Tsarphati
French Israel

It's all black and white, right?
I'm in a bit of a calm rage this evening, following one of the many debates with my 'hevroutha on the subject of... clothing.

As is usually the case with this subject, there's more than meets the eye. There's a whole system of typologies, metameanings, signifiers, and signified. Un symbolisme, quoi. Not just a symbolism but a mythology -- a world of imagination, but which is just as real in the minds of those who inhabit it as the imaginary world of those who play rôle-playing games (e.g. Shattered Isles and the like). At least these weekend gamers make their own costumes, and each one plays a different rôle in the community. Imagine that in a yeshiva-world setting.

At issue, as you may have guessed by now, is conformity vs. individuality. And though one may be, incorrigeably, an individual, should he submit to the common will and dress like everyone else (who is concurrently imagining himself becoming like the others)?

My 'hevroutha says yes.

I'll spare you my opinion for now. I'd better calm my rage before making my case, and then do so in a rational way, presenting arguments and counterarguments. The sad truth is that it's myself I'm arguing with as much as anyone else. It's just unfortunate for poor folks like my 'hevroutha that they take the side I'm not favouring.

We have two opposing dictums in Western civilisation :

Vestis virum facit -- "Clothes make the man"

and

L'habit le fait pas le moine -- "The frock doesn't make the monk" (otherwise in English, "One can't judge a book by it's cover").

Typically, as best I understand the consensus, the first is not valid literally, but only inasmuch as the person's clothing fosters his attitude and thus his ability to fit into a certain social or work environment. For example, a lawyer wears a suit, and a soldier wears fatigues. Anything else would be unacceptable to her or him, at least to the extent that she or he wants to live the rôle that he or she has chosen to live.

And typically the second is supposed to be wholly true, since we know that the monastic vocation takes a good deal of training, dedication, fear of God, etc. (Do I have to say l'havdil somewhere here? I'm not going to bother.) An imposter with alterior motives can put on a frock and call himself a monk, but that doesn't make him one. Enough persons have pulled that stunt that we don't trust that any more. And enough publishers have designed brilliant packaging for works of literature which are, objectively, stinkers. We all agree that you can't judge a book by it's cover.

But in yeshivish society you can, and apparently should, judge a man by his cova.

Toward the end of last year, Yoplait entered into what is probably the biggest industry in Israel, selling yoghurt. (The sunflower seed industry came in a close second.) According to statistics at the end of the previous fiscal year, the average Israeli eats a metric ton of yoghurt every week. And Yoplait wanted in on the action.

I remember Yoplait entering the American market during my childhood. In the television commercials, famous actors (such as Hotlips from M*A*S*H) would eat the yoghurt and then begin spontaneously to speak French, with obviously no educational background in the language. I can just imagine how that would go over today on American television -- what a draw, huh? Eat Yoplait and get impaled by a good ol' patriotic type who doesn't appreciate a certain country's stance on the war with Iraq. No thanks.


In retrospect, I wish I had used the Hotlips method in teaching. Worth a try.

Yoplait's strategy, apparently, is to market their stuff in each of the 60 countries where it's sold by using slogans and images that will work in that country. In Australia, Yoplait's slogan is, "You lick it, because you like it!" Get it? Like it / lick it / like it / lick it? It's a pun! Or something like that. Did Australians just learn English? Is that really so catchy to them? That slogan seems to me something that would work back in 1957. Maybe it seems just as outdated to the Australians, but there, the yoghurt contains ecstacy.

In the U.S., the company's most recent product is "Exprèsse" for (according to them) "on-the-go adults". You know, the American kind. The kind who, if they are to learn a French word, must learn one that doesn't exist or that is spelled incorrectly. I poked around at the web site hoping to learn about this new product, one that must be consumed more quickly than a small cup of yoghurt, but found no more info. I'm guessing, though, that it contains coffee, in order to compete with the Frappuccino and its ilk. A one-ounce shot of distilled coffee, perhaps -- you know, expresso.

