On Confusing Heritage : Getting Reacquainted

So seeing that Jason Momoa video also kind of reminded me of an interesting point. Jason Momoa’s step daughter Zoe Kravitz (can’t do accent for some reason) is of mixed heritage. They all are. Zoe’s mother, Lisa Bonet, comes from a Jewish mother and an African American Father. While Lenny Kravitz comes from a Jewish father and an African American mother. Jason Momoa himself is Caucasian and Hawaiian. Putting aside the obvious sub point that most people make that mixed kids are beautiful it reminded of something more personal.

You see, Zoe Kravitz admitted growing up she didn’t have connection to her African American heritage and identified as white. Now, she is interested in reconnecting with that side of her roots. Personally, I think it is a wonderful move on her part, because it is a part of who you are. But it also confuses me. Lenny Kravitz identifies as Christian when it comes to religion. I’m pretty sure Lisa Bonet identifies as spiritual, drawing from all walks of life for inspiration and understanding. But I don’t understand 100% of that decision.

People only like to admit being of Jewish descent in situational moments like this, when they aren’t religiously Jewish in some article. However, the religion of Judaism is separate from the ethnic background. It seems like although raised within the Jewish religion they gave up on their ethnic dies. As Lisa Bonet and Zoe Kravitz are technically by Orthodox standards ‘Truly of Jewish decent’ due to their matrilineal line. So why then is there this seemingly disconnect with that part of their heritage? Sure, in America the Jewish community is looked down upon by other Jewish communities for a lack of spirituality, but we do embrace our ethnic ties in some ways.

It makes me think about my own family. Where things are a little confusing, because it was some secret that wasn’t supposed to be brought up that we weren’t ‘truly of Jewish decent’ based on our religious affiliation. You see my grandmother’s heritage gets very mixed as you go back. You draw in many european and asian ethnic groups such as: Spanish, British, Swedish, German, Mediterranean, a few different Eastern European groups and my favorite the apparent Cossack Russian. I mean my grandmother was only Jewish, because her Swedish Grandmother married a Jew of Spanish/British decent. Her mother then married a Jewish man of seemingly German, Russian and Middle Eastern descent (all Jews claim the traits of their Middle Eastern ancestors sticking within them). My grandmother married my grandfather who was ‘truly Jewish’ by his Austrian and Polish descent. My mom in her rebellion married a Canadian of Scottish, British and French decent (from what I know). Yet, with all of this somehow I was still Jewish. Being Jewish was so hard core pushed on me I found little ways to reject it. I defined it only as my ethnic background, I didn’t go to hebrew school and certainly didn’t join in the community service groups. Temple was an only Yom Kippur thing, because I believed in fasting. Jewish was my ethnicity. It was the only thing I could embrace: not being white. I wasn’t like them. Now, I look back on it like I was even more stupid then people told me.

A couple of years ago, I went to Taiwan to live in a monastery to explore my growing interest in Buddhism. The experience was the best thing in my life so far when it came to becoming a person. It’s funny, the more I involved myself in the community the more I would read books on other Jews who explored Buddhism. One of my favorite authors is a woman by the name of Sylvia Boorstein. Who asserts her Jewish beliefs through Buddhist daily life practices. It was fascinating. The dots of this not connecting until someone who lived with me made an awfully racist comment about Jews. Suddenly, I was compelled to take up arms that I was a Jew and would not tolerate that. Then he pointed out that most of us aren’t ‘truly of Jewish descent’ by our own standards. And gosh dammit, why was he fucking right. Two things happened in that moment: (1) somehow I understood what Sylvia Boorstein was talking about and how I was rediscovering the Jewish religion through the lens of Buddhism and (2) I truly cared about my ethnic ties. It wasn’t just I am not white anymore, because in truth I was.

How could I miss that? I am so far from the Jewish stereotype people still ask me what I am doing for Christmas. Even liking Adam Sandler surprises people. I had to take a hard look at myself, because I lived my whole life by not being another white person. In truth, I don’t think anything I ever did up to that was about the Jewish religion. It was just my cultural upbringing. Then I remembered it wasn’t the only part of it. You see there was a trickle down effect of the smallest things that clung to my family like a desperate plea to remember. Times of Swedish dinners passed down by my great-great grandmother, stories of Norse gods and Russian fairytales, Yiddish and German in the household, and nights going to hockey games because I was Canadian. Looking back on it now I find it funny. It was like I did exactly what young Zoe Kravitz did. I embraced something because that was the environment at the time.

I truly respect her choices when it comes to exploring her heritage, but it still confuses me. It’s like a part of it seems to be overlooked. How could you do that? I mean I had to admit to myself I was a white person. I was mixed, by everyone’s standards. No one said anything about it, because I was pale. Only saying I was annoying, because I suddenly realized I want to identify as mixed. Like the right was not mine to say.

