Category Archives: Brainfood

We Don’t Know Social Media Etiquette

When was the last time you saw one of those clickbait-y Facebook posts and thought “I NEED TO REPOST THIS RIGHT MEOW”? Did you immediately hit “Like” and “Share” it to your (dozens? hundreds?) of followers? Did you stop to think about the content of that post? Did you even read it all the way to the bottom?

Maybe you’re a conscientious  user who always checks the facts before responding. Good for you! Maybe you’re like my fiancée, and you get around to Snopes-ing that Kony 2012 rage two hours after you already retweeted it. But think about all of the Friends on your list, all of the Tweeps that you follow, and all of your #Instagrammers (including that guy) and apply this logic to them. It’s no wonder that all grandma’s chain emails from the 90s are making a comeback…

One of the major problems with social media is that people don’t feel responsible for fact-checking what they see. They submit to the greater powers of The Internet and Share away. When it’s things like “Look at this cat in a shark costume riding a roomba while chasing a duck” or “You won’t believe how this  army buddy changed his friend’s life,” Sharing because of the emotional response (either joy or awe) that a post gives you can be a great way to spread that joy even further. Hey, you might even spread a smile to a friend who is having an awful day at work and just needs some loveable fuzziness in his life right now.

I love the kitten reposts just as much as the next guy. But I want to shine a spotlight on the unending onslought of ignorance and rage that stems from people reposting “articles” without reading through them to the bottom and thinking critically about these issues. Critically engaging with an article on social media is perhaps a misappropriation of the platform, but bear with me for a moment. I suppose when you share an adorable image (for instance, this one), you’re engaging with it in such a way that Sharing is natural. It makes you happy, you don’t have to engage with it on a deep intellectual level, and you want other people to feel that. *click* Shared.

Articles, especially on Facebook, are treated the same way as images. You get a popout image in your News Feed, and you get a little blurb that goes with it. It gives you all these feels. *click* Shared. But there’s the problem. The article, which needs to be engaged with on a different  level than memes was just given the same *feels* > *comment* > *click* > Shared brain process. But everyone loses when people read the thumbnail and share without thinking. The reason that lies and slander get reposted again and again isn’t because people are trying to make things worse. I propose an amendment to Hanlon’s Razor: “Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity,” or in this case, laziness.

Oh, and just in case you don’t believe that people don’t read what they repost… I’ll just leave this here.

Author’s Note: A couple days after writing this article, this BuzzFeed post came across my News Feed. Case in point.

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Ahhhh! We’re Sending Out Spam

In true UE form, the following is what the UE Staff learned when we realized that one of our email accounts was sending out spam.

As we continue to learn the ins-and-outs of managing a community-run volunteer website, we’ve come across another fascinating aspect of being an online entity: becoming the victims of a joe job / spoofing attack.

A couple months ago, our Twitter account tweeted out a spam link. We changed all our passwords and double-checked all our other accounts: everything was fine. Then, a few days later, we found an email in the spam folder of one of our accounts from ourselves with a spam link! WTF? That was accompanied by several “mail delivery messages” (also in our spam folder) that our email had labeled with a warning, “This is a fake ‘bounce’ reply to a message you didn’t actually send.”

Okay, but if we didn’t send any messages, then why did some people in our contacts—including us—receive an email?!

Sure, we’ve all seen some form of these spam emails from friends, family members, coworkers, etc. Most likely, you assume they accidentally clicked on a bad link that compromised their account, you make sure not to click the link, delete, move on, and be happy it was not your account. But what if it was your account…?  Well, then, you promptly freak out.

After updating everyone with access to this email and changing all our passwords again, we started our Sherlocking.

First question: Were we hacked? Nope. We were not hacked. At the time, the majority of the members of our staff had access to this particular account so, of course, we were worried someone had been sloppy with the password. But, thankfully, most email clients (like Gmail) actually track every IP address that accesses your email (and the location, web browser, and computer type being used by said IP address.) We were able to verify every single log-in to the infected account in the last month. Not to mention we also checked all of its email history: not a single unidentifiable email was sent from the account. Just to be safe, we still changed the password (again) and deleted all its contacts. We are not ones to mess around with security!

So, if we weren’t sending it, where the frak was it coming from? According to those receiving our emails, the spam emails were being flagged in their inboxes (or were being automatically moved to their spam boxes), because the emails were not actually coming from our servers. That’s also why all record of any of this happening was in our spam box. When we investigated the headers of the spam message, we discovered that they were actually coming from an IP address originating in Kyrgystan. Awesome.

Then, we learned that a joe job is when a spamming company uses your email as a front to send out a bunch of gross links.  One great analogy we ran across explained it like this: spoofing is comparable to someone sending a letter via snail mail, but they wrote your residence as the “return address” in the top left corner instead of their own. This makes the spammy email look like it’s coming from us, when we actually had nothing to do with it.

What do we think caused this? Either someone on the staff was logged into the infected email and accidentally clicked on something, or they were using a computer compromised with spyware, malware, or a virus. We had everyone who had access to the account run scans, and we did find some spyware on one staffer’s computer—we think it was probably the culprit. Either way, the spammers were able to commandeer our address book and thus send out the spam.