Here in Israel, as I was saying, Yoplait hit the ground running, appealing to kids first of all. I sadly don't have a shot of those bus-stop billboards, but they basically portrayed a young boy in a baseball cap with a goofy grin of surprise on his face, on a backdrop of a psychedelic swirl of colours. While one hand presumably held his kid-marketed Yoplait product, the other hand seemed to be picking his nose. The caption, "Zeh lo okhel!" "It's not food!" Ponder on that a minute, and you can see the challenges faced by the food industry here. In order to appeal to the secular Israeli, you must make your eating product (a) not real food, or (b) cleverly disguised as not real food. Yeah, it's a veritable culture of health and gastronomy I'm living in over here.

I said "secular Israeli" not to unintentionally reveal my deep-seated bigotry, but to point out that at that time, there was no heksher [symbol of kosher supervision] on Yoplait products. Now there is, and so the marketing must change accordingly. And not because 'haredi children don't pick their noses, because they certainly do. But because they need to appeal to an adult market, too. The mass influx of immigrants coming from France in the last few months, for example.

These are not so great photos, but you can get the gist of what we've been seeing here, outside and inside of various neighbourhood macolets [tiny grocery store].

The first ad campaign featured an apparently Litvak yeshiva type, a smile on his face, his black hat inexplicably on fire. The smile is genuine, since the slogan is, "Joy gone too far!" You see, he has eaten new "bio" Yoplait yoghurt, and his Borcelino has gone up in flames. ("Bio", completely by the way, is short for the French "biologique", meaning organic. I don't know if the French have applied the word more liberally than it should be, but I know that's the basic translation on foods that actually are organic. It's quite the buzzword. Notice, though, that in this advert it is written in Roman letters, not Hebrew.)

The marketing department put a lot of thought into this one, in everything from the Concept to the choice of actor. I can just imagine the telephone call between him and his agent.

Poster model: Hallo!
Agent: Shimi! mah nishma?
Shimi: Dudu! mah koreh?!
Dudu: Shimi, I've got a gig for you.
- Yeah? What is it?
- It's yoghurt, you know, like Tnuva.
- I'm going to do an ad for Tnuva?
- Yeah, but it's for a French brand they're marketing. Never mind that. What I need to know is, do you have a black hat?
- Uh... (spits out a sunflower seed shell) I got one for my bar mitsvah... It was three sizes too big at the time...
- They usually are. That's how those black hats dress their children. The little rug rat has a 3-gallon head but he's got to wear a 10-gallon hat. Shows he's a talmid hakham [Torah scholar] already. The question is, you still got it?
- Yeah, probably so. They want that for the ad?
- That, a black jacket and a white shirt. Gotta show the stuff's glatt kosher and all. Mehadrin min-haMehadrin min-haMehadrin. [The kosherest of the kosher.] The rabbis blessed it.
- Black hat and frum suit, check. So what's the setup?
- Okay, you're the guy who just ate the yoghurt. And because of its creamy delicious goodness, your hat spontaneously catches fire. And you're smiling.
- Fire?
- Do you mind?
- You're going to burn my hat.
- What were you going to do with that hat anyway?
- Good point. But tell me, why is the hat on fire?
- Because you're so joyful at the taste of the kosher yoghurt! Obviously!
- Joyful?
- Joy gone too far. That's what the sign says. You know, boundless joy.
- Yoghurt is served cold, correct?
- Yeah...?
- So explain to me, please, how eating the delicious creamy yoghurt with boundless joy causes my hat to catch on fire?
- See, that's why you have your job and not mine, Shimi. It's all in the symbolism. We're aiming for a frum market. They'll see the guy in his black hat, okay. That's what will catch their eye. "One of ours? And he's eating this previously non-kosher French concoction?" So they'll realise it must have a heksher now. Ah, but there's more than meets the eye. The flames, you see, the flames from the hat are culminating in a perfect upward surge of devotion. It's pure kavannah. The incense from the altar. A pleasing fragrance to HaShem. They won't think about it, but it will register with them on a subconscious level. They'll be coming in, licking up that yoghurt in no time. Provided they didn't eat leftover cholent for breakfast, of course.