Their comments just made me place more importance in reconnecting to the heritage that was still passed down. It was a part of me that I had to now embrace and accept. I just don’t understand why in her interview with the press that never seemed to come up. Both African American and Jewish ethnic ties are her makeup. Seriously, she runs a high risk of health problems, because of us so it might be wise to know that.

Wonderful choice, but a choice that makes me feel slightly wrong and empty. It was another person not realizing that Jews are an ethnic group and Judaism is a religion. They don’t always go hand in hand. Why not think about that too? I try to now. I left my sheltered South Florida bubble. I wish more people would too, because at the end of the day it’s not about religion. It’s about recognizing who you are and accepting it as a joyful thing. Ethnic descent is a part of that.

Zoe Kravitz brings up my own confusion. Even though I know nothing about her personal journey. She could feel connected to it by all means. Yet, I am confused. If you seemingly deny it then I am just another American talking about not ethnically being American, because my great-great-great-great grandfather was Irish. I mean, ethnically no one is American except actual Native Americans. But I get the whole it’s kind of hypocritically, because we are so patriotic about our countries some times… But I don’t think I am a part of that. Parts of of these ethnic ties did survive in horribly understated cliché ways.

I am figuring out what I am separate of my religion. The food I eat, the stories I am told as a child, the music I listen to in the background, the dances I saw my family dance aren’t about religion. They are the backbones of culture itself. So while I am figuring out this confusion and watching others try to figure it out let me try to have changing opinions of others who may have similar confusion. Maybe let me have a temporary tittle of ‘mixed’ even?

Life is confusing enough now a days. Why make someone else’s life harder by being like that? I just want to figure out what it was like for my grandmother to Move from Sweden to the U.K. How did she bring British culture and Spanish culture into our lives. How did Russian stews survive, a barely spoken European language or a fondness for fermented fish and Lingon berries become an iconic part of who I am. It’s not much. It really is only a trickle down effect.

But in all the confusion I have as a person, I grasp on to it as a lifeline to a steady foundation. It is a part of me…. So Jason Momoa, the Kravitzs and anyone else out there struggling with confusion. Hold on to the confusion, because its changing viewpoints will help you grow I think. You are not one thing or two. You are just the combination of all sorts of things. And you will have a solid foundation at the end of it all.

I am still trying to find answers, but now I understand just a little bit more of myself… Thank You my dear loved ones (´・` )♡ .

I.L. Knight

67eb1e4ac9085ae9f03ca8d255a6fd47--manga-girl-manga-anime

German Cradle Song

I am Building My House – Joe Crone

In The People’s Republic of China – Ella Jenkins

Accidental Racist – Brad Paisley Feat LL Cool J

Advertisements

Should I or Shouldn’t I?

I’ve been wrestling with the idea for years on wether or not I should have a podcast.  On one hand, it is a great platform to talk about my interests and explore areas I never thought I could explore. On the other hand, it is also an activity that challenges my anxieties about using technology, maintaining a schedule and truly promoting a person. It shouldn’t be such a daunting decision, but it feels like with the media relevant day and age we are in that it is a much bigger choice then what it initially lets on. Putting aside the pros of it all I see two major cons: (1)OBS basic software is a challenge for me on it’s own and (2) would anyone watch a podcast without seeing the person’s face. I mean… I would still want to keep that feeling of anonymity. I like following in the footsteps of past female writers. AND I love the fact a pen name gives off the feeling anyone could basically be the writer. A podcast would just destroy that? No?

All that being said…. I did write an intro script and one on Jason Todd (because yea right I would wing it).

SHOULD I? SHOULDN’T I?

