminder

I began to wear a kippah daily in my sophomore year of college, outwardly identifying myself as a member of the Jewish community and inwardly looking through a Jewish lens as I mindfully interact with the world around me. I was the only student at my college to wear a kippah, which led to many interesting (mostly positive) conversations about religion, identity, and practice. I enjoyed teaching others about what the kippah and, more generally, Jewish identity, meant to me, and even more so, found meaning in their responses and ideas; my outward expression of religious identity and ideology prompted an exploration of their own. But most of all, the kippah was for me — a tangible reminder of who I am and how I want to interact with the world around me.

A similarly fashionable mindfulness practice can be found in this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Sh’lach L’cha in its commandment to wear tzitzit — fringes. This custom is carried forward even today by the tzitzit on our tallitot. If you look at enough tallitot, you will notice that most have only white threads coming together to form the knots of the tzitzit, but some include a blue thread, called “p’til t’cheilet,” in recognition of the commandment from the end of Sh’lach L’cha: “Speak to the children of Israel and instruct them to make for themselves tzitzit on the corners of their garments throughout the generations; they shall attach onto the tzitzit in each corner p’til t’cheilet — a blue cord. That shall be your tzitzit, and you shall look upon it and recall all the commandments of the Eternal” (15:38-39).

This fringe, this blue thread, is a tangible, personal reminder of the commandment. Each person will need such a reminder at different times and for different reasons, so the Torah instructs us to always have this blue thread present. Most of us no longer wear the blue thread, if we wear tzitzit at all, but so many analogous garments or mementos that may serve as amulets or reminders. The kippah on one’s head, the chai on a necklace, the jewelry engraved with a line of Torah. All of these can be that tangible reminder.

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I feel compelled, at this point, to speak about a very different reminder of the commandments. One that is not at all personal or individually accepted. Remember, the commandment of tzitzit and t’cheilet is not to remind others of the commandment, but to do it for yourself. We are each instructed to personally tie the blue chord on our own garments, not to speak about them or to impress them upon others, but to look and be reminded.

Last week, the state of Louisiana enacted legislation requiring every public school in the state to display a specific version of the Ten Commandments in each classroom. Not to be outdone, the Oklahoma State Superintendent of Public Instruction issued a memorandum yesterday requiring all schools in the state to incorporate the Ten Commandments and the Bible in their curricula. Every classroom in grades 5 through 12 must have a Bible and all teachers must teach from the Bible in the classroom.

I am an ordained Cantor. In three days, I officially start my new role as Cantor-Educator of this synagogue, acting as both a clergy person and the director of the religious school. I absolutely want our children to know the Ten Commandments and feel ownership of Tanakh. And with all of that said, I firmly believe, the law in Louisiana and the guidelines in Oklahoma are wrong. They are bad for our children, they are bad for the Jewish people. They are misguided, they are unjust, they are wrong.

In Louisiana, the specific wording required by law is the Protestant version of the Ten Commandments, which are different in both wording and enumeration from the traditional renderings of Catholics, Orthodox Christians, Coptic Christians, and Jews. The biblical instruction called for in Oklahoma will, doubtlessly, not come out of the Eskanazi-Weiss green Women’s Torah Commentary. Like compulsory school prayer, this instruction will, by design, separate and other our children as well as any other children from non-Protestant faiths. It is their goal to establish an explicitly Protestant-Christian culture in the public sphere and to hurt those who believe differently.

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When I first started wearing the kippah, I never felt unsafe. As I said, I was the only one on my college campus to wear one daily, so it certainly marked me as different, but I never felt threatened on my college campus because of that difference. When I first moved to New York, I was living in Crown Heights — the heart of the Chabad movement. Even when I got on the subway to go to work or school, I always felt safe.

And then came October 7th.

Chants about resistance being justified, calls for intifada, rhyming slogans with genocidal implications rang through the streets. People covered their faces with keffiyehs on the subway. Someone repeatedly vandalized the elevator in my apartment building with anti-Israel graffiti. I no longer felt safe marking myself as different in that way.

Occasionally, I would feel brave and I would wear it for a day, but I would always be looking over my shoulder, afraid of the next person to enter the subway car or turn the corner behind me. Now I mostly just wear hats.

I share this not because I am defeated. Rather, because I have the ability to pass, to blend in, to choose not to present myself as different. In Oklahoma and Louisiana, our children are going to be outed, made to feel other and different. And if you think that other children will see the difference in our children, highlighted by state-mandated instruction, and not be cruel, not bully them — you’re just plain wrong.

So how do we move forward?

On one hand, we must speak up and advocate against these people and their theocratic bullying. This means voting, volunteering, getting involved in politics at every level of government. This fight will not end in Oklahoma and Louisiana.

At the same time, we must carefully and cautiously embrace outward displays of Jewish identity. We should not put ourselves in unsafe situations, but when we can, we must put discomfort aside and be proudly, visibly Jewish. We need to show our children how to love the parts of ourselves that make us who we are, even when they set us apart. Maybe that means wearing a yarmulke, or a Jewish star necklace. Even more so, it means practicing our Judaism. Coming to Shabbat services, prioritizing Temple events, keeping track of the Jewish calendar. Most of all, it’s about living our values. We must display and model a love for Judaism, Jewish identity, the Jewish religion, and the Jewish people.