Shimi sighs. He is resigned. What other gigs does he have anyway?
- b'seder [ok].
- And let your beard grow in the meantime.
- A beard?
- I know you're working on a bad moustache. Just don't shave till the shoot. b'seder?
- (sigh) b'seder.

And so that beautiful poster came into being.

A few weeks later, Yoplait got a call from the 'hassidim. They felt left out. They wanted a piece of the action. What, and we should let the world think that the only people who eat creamy delicious French yoghurt are Likvaks?

The marketing department knew it was a gamble, but they knew time was on their side. Pourim was approaching. Bizarre costumes are de rigueur on Pourim. 'Hassidouth means boundless joy, right?! Nothing says bizarre and boundless joy like Toldot Aharon 'hassidim in their zebra-stripe outfits wearing Turkish tarboush hats. We've got a concept, boys! Just get them excited, really excited, and then everyone will know that Yoplait is for all persuasions.

And the X in the yoghurt didn't hurt, either.

Some quotes about the holiday of Pourim tonight, since I am somewhat incapable of producing my own at the moment.


"Poor Purim. It has become the Jewish mardi gras, a day of revelry, drinking, and masquerades. But it is much more than this.... Gradually we begin to understand the role of masks in the Purim story. The entire deliverance of the Jewish people is masked. It is a story wrapped in a disguise, hidden behind a costume, concealed behind a mask.

Even that strange dictum in the Talmud (Megillah 7b) that ordains us to become intoxicated on Purim ad delo yada, "until we know not the difference between cursed is Haman and blessed is Mordecai" -- even this is part of the theme of hiddenness. For how strange is the Talmudic advice. Ours is, after all, a tradition that abhors drunkenness. We are a people of the mind, discernment, analysis -- all those things that fall under the rubric of data, knowledge. But on Purim we are bidden to become intoxicated and conceal our vaunted data -- to the point of ad delo yada --"until there is no data" -- and to enter a universe where reality has no meaning and we begin to realize that it is not our intellects that guide the world but the One Intellect above that guides the world."
-- Rav Emanuel Feldman, from "The holiday in hiding"

"When we sit in a theater, we willingly suspend our disbelief. We know that everything that is happening on the stage isn't real, but the playwright, the actors and the audience all enter into a conspiracy of poetic faith in an attempt to bring to life a quasi-reality that will transcend and communicate some perception about life in this world.

Unlike other religions, there are no leaps of faith in Judaism. Maybe a couple of steps at the end of a long well-lit boulevard, but no leaps into the dark. Judaism is not so much about belief as the willing suspension of disbelief.

This world is a cosmic drama littered with tell-tale clues. The Protagonist, however, is hidden. Judaism is not so much a matter of belief; rather it is taking positive action to remove those forces that bring to disbelief. It's not difficult for a Jew to believe. We are all natural believers. We come from a long line of believers, all the way back to Avraham. "
-- Rabbi Yaakov Asher Sinclair, from "The Willing Suspension of Disbelief"

"This was not Jeremiah's city of destruction, not a city in mourning. It was the city of the Zechariah filled with people and light. An open, free, unwalled, sovereign City of God with half a million residents; a city which the prophet said would one day reach all the way to Damascus. Here was the crown of the Judean hills and the Land of Israel. True, it was not yet complete, this vision of Jerusalem. The Temple Mount is still empty; the crown jewel still missing. But in due time, that too will come. And what better time than Purim to hope and wait and prepare.
This is the season when the unexpected becomes reality.

