Entry 1:

Dear Hanna,

Let me state at the outset that I'm not sure why Slate has asked us to do this. You would think they would want a couple of Jews to talk about Sam Freedman's new book, and not us goyim. But I'm game if you are.

Before we go any further, I would like to say a word about the word "Jew." As in "Jew vs. Jew," or, more to the point, as in the phrase "the first Jew to be nominated for national office." (Aren't you proud of me? I went four sentences before mentioning Lieberman, which is some kind of record for Jewish journalists this week.)

I don't know about you, but I get a chill down my spine whenever I hear the word "Jew" spoken by a non-Jew. Maybe because when I was in junior high school, it was usually preceded by the word "fucking." I especially don't like hearing it from Hanan Ashrawi's ex-boyfriend (Peter Jennings, for those of you who don't monitor anti-Jewish conspiracies for a living). The word "Jew" has a very harsh, Germanic ring to it. I much prefer the term "Jewish person," though I recognize that it doesn't easily fit into a headline, and that it isn't terribly punchy-- "Jewish People vs. Jewish People" doesn't really cut it as a sensational book title.

Oh, the book. Jew vs. Jew is a troubling book that is gaining a good deal of attention in part because Freedman is a justifiably admired journalist, and in part because Al Gore went to our tribal councils in search of a running mate. I'm familiar with Freedman's work, and I'm an admirer of his, so I'm going to assume that the title of the book, which implies the existence of a civil war that simply ain't, and the thesis of the book--that the American Jewish community is hopelessly and tragically riven by factionalism--are the fault of Simon & Schuster, and not the author.

Maybe I'm wrong, though. Maybe Freedman thought he found a good story. He traveled America and found that the Orthodox hate the Reform, the Reform hate the Orthodox, the Orthodox hate each other, Jewish women hate Jewish men, Likud supporters hate Labor supporters, and that the whitefish at Barney Greengrass hate the Nova at Zabar's.

Freedman is a veteran reporter best known and admired for his work on urban issues (I don't know if you read his book Upon This Rock, about the life of a black church, but you should). He is, however, apparently new to the Jewish story, and it shows. The impression I get from reading Jew vs. Jew is that he was genuinely surprised, dismayed, even, to find that Jews fight with each other, over liturgical issues, over politics, and especially over the placement of synagogues and mikvahs in secular neighborhoods. But you know what? Saying that Jews fight is like saying that water is wet. We fight, therefore we are. This is an old story--3,000 years old--and its American variation isn't that interesting: In Israel, when Jews fight, they really fight. Sometimes they even kill each other. Here in America, we yell a little, we sue each other, we even move out of neighborhoods that begin to sprout kosher pizzerias. But all this is normal, and Freedman treats it like it's Northern Ireland.

Not only is it normal; in fact, it's healthy. Fighting is good. Better ideas come out of fighting. Many of the best synagogues I know were born in fury. It's what we Jews do; when we don't like our synagogue, we leave and start our own. Freedman tells one story about a husband and wife in California who become upset when their congregation chooses to allow a variation of an important prayer to be read as a concession to women. So what do they do? They leave.

Maybe Freedman never heard the following joke, a chestnut if there ever was one: A Jew (sorry) has been shipwrecked on an island. After 10 years, a passing ship spots him, and its captain comes ashore to rescue him. Before they leave, though, the Jew asks the captain if he could show him around. He's quite proud of the life he built for himself, and the captain agrees to take a tour. "This," the proud Jew tells the captain, pointing to a wooden building, "is the smokehouse. And this treehouse is where I sleep. And this is the well I dug. And this," he says, pointing to a shack, "is the synagogue, and that," he says, pointing to another shack on a far hill, "is the other synagogue." The captain is confused. "Didn't you say you were here alone?" he asks. "Yes," the Jew replies. "Then why do you have two synagogues? "Ahhh," the Jew says. "This synagogue over here is my synagogue. And that one, over there, I wouldn't join if you paid me."

Thank you. I've always wanted to tell that joke online.

Nothing much in Freedman's book is new: He notes that America's freedom poses unique challenges to Jews; he notes that American Jews have turned the Holocaust into a bit of a crutch; he notes that the Conservative movement could cleave in two in the coming years, as some of its members move toward more Orthodox-style adherence to halacha, or Jewish law, and others move in the direction of the newly spiritualized Reform movement. He notes that intermarriage is a real bitch of a problem, and he notes that many Jews just don't care.

Maybe I walked away from Jew vs. Jew unexcited because I believe that, in very real ways, none of this matters much. At a certain point in the not-distant future, there will be more Jews in Israel than there will be in the entire Diaspora, America included. What happens in America is not immaterial to the future of Judaism, but it's not terribly central, either.

OK, enough. There must be something here you want to fight about.

Peace, love, and understanding,
Jeff