It’s a Southern Snow Day, y’all! This means a few things. Everyone should be careful on the roads or stay home, of course; safety first.
Here’s what else a Southern Snow Day really means:
1. Everyone is required to post SOMETHING on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Instagram about the fact that there is SNOW ON STUFF. (Seriously, if you don’t have a social media account, you get one. This is why Facebook was invented!)
2. The grocery stores are really, really low on milk, bread, and eggs. As one Southern friend of mine cleverly pointed out: “We will protect ourselves with a layer of French Toast!”
3. Kids get confused, and then delighted. ISJL COO Michele Schipper reports: “My son had -to quote him- a ‘panic attack’ when he woke up late for school, and didn’t understand why I didn’t get him up!” Once the shock wears off, though, most Southern kids love snow days, even if there’s not really enough snow to make an actual snow man. Snow ball fights for your Lego people, anyone?!
4. We get teased a lot by our loved ones up North, scoffing at our big ol’ reaction to one or two inches of snow. And yes, all right, all right. We know it’s worse up North. We know. But seriously, we’re not used to seeing weather app updates like these:
(Of course, take note of the projections for later this week… 70 degrees by Saturday? This is why allergies are bad down here! But hey, if you don’t like the weather, wait a day or two!)
Stay warm and stay safe, whether you’re in the South and this white stuff is a novelty or whether you’re somewhere where this wintry weather and snowy-cold is getting old by this point. Cocoa helps, either way!
When I moved to Jacksonville, Florida, in 2006, I noticed much more general affiliation with university sports than I’d ever seen before.
I saw a “house divided” flag outside a home with University of Florida and Florida State University on either side, and I didn’t quite understand. In 2009, I joined the Gator Nation and finally understood the obsession. Fall means football in the South. Now that the college football season is over we can focus on the NFL playoffs and the upcoming Super Bowl XLVIII.
The Super Bowl is the once-a-year, end-all-be-all of professional football. Even if you don’t care about the game the Super Bowl is often the showcase for some of the funniest commercials shown all year, as well as a half-time show that is always full of surprises.
As the daughter of two avid Patriots fans, I’ve watched many a Super Bowl over the past several years. And as the daughter of a Jewish educator, I spent a lot of time growing up at temple. This got me to wondering, do we have a Jewish equivalent to this supreme sports event?
Yom Kippur is often called the holiest day of the year. Just like when people who don’t watch football the whole rest of the year make sure that they are watching the Super Bowl, if for no other reason than to be able to talk about with co-workers the next day. In the movie Keeping the Faith, Ben Stiller even refers to Yom Kippur as the Super Bowl of the Jewish calendar. It’s a time when rabbis write a “best of” sermon and Jews, who might not attend services the rest of the year, skip work and class to attend temple.
But in my home there is nothing better than Passover! You may not like eating matzah for 7 days, but there are few things greater than grandpa’s stories that he tells every year, delicious matzah ball soup, and singing—LOTS of singing—to make seder fun. Who said you can’t live off seder leftovers for the rest of Passover? Trust me…it can be done!
There are many other important Jewish holidays throughout the year, and everybody has a different connection to each.
So I’ll just leave you with this question: What is your Jewish Super Bowl?
The only Jewish person I knew of growing up was Jesus, and to be honest I had never thought much about this aspect of his identity until college when a professor described Jesus as a rabbi during a lecture.
I had developed an affinity for Jewish culture as a teenager, much the same way a teenager develops a curious interest in anything their parents haven’t told them much about. When I told my mother of my newfound interest, she bought me a small menorah, sent me a Rosh Hashanah e-card at the appropriate time of year, and told me that it was at least moderately likely that my grandmother’s German ancestors had been Jewish, but left that part of their culture behind when moving to the wild, lawless trapper’s country of South Louisiana.
(It seems that my ancestry is diverse enough to accommodate any passing cultural fancy I’ve had growing up. When I went abroad for a semester in Northern Ireland, my grandfather informed me that his grandfather had been Irish. I found it odd that this had never been mentioned before I brought up the subject.)
The point of these perhaps too-indulgent anecdotes is that any knowledge I’ve had of Jewish culture prior to interning here at the Institute for Southern Jewish Life has been superficial at best. The menorah my mother gave me is tucked away, forgotten in a drawer somewhere (and it uses candles that look suspiciously similar to those found on birthday cakes). I was nineteen years old before I really met and had a conversation with a Jewish person, at least to my knowledge.
At last week’s staff meeting, my first at the ISJL, we had a program on inclusion in honor of MLK Day. It was discussed that the ISJL is in the unique position of being the first Jewish organization that many people in the area will come in contact with. It certainly has been that for me. I couldn’t be more grateful to everyone for how welcoming they’ve been and am so appreciative of everyone’s willingness to explain any term or aspect of Jewish culture that I don’t understand.
My uncle has always said of New Orleans, a place he lived for 11 years, that you “never stop peeling back the onion.” My past week at the institute has taught me the same of the South in general. I’ve lived in the South my entire life and have yet to be involved, or even be in conversation with, the Jewish community here. A community that thrives, perhaps shamefully forgotten by those not a part of it, right in our midst.
I could not be more grateful for the opportunity to peel back and better understand this particular layer of my home.
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