For Purim is the time of Venahafoch Hu, of sudden reversal, when the world turns in dizzying circles and nothing is what it seems. This is the season when the unexpected becomes reality. Even Jerusalem is 'disguised'. But our contemporary costumes will turn into Bigdey Kehuna -- the clothes of the High Priest. And Har Habayit -- the Temple Mount -- will shed it's foreign structures. A new Beit Hamikdash, Temple, will rise up as a beacon of light for the Jewish people and the world. The empty places in the Land of Israel will once again be filled with Jews and the glories of ancient Shushan will fade into oblivion before the glory of the future Jerusalem."
-- Yaffa Ganz, from "From Shushan to Jerusalem"


"The writers of the Megilah left us with a message that would accompany us throughout our long exile. You will not always see G-d's signature openly emblazoned upon every circumstance. However, throughout persecution and deliverance, He is always there. And just like on Purim His obvious interference is undocumented; but we know and feel it -- and we search for it, and we find it! So, too, in every instance we must seek His name, find it, and recognize it. It may not be emblazoned on the bumper; it may be hidden on the console -- but it is there. For Hashem is always speaking. All we have to do is listen."
Rav Mordechai Kamenetzky, from "Hear Conditioning: A Purim Story"

"Among the most distinctive features of the Purim festivities are the special pastries known in Hebrew as oznei Haman, literally 'ears of Haman'. We may ask why particularly this body part was chosen -- the triangular shape of these cakes could just as easily correspond to Haman's nose. We may also ask why specifically Haman's ears were chosen for this eponymous pastry and not those of some other figure from the Megillah....
Consuming the ears of Haman at the Purim meal symbolizes eliminating wicked opinions -- the evil da'at, which is symbolized by the hearing ears. This is the particular spiritual danger of Amalek, who was the progenitor of Haman....
Through the joy and abandon of Purim we do not seek to escape from this world but rather to rise above it. We consume and overwhelm our lower faculties in order to focus on our higher powers of perception, to rejoice in the Divine plan in which the threats and schemes of the wicked are ultimately turned to eternal good."
Rabbi Dr. Asher Meir, from "The Deeper Meaning of Hamantashen"




"A recurring theme throughout the story and holiday of Purim is the idea of seeing beneath the surface. The Book of Esther tells the Purim story and is the only book in the Bible which never mentions the name of G-d; yet at every turn in the story one can't help but sense a transcendent presence. Purim is the only holiday in which we are told not only to eat and drink, but to actually get drunk! (See page 30 for a discussion of this issue.) Yet, while the observance of the holiday includes eating, drinking, costumes, and parties, both the great Kabbalist, Rabbi Isaac Luria and Maimonides, the renowned sage and philosopher, assure us that Purim is a day whose spirituality is rivaled by no other. And the Hebrew term for the Book of Esther, Megillat Esther; when literally translated, means to reveal (megillat) that which is hidden (esther). From all sides the holiday of Purim calls out to us, in fact challenges us, to look beneath the surface.
The wonders of the world around us are without end. Majesty and awe are commonplace in nature, but there is more to this awe than meets the eye. The complexities of the human organism are just beginning to be understood. Yet, this homo sapien is not just another genus or species. There is far more to the human being than meets the microscope. In all aspects of life, Judaism looks at one level and then proceeds to perceive and reveal quite another. In every detail of living, Judaism sees a dimension of an ever-deeper life form, and a richer quality of potential. It is to these depths of perception and living that Purim calls us."
-- R' Shimon Apisdor, from The One-Hour Purim Primer

Ah, the joy of shameless narcissism. In response to numerous reader e-mails that have not yet flooded in, I should at this point tell you who I am, as alluded to back on 15 February.

I am a resident of Jerusalem (a.k.a. Yeroushalayim), the capital of Israel and the centre of the world. I am a student at a yeshiva which shall remain unnamed because I don't want to besmirch its reputation. (And yes, I meant to spell Yeroushalayim that way. We'll get to that in a bit.)

In my spare time, which I have no more of, I'm also a student in Romance Languages at the University of Georgia in Athens. That's Athens, Georgia, in the U.S., not in Greece or in the former Soviet empire. You think it's silly for me to specify, but you'd be surprised how many times I get asked. I shall forever retain the title of U. Ga. student since it is very likely I will never graduate.

