I Smelled It Too.

Whatever it was, it can't be good... that, along with the summer that lasted until mid-October and the winter that started one week later.

Happy New Year, Part Two

I am a Jew. And I am not a Jew.

On one hand, I was born of two Jewish parents, each from families of Reformed Jews (read: less religion, more culture). And even though my Mother and Father had Anglo-Saxon names (Robert and Jane) and rarely attended synagogue, for some reason they gave me a Biblical name and sent me to Jewish day school and day camp, where I learned Hebrew and played with other Jewish kids. Although I had to re-learn all that Hebrew years later for my Bar Mitzvah, I did at least have one. And throughout the years I was in California, I returned to New York without fail for my grandmother’s annual Passover Seder.

On the other hand, after my parents’ divorce... after I moved with my mother to Utah and then to Maryland... I lost my childhood connection with Judaism, which was inextricably linked with my father’s family, with New York. When I would return for the Seders, I felt like a bit of an exile among the extended family who, by their accents and attitudes, seemed to be more plugged in to Jewish life somehow. Although born of Manhattan, I had become more a creature of mid-Atlantic culture. Not quite North, but not quite South. Not quite Black, but not quite White. It was that cultural ambiva-land that made me who I am: Jewish, but not quite.

Jewish culture took a back seat to African-American and pop culture. Religion took a back seat to Politics. By the time I returned as a young man to make my life in New York, hip-hop was my religion and my spirituality.

California changed that for a number of reasons, foremost among them the 11-minute yoga exercise that saved my life. 3000 miles from home, in the City of Angels, I came to need spirit.

But the answers I got didn’t come from the Five Books of Moses, as they were supposed to, but from the teachings of Kundalini Yoga, itself an interesting hybrid of Hindu technology and Sikh spirituality. Being a yogi makes you a Universalist, seeing Truth in all the world’s traditions. So though I found particular strength in the tradition I was currently practicing, I tried to bring in as much Judaism as I could. I found a congregation in Los Angeles and, for the first time, took myself to sabbaths and High Holy Day services. But try as a might to find a connection, Judaism was still like church, while Kundalini was more like first aid.

The closet thing I’ve ever had to a rabbi in my life – someone who I’d call a spiritual teacher – was Yogi Bhajan, the master of Kundalini Yoga. So instead of some guy named Greenberg with a yarmakule giving me sage advice, it was Yogi Bhajan telling me things like “your arc line is broken” and “your testicles are no good.” I guess that was just the way things turned out. The only Jewish ritual that has made itself a part of my daily practice is the Shema, a short prayer.

So I did feel a little alienated during my first trip to Israel this year. Like I had missed experiencing that connection growing up. I was with people my age who had been to Israel several times, lived there, knew Hebrew, all of that.

And tonight, at Yom Kippur services, I expected to feel the same kind of distance I feel on the High Holy Days, especially at my family’s temple, Central Synagogue, the bastion of Upper East Side New York Judaism. Incredibly Christianized, it’s Judaism stripped of its ethnicity, Judaism in service of its congregants’ lifestyle, Judaism in service of Jewish politics.

Instead, I wept with gratitude. It didn’t matter to me that I had no connection to the people around me (save my grandparents and cousin). I was actually glad not to be one of them, glad not to be a typical New York Jew, and the stereotypes that I’ve come to see in the worst of them — incestuous, obnoxious, entitled. But I was happy to be in the place where, as an infant, I got my Hebrew name. Glad to be a New Yorker again. Glad to be with the Charnas family, better late than never. And grateful for a very, very rich year with more blessings than I’ll ever be able to count.

Thank you.

"Blowing Up The Spot With Mics, Not Their Bodies"

The seeds of Hip-hop have blown across the globe and sprouted in places where conditions are ripe: Oppression, disenfranchisment and untapped human potential.

So it always makes me smile when the flowers of the rap diaspora return for the first time to hip-hop's original soil.

Last night, Palestinian Hip-Hop came home to New York.

DAM (Da Arabic MCs) are Tamar Nafer's group. Tamar, as you might recall, is the Palestinian rapper who played Tupac to Israeli MC Subliminal's Biggie. Their friendship ended with the return of Intifada in 2001.

Their performance last night was impressive. DAM rapped mostly in Arabic, but they graciously translated a few choice concepts in breezy, hip-hop inflected English. Three guys, good routines, great beats, and a lot of fire. Highly recommend checking them out if they swing through your town.

Tamar and DAM have it doubly difficult because they are Israeli Arabs, meaning they don't live in the occupied territories, but in Israel proper. So not only do they get treated like second-class citizens by the government of Israel, but they're called "traitors" by Palestinians who live outside the Green Line.

A diverse crowd: arabs, flag-waving Palestinian expatriates, Palestinian-Americans, African-Americans, Latinos and gringos. I was particularly glad to see a lot of Jews up in the mix last night, lefties coming down on the right side of history. Some, like me, were against the insanity, immorality and illegality of Israel's policies. And some were against the insanity, immorality and illegality of Israel, period. Slight, uh, difference. But glad we can all be in a room together nonetheless.

As for me, I resonate with something a friend said last night. He liked DAM, but called them "very old school." After he explained what he meant, I completely understood. Subliminal and Tamar represent a new generation in an age-old conflict. Yet their politics seem as stagnant as their elders': Subliminal is Sharon with a microphone, and DAM is Fatah over breakbeats. I'm not hearing any new ideas from either of them yet, nothing like the breath of fresh air I received from a young Palestinian-American I met at a party recently.

But then again, I think of what Bill Stephney -- co-creator of Public Enemy -- had to say: if you're turning to rappers to provide political leadership, you're in trouble already.

Still, DAM could soon be in the same position that P.E. occupied once: The widely-acknowledged Voice of their Generation. That means they would have powers that, say, Abu Mazen will never have.

Mark my words and watch for them.

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Also in the house last night: La Bruja, Immortal Technique, Rosa Clemente

Invincible, especially, blew me away. I hadn't seen her since we worked together on The Lyricist Lounge Show out in L.A. Anyway, she came in from Detroit and simply wrecked it. Don't know too many female emcees that can stand next to her.

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Thomas Olson was wearing this t-shirt last night, a comment on the exodus of this boro's religious wackos to the West Bank.

Happy New Year?

This item brought to my attention by ever vigilant media-watcher Reggie Dennis, who has been observing the mysterious dissapearance of certain prominent reporters and anchors during Rosh Hashanah:

Shooting outside West Boca synagogue

A 79-year-old man shot a fellow worshiper just outside a suburban Boca Raton synagogue Tuesday during an afternoon prayer service in observance of Rosh Hashanah, authorities said.

I told him I didn't see Jew-on-Jew shootings edging out the traditional weapon of choice, Jew-on-Jew suings, anytime soon.