I’ve gotten several emails from around the country — or rather, the same email forwarded several times — imploring me, as a Jew, to boycott Mel Gibson’s new movie, Edge of Darkness, opening this weekend.

Now, I have many reasons to not to see Mel’s film. First off, he’s a cheating douchebag. Second, his Jews-killed-Jesus directorial direction in The Passion of the Christ made all the old people in America scared to go to the mall. Third, he’s never apologized for his 2006 anti-Semitic drunken spewfest when he accused Jews of being “responsible for all the wars in the world.”

Look, I’m a forgiver. It’s been a long time since Mel has shone his bigoted colors. I mean, after three years a reporter should be ashamed to even bring it up, right? Watch KTLA’s Sam Rubin try his damndest:

Yup, Mel’s still a douche. But I’m not going to tell you not to see his movie because it’s bad for the Jews. I’m telling you not to see it because according to the reviews, it sucks.

Better you should rent 500 Days of Summer, a very cute and inoffensive film with a kicky soundtrack starring sexy mensch Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

So in these parts most Jews identify themselves by the initials of the congregations to which they belong: “B.B.J.” is the Orthodox shul B’nai B’rith Jacob, “A.A.” is short for Agudath Achim, the Conservative synagogue, and “T.M.I.” not only stands for “too much information” but also for “Temple Mickve Israel,” the Reform representation in Savannah.

Plenty of folks belong to all three, which means playing local Jewish geography is a deluge of acronyms: “My parents belong to the B.B.J., but we’re associate members of the A.A. because my grandparents were founding members, but I like to go to T.M.I. ’cause the services are shorter.”

Though I pay some dues, I’ve never liked the term “unaffiliated” to describe those who can’t find a spiritual home among the available choices. Thanks to Adam Solender, the big man at the JEA, there’s now an acronym for those of us who don’t need no stinkin’ labels: “J.J.”

Stands for “Just Jewish.” Dig it.

I also have Adam to thank for letting me know the outlaw Jews of Berkeley have gotten officially organized. I heard about Chochmat Halev back when I was working as a copywriter at San Francisco’s J. Weekly but I never made it to one of their famous stomp-your-feet Shabbat services.

Now that the little-meshugge Jewish meditation group-that-could is a full-fledged synagogue, it gives me great hope that “alternative Judaism” — that which aspires to inspire the soul using the ancient texts in a context that makes sense in the present moment — might have a fighting chance as a widespread movement.

In “How A ‘Jewish Rave’ Grew Up to Be A Synagogue” at Forward.com, Zeek editor Jo Ellen Green Kaiser examines how a loosey group of 40 has gained momentum and given rise to a movement that almost transcends definition, let alone affiliation:

Drawing from the Jewish meditation movement, the Renewal movement (particularly its embrace of Hasidic chant and dance), feminist liturgy, and African and Middle Eastern music, the new Jewish spirituality defines itself as an alternative to both formulaic davening and rationalist, English-based, sit-in-the-pew prayer.

Meditative Feminist African Dance Judaism? Sheesh, I thought that was something I made up after inhaling too much besamim. Now I find out that not only is it a recognized tendril of modern Judaism (it doesn’t get more validating than the Forward) but that there’s an actual synagogue I could affiliate with — if I still lived in the Bay Area.

*sigh* Sounds dreamy. Still, I know enough about Jews and opinions to figure out that it’s not easy to harness a community of unorthodox observers. Chochmat Halev is trying to find the balance of containing itself within a “traditional” congregational format while maintaining its freethinking mission, and there’s also a paradoxical problem of what was fringe moving into the mainstream, kinda like when punk music actually started selling albums. Green Kaiser rightfully asks, “What happens when an anti-establishment movement establishes itself?”

Although, really, when spinning like an ecstatic Sufi during the Amidah becomes mainstream, I will likely be far dead and gone. But could we be on our way towards (or back?) to a more authentic, connected form of worship that would bring all those “J.J’s” home?

Can the new Jewish spirituality be institutionalized? Chochmat’s example shows that a very different kind of Judaism can exist within the four walls of a synagogue … a sign that American Jews are ready to change the content of their worship, if not the institutional structure in which it takes place.

Well, at least they are in Berkeley, anyway. Here in Savannah, I’m not sure the Jews are ready to change the tune of “Adon Olam” to something that doesn’t put everyone to sleep. But Udi the Shaliach and I are plotting to get this Havdalah rave thing off the ground with a family-friendly dance party, disco lights and some Israeli acid jazz (Infected Mushroom roolz, yo!) so who knows — perhaps the new Jewish spirituality might sneak its way into the deep South.

Until then, a meditative, bumpin’-beat Good Shabbos to all!

*T-Shirt available from LonelyDinosaur.com.

