1. Introduction
In 1947/1948 the American Jewish Poet, Malka Heifetz Tussman wrote a poem, entitled I am Woman, in which – as I see it – she enumerates a list of possible identities for Jewish women in the 20th century, and perhaps within the history of the Jewish community in general: a rabbi’s daughter, a pious woman, a mother, a scholar’s daughter, a socialist, a Zionist, a Yiddish mother etc.
I am the exulted Rachel whose love lit the road from
Rabbi Akiba’s.
I am the small, shy village girl who grew among tall
poplars and blushed at the “good morning” of my
brother’s teacher.
I am the pious girl who paled as her mother’s fingers
trembled over her eyes at the candle blessing.
I am the obedient bride who humbly brought her head to
the shears on the eve of her wedding.
I am the woman of valour who undertook bearing and
nurturing for a little promised Paradise-light.
I am the refined daughter of a scholar who saved a Jewish
city with her guarded body and then with her own life set
herself afire.
I am the mother who under inconceivable afflictions, to
the point of consumption raised sons to good deeds.
I am the Hasidic daughter who with her father’s ardor
carried her shorn head into the people.
I am the bridle-breaker who shared “bread and freedom”
and freed love from under the khupe poles.
I am the coddled girl who, behind the plow, forced gray
desert into green life.
I am the girl who ordered her white hands to carry bricks
and stones to the raising of renewed life.
I am she whose fingers stiffen around the spade, lying in
wait for the footsteps of the destroyer.
I am she who stubbornly carries around a strange alphabet
and whispers it into the ears of children.
I am all these and yet many, many not mentioned.
And everywhere
And always
I am[1]
Irena Klepfisz has chosen, as her identity, one of the Jewish, twentieth-century, post-Holocaust identities: the socialist, enrooted in the Bund ethos. She probably adds to Tussman’s list another identity: that of the post-war Bundist tradition – an independent woman, who is reclaiming the rights of Yiddish as a contemporary language, who is childless, and openly lesbian – a political and Jewish identity, in which religion plays only one role: the justification of the past, alongside the role of the traditional references. Let’s now examine how this non-religious identity works.
[1] Hellerstein, Kathryn. A Question of Tradition (Stanford Studies in Jewish History and Culture) (pp. 373-374). Stanford University.
I am the exulted Rachel whose love lit the road from
Rabbi Akiba’s.
I am the small, shy village girl who grew among tall
poplars and blushed at the “good morning” of my
brother’s teacher.
I am the pious girl who paled as her mother’s fingers
trembled over her eyes at the candle blessing.
I am the obedient bride who humbly brought her head to
the shears on the eve of her wedding.
I am the woman of valour who undertook bearing and
nurturing for a little promised Paradise-light.
I am the refined daughter of a scholar who saved a Jewish
city with her guarded body and then with her own life set
herself afire.
I am the mother who under inconceivable afflictions, to
the point of consumption raised sons to good deeds.
I am the Hasidic daughter who with her father’s ardor
carried her shorn head into the people.
I am the bridle-breaker who shared “bread and freedom”
and freed love from under the khupe poles.
I am the coddled girl who, behind the plow, forced gray
desert into green life.
I am the girl who ordered her white hands to carry bricks
and stones to the raising of renewed life.
I am she whose fingers stiffen around the spade, lying in
wait for the footsteps of the destroyer.
I am she who stubbornly carries around a strange alphabet
and whispers it into the ears of children.
I am all these and yet many, many not mentioned.
And everywhere
And always
I am[1]
Irena Klepfisz has chosen, as her identity, one of the Jewish, twentieth-century, post-Holocaust identities: the socialist, enrooted in the Bund ethos. She probably adds to Tussman’s list another identity: that of the post-war Bundist tradition – an independent woman, who is reclaiming the rights of Yiddish as a contemporary language, who is childless, and openly lesbian – a political and Jewish identity, in which religion plays only one role: the justification of the past, alongside the role of the traditional references. Let’s now examine how this non-religious identity works.
[1] Hellerstein, Kathryn. A Question of Tradition (Stanford Studies in Jewish History and Culture) (pp. 373-374). Stanford University.
2. Irena Klepfisz writings:
1.Secular Jewish Identity versus the general question on Identity:
Identity includes the many relationships people cultivate, such as their identity as a child, friend, partner, and parent. It involves external characteristics over which a person has little or no control, such as height, race, or socioeconomic class. Identity also encompasses political opinions, moral attitudes, and religious beliefs, all of which guide the choices one makes on a daily basis. (see: https://www.psychologytoday.com/intl/basics/identity#what-is-identity) 2.Women and Religion: Jewish history and lecture by Riv-Ellen Prell 3.Irena Klepfisz and her essays: what elements she finds most important: Excerpts discussed: Room 1: All my life I have defined myself as a secular Jew. It is how I was raised and taught to think about myself in relation to Jewishness. I was taught that there is no God. I was taught that capitalism oppresses the working masses and all poor people, that it has to be smashed, and that we are to work toward building a classless society. I was taught that Jews have a right to be anywhere and everywhere, that they are not necessarily destined to return to their ancient homeland. And I was taught that Yiddish is mame-loshn, mother tongue, the language of the Jews, the medium through which Jewish culture and politics are to be transmitted. Mame-loshn was the language that gave all the tenets ... form and substance. I internalized all this and fought fiercely with anyone who disputed these "facts." My upbringing was not unusual if seen in its proper context. Room 2: I think it's hard to be the child of a martyr. The public perceives it one way, and the child experiences it another way. And I think certainly as I was growing up there was a tension--though it remained unstated, perhaps even unconscious. My father was very well known and much admired and eulogized in the community I grew up in. I was supposed to like that and I did in a certain way. But there was also a real contradiction for me in that on some level I understood that he might have done a great thing for the Jewish people, but it wasn't so great for me. I don't feel it now, certainly. But when I was growing up I think there was a sense of abandonment. Room 3: I've never had a family. A family was defined for me as at least three people and not two people and we were two people. I always felt the absence of my father. But it was also the absence of my aunts, my grandparents, the whole large extended family. Even if I'd had a grandmother, that would have been something. But it was just the two of us--my mother and me--and that did not seem to count in other people's eyes. With seders [at Passover], I could never say that we were inviting the family to the house. That makes the person who doesn't have a family feel as though she were lacking or less abnormal. I think the way people use the word 'family' in this country says that human beings only have a value when they're connected by blood and that you would do more for someone who is connected to you by blood. I really object to that philosophically. I understand strong emotional ties, but there's something about people who find out they're related when they haven't known each other for 40 years and suddenly that relationship is supposed to take precedence over other people they've known for the last 20 years. It's very exclusive. Politically, what happens in this country is that they say, 'Your family should take care of you; government shouldn't take care of you; the responsibility is the family's.' I think that encourages people not to be responsible for each other. Family becomes the reason for not doing for someone else.
Room 4:
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