3 min read
ByClaire Calman, claire calman
We can use the government's latest lockdown grading system as a template to create a simple Goy’s Guide to Jews
October 22, 2020 12:00Yesterday, I happened upon the following question from someone on Twitter: “Excuse my ignorance but is being Jewish not a faith rather than an ethnicity?” (It was a thread on David Baddiel’s Twitter feed: @Baddiel. I don’t get questions like this on Twitter because, while David’s self-proclaimed label at the top just states “Jew”, mine says: “Writer, columnist, worrier” — though I am “out” as a Jew on Twitter.)
I answered the question to the best of my ability, but it struck me that, while within the tribe, we might enjoy kvetching about subtle distinctions of observance, rules etc, most non-Jews have little understanding of the fact that we have multiple tribes jostling within this same broad tent.
As we know, the Government is frequently updating its strategy to “control” coronavirus (I’m saying they have a strategy because it seems unkind to speculate that, behind the scenes, they’re all running around with their heads in their hands, going: “Aaaaarrrgggh – what do we do now?”). The latest measure is to divide the entire country into three tiers: tier one — medium, tier two – high, and tier three – very high. We can use these as a template to create a simple Goy’s Guide to Jews.
Of course, these gradations are really too broad to be assigned to Judaism because we have perhaps eight or nine levels if not more, ranging from, say, Delicatessen Jew at the lighter end of the observance scale (no idea when Yom Kippur is but occasionally seeks out salt beef from a proper kosher place due to an indefinable yearning for Jewishness) up via Liberal, Reform, Masorti, United, Federation, Lubavitch, Chasid, and on up to Satmar, with intriguing tangents off for Independent, offshoots of Chasidim, plus numerous others that I don’t understand.
But in the interests of making it comprehensible, a broad brushstroke approach to align with the Government’s new tiers has much to recommend it: tier one — medium Jewishness, two — high Jewishness and three — very high Jewishness. A more nuanced, layered system is likely to leave goys across the land wailing: “But why can some Jews turn on a light switch after dusk on a Friday while others can’t? Surely that’s when you want to turn on the lights? I don’t get it...”
The rules for household mixing are not easy for the non-Jew to get to grips with. Put simply, you should follow the regulations adhered to by the person belonging to the highest tier. Thus, if I, a medium Jew, go to visit a high Jew and am offered spaghetti bolognese for supper, I should not say, “Got any Parmesan to go with this?” because they would not mix meat and milk at the same meal, even though I would.
My husband has so many relatives that they include almost every stripe of Jew, which is handy for research purposes. On one visit to a newly-discovered cache of ultra-frum cousins, both my sister-in-law and I instinctively kept our woollen scarves on when they took our coats, realising — without cross-checking —that our tops, though not immodest, might be too low-cut in an Orthodox household. I, however, made the faux pas of trying to shake hands with our male host, an offer he accepted but — it suddenly dawned on me — with ill-concealed horror.
If a stricter relative visits a lower-tier household, however, the lower tier should do their best to honour the regulations employed by their higher-category guest. For example, if a more frum elderly male visitor pops in for a “glass tea”, the women of the household should not come up and kiss him on the cheek as a gesture of welcome, no matter how well-intentioned.
Those in Tier three typically do not eat out often — possibly due to a shortage of eating establishments that can pass muster for their strict standards. However, all tiers enjoy social gatherings and eating at other people’s houses, especially those in the same tier, which makes bringing a dish or dessert to share a less stressful activity. I recently offered some homemade soup to a friend who, like us, is in tier one but operating at a higher, tier-two level of kashrut. It proved problematic as the soup was made with my homemade stock, which is from an organic chicken rather than a kosher one. She said she wouldn’t be able to use one of her own bowls, so could she have it in a plastic tub and also she’d have to eat it perched on a sun-lounger in the garden as her husband is, food-wise, in some special high tier where you don’t usually find Reform Jews.
While those in tier three do not travel on Shabbat, those in tier one might find it perfectly acceptable. Those in tier two might adopt a practical compromise, such as driving to shul, but parking two streets away then walking the rest of the way. This is, of course, absolutely fine, so long as you are not spotted by other congregants (unless they too are in the middle of parking — in this instance, you should both look the other way and greet each other only as you approach the shul.)
Obviously, Jews in a tier above the one you occupy are “meshuggeh frum” while those in a tier below are “not proper Jews”.
Claire Calman’s latest novel, Growing Up for Beginners, is out now. Go on and order it…