And for those who don't yet know, but were wondering, the Romance languages are those that evolved from Latin into Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Romanian, and all the in-between dialects that are languages in their own rights. I hardly know them all, but I know the mechanics behind them, and my major language is French. I've been into it for many, many years, impassioned by its literature (especially the old stuff), culture, and yes, even its grammar. Love can do that to you.

I took some time away from Athens to live for a year in Lyon, France. It is, so to speak, one of the foci of my spiritual existence. (And this photo doesn't even do justice). I was teaching English at the University of Lyon III / Jean Moulin as part of a doctoral-student exchange.

Before now, it was the most beautiful year of my life. Alas, only a year. Studies and beckoned back in Athens. It was obviously providential to go back, to pass my comprehensive exams, to help start a French-speaking dorm, and so forth. But I greatly miss life in France.

For the last two years I lived in Atlanta, teaching French and Spanish at a non-denominational Jewish high school, which shall remain unnamed because I don't want to besmirch my reputation. Heh heh. It is really not such a bad place at heart, and my tenure there was an enormous growing experience, but there were definite reasons I left. Maybe we'll share the story someday.

I also spent some time as a mashgia'h haKashrouth, i.e. a kosher-food supervisor for a gourmet catering joint in Atlanta. And I might as well say I was a chef-in-training as well, for most of the time was spent picking up gastronomic expertise from the chef, Hector.

Atlanta is not my home, but many more people have heard of Atlanta than of Athens. That is indeed unfortunate.

Athens is a magical city, and another one of those foci of spiritual existence. That's saying a lot since there is little overt Jewish religion going on there (especially per capita). What you don't see and have a hard time accessing is still there. It's in the air, man. No, really. It was there for me, and it can be there for everyone who seeks it. Many do. Most decide after a while to move elsewhere. That is indeed unfortunate.

Unless, of course, you decide to work on growth as a member of a large community rather than as an individual within a small community. Or unless you decide to come to a place like, say Israel. Then it's worth it to leave Athens. My point is that if you are going to chose to live in galouth [exile -- i.e. Jews outside of Israel], you had might as well stay in a well-rounded environment and build a community there. There are something like 3000 Jewish university students in Athens. And yet it's difficult to make minyan. Hmmm. But I digress.

By now you may be preparing to write me a ticket for mixed metaphors, or at least confused geometry. Two foci of spiritual existence and one centre of the world? Can't be. The world is round. Foci belong to an ellipsis.

But indeed that's how it is. A circle and an ellipsis both, in constant imbalance. That's the struggle of the soul. That's the lunar calendar and the solar calendar. That's the life of a Jew. Constant imbalance, constant fluctuation, but an exciting existence.

Not much news this week, due in part to all the following:

- My class is nearing the end of a sugiya (topic) in Gemara, and there's a test tomorrow
- Preparation for Pourim, such as making gift baskets and trying to figure out how much of the holiday I will spend with the yeshiva, and how much of it with Israelis
- I've been tweaking the Blog in hopes of inviting a bigger public
- Unseasonably hot weather since Shabbath has left everyone lethargic,
- especially today, which was an fast day (the fast of Esther)

Tonight we are getting some respite from the heat, as strong winds are blowing through the apartment, cooling everything off and overturning furniture. They are nothing compared to the fierce, vengeful winds of several weeks ago that brought in winter chill, but they are doing the job.

We're already on the 9th of the month of Adar, but it is not to late to mention something à propos.

That ubiquitous song "Mishé nikhnas Adar marbim besim'ha" (or more accurately, "Mishé Mishé Mishé Mishé Mishé Mishé Mishé Mishé Mishé nikhnas Adar..."), which means "Since Adar has come in, we have more joy" (from the Gemara in Ta'anith) is often sung to the same tune as the American slave song,

"Jump down, turn around to pick a bale of cotton
Jump down, turn around to pick a bale a hay.

Oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton,
Oh Lordy, pick a bale a hay."

Try it yourself.

"Mishé Mishé nikhnas Adar
Marbim Marbim besim'ha."

