As a Jewish woman who opposes circumcision, it's true that families who say yes to circumcision will have support from the Jewish community. But what happens to those who decide to keep their sons "intact" (i.e., not to circumcise them)?
In our neighborhood there are two orders of humanity. People who may look essentially the same, who may wear the same clothes and go to the same schools, but in fact, inhabit totally different universes.
I choose to put my faith in the things I can see or that can be proven: my family, myself and, yeah, science. I do not always understand these things -- hence, the faith part. But, through my own experiences, I know these things are real. Other people may feel the same way about God.
How do we create a situation, a world, in which this does not happen to anyone, not just to young people? In which Never again does not mean Never again to us, but Never again to anyone? Never again to us is the victim's trope, survival at any cost; Never again to anyone is asserting our internal freedom even in the bleakest of circumstances, our insistence on the big picture.
When I went to Eugene's website to test out his chops, Eugene asked me where I was from, and I replied "New York." He then -- implying that I was being self-involved -- asked if I wanted to know where he was from.
Reading Maimonides in Beirut reminded me that beyond right and wrong, reason and faith, belief and unbelief, we are perhaps most alive and wise when we strive to become conscious of the "self."
Most people know about the Jewish tradition of smashing a glass to remember the destruction of the First Temple, especially since it takes place in the presence of all wedding guests. By contrast, the ketubah ceremony occurs in a more private setting.
If today's uprising is suppressed without addressing its grievances, and without building a government that represents all of the people equally, it will ensure the death of countless innocent people, destabilizing not only Iraq, but the entire world.
While the government works to sweep asylum-seekers off its streets and decant them back into the interior of the African continent, the vast majority of Jewish religious institutions and lay leaders in Israel have not made any attempt to aid the Africans.
Writings like Horovitz's column appeal to American Jews who cling to a notion of Jewish powerlessness and who need enemies to define their identity. They resist celebrating a US-Israel bond that is stronger than it has ever been.
The smartphone has become as ubiquitous as any organ in the human body. And while I strongly believe that as a tool (it is perhaps the most miraculous thing created on the planet), I'm also cognizant of it having made us into actual cyborgs.
Isn't it time to celebrate the common heritage of Judaism and Christianity, despite the differences between the two faiths? Isn't it time to endorse Pope Francis's bold statement: "A Christian cannot be anti-Semitic; his roots are Jewish"?
Life from their vantage point is still predictable, steady and under control. It's a comfort during this difficult time.
At the University of Southern California (USC), a giant story of Jewish history has been writ large in a small exhibition titled "Lives of the Great Patriotic War: The Untold Story of Soviet Jewish Soldiers in the Red Army during WWII."
The Jewish view of tattoos is more nuanced. It reflects the purposes skin markings filled in ancient culture and the reverence with which we are to treat our bodies.
Though most Americans identify as Christian (more than three quarters, according to the survey), there are at least 236 discernable faith groups in the U.S., according to an earlier study by the ASARB.