Who was it that said there’s no ruach in Jewish life in the South? Um, come to think of it, it might’ve been me, but it was probably a long time ago and I was just pissed off that I can’t find a decent bagel around here. (Someone told me the Midtown Deli makes their own – anyone?)

No matter, ’cause in the next few weeks Savannah’s gonna get ELECTRIC with cul-chah as 12 Jewishy-themed films are screened for the public. The mensches in charge of the Savannah Jewish Film Festival have a little sumpin’ for everyone — and by that, I mean I’d better see y’all’s tushies at Yoo Hoo Mrs. Goldberg, which basically proves that balabusta Gertrude Berg invented the sit-com, and at Jump, starring Mr. Patrick Swayze in one of his final roles. Browse the full line-up for other super-juicy treats.

Listen, nowhere else within 500 miles are you gonna find Israeli sumo wrestlers, Filipino drag queen homecare workers and most shocking of all, happily single observant Jewish women.

Full festival passes are only $50 for JEA members (which all you locals should be because now that the DAC is closed where are you working out?) and $65 for non-members or $7/$9 per screening.

Check out an excerpt of “Yoo Hoo Mrs. Goldberg” — why, YES, that IS Chief Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg:

Most showings will take place at the JEA. See you there!

Well, there has certainly been a big turn of events in PrimeTime Amusements’ efforts to get vital supplies to the citizens of Haiti since Friday’s post:

After PTA President David Goldfarb filled up his trucks on South Beach all weekend with your generous donations, he was recruited to accompany said goods to the beleaguered island yesterday. Dave himself arranged everything on palettes to ready it for delivery, and his experience driving forklifts to move his giant 700-lb. arcade games was a huge asset when packing the 40-foot container full of thousands of pounds of water, medical supplies and non-perishable food. He’s been put in charge of logistics for this mission, which means he’ll be distributing the supplies after making contact with the University of Miami medical team.

One thing that you should know about Dave is that not only is he a savvy businessman with a heart of gold, he’s a trained UFC fighter with monstrous muscles. OK, maybe he’s not a professional kickboxer spilling blood on TV on Saturday nights, but really, even if someone likes to fight in a ring with no shoes and no rules as a hobby, that automatically of makes them a huge bada**, don’t you think? I once went to a club with Dave and he made the bouncer cry. When Chuck Norris needs a pep talk, he begs Dave to roundkick him in the head to set him straight. I’m telling you this because no one, no one, is gonna be looting these supplies when this mensch while the iron fists is guarding them.

This just in: My man in Miami, my Columbian source for all news related to these relief efforts, has just informed me of more incredible news for the people of Haiti. Another sweeping organizational force, that weapon of mass construction, My Brother the Doctor, will be flying out on Saturday to Haiti to join Dave in triage work and other logistical endeavors. Everybody better put down the machetes and stand in line, nice and orderly-like — if they know what’s good for them.

Stay tuned to Yo, Yenta! in the few days for the latest in PTA Haiti Relief news…

Attention to those in the Miami area: PrimeTime Amusements, parent company of Jmerica.com and longtime Yo, Yenta! sponsor, is collecting relief supplies in South Beach to send to Haiti:

“I have donated my PrimeTime trucks for the victims in Haiti from the recent earthquake. It will be parked in front of 90 Alton Road until Monday morning, January 18th. Bring your donations – water, non-perishable food, fist-aid kits, shoes, etc. No matter where you are in the world, from Miami to New York, South America to Europe, take the time to donate something.”

– David Goldfarb, President, PrimeTime Amusements

PrimeTime has found an aviation sponsor who will fly everything directly to Haiti and pass it off to a team of doctors from the University of Miami, who will then distribute it into the hands of Haitian citizens until it runs out. This grassroots project is one that will actually help instead of hamper – as PA rep CTraffik points out, “the ENTIRE effort is state-less … all spontaneous and sans-government (with the exception of the FAA having to give our planes clearance to leave).” EXCELLENT.

For those of us far, far away from such a magical place where flipflops are being worn this week but are still looking give tzedakeh to the efforts to get the Haitian people back on their feet (although, honestly, where have we been for the last 20 years??) PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE check out CharityNavigator.org! This site rates charities based on past efficacy, and there’s a list of tips to ensure your donation will be put to good use (Tip #2: Do not give to the creepy and corrupt Haitian government because it will be promptly spent on Cadillacs and caviar for its head honchos instead of clean drinking water and shoes for its citizens. Besides, it’s not tax-deductible.)

Let’s do our research before throwing our hard-earned dollars at any ol’ text or email that comes your way (it’s great to see that American Jewish World Service is one of CharityNavigator’s top-recommended organizations!)

