Baltimore — Unfortunately, the more I write about the New Orleans Jewish community, the more it seems like a eulogy. I find myself writing in the past tense and then must go back and change every “was” to “is.”
Certainly, the community will never be the same. Just as certainly, members of the Jewish community are now in galut (exile), scattered in a diaspora that stretches across the country.
As with New Orleans, in which Creoles and Cajuns mix together to create a rich culture of music and food, the Jewish community is a gumbo, in which many different flavors blend together to create a much enriched stew.
Yet, in many ways the Jewish community is an anomaly in New Orleans.
New Orleans is a Catholic community through and through. Its elites are not WASPs but Catholics. Mardi Gras has its roots in Catholicism, parochial schools educate a very large proportion of students; every restaurant serves fish on Friday and even the mall food courts have Lenten specials before Easter.
Where New Orleans sometimes seems more like a Caribbean island — focused more on partying than on work and certainly not a slave to efficiency — the Jewish community is well organized. For a community of its size — about 12,000 people — there are a plethora of organizations.
Along the religious spectrum are four Reform temples, one Conservative synagogue, two Orthodox synagogues and two Chabad Centers. There is a Jewish federation that raises close to $3 million annually; a Jewish Endowment Foundation, under whose auspices more than 30 post-b’nai mitzvah teens have established their own endowment funds; a Jewish Family Service; a Hillel; and a JCC with two campuses. Three kosher restaurants thrive.
Yet, in many ways the Jewish community is infused with the ambience and culture of New Orleans.
Like a gumbo, its diverse ingredients of Jews ranging from Chabad to the unaffiliated mix well. My family, along with many members of the Reform and Conservative communities, were invited to the recent wedding of the daughter of the Chabad rabbi. Chabadniks sit on the federation board. The Reform and Orthodox rabbis work closely together on community programs.
In New Orleans, church and state are not separated all that clearly, which creates some problems — prayers to Jesus said at the start of government meetings and statues of Jesus on the firehouse at Christmas come to mind.
But this mixing of church and state has positive effects as well.
New Orleanians value religion and religious expression and are quick to give respect to all those for whom religion is important. After asking what Jewish church I went to, my neighbors and acquaintances would display a genuine interest and concern for my Judaism.
When my son, the only Jewish member of his club soccer team, became a bar mitzvah two years ago, the entire team attended the service, giving up a tournament to do so.
The Jewish and Christian faith communities work closely on many civic issues. Loyola University co-sponsors a large interfaith seder.
Over the past decade the Jewish community has itself become more committed to Jewish observance and study.
Reflecting national trends, the New Orleans Reform temples have incorporated more Hebrew and rituals into their worship services, and every synagogue has a full program of adult Jewish education.
In another convergence of the Jewish community and New Orleans culture, Mardi Gras is not just for Catholics anymore.
Few people outside New Orleans know about the intertwining of Mardi Gras with high society. Debutantes serve as the queens of the parades, subdebs serve as their maids, and 10-year-old boys bedecked in tights and wigs are pages.
So, although the first King of Carnival in the 1870s was Jewish, until recently Mardi Gras krewes, which stage each parade, were closed to Jews. The old-line krewes still exclude Jews. However, many Jewish professionals and business people have joined the new super-krewes, which stage mega-parades with floats that stretch several city blocks.
There is now even a Jewish krewe. Flaunting refined sensitivities, the Krewe de Jieux now marches, or rather horahs, through the French Quarter to kick off the Mardi Gras season.
Its hand-decorated float, its throws (beads, cups and glittered bagels) and the marchers’ costumes proudly proclaim the krewe’s Jewishness and skewer Jewish and Mardi Gras stereotypes.
Instead of the traditional king and queen, the Krewe de Jieux has a Big Macher and Jewish American Princess.
The krewe has a more serious side as well. Many of its members, who are a bit quirky and offbeat, are not engaged with the Jewish community, and the krewe serves as their only avenue into the community. It sponsors a Purim parade, a Passover krewe-seder and Shabbat dinners throughout the year.
I fear for the future not only of the Krewe de Jieux. I fear for the future of the organized Jewish community as well.
Even before Hurricane Katrina, the Jewish population has been declining, primarily because of the poor New Orleans economy. In recent years, many young people have moved to Atlanta or Houston in search of good jobs.
Now the exodus will be accelerated. Nearly every member of the Jewish community has sustained some damage to their homes, and many have lost them completely.
Certainly, everyone has been scarred by the evacuation experience and seeing the shocking images of their city. In e-mail after e-mail, people are questioning whether they wish to return.
Because many members of the Jewish community are professionals — lawyers and doctors are quite over-represented — they have the opportunity to practice their skills anywhere. Many will be taking that opportunity.
My family may join the exodus as well.
Gail Chalew is a New Orleans freelance writer now based in Baltimore. This article originally appeared in the Baltimore Jewish Times.
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