So what happened? Unfortunately, there is not much you can do to stave off a joe job except wait for the spammers to move on to a new victim. Fortunately, most email clients either rejected the emails outright, warned that they were not from us, or moved the emails immediately into everyone’s spam folders so they didn’t even notice. We apologized, we ignored, and we hoped it would go away soon. Thankfully, it did. In the end, the whole ordeal lasted less than a week and, from what we could tell, most of the emails were bounced back before they were delivered. We decided not to send out a mass email about the whole thing, for fear of potentially adding to the number of emails, so we wrote this article instead.  The most important thing to know should this happen to you is to remind everyone not to click on the links. If no one clicks, you aren’t profitable to the spammers, and they will move on.

The silver lining?  We’re a little bit more enlightened this week, and we hope we’ve enlightened you a bit on the wonderful world of spoofing. Also, if could be worse: AOL literally sent out zombie spam that same week…

Extra credit: Why is it called a joe job? Well, this is a terrifying account of what happens when someone purposefully uses your domain to sabotage your business and email as a spammer. This did not happen to us. Not that that’s going to help us sleep tonight.

Have a wonderful, spam-less week!

Photo by Gali Levi-McClure

Photo by Gali Levi-McClure

Camera Tech

As the media is apt to tell us, we are living in a digital age where information is reduced to tiny pixels to be uploaded to a computer or social media site. That might be an overly detached way to put it, as the digital sharing we do every day truly can connect us to people we would never expect. We take pictures and video with our phones, and since technology has gotten so advanced, these are usually perfectly adequate for our social media needs. But for those who want to take their digital sharing to the next step (filming or taking high-quality photos and videos), there are a multitude of options available.

The Casual Photo Journalist

Smartphones these days take quality photos and can be a good replacement for a digital camera, but pictures take up a lot of memory—if you want to take a lot of pictures as well as short videos, investing in a point-and-shoot camera is the way to go. A point-and-shoot camera is exactly what its name implies: a camera where you can point it at something and take a decent photo with no adjustments needed. This kind of camera is perfect for those who don’t know or don’t care about the anatomy of a picture and just want to capture memories. These cameras can store up to 500 pictures at a time—sometimes more—and can record videos as long as 20 minutes. They are also getting smaller with better battery life and more memory space, making them the perfect travel companions. They are also great for kids who are just starting to use more sophisticated technology.

Some of the more highly rated point-and-shoot cameras out there include:

  • Canon PowerShot A-Series – This is a series of point-and-shoot cameras that range in price and power but provide an easy experience.
  • Nikon Coolpix Series – This series has a number of cameras under $100 with a variety of zoom ranges and different settings for taking pictures.

What you’ll find with a lot of these smaller cameras is that they are super easy to use. They have a lot of options for how to take your pictures or video without sacrificing too much quality, but the camera will always control how much light or focus the picture has. If you want to get more creative, you might want to invest in some of these bad boys below!

The Not-So-Amateur Photographer

For those who really want to dig into photography and experiment with light, zoom, focus, and a whole bunch of other variables, then investing in a DSLR is the way to go. A Digital Single-Lens Reflex (DSLR) camera is a fancy way of saying a powerful digital camera. These cameras pack a lot of punch.

First, their memory storage is phenomenal. Most of these cameras can have memory cards that hold at least 1500 pictures. You also get to control the operating parts of the camera, such as the shutter (which controls how much light goes in) and the shutter speed (which controls how long the shutter stays open to let light in). You can do some fun things with the focus of your pictures, as well as with the light. Now, if none of this makes sense to you but you want to use these more advanced cameras, doing some research or taking a short photography course (from an online learning site like Lynda.com or at a local community center) will definitely help you get the most out of your equipment.

There is some rivalry between the Canon and Nikon camps, but honestly, they are both super good at making cameras and it’s really a personal preference. This author is partial to Nikon, but that was after months of research and examination of my personal needs (as I write this, my Canon-adoring editor overlords are plotting their revenge!).

  • Nikon D Series – Nikon’s DSLR cameras range from the monster D4s, which have the ability to use 16 million pixels in one picture, to the modest D3000, a model that is perfect if you are just starting out using a DSLR.
  • Canon EOS series – These cameras, much like the Nikons mentioned above, have a wide range between each camera. The Canon 1D X has 18.1 megapixels and have a few less advanced models that is good for those who don’t need such a powerful camera.

With each DSLR, you need a few lenses to get the best quality photos. Unless you want to get crazy, a standard zoom and a telephoto lens work just fine. There are a few others that specialize in zoom or have a fish-eye, but those have a very specific purpose and may not worth the money unless you are seriously making a career out of taking pictures or you want to take those kinds of photos all the time.