A Blessed Shabbos to everyone, near and far…

The above-mentioned phrase is, of course, the title to Chicago art band OK Go‘s new fabulous video (which can’t be embedded for copyright reasons, but go watch it here, ok?) and is also a mantra that I’m invoking to dissolve the writer’s block that’s been plaguing me this week.

The video is amazing — OK Go got themselves famous for their mind-blowing one-take wonders, and they’ve outdone themselves with the visuals for “This Too Shall Pass” off their new album, Of The Blue Colour of the Sky.

Check out OK Go bassist and nice Jewish boy Tim Norwind in this week’s Jewish Chronicle, where he says yes, there are in fact Jews in Kalamazoo.

Tim also fronts the band in their 2006 breakout hit “Here It Goes Again,” which cannot be watched enough times:

Eh, at least I’m inspired to head to the gym…

Well, since my declaration of independence from obligational Judaism last week not only have I managed to drag my tush out of bed for Saturday morning services to lead my Shalom Schoolers in the Sh’ma and AGAIN on Sunday to teach those same little Jews a thing or two, I’ve also agreed to attend a planning meeting for the Purim festivities at the JEA and RSVP’d for a “future community leaders” cocktail party. What the hell is wrong with me? Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in … *sigh* At least there’s always food at these things, although I’m with the kinders in being totally over the bottomless barrel of animal crackers that some well-meaning parent brought in at Rosh Hashanah.

I decided as an antidote to all this Jewishy do-goodness, it was high time I surrounded myself with some meshugenah (*from the Yenta’s non-definitive, interpretive modern guide to Yiddish: “crazy-a**” or “batsh*t”) shiksas (*from the Yenta’s non-definitive, interpretive modern guide to Yiddish: fun-loving, non-Jewish girls who you hope will convert before they marry your son.)

See, ever since high school when I was the only Jewish drill team dancer in the history of suburban Arizona (although surely I no longer hold that distinction) I’ve always tended to find myself amonst groups of large blond women. I’m not sure what this shiksa collecting is all about. Maybe I’m trying to emulate their tall, graceful ways; maybe it emphasizes my Semitic good looks. Maybe I’m trying to taunt my mother by introducing them to my Brother the Doctor. Maybe I have repressed fantasies about Pamela Anderson. Whatever the attraction, I always seem to have many dear friends who are much taller and blonder than I. You should see my wedding photos with my bridesmaids — it looks like Tarzan’s monkey bride invited the Amazons to give her away.

Anyhoo, since moving to Savannah I have acquired yet another awesome set of hot blonds (or so they say, only their hairdressers for fer shur) whom I adore and who think my obsession with my own Judaism is boring and will always remind me that I am far too twisted to be trusted with the spiritual shepherding of other people’s children. We got together Saturday night at the home of the Tallest and Blondest (T&B) for some vodka and gossip, and I was really looking forward to not discussing synagogue politics or how to make a Havdalah spice box out of a Coke can.

Now, one member of my blond posse in particular, let’s call her Uber Shiksa Chick, is more charmingly meshugenah than the rest. She’s a brilliant single mom who makes loads of money doing something with insurance; she’s also very up front about the fact that she grew up in Effingham County, GA and therefore knows nothing about Jews except that she’s almost positive that it’s not cool to say they’re cheap like her older brother taught her. USC has this amazing quality of being able to say the most offensive sh*t on the planet and get away with it; she says it’s because she paid $7K for her boobs, I think it’s because underneath her wacka** persona, there’s a truly generous and sincere person — who could probably use some ADD meds. She totally slays me.

So I’m mixing up a pear martini in T&B’s kitchen when USC shows up and takes off her coat, revealing something that blew my mind even more than the huge carton of chicken wings: Hanging around her neck, right above her top-of-the-line rack was a HA-yoooog Star of David.

I gasped and pointed.

“Christ on a bike! Look, I’m sorry b*tch, but the f*ckers at Fresh Market only had chipotle bacon, okay? Eat a cracker and shut up.”

I tried again. “Why…are you…wearing that?”

She looked down. “What? No big deal.”

I sputtered that it IS a big deal, not because it’s offensive, but that if rockin’ Jewish bling has become trendy, well, that is a MARVELOUS milestone for the Jewish people, but Britney Spears aside, I’m not sure we’re there yet. I was pretty sure USC didn’t buy her necklace at Express, so I had to grill her on how might’ve acquired it.

“I stole it. From a cop in Garden City. He was hot.”

First of all, only USC could say that with a straight face. Second, there’s a hot Jewish cop in Garden City and I didn’t know about it?

“Yeah, well, he actually gave it to me. I told him I was going to buy a gun for Christmas but I forgot and I wanted it for protection.”

I tried to explain that wearing a Jewish star is actually the opposite of protection in many neighborhoods of the world and that she would have done better to talk him into giving her his gun, but she was having none of it.

“Look, I’m exploring right now. I’m trying on being Jewish and I don’t need any sh*t from you unless you’re gonna show me how to do it.”

It occurred to me that I could work this to my advantage. “You got it. The first thing you gotta do is go to a meeting about Purim tomorrow night…”

“A PORN meeting? I love this religion already!”

Yeah, I’ve been the only Jewess among blondes for too long — I could get used to sharing the spotlight…

Yenta and USC rock the bling

*I must give all kinds credit to Jodi Laird, a fellow brunette and Goddess of Legs, who witnessed the whole scene and took this photo!

Excellent news! Ben Yehudah Press has raised the funds it needed to publish Aaron Freeman and Sharon Rosenzweig’s The Comic Torah, which means those of us who pre-ordered this fabulous and colorful piece of holy heresy can expect our copies … soon?

By Passover, me hopes, ’cause it’d be super fun to spice up the seder with its hubba-hubba characters and manaically hilarious — yet sincere — interpretations of the Good Book. (Yes! Would the authors consider a comic hagaddah as their next project? It might keep El Yenta Man from falling asleep after the third cup of wine…)

Check out this week’s parsha, Shmot, featuring a dark Moses encountering the purple-haired goblin who lives in the burning bush. Good gawsh, I do love these people’s dark sense of humor. Charming as The Comic Torah might be, however, even I in my newly-amped blash-feemous glory can tell it isn’t appropriate material for the Shalom School kinders. But b’nai mitvot kids will loooooove it!

So I’m not the only lady who doesn’t play Mrs. Nice Jew no mo’.

In the February issue of Elle UK, cover girl and sabra Natalie Portman lets us know that we’re as unlikely to see her onscreen cast as Anne Frank as Golda Meir:

“I’ve always tried to stay away from playing Jews. I get like twenty Holocaust scripts a month, but I hate the genre.”

A teensy-weensy role as a young Hasidic wife in New York, I Love You, a collaborative, star-filled homage to the Big Apple, is her first concession to her casting rule because it “really intrigued” her.

Natalie’s always been big on Hebrew pride, so it can’t be that she’d refuse a Jewish role out of spite for her peeps; I’m guessing it’s just high time someone created a female Jewish character who isn’t a bony, mean Mrs. Ari or a concentration camp survivor. I will work on it, Nat. Tell your agent to call me.

Here’s the trailer from New York, I Love You, which in which Nat appears in for barely an eight of a second:

So sorry the Yenta’s late with New Year’s greetings, but ya know, it’s the secular new year, so whatevs…doesn’t feel all that different to me.

Why’d those weirdo Romans choose the dead of winter to ring in the new, anyway? I’m sure the Gregorian geniuses thought it was an improvement over the Jewish tradition of wiping the slate clean just as everything starts dying off in the fall, but ancestral origins aside, doesn’t it make the most sense to recognize the newness of life when green things start appearing again — in the spring? Look at me, five days into the questionably new year and I’m already digressing and blaspheming…

Speaking of blaspheming, I’d like to take this opportunity to make a statement about the state of Jewishness in the world of Yenta. Though it’s been decades since I’ve gone through the pointless ministrations of compiling New Year’s resolutions just so I could beat myself for not keeping them, I did make a quiet promise to myself just as that bold and beautiful Blue Moon passed over my head last week: I will no longer participate in Judaism out of obligation.

Many of you regular readers are no doubt snickering, thinking “Um, Yenta, you don’t attend synagogue regularly, you don’t keep kosher, you think jumping in the ocean with a thousand other freaks in 30-degree weather is as good as the mikveh…you’re not exactly a fount of observance. What other mitzvot could you possibly not undertake?”

Well, there are plenty. For example, I could feast on ciabatta at Passover (#121) or wear a fabulous dress made of linen and wool (#367), but I won’t — the former because giving up bread for Pesach helps me remember that my freedom was paid for by my ancestors and the latter because mixing up those two textiles in one garment is a little much even for a creative fashionista like myself.

It’s not so much that I want to stop being Jewish (as if that were possible), I just want to stop pretending that the external rules and obligations are nourishing me when they’re not. It’s about digging deeper to find what holds meaning for me; to not simply go through the rote service repeating prayers from a book, lulled into complacency by the responsive readings on Yom Kippur. Over the last few years I’ve experienced a palpable lack of deeper spiritual feeling in the many different synagogues I’ve attended close to home and in my travels, and I’m totally guilty of projecting my own dearth of inspiration onto the women chatting on their side of the mechitza or the rabbi droning on with such torpor I imagine he’s even boring himself. So with this attempt to be more exact about what I believe in and what I don’t, I’m not only trying to take responsibility for feeding my own