I.L. Knight

cac04b985f7c0fe64fffac7f3f1defe8

Carry On My Wayward Son – Kansas

The No-Pants Day Phenomenon

Today’s my first ever No-Pants Day. I know this, because both sound and light are apostles of the Anti-Christ and my head feels like an animated movie scene where the Looney Tune is going up and down on the concrete, because of an uncontrollable jack hammer. Unlike my No-Pants Day phenomenon it has been awhile since I’ve had one of these… Still, I’m not writing to dwell on the desire to bash my head through the wall. Oh no. You see for the strangest of reasons I find this No-Pants Day phenomenon somewhat exhilarating. So much so, for the first time in ages I want to write again. 
My first thought is back before all of this. Before the self discovery. The existential crises. Before the physical pain and before the utter recognition that I have descended into the realm of madness completely. I used to be a runner. Not a good one, but I was still one. I used to love to fight as well. One strike. One moment of clarity returned to my scattered mind. That was taken away from me. “Momentarily” of course. Still, I was in shape and I hadn’t even known I was.
I thought I was chubby. My biggest insecurity: legs. All I wanted was the Heroin-Chic/Mod/P Pastel Goth type of body frame. But no matter the actions I took I couldn’t change the fact I had muscular athletic legs. Mother Nature’s choice of body frame was set. My insecurity was worsened by the fact of my over conscious recognition of being un-balanced. Asymmetrical. Short, curvy frame, minuscule features, legs and arms that are “occasionally” different lengths, because of joint issues and detrimental Pride issues. How could I love my legs? I wanted legs with not just a thigh gap, but nothing on them. I wanted tight jeans and over sized tops. All I wanted at the time was to look somewhere between drug addict and tough. Silly I guess. But people are silly. In the end, I still don’t really like my legs.
On this No-Pants Day I feel the occasional rub of the legs touching and I want to be shot in the head. It’s awful. The feeling of skin rubbing against skin…is a crime. Like someone is poking me with a hot rod. But still. I haven’t put on pants. I once went twelve days without pooping and had to be hospitalize. During that time I still fought for the right to wear pants. So hard in fact that I had won against both the doctors and my own discomfort. 
Honestly, I am writing partly due to the shock of it all. Why not wearing pants is a phenomenon that after months of pain makes me feel something again. I wanted to laugh… but that’s still gone. It seems like I really don’t have that option, so I tried crying. But that didn’t work either for me. And what seems to be working is on my bed with a fuzzy blue blanket, a blue gel pen, a yellow paper lined notepad and an old TV one season show playing teen drama in the back ground (The Tomorrow People). Sound… Egh.
A year ago I wanted to write a book. A sequel of sorts to a book I’ve yet to finish. The first was to be called Eating Matzot Under the Bodhi Tree. It was a collection of things resembling essays when all my new problems began. I was on the taster course and wanted to find inspiration again. Turned out I had the chance to leave the continent for the first time and go to one of the places I’ve dreamed of: Taiwan. It was pretty fantastic. Although, when I returned I soon developed a bitter regret of sorts as an after taste. I immediately wanted that feeling to be a sequel collection. An after to returning to the real world or real problems down the mountain.  The name… Finding Valhalla. Totally different sounding right? I’m sort of awful like that. But it had the feeling. I could feel the bitter regret. 
Right now, I’m wondering if something like a strange exhilaration of wearing no pants is something that would be a part of that sequel collection. It’s not like in the two years since I had the idea I’ve really written anything for it. The problem with bitter emotions is it stops achievement and emotional inspiration. Hard to write with that dilemma. Yet, now I am? Isn’t something like this perfect then? I should have a moment of recognition for the phenomenon of No-Pants Day?
Finding Valhalla was sort of a different kind of Ode for me. Being in Asia with a group of foreigners made me think a lot about my ancestors. How I’ve always perceived myself as Jewish and part of a bubble like community of South Florida. But that wasn’t all I was. A part of me grew up with passed down Swedish traditions. Very little at this point. Most of it centering around food and random stories…Yet, just as lingonberries are apart of my breakfast no matter their mark up price, so was the idea of Sweden. 
Then I thought about school. When we learned about the Greek Gods for a year and everyone had opinions. I didn’t really have that attachment. I wanted Odin. Why is it only the Greeks and Romans? There exists so many others. And they all seem to teach different things! When I was very tiny and wasn’t watching old Yakuza flicks I read mostly Norse and Russian myths. What I discovered was an unhealthy enjoyment of Baba Yaga and a weird morality lesson from Valhalla. Within those pages I got a sense of understanding of my place.  What I’m supposed to feel in my final moments. That’s how the name and idea of bitter regrets connected for me. Not only was I no longer doing anything more then existing I seemed to lose sight of my personal path towards Valhalla. Especially, since warfare (even if I probably couldn’t exist within that society at this point) wasn’t how the world operated anymore.
This No-Pants Day phenomenon makes me double back to that. That feeling of striking out. Like I’ve swung a hammer against my own personal foe and have landed a scratch it will remember. Bitter regrets? Yea, I have plenty? Insecurities about my legs? You better believe it. Unending battle against finding my place in a world that is increasingly difficult for highly intelligent but conditioned to be a nervous dog within society? Yep, still in full swing. But somehow…Even if I haven’t really done anything and am I pain I feel as if I’ve swung my sword for the first time in ages. Like I get better end then Biorn did by almost getting to the point where I have the choice of running away from Judaic-Christian Fatality. 

 

This moment aside, I will certainly not make this habit. I intend to still be a pants sort of person…
I.L. Knight
kuroko-no-basket-3328271