The power of these cameras is unreal. In fact, they are so powerful that some people in Hollywood are using DSLR cameras to film small budget films and music videos—that’s the kind of quality we are talking about. So if you want to make photography a serious priority or hobby, I would look into DSLRs. I got my Nikon D5000 for my high school graduation and have used it on multiple trips, including my year abroad in Europe, and it was a fantastic experience. That said, my friends with regular point-and-shoot cameras also got some quality photos.

Overall, I would assess your needs, consider the amount of upkeep and effort you want to exert, do some research, and ask questions! Cameras are a great investment and can help preserve some of the best times. So make sure you’re using quality technology!

Photo by Rob Adams

Photo by Rob Adams

On Our Weird, But Historically Accurate, Fourth of July Traditions

Hot dogs, fireworks, Will Smith marathons—the Fourth of July is Americana pop culture at its finest. Can’t you practically hear the Lana Del Ray song playing in the background? Believe it or not, this is actually pretty close to what the Founding Fathers envisioned.

When the Second Continental Congress voted to approve a resolution of independence on July 2, 1776, future president John Adams wrote the following to his wife, Abigail:

“The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.”

Aside from the early advocation of manifest destiny, Adams was actually incorrect—it would be the Fourth that would be fêted, as that is the date upon which the actual Declaration of Independence was dated (there is some skepticism about the actual timing of the signing, but whatever). Written by Adams’s legendary friend Thomas Jefferson (maybe you’ve heard of him?), the Declaration was the first time that anyone had bothered to write down the self-evident truths of equality and unalienable rights: Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.

Let’s set aside a whole lot of politics for the moment and focus on the Happiness. The history of events and celebrations around the Fourth are interesting in their own right and tell a surprisingly comprehensive story of our evolved and evolving national culture.

National Holiday

Despite the immediate acclamation the Declaration received, the term “Independence Day” wasn’t actually popularized until the late eighteenth century—the first recorded usage of the name was in 1791, fifteen years after the initial signing. And, ever the slowpokes, it took Congress until 1870 to make Independence Day an unpaid holiday for federal employees. The cheapskates finally made the Fourth a paid holiday in 1938.

Fireworks

Despite their Chinese origins, fireworks have long been a part of national celebrations, dating back to the original thirteen colonies. The first instance of fireworks being used to celebrate was the very first Fourth of July celebration in 1777. Nearly 200 years later, in 1976, Macy’s sponsored their first Fourth of July fireworks show.

Hot Dogs

While no one is sure exactly who to credit with creating the hot dog, everyone pretty much agrees that they were invented in America, adapted and popularized by German and Polish immigrants who began selling sausages in rolls throughout New York, St. Louis, and Chicago. Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest in Coney Island, New York began in 1972, and regularly attracts half a million live spectators, in addition to more than a million viewers who tune in to watch on ESPN. American Joey Chestnut has held the title since 2007.

Movies

For a time after the westward expansion, the American Dream became synonymous with fame, fortune, and Hollywood glamour. And, while we can’t claim the invention of cinema, blockbuster films are definitely a uniquely American export. Mr. July himself, Will Smith, has faced countless aliens across two franchise films in the name of patriotism. Though his star has faded in recent years (just say no to Jayden and Willow, America), huge tent-pole movies are still released on the Fourth of July weekend with the expectation of breaking box office records. This year, look out for Earth to Echo and Dawn of the Planet of the Apes to battle it out for the #1 spot.

Weird and Wonky

Some things just come full circle. Both Jefferson and Adams died on the 50th anniversary of the Declaration’s signing, July 4, 1826. Lifelong political foes and personal friends, the two continued a written correspondence throughout their lives. Though Jefferson passed several hours before, word never reached Adams, whose last words were reportedly simple—“Jefferson survives.”

A year later, on July 4, 1831, former president James Monroe also died, making him the third president in a row to pass on the Fourth. Calvin Coolidge so far remains to be the only president to be born on the Fourth, though current White House occupant Malia Obama also celebrates her birthday on the same day.

Perhaps the oddest fact of all is that the most sobering quote about the Fourth comes from a fictional president:

“In many ways our great Declaration of Independence was a work order issued under fire. One we still struggle to fulfill.” – President Bartlet, The West Wing

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Finding Islam

My journey was long and winding.  I’m not an outwardly religious person, and I normally don’t volunteer my religious views.  Muslims aren’t popular in the United States, and revealing that you’re Muslim can sometimes be a dangerous proposition.

I feel compelled here, however, to speak candidly about my journey.  It’s a la mode these days to bash Islam, stereotype and pidgeonhole and caricature Islam.  I hope my story can cast a different shade on the conversation and reveal that Islam is a complex thing, and with over one billion adherents, is far from monolithic.

I wasn’t raised Muslim.  As a matter of fact, I’m the most religiously Muslim person in my family—my parents are basically cultural Muslims.  I was five years old and I asked my dad “Baba, what are we?” “Oh, we’re Muslim.”  And that was the extent of my religious instruction from my family. We ate pork; my mom enjoyed wine and beer; I openly and notoriously dated.

Islam was my choice.  I know what Islam is and what it represents might be different to someone who has it imposed on them.  Even filet mignon isn’t enjoyable when it’s shoved down your throat.

I was 19 and in a bad place.  Life changes, academic pressure, friction with my family, and ending my first relationship had me emotionally disoriented.  I noticed that my college had an Islamic studies class, and as a general history buff with law school aspirations, it seemed natural.

The Islam I learned about was leagues away from the Islam portrayed on television.  The only thing radical about Islam was how inclusive it was.  It accepted all adherents of the abrahamic religions.  Moses and Christ are both considered Prophets equally important to Mohammed—if Abrahamic monotheism was the Star Wars trilogy, Islam viewed itself as Return of the Jedi.

Women had extensive property rights. Considering that the Quran was written in the seventh century, this makes it a radical feminist text. Comparatively, the Vatican didn’t recognize that women even had souls until the fifth century.  Women in the United States were the property of men (father or husband) until the 1870s.  But to Muslims, God did not believe in race or nationalism.  All were equal before God.

Islam wasn’t afraid of science—it embraced it.  Islam prized education and literacy: God’s first miracle performed before the prophet Mohammed was to make him be able to read.

God was forgiving and merciful.  I was introduced to the idea of a being capable of knowing me so intimately, understanding my thoughts and motivations and intentions, and understanding my shortcomings.

The most important part to me was that there was no compulsion in faith.  You’re allowed to practice what you want, and set aside what rituals you don’t care for.  The idea is that those rules are for human benefit: God doesn’t need them, we do.  You aren’t a bad Muslim if you enjoy a beer or some wine, or even if you can’t resist some pepperoni pizza.

The thing that appealed to me was the contempt for hypocrisy.  Hypocrisy was my major beef with the loud practitioners of religion whom I encountered.  The gay-hating closeted gay pastor; the politician who goes to church on Sunday, meets his mistress Monday and divorces his cancer-striken wife on Wednesday; the moral majoritarian who frequents prostitutes; the list goes on.  In Islam, the worst thing you can be is a hypocrite.

It wasn’t all magical.  Like all religions, the adherents can be a problem.  I traveled to Iran to visit family.  While I was there, I’d hoped to get closer to Islam—after all, it is an “Islamic” republic.  I was wrong.  In short, I saw an almost part-for-part analogue of what was wrong with conservative reactionary Christian theology in the United States played out in Iran.  I saw hypocrisy.  I saw priests driving around in Mercedes when there were people starving in the street.  This wasn’t the Islam I learned about.  This wasn’t my Islam.

What I learned from that disappointment was that each person has to travel their own spiritual journey.  You can’t get a 1040EZ form for faith.  It isn’t something for the lazy.  It’s a long, rocky hike where you might stumble and fall and scrape yourself up.  You have to be willing to struggle.  Some folks don’t have the patience for it, and perhaps faith just isn’t for them. Not everyone likes pizza either.  It takes a particular type of person.  I got comfortable with an idea of what my Islam was.  My Islam was inclusive.  My Islam embraces all—and yes, that means LGBTs.  It wants to end poverty and hunger, illiteracy and ignorance.  It seeks peace in the human family.   It’s still a struggle from time to time.  I get so absorbed into the busyness of my life—law school, starting a nonprofit, getting scholarships and hustling money for fun—that I don’t set aside time to reflect on my life from the macro view.

I see my Islam in my American generation.  I see it in Mos Def and Brother Ali and Lupe Fiasco, in Dave Chappelle and Aasif Manvi and Rainn Wilson—an enlightened but idiosyncratic expression of the human condition: beautiful and chaotic and flawed, but always trying to be better and never losing hope.  I don’t eat pork, but I do drink.  I date women.  I am by no means a strictly adherent Muslim in any “conventional” sense. But I think convention is bullshit—it’s a euphemistic term for uncreative or lazy.

I’m Muslim.  I’m proud to be Muslim. But if I get to have kids, I will want them to choose their own path.  It’s only fair: that’s what I did.  I’m comfortable with the possibility that there is no god, no afterlife, none of the mysticism of religion; there are finer points I disagree with, even within the text of the Quran.  I don’t view faith as an all-or-nothing ultimatum.  . The totality of the philosophy speaks for itself.  As a Christian friend of mine once said, “Truth is truth.”   The truth to me is that the point of us being here is to love each other, comfort each other, and keep the other from suffering.  It’s okay that I falter or fail or have my moments of doubt and cynicism, and even disagreement with what may be considered ‘devout.’  Ultimately, the word “faith” means not knowing.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery

Leaving Islam

Growing up, religion was never something I questioned. When my mother told me I was Muslim, because she and my father were Muslim, I didn’t question it. I told everyone that I was Muslim without hesitation.  This usually meant the other kids thought I was the weird kid who couldn’t eat bacon. What being Muslim meant to me, however, was doing everything in my power to prevent going to hell. My parents very effectively and efficiently instilled the fear of God in me: I said a prayer before meals, after eating, every night before bed… I never dared to think of religion as a choice; it was simply what I was born into.

Then I hit high school and the angsty teenager in me started questioning my parents. I became that stereotypical punk kid with the stereotypical rebellious attitude. I disobeyed my parents, stayed out late, and listened to loud music about how The Man was keeping me down. My religion, however, was still unquestioned until senior year of high school and—like many life-changing stories—it involved a girl. I’d had a crush on this girl all year, and we had just started dating, I was excited to bring her home and introduce her to my family so one day after school I invited her over to play some video games in my room. About five minutes after we started playing Rock Band my mother called me into the living room and asked why there was a girl in my room. When I told her about my new girlfriend she was furious. While my girlfriend was waiting for me in my room my mother proceeded to shout at me in Arabic about how she had raised a sinner and how I was forsaking God.  I’d had a crush on this girl for the better part of a year because of what a genuinely good person she was and my mom completely denounced her without even meeting her. This was the first moment I started questioning my parents about religion. My whole life I had been told never to judge anyone and here she was shouting at me about my girlfriend’s terrible character based completely on her gender. It all seemed extremely hypocritical to me at the time and that made me reflect on all of the other ideas I’d been taught about religion.

I was conflicted for a couple of weeks. I didn’t understand how dating someone was such a crime against the creator of the entire universe. Then, after those weeks of thought, I decided that I was going to do something absolutely crazy. One day I went to school like I always did, but when lunch time rolled around, I walked to the cafeteria and ordered the one classic school lunch that I was never able to try: I ordered a slice of pepperoni pizza. In a single decisive moment, I took a bite into this pizza topped with sin and I waited for God to smite me.

But the smiting never happened. That was the day that I stopped being Muslim. It was the best pepperoni pizza that I have ever had.

I may have stopped being a Muslim that day, but my religious journey was far from an end. For a couple of years after that moment, I identified as an atheist with a staunch disbelief in God. I was basically a jerk to every religious person I met. I thought I had it all figured out. Of course I didn’t, and I still don’t, but that didn’t stop me from sitting on an anti-religious high horse. I still haven’t been able to tell my parents about my absence of religion.  But religion, or the lack of it, became a consuming part of my thought process—probably because I was still coping with an ingrained part of my life coming to an abrupt halt—and I, for some reason, decided I should tell everyone else what they should think.

Eventually, however, I grew out of that as well. I realized that I have no right to force my beliefs onto anyone the same way my parents did on me.

These days, I don’t even identify as an atheist. In fact, I don’t really identify as anything. I’ve had a long transformation on the path to my current (non)belief system, and my ideology will probably keep changing as that path continues. After 23 years of life, the only thing I’ve learned about religion is that I don’t know anything about it. For all I know Zeus and all of his godly acquaintances are sitting in Olympus and using the human race for their amusement.

The only thing of which I can be certain when it comes to religion is that I will never know anything, and at this moment, that feels kind of enlightening.

Shabbos, Shittachs, and Shomer: How to Succeed on the Upper West Side

On a recent Sunday morning, I venture into Fairway, a grocery store on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, prepared to battle the crowd of strollers, walkers, and yoga mats that stand between my grocery list and me. This week, I am on a particular mission: it’s the week before the Jewish holiday of Passover, meaning that I—like what appears to be the majority of the other customers—need to stock up on the foods that meet the specific dietary restrictions for this eight-day holiday. I imagine this mission to be a reenactment of the actual parting of the Red Sea—the story of the Jews’ escape from slavery in Egypt, which we retell on Passover—since people rush toward the Passover food aisle with the same sense of urgency one would bring if being chased by enemy soldiers and crashing waves.

Finally, I find two people stocking shelves and ask them where I can find the Kosher for Passover yogurts. They speak to each other in rapid Spanish, and they don’t respond to me with directions in English; instead, one leads me to the dairy section and shows me how to find the Hebrew, Kosher for Passover stamp of approval on certain Dannon products. It’s a safe bet that the majority of the people who work at Fairway aren’t observant Jews, but they cater to a demographic of shoppers who are, so they are all well-versed in the laws of Kashrut and the Jewish calendar year. As I walk out of Fairway with shopping bags full of matzah and special yogurts, overhearing groups of people stopping each other on the street to wish each other a “Happy Holiday,” I have one of my only-on-the-Upper-West-Side moments.

Manhattan’s Upper West Side—mainly between W 70th and W 96th Streets—is home to an enclave of observant Jews across the religious spectrum, and with that comes a concentration of synagogues, Kosher restaurants, and challah per capita that I believe could only be rivaled by a city in Israel. The neighborhood is made up largely of families and the elderly, but it also has the reputation of being the “it place” to socialize for Jewish twenty-somethings. It’s a comfortable place to live for young, single New Yorkers who want to mingle with others who observe Shabbat, keep Kosher, and integrate Jewish religious or cultural practices into everyday life. There’s even a version of Craigslist that caters solely to Jews searching for apartments on the Upper West Side.

These idiosyncrasies are, in large part, why I find it easy to call the Upper West Side home, even when my own family isn’t nearby. But, like any family, this community can feel overbearing and judgmental, making it just as easy to feel self-conscious as it is to feel included. When I join the hoards of young people walking from synagogue to a Shabbat dinner on a Friday night, I know that other Sabbath observers who pass by will immediately identify me as part of their community and try to figure out who we know in common, wishing me a “Shabbat Shalom” (“Good Sabbath”) even if we are perfect strangers. On the flip side, if I’m coming home from work late, with my headphones in as I head out of the subway, I don my invisibility cloak, hoping that I don’t run into my religious friends and ruin my chance of being indexed as “datable” for eligible bachelors who are Sabbath observers. Last year, an acquaintance set me up with an old friend of hers who lives on the Upper West Side. I was so paranoid that it would be the topic of every dinner conversation in our social network, that I refused to go out on the Upper West Side all weekend, and I swore my friend to secrecy. Low and behold, before we had even set a location for the date, people came out of the woodwork to text me, telling me they’d heard I was going on a date with this person—and, in many cases, to tell me they’d already dated him. Utterly mortified, I coined the catch phrase, “Can’t a girl have a private life on the Upper West Side?!” I quickly learned the answer to that question.

All of that is to say that the codes and assumptions about lifestyle choices, political opinions, and social circles that filter into the young Upper West Sider’s lexicon can make a welcoming community feel more like an exclusive club, and you need to know the password to be let in. Personally, I navigate the Upper West Side by straddling the “insider” and “outsider” Jewish circles of my neighborhood, sending out the appropriate signals depending on which I feel like joining at a given moment. Like in any club, you feel like more of a participant if you can “talk the talk” and “walk the walk”—literally and figuratively in this case—so rather than describe this diverse Jewish community through sweeping generalizations, I thought I’d provide a beginner’s “phrase book” so that you can come and experience it like a local.

  1. Summer camp: The best thing that ever happened to you. The place where you met your lifelong friends, learned about prayers and puberty, and probably had your first kiss. When meeting people for the first time, even if it’s been ten years since anyone was even a camp counselor, you will likely be asked where you went to camp, followed by a ten-minute back-and-forth until you find someone you know in common. (If you didn’t go to camp, say you went to “some remote location of Camp Ramah that no one’s ever really heard of.”)
  1. Meal: This word you know, but in the context of the Upper West Side, it refers either to Friday night dinner or Saturday lunch. Starting Monday morning, friends will text each other to find out where they’re “having their meals” the following weekend. If you are “invited for a meal” (as opposed to “invited for dinner and drinks”), you should ask if you can bring challah or wine. Rather than try to bring something artisanal or fancy, which may not be up to all guests’ standards of kashruth, you should pick up something from a bodega on the Upper West Side. Meals are places to see and be seen. It’s a big deal to secure a place around certain people’s folding tables, and following your meal you will likely walk over to someone else’s meal and schmooze over scotch and their leftovers.
  1. Shittach: Twenty-four-year-olds on the Upper West Side seem to be more obsessed with marriage than the average New Yorker that age, so it’s a safe bet that you’ll throw in this term often. When we talk about dating and marriage, we use the word “shittach” to mean a blind date. Officially, a shittach is a setup orchestrated by a matchmaker, but, come on, it’s the Upper West Side, not the Fiddler on the Roof’s shtetl! Instead, you might be invited to a meal to orchestrate a shittach; in other words, your friend wants to set you up with her friend from camp, so she invites you both for a Friday night meal, seats you next to each other, and it’s b’sheret (“meant to be”). (And, if it doesn’t work out, just know that you will run into this person and all of his friends for the rest of your life on the Upper West Side.)
  1. Shomer: When looking for a roommate, you will want to know if that person falls into any/all of these categories: shomer Shabbat; shomer Kashruth; shomer nagiyah. The first refers to whether somebody observes all the laws of the Sabbath, abstaining from use of electricity and spending money. The second term gives you insight into how many sets of dishes that person would contribute (one for milk and one for meat?). The last, used mainly among the more Orthodox circles these days, will allow you to inquire about a person’s—ahem—sexual experiences. If your friend wants to set you up on a shittach, you’d best first confirm whether or not he’s shomer to find out if he touches girls before marriage.
  1. Jake’s Dilemma: Watch out! This phrase in no way allludes to the biblical story in which Jacob wrestles with an angel. (Actually, now that I mention it, maybe it does?) In this context, it simply refers to the most crowded bar on a Saturday night. If you want to go out in the West 80s, start at Jake’s Dilemma, show your ID to the bouncer, and throw in some of your new catch phrases. You’ll feel like a local. And, who knows, you might just meet your long-lost friend from camp or your b’sheret.
Photo by Gali Levi-McClure

Photo by Gali Levi-McClure

 

 

Teaching Myself Buddhism

For me, it began with yoga. A new studio opened in my hometown, I wandered in out of curiosity and walked out with an interview to work in their daycare. I started doing yoga and, a year and a half later, my primary instructor handed me a book called Dharma Punx by Noah Levine.