The complete lyrics, including the "N" word (explicit lyrics), the music (to prove my point), and the correction "pick a bale a day" by some revisionist can be found at this site.

Happy snow day to Athens, and to the University of Georgia, which cancelled classes today! I can't say I wish I were there at this particular moment, but I do miss the place sorely.

We'll take a deconstructive walk down nostalgia lane on another day. For now, suffice it to add a couple of links in the right-hand column: the independent student newspaper The Red & Black and the fiercely independent Athenian weekly Flagpole.

And I take no responsibility for their content. Just for my rights to evoke an Athenian atmosphere for all those who can dig it.

And for all of those who made Athens Jewish life what it meant for me -- Shabbat Shalom!

This morning, a bus on the 14A line was running its route between southwest Jerusalem and Har 'Homa by way of Talpiot, crowded with passengers. On this bus was a suicide bomber who decided that his life and that of at least eight others (the current toll) no longer deserved to continue. He was right on only one account. Sixty-some more were injured.

I was running a tad late for yeshiva anyway -- today being Rosh 'Hodesh, the tefillah took a long time, and I had slightly overslept, enough to miss my 6:00a.m. minyan. So by 8:36a.m., when I got the notice on my telephone, it seemed more appropriate to find out what had happened than to run and jump on the bus in order to continue studies as usual. Can we really continue as normal, almost as if nothing happened, providing someone we know isn't on the bus when it happens? (I'm still trying to figure this one out, and plan to write more about it in the future, hoping to get your comments on the subject.)

A search of the local radio stations proved to be no help, as they were no doubt not yet ready to report the news. I'm spoiled by my instant messages on the telephone just when big things like this happen (the slaughter occurred at 8:30; the news was on my telephone display six minutes later). Radio MiKol HaLev was running its typical English-language programming for that time slot: back-to-back adverts for Jewish businesses, all presumably in New York, leading up to Dov Sherin's talk show. Surely they know what's going on, I thought. But apparently not. Just one clueless commercial after another.

Only Radio France Internationale gave me all the details available at that instant, and they reported it in an appropriately distraught, caring, and non-pro-palestinian way. The other news programming I have heard from them also seems not anti-Israeli or antisemitic. (Their nearest broadcast point, mind you, is located in Amman.) You francophobes can chew on that for a while.

---

The last time this happened was three weeks ago, in nearly the same place. Today's murder took place opposite the Gan HaPa'amon [Liberty Bell Park]. The pigoua [terrorist attack] of 29 January, an equally beautiful Thursday morning, took place on a number 19 bus on Re'hov Aza [Gaza street -- no connexion to the Gaza region].



I was already in the yeshiva at that point, standing in the Beit Medrash when we began hearing sirens, one after the other, and the messages started arriving on my phone. We were encouraged to say a couple of tehillim [Psalms]. After Gemara class, my 'havrouta [study partner] Asher and I decided to go down as close as we could to the scene of the crime.

The area in which the exploded shell of the bus was well guarded. So we took a walk around the neighbourhood, noting undercover security officers along the way. (One of the dangers in past attacks has been a repeated attack on the people who arrive on the scene to help the victims.)

Even a couple of blocks away, one could see the effects of the shock of the bomb. Shattered storefront windows...

...and shattered car windows.

But of course property damage, which has no doubt been repaired and covered by insurance, is a trifle compared to the carnage. In this particular case, the aftermath is documented . The Ministry of Foreign Affairs has made a video of the aftermath available oneline so that all can see the reality of this gruesome act. Maybe you are ready for it; maybe not. My personal tact, as I fumble seeking the proper response, is not to avoid reality but to be as familiar with it as possible. For those who would tend to agree, you can see the Foreign Ministry's report at this site. A link to the video can be found on that page.

The blasted hull of this bus is now on display in a downtown plaza of the Hague, as an international tribunal tries to decide whether Israel has the right to try to monitor access into free territory of the Arab squatters living in their settlements. Presumably the blood and entrails have been cleaned off the handrails inside and properly buried.

HaShem yikom damam.