O pinion
Reframing ‘Dual Loyalty’
MID-ATLANTIC MEDIA
EDITORIAL BOARD
RECENTLY, NBC NEWS
caused an uproar when they
published a mean-spirited
article online suggesting that
Anne Neuberger, President
Joe Biden’s pick for deputy
national security adviser on
the National Security Council,
would not be able to judge
Israel in a professionally objec-
tive manner simply because her
family foundation is a major
donor to AIPAC. Though
NBC News didn’t use the term
“dual loyalty,” the thinly veiled
accusation was clear.

But why is the assertion
of “dual loyalty” so sensi-
tive? And what is the history
of the ugly accusation? The
notion that Jews are disloyal
to whatever country they live
in is an age-old calumny put to
powerful use in Nazi Germany.

But the idea of Jews as untrust-
worthy, secretive and having
multiple agendas can be found
as early as the Middle Ages.

This long history, which has
often resulted in violence,
explains why, when the charge
of dual loyalty is invoked
against Jews, even obliquely,
the Jewish community and its
member organizations respond
quickly and emphatically, as
they should.

But maybe it’s time to
reexamine the notion of dual
loyalty, and to acknowledge
how it is regularly celebrated
in the context of the great
American experiment.

The United States is a
nation of immigrants. Our
cherished land of opportu-
nity has a larger percentage
of immigrants than any other
country in the world. Most
proudly become U.S. citizens.

Yet they often retain a connec-
tion to the countries they’ve
come from, whether that’s
represented as an Italian flag
keychain, a shamrock button
on a backpack or a map of
Africa sewn onto a jacket. And
we regularly celebrate those
historical connections through
heritage parades, music festi-
vals, food and drink carnivals
— as joyful reminders that
one can be an American, love
this country, be loyal to it, and
still pay tribute to historical
origins. Our
Jewish commu-
nity understands this mix
of influences and identities.

We encourage the sharing of
traditions, whether through a
Russian-Jewish cooking class
or a Yemeni Jewish dance
recital. And, of course, we
have a meaningful connec-
tion to Israel, fostered in
school curricula, synagogues,
family traditions and ventures
like Birthright. These strong
bonds and connections do not
compromise our patriotism.

They complement it — giving
us a broader appreciation of
who we are.

There are, of course,
numerous historical
instances when American
loyalty has been questioned
— from Japanese internments
during World War II to the
demonization of Muslims
following 9/11. But in most
of American life, the appre-
ciation for a culture or nation
of origin is not contextual-
ized as dishonor to the United
States or as a threat to one’s
patriotism. On the contrary,
to be proud of one’s heritage
and grateful to the country
that welcomed immigrants to
safety seems entirely natural
and expected. Yet it is consis-
tently viewed with suspicion
when Jews do it.

We need to find ways to put
Jewish loyalties, which may be
multiple, in the same context as
other diverse American loyal-
ties. Meaningful connection
with one’s history and heritage
is a good thing. It amplifies
our American experience, and
heightens our appreciation
for everything this country
provides to us. l
The Mid-Atlantic Media editorial
board is composed of media
owners and journalists from
Washington, D.C., Maryland and
Philadelphia. Bat Mitzvah Marks a Beginning … and an End
BY GLORIA HOCHMAN
MY COUSINS, Ken and Tracy
Spivack, live a lifestyle-on-
the-fly. My type-A daughter,
Anndee, and her partner,
Elissa, are disciplined and
intentional. Together, those
cousins blended their talents
to create a celebration that
will be carved forever into our
family lore.

Late on a chilly night last
October, Ken tiptoed into the
bedroom of his 12-year-old
daughter, Scout, and asked if
she could be ready for her bat
18 FEBRUARY 18, 2021
mitzvah a little early.

“How early?” she asked.

“Sunday,” he responded.

“You mean four days from
now?’ “Yes. You have a bubbe who
is very ill, and I want her to see
all of her five grandchildren
become a bar or bat mitzvah.

You are the fifth one. I want
her to hear you read from the
Torah. So how about Sunday?”
Scout turned the scenario
over in her mind. She knew that
Sunday was Rosh Chodesh. As
a student at Perelman Jewish
Day School, she had learned
the aliyas for that date when
she was in fourth grade. “I
knew it would be a lot of work,”
Scout said. “But I looked into
my dad’s moist eyes. I told him
I could do it.”
The following Sunday, deep
into the pandemic, 11 relatives
including Scout’s parents,
brother Jacob, sister Dylan,
grandparents Joan and Gerald
Spivack, Uncle Milt and cousins
Erika and Ashlee from Tucson
who were in Philadelphia for a
visit, gathered in the Plymouth
Meeting apartment of Scout’s
grandparents. Her bubbe Joni
left her bed to join those in
the living room. Others —
her cousin Anndee, a journalist
and teacher of creative writing
who is a literate Hebrew reader.

Anndee has led our family
seders and Rosh Hashanah
rituals since her grandfather
passed away 24 years ago. “I
the logistics — working with
Scout on her Torah portion,
preparing a bat mitzvah
booklet, deciding what she
wanted to say in her blessing to
Scout — she called Ken. “I’ll do
it,” she told him.

In a room so hushed you could hear a tissue fold, those who attended
knew they were part of a singular ceremony they would always
remember. grandparents from New Jersey
and Florida, aunts, uncles and
cousins from Arizona — joined
via Zoom.

There was no lavish buffet,
no bouquets of flowers on fine
linen tablecloths, no gowns for
which we had overpaid. There
was not even an ordained rabbi.

Scout had rejected the two
rabbis her father had suggested
— one Conservative, one
Orthodox. Instead, she chose
JEWISH EXPONENT
knew Anndee would do it the
way I wanted it, and it would
all be just our family who made
it happen,” Scout said.

When Anndee heard Ken’s
proposal — “I want to pick
your brain about something
...” — her initial reaction was
the same as that of her younger
cousin. “That’s only four days
from now. Impossible!” The
next morning, after a sleepless
night during which she juggled
“I couldn’t help thinking
about the history of the Jews
celebrating bar mitzvahs in
times of great duress — in the
Warsaw ghetto, during wars,
exiles and displacements,”
Anndee said. “So, in some
ways, we were joining — and
validating — this tradition of
defiantly making it happen
under any circumstances.”
See Hochman, Page 30
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM