Sweet Child of Mine, Please Shut Up

As someone with an OCD work ethic -- a perpetually cleaned-out email inbox, 10-minute "editing" sessions that end up being four hours long -- it's really difficult to deal with this strange notion of a crying baby, to which the normal rules of logic do not apply.

Something that worked 100% last time -- stroking her back, holding her just so, with one cheek smushed up against the crux of your elbow and the other draped loosely over the fingers of your other hand -- will have no effect whatsoever the next instance that she refuses to go to bed. And sometimes, doing one little thing -- like stroking her forehead just above her eyes -- will cause those eyes to grow heavy, sink, and shut in no time at all. Just one more way that G-d screws with our minds. And all the time she's crying, you are powerless to make it stop. You try and you try, but the truth is, she's the one who's going to decide when to go to sleep, not you. You just keep praying to yourself silently: Stop crying. Please, just stop crying.

But the thought that's been going through my head lately is of this story.

This is an awful thing to read, and unless you're one of those goth kids who still peeks at their own healing scars under a band-aid, feel free to skip to the next blog post.

It's a story about a Lebanese terrorist who was apprehended in 1979 after killing an Israeli policeman and bludgeoning his 4-year-old daughter to death with a rock.  He was freed in July, 2008, as part of a prisoner exchange between Israel and Hezbollah, shortly after I started being a professional Jewish blogger -- which meant that I was reading and writing about pretty much everything that happens to the Jews. Including this, which was a pretty big story.

But that's not the most horrifying part. While he killed the policeman and his daughter, the policeman's wife was hiding inside the walls of their house with their younger daughter. The baby was screaming, and the mother, while trying to quiet her, suffocated her in the process.

I have really bad luck singing lullabies to my kids. I get distracted by the crying and by watching them, and I can't think of any songs to sing. All the obvious choices -- "Rockabye Baby," "Dona Dona," "Sweet Child O' Mine" -- all go out of my head. I'm left grasping for whatever song I can think of, which is usually an Ani Difranco song, but has been known to be worse things. One night, the only song in my head was Ice-T's "Cop Killer," which I promise doesn't mean anything (I have good friends who are cops) but represents a period in my life when I was screaming a lot, too.

In some way, her crying is a reminder of our own mortality. We spend most of our lives not having control over everything, even our bodies, when they should be going to sleep but aren't. In another way, though, it's just my baby expressing her inner pissed-off-ness. I still stroke her back, but sometimes I force myself to take a mental step back and let her scream. It's all gonna be okay, baby. But that doesn't mean you can't express your feelings on the matter.

(Crossposted at Raising Kvell, which is where the picture comes from. The editor found it and I love her dearly, but it is kind of gross. Or maybe I'm just old-fashioned and expressing my subconscious heterocentrism and don't like naked dudes with chest hair? Sorry. Still true.)

Schindler's List and Hip-Hop Remembrance

When I was in Junior Congregation services at OCJCC-BI in Philadelphia, we spent Tisha B'Av -- the holiday that's the anniversary of the Temple's destruction -- watching depressing Jewish videos. Some of them (Shoah) conveyed the appropriate they're-dead-and-it's-sad response from my 12-year-old self. Some of them (Schindler's List -- specifically, the scenes of Oskar Schindler in bed with the naked bouncing-breasty women getting all pogo-stick on top of him*) left, uh, a different image in my head.

The London-born, Jerusalem-based poet Danny Raphael just laid down some rhymes of remembrance. It's only 2 minutes long -- and, back in 8th grade, I wasn't very open to appreciating hip-hop -- but I'd like to think that I would've appreciated this.



* -- It feels like heresy to say, but as a geeky barely-teenage boy who'd just seen Jurassic Park (loved it) and was expecting something I could do a Hebrew School book report on, it was unexpected, to say the least. There was plenty of stuff that depressed and inspired me, as well, but when I left the theater that day, the sole image that stuck with me was not a skeleton-thin man behind a barbed-wire fence but a full-bodied woman who touched off a strange chord of both attraction and haunting in my spread-wide-open impressionable mind.

