Being a (Mostly) Shiksa in Brooklyn

A Pedi Sukkah in Downtown
Brooklyn last year

More than any place I've ever worked, New York City is very aware of Jewish holidays. Last month I had to meet deadlines before colleagues took time off for Rosh Hoshanah. During the high holy days parking for the synagogue on my street spilled down the block. Now it's time for Sukkot, and the Pedi Sukkah guys are out in force again. It's really an ingenious setup: they pedal portable booths around Brooklyn and offer passersby the interwoven tree branches and citron for the traditional Sukkot blessing.

"Are you Jewish?" The question is inevitable if I make eye contact, and sometimes even if I don't. I always feel like I'm letting them down when I say no.

I try for an ecumenical encounter instead. "Hey cool, religious devotion in public! I like Psalms too. High five!" But they're interested in member retention, not evangelization. Chabad-Lubavitch groups remind me of Opus Dei at times - well funded, well connected, trying to inspire their coreligionists to embrace traditional devotions. Likewise, the Hasidic schoolgirls I sometimes see on the subway are always clad in the universal homeschooler uniform of long skirts and layered tops.

For the record, I'm not entirely a shiksha. By blood I'm 25% Jewish, but on my Dad's side so it doesn't really count. My paternal grandfather grew up a very secular Jew and then embraced Catholicism when he met my grandmother and her devout Italian parents. Probably the most Jewish things about my LaVigne great-grandparents were that they ate schmaltz as children and eventually retired to Boca Raton. Still, my relatives and I have never completely lost those roots. Our surname looks French because an Ashkenazi ancestor was trying to avoid persecution, so the story goes. We throw around Yiddish expressions and talk loudly with our hands. My grandpa loves lox and keeps his freezer stocked with blintzes. He grew up in his parents' grocery stores, and the family passion for finding good deals is deep in my DNA.

Especially before I took my husband's name, acquaintances have often assumed I'm not a goy. Almost everyone on my dad's side has this problem. When I worked at history camp the teenage boys called me "Jew Hair." There have been awkward moments when someone wishes me L'shanah Tovah or asks what I'm doing for Hanukkah. Last Good Friday I had literally been in Penn Station five minutes when a beaming Orthodox woman told me "Happy Pesach!" (I was wearing sensible black shoes with tights and a modest dress, should have seen that one coming.)

So I can "pass," so what? At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I feel a kinship with the children of Israel that I cannot shake. Perhaps my sadness at declining a Sukkot blessing comes from a desire for unity. I wish I knew the Hebrew alphabet and all the holy day traditions and we could pray together to the God we both believe. We already read the same scriptures.

Even if I'm not really part of the club, the Jewishness of NYC gives me hope. In a cosmopolitan city so often associated with secular excess and iniquity, one of the world's most persecuted religious groups has made a home, flourished, and left an indelible mark. The men in sidelocks and yarmulkes boldly striding down the street remind me I don't have to be ashamed of being a religious person. If New York has room for them, it can welcome a "nice Catholic girl" too, even if her life is far less exciting than Carrie Bradshaw's. You might seem wicked, Gotham, but deep down you are holy.

That Time the Pope Went to the World's Fair

This year marks the 50th anniversary of the 1964 World's Fair in New York City. Not unlike the modern

The Unisphere on my visit in June

Olympics, the Fair didn't turn a profit, but it hosted months of culturally significant spectacles. The Ford Mustang was introduced, Walt Disney launched the It's a Small World ride, Andy Warhol mocked politicians with some controversial pop art, civil rights activists staged protests blocking highway ramps, the Beatles played in Shea Shadium, and Bob Dylan infamously used an amp.

Like the New York's first World's Fair in 1939, this was the brainchild of infamous urban planner Robert Moses. (Cue chorus of boos from historic preservation fans.) Fading from political power towards the end of his career, he hoped hosting another World's Fair and turning Queens garbage dumps into the Flushing Meadows fairgrounds and park would cement his legacy.

Even though Moses was a jerk to tear down the old Penn station, I'll admit Flushing Meadows is a great park. Some of the fair buildings are still open as museums. The '64 Fair also gave Queens the amazingly topographic Unisphere, which has become an icon of the borough. It's a great example of space age public art that can belong to everyone, not unlike my old boyfriend the St. Louis arch. Plus, you can buy the world a Coke and keep it company while you're there. 

Vatican Pavilion at Flushing Meadows.
Collection of the NYPL. 

For Catholics, the '64 fair has special significance because it brought the United States its first papal visit ever! We have Robert Moses' ambition to thank for it. The Vatican had a pavilion at the Fair, and even shipped over Michaelangelo's Pieta to display there. Moses hoped his friend Cardinal Spellman could convince the Pope to stop by in a clutch PR move for the World's Fair.

And so on October 5, 1965, Pope Paul VI became the first pope to set foot on American soil. He spent only fourteen hours in NYC, establishing the usual cathedral-stadium-political arena template for future papal visits. After landing at the new JFK Airport in Queens, he spent most of his time in Manhattan at a mixture of modern and old-school locations. He visited St. Patrick's Cathedral and met with President Johnson at the Waldorf Astoria hotel. The Holy Father also addressed the United Nations, warning that "Politics do not suffice to sustain a durable peace." Later he said Mass at Yankee Stadium, not Moses' brainchild Shea Stadium (ooh burn!).Finally, on his way out of town, Paul VI did stop at the Flushing Meadows fairgrounds. Today a marble bench marks where he stood.