If you haven’t seen it, the book’s cover is a photograph of the author’s tattoo-covered hands in prayer position against a stark black background. I was intrigued. The story details Noah’s young adult years in Santa Cruz, CA, his descent into drug use and eventual arrest, and his turnaround following a poignant conversation he had with his meditation-teacher father, Stephen Levine. After his release from prison, Noah began attending classes and sitting retreats at Spirit Rock Meditation Center, a center that was just a few hours away from where I live. Within a year of reading Dharma Punx, I attended my first weeklong meditation retreat, not realizing it would be a silent meditation retreat—as in silent all. day. long.

On the first evening, I was sitting in the dining hall, eating dinner after settling into my room, and the man across from me commented to the woman beside him, “I can’t believe people are talking right now.”

The woman replied, “Oh don’t worry, tomorrow you ‘ll be able to hear a pin drop in here.”

“What?” I blurted out.  “Is this a silent-silent retreat, as in no talking? Not just during meditation?”

They both looked at me quizzically. It didn’t help that I was probably the youngest person in the room by a good 20+ years on average. They explained the retreat’s parameters: no talking on site, not even in the residential halls, and reading and writing are also discouraged. Gulp.

And thus, I entered the silence for the first time. I’ve since attended two additional weeklong retreats and listened to many, many dharma talks. I’m still working to make time for meditation every day. These experiences with Buddhist teachings (dharma) have significantly shaped my perception of and approach to life.

In a dharma talk I listened to recently, Joseph Goldstein summed up the dharma thusly: everything is connected (non-self), nothing lasts (impermanence), you are not alone (suffering). It is our suffering that helps us to feel compassion for one another. The first of the Four Noble Truths is that dukkha (suffering) exists, the second is that it is caused by craving or clinging. The third is that suffering abates as craving is relinquished. The final of the Four Noble Truths is acceptance that the Eightfold Path leads to the cessation of suffering.

Here are a few concepts that have particularly stood out to me over the years:

  • Near Enemies and Far Enemies: the Four Brahma-viharas (Source)
  • In Buddhism, there are four desirable states, or brahma viharas. Each of these has both a near enemy and a far enemy. The far enemy is easy to spot, while the near enemy can masquerade as the desirable quality.
    • Metta (loving kindness): near enemy is attachment; far enemy is hatred
    • Karuna (compassion): near enemy is pity; far enemy is cruelty
    • Mudita (sympathetic joy): near enemy is comparison, insincerity; far enemy is envy
    • Upekkha (equanimity): near enemy is indifference; far enemy is anxiety, greed
  • Five Daily Recollections (Source)
    1. I am of the nature to grow old; I cannot avoid aging.
    2. I am of the nature to become ill or injured; I cannot avoid illness or injury.
    3. I am of the nature to die; I cannot avoid death.
    4. All that is mine, dear and delightful, will change and vanish.
    5. I am the owner of my actions;
      I am born of my actions;
      I am related to my actions;
      I am supported by my actions;
      Any thoughts, words or deeds I do, good or evil, those I will inherit.
  • Enlightenment takes effort (samma-vayama).
    Don’t strain or judge yourself harshly.

If you’re interested in exploring Buddhism, here are my suggestions:

  • Look up the nearest meditation center or Buddhist temple. Most centers have a variety of classes, daylong retreats, and overnight retreats. Do your research and delve into the background of each center—there are big differences in approach on every level, from the branch of Buddhism on which the center bases its teaches, to the daily schedule of meals and meditation.
  • Listen to dharma talks. DharmaSeed.org has literally thousands of dharma talks that you can stream for free. You can search by key word to match the subject to your current feeling (e.g. stress, anger, frustration, calmness, love) or search by teacher. They even have a free app for mobile device streaming.
Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery

I’m a Spiritual Person, Not a Religious Person

When I was in fourth grade, my mom decided to start taking my older sister and me to church. My dad is a firm atheist and opted out of church from the very beginning, but my mom wanted us to experience religion.

When I was younger, we had gone to a few other churches but mostly just because we knew some of the priests who were employed there. I grew up in an area that has an Episcopal Seminary, where people are educated and trained to be priests, so a lot of my neighbors were men and women who had moved their families to our town in order to attend this school.  Two of our closest family friends are from this movement; so, church and religion were concepts with which I’d been familiar for many years.  Still, we never went to church with any frequency until I was eight years old.

Christ Church in Old Town, Alexandria, is a beautiful building that was built before the American Revolution. It is steeped in history and has a lot of funding, which allows the church to take an active part in the philanthropic community. When we first arrived, we sat in the second floor pews and that’s when I saw the church choir come out. Throughout the service, this small but powerful choir led the hymns and then sang a beautiful song during communion. I was mesmerized. That very afternoon, I had my mom sign me up to be in the Christ Church choir. For the next ten years, I went to choir practice every Wednesday and Thursday night. I’m not sure my mom, my sister, and I would have continued to go to Christ Church for as long as we did if I hadn’t been involved, but my commitment meant that from ages 8 to 18, I was actively going to church every week.

Attending church every week and discussing religion in general became a regular practice. But, outside of church, I lived a fairly unreligious life. My parents didn’t discuss religion very much, and I knew that my dad didn’t believe in any of it, but they were very conscious about letting me decide for myself what role religion would play in my life. They knew it was, and is, a very personal decision to make, and I am lucky I lived in an environment where I could ask questions but wasn’t expected to believe in any one thing.

All that time spent going to church made me think a lot about higher powers and what, if anything, is out there watching over us. Each Sunday, I would hear a sermon about the religious readings and then I would talk them over with my peers in Sunday school. This increased my knowledge about religious history and practice, but, honestly, none of it really stuck. I couldn’t find, or make, a real connection with the Scripture. Even though each week different people who had found inspiration and companionship with Christ surrounded me, I couldn’t fully empathize with them or understand how they were able to make such a bond.

Despite this, there was something I really loved about going to church every week. I liked singing in the choir and I liked hearing the interpretations of the different priests on the Scripture. The routine was nice, as was the community. By the time I was 15, I was pretty well known in the Christ Church community and many of the priests I came to know took the time to give me volunteer opportunities and made themselves available if I had any questions or concerns about life in general. Because of their generosity and guidance, I decided to get confirmed in the Episcopal Church, as I believed it would help solidify my feelings towards religion in general.

Now, at the age of 22, I still can’t say if I have any solid feelings towards religion. Growing up in a religious environment made me very aware of organized religion and the politics surrounding it. But it also gave me a new way of thinking about religion and spirituality that I would not have gotten otherwise. In all my time at church, I have come to realize that I am certainly a spiritual person, but not a particularly religious one. What I mean is that I firmly believe that there is something keeping all of us balanced and that miracles and divinity are possible, but I can’t fully believe what the Scripture says happened so long ago.

Religion is so personal, and how one interprets or embodies religion is unique to each individual. I’m happy that I’ve had such a broad education in world religions and Christianity because I feel like I can make an informed decision about what role religion plays in my life. But I also feel as though I am not tied to any one belief, which allows me to grow and change with my spirituality. Religion and spirituality, like so may other things, are fluid. I may not have one particular belief now, but allowing myself to be open to spirituality and, in turn, open to new experiences, makes me feel as though I am a part of something greater than myself. And that, more than anything, gives me hope about what’s to come.

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

American Liberal, Roman Catholic: Feminism in Church and State

Every August, my family gets together for a reunion of sorts: we call it a Feast (capital F) and it’s hosted by my grandfather’s Italian society out in a private park. In many ways, it is a typical family gathering—tons (too much, really) of food, lots of yelling, lots of cousins; you know how it goes. The only difference is that our Feast involves a mass and then, in the afternoon, each family in the society takes turns carrying a large statue of the Virgin Mary around the park. No, we’re not a cult—we’re just old-school Roman Catholics.

The custom of a feast like this actually comes from early Italian immigration to America. Seeking a way to stay connected, friends and relatives from the same small area all formed societies to celebrate their hometown’s patron saint. In many ways, my grandfather’s Italian society is the same today as it was back when it was first formed—that is to say, only men can join. Like the Roman Catholic Church itself, the whole setup reeks of sexism.  And while I was raised with the church being a part of my life, the great irony is that I am a Hillary Clinton-loving, Riot Grrrl-ing, unabashedly liberal feminist.

But I don’t actually see being a liberal, feminist Roman Catholic as really that uncommon. For starters, I certainly wasn’t raised to see myself/women as being subservient. Though this mentality is certainly held by some members of older generations, I was always taught differently. My family has been pretty key to my feminism in this respect—my grandfather was always the first to classify members of his society as “grumpy old men, soon to be left behind in the times,” while my grandmother is basically Dorothy Zbornak reincarnated. This is on top of the glaringly obviously fact that the whole society worships a woman, along with countless other examples of badass Roman Catholic saints and nuns: St. Catherine, Joan of Arc, Mother Teresa, Sister Simone Campbell and the Nuns on the Bus, just to name a few.

In mixing religion and politics, I fall in line with the 60% of American Catholics that don’t attend Church regularly, the 77% who believe that abortion should be legal, and the 59% that believe in marriage equality. (All statistics taken from the March 2014 report by the Pew Research Center’s Religion & Public Life Project). These numbers line up fairly neatly with the Democratic platform and fall in line with longer trends that show moderate Catholics voting more liberally, despite the Vatican’s stalwart stance on a majority of (really, all) issues.

In all, 71% of American Catholics believe that the election of Pope Francis represents a major change in the direction of the church. While I remain somewhat skeptical, I certainly will credit His Holiness’ PR skills—just inspiring people to believe again (especially after the disaster of Pope Benedict) is a major feat. More importantly, however, is that I’ve never really considered my political opinions to be in contradiction with anything I learned in religion class. After all, the Ten Commandments are supposedly about the values of social justice. I choose to think of them more as guidelines: as my homeslice (and fellow Catholic) Diablo Cody described her opinion, “it’s about finding your own spiritual path and drowning out human judgment.”

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Photo by Andy Sutterfield