Now, this isn't to say that I disapprove or disagree with the film. I think the only people who wouldn't say Schindler's List is a work of art are either anti-Semites or jealous (the latter category includes all you film-school snobs). The most common feedback I get from my book about becoming religious is that it'd be a great story except for all the cursing and sex. Real life is real life, and portrayals of life are going to contain stuff that isn't exactly ready for prime time. Was I ready for it as a kid? I don't know. Although, on the other hand, most of my formative life-changing experiences were things I wasn't ready for. And this would be the footnote that's longer than my actual blog post.

Me. Live. Rapping.

Okay, I actually can't watch this. I'm a squirmer. Here's some live video footage of me doing my verse on Stereo Sinai's song "Hafachta Mitzpedi (Dance)," the first time I've ever done it in front of people. "It" meaning "performing the song live," and "it" also meaning "rapping."

Not sure whether this is totally awful or just plain gawkward. Somebody watch it and tell me. If you can't say something nice, you can totally just pat me on the back and say I was wearing a cute shirt. (Or talk about Miriam's sheitel instead, and then go watch Alan and Miriam performing the song Eleven Below from that night instead. Tell me it doesn't make you want to fall in love with life itself.)

Ahem. On to me.

Eprhyme's "Punklezmerap" Video Deciphered

Eprhyme's new music video is getting all sorts of play -- at least, among the world of Jewish YouTube videos. But what's it all about? We asked Eprhyme as well as Shemspeed founder Diwon, the Yemenite DJ, to tell us.

The "Punklezmerap" video, shot by hip-hop and R&B director Lenny Bass (Fantasia, De La Soul), incorporates a crazy cast of characters from the sacred to the profane, to the profanely sacred. There are several fun cameos, both of other awesome artists in the Jewish world and of people who you wouldn't expect to find there, and some cool allusions to Jewish tradition and ritual.

First, watch the video. Then, read below for our exegetical commentary.



1 A.M. Eprhyme says: "The video was filmed in the basement of Levi Okunov's boutique, The 1929, in SoHo." Okunov is a fashion designer with Hasidic roots who's made a name of mixing Hasidic fashion sensibilities with radical couture.

Eprhyme: The video opens with Shir Yaakov gettin' his freak on in a boa....Shir is an amazing singer/songwriter, and the other half of my newest project, Darshan."

Elke Reva Sudin, a NY-based Orthodox artist and comic book creator, sketches away. (And, yep, her hair's covered.) "No one expected the energy to be quite so insane," says Diwon. "I think Lenny did a great job of capturing the energy that was there and the energy in the song and getting that across on film."

Y-Love, another Orthodox rapper and Eprhyme's labelmate, can be seen goofing off throughout the video. Here, he's wrapping up a wine glass in a cloth napkin, a common practice at Jewish weddings. "Twelve cheap wine glasses were smashed during the making of this video," Eprhyme notes. Also in the background is DeScribe, a.k.a. Shneur HaSofer, who recorded the Change E.P. with Y-Love. "Shneur just dropped by to see how the next video was coming out," says Diwon. "He had no idea what to expect."

Eprhyme: "Arrington de Dionysion (Old Time Relijun, [a band on legendary Olympia indie-rock label] K Records) plays bass clarinet. He brought along two of his free jazz buddies for the shoot." K Records, Eprhyme's former label, also released Beck's first album, as well as the Moldy Peaches, from the film "Juno."

On the turntables throughout the video is Diwon, the Yemenite DJ, who also owns Shemspeed Records. What record is he holding? "Eprhyme's single," he says. "It's the original vinyl of the song from K Records, on their international pop underground series."

Eprhyme: "We basically wanted to recreate an Olympia basement party. We were representing underground music...literally underground. This is what hip hop looks and feels like outside the club. It's a freakshow of religious fun addicts! [Someone named] Segulah was sportin' an Ecudorian spirit mask. My homeboy Moshe the Peddler, who was a wine distributor at the time, had a kosher wine tasting during the shoot. Look out for Emily Peck on stilts!"

The video concludes with the boys sitting around on the floor, getting ready to smash a glass. MJL's guide to Jewish weddings says: "The wedding ceremony ends with the breaking of the glass, which symbolizes that even in times of great joy, we remember that there is still pain in the world (which Jewish tradition relates to the destruction of the Jewish Temple). In most weddings, after the glass is broken it is time to jump up and yell, 'Mazal Tov!'"