Pope Paul VI's whirlwind tour wasn't as substantial as later papal visits, but it was surely a landmark moment

Pope Paul VI window in St. Philomena church,
Livingston, NJ.

for American Catholics. Only a few years before, John F.Kennedy had become the first Catholic president and a beloved political figure. Seeing the Church's leader welcomed as an international dignitary must have cemented the fact that "papists' had been accepted as true Americans, not a dangerous superstitious group swearing loyalty to a foreign power. Also, American Catholicism was no longer just mission territory; it was a major wing of the Church garnering Vatican attention! Eleven years later Paul VI would canonize New Yorker Elizabeth Ann Seton as the first American-born saint, further establishing the United States' role in Catholic history.

I found evidence of this papal euphoria in a parish near me in New Jersey. With its simple yet vaguely colonial style, St. Philomena was probably built in the early 1970s before post-Vatican II modernism had really caught on. The ample stained glass windows depict mysteries of the rosary, local bishops, and ... Pope Paul VI's NYC visit. The window is amazing and bordering on souvenir-store kitch: Paul VI raises his hands in blessing amidst the Stars and Stripes, St. Patrick's, the UN, the Empire State Building, and the Statue of Liberty. (Sadly, the Unisphere did not make the cut.) A panel at the bottom notes the date of the pontiff's visit. Perhaps some parishioners fondly remembered attending the Mass in Yankee Stadium and donated the window? I'll be on the lookout for more Paul VI commemorations in the area. American Catholicism: if it can make it here, it can make it anywhere.

If you want to learn more about the 1964 World's Fair, I highly recommend Joseph Tirella's new book Tomorrow-Land: The 1964-65 World's Fair and the Transformation of America, from which I got much of the information in the post. If you find yourself in Grand Central this fall, you should also check out this free exhibit.

Church Architecture: Balancing Tradition and Modernity

There has been some fascinating coverage lately of new cathedral plans and the modern design elements in them. First, the New Liturgical Movement discussed re-wreckovating the Cathedral of Berlin. The church was damaged in WWII and its mistreatment appears to have continued. A mid-century renovation decided to unite the upper church and crypt via a pillar and gaping hole, for some reason. The irony of managing to displease traditionalists by adding more railings is an impressive achievement.

St. Hedwig Cathedral's current open pit state. 

Fortunately the cathedral wants to shed this logistically bizarre floor plan. Unfortunately, the new design chooses to downplay the building's heritage and go as modernist as possible. The church's cylindrical shape will take precedence, with simple chairs and a minimalist altar playing an understated supporting role.

Rendering of the proposed St. Hedwig redesign.
Trash bins for your Burger King wrappers are located on the perimeter.

The parish near my college had a very similar design. It wasn't terrible; the building was bright, airy, and impressive. The altar was indeed the focal point. But it also felt cold and cavernous sitting under so. much. white. My guy friends called it "The Mothership." I couldn't help comparing it to these highway rest areas on the Ohio Turnpike, which at least jazz up their floors with contrasting tile colors.

"Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration, don't fail me now!"

So yeah, based on my own liturgical experience this is not my favorite scheme. I'm confused by some of the Berlin plan's catchy descriptions. "The floor remains a visible and palpable constitutive, fundamental element of the architecture" How? Because it's there? Sure it's ubiquitous and essential, but so is the cement in your garage. "Unlike in rigid rows, one can look around the circle of the gathered community in which one feels secure." Yes, that's exactly why I love making eye contact with the people across my subway car. It makes me feel so secure!

This isn't to say that church decorative styles can't progress past the 19th century, though. Fr. Dwight Longenecker recently wrote a very nuanced view of modern design in his assessment of the plans for California's Christ Cathedral. He pointed out that "the problem with traditional churches is that they can sometimes be no more than copies of earlier churches." Modern churches often deny continuity with the past, but that doesn't mean we can never leave the past, either. I especially liked his hypothesis that medieval Gothic architects would have gladly used steel beams if that material had been available to them. Praising the clean lines of Christ Cathedral's floating sanctuary canopy, he notes that it would certainly "be wrong to plonk down a baroque altarpiece or a gothic pulpit" in such a modern space.

Rendering of Christ Cathedral sanctuary.

This mis-matching of styles is sometimes an occupational hazard of traditional piety revival. Just as you wouldn't put a geometric Matisse painting in a gold rococo frame, you can't just slap more gilded columns on a modern church and call it a day.

Niagara University alumni chapel, above.
Divine Mercy parish, below.

For example, I ran into some interesting architectural combinations last weekend on the first leg of my Three Weddings and a Conference trips. First stop was the alumni chapel at Niagara University. This historic church at a Vincentian school blended old and new very well. You could tell which stained glass windows were from the 19th century and which were post-Vatican II, but there was still subtle continuity. The glass rood screen separting the main sanctuary from the smaller daily mass area was obviously a recent addition, but it featured traditional iconography of the four Evangelists and scenes from scripture. Sitting in its "rigid rows", I still felt secure and inspired, and not just because my friend was a gorgeous bride.

The next day I ventured to the parish closest to our hotel that fit our traveling schedule. It was a typical 1980s generic church design, with exposed brick, angular stained glass saints, and that wood beam tent/barn ceiling that was popular for a decade or so. The funny unexpected twist was the abundance of traditional devotional items scattered all around. These were probably inherited from a nearby parish that closed. It's great that these sacramentals still have a home, but boy, was it jarring. Pastel baroque curlicues do not mesh well with big blocks of brown and primary colors.This was one time where  a little modernist restraint would have helped.

Most interesting were the huge paintings hanging in the sanctuary, dating to the 1950s. One depicted the Holy Family, and the other showed the Catholic version of the Cleavers praying the rosary in their living room. It was a great piece of American Catholic material culture, but it clashed with the building overall. Thanks to the blinding morning sunlight coming through the windows, my little iPhone camera couldn't capture a good image of the paintings. In this mash-up of competing decorative styles, the best of both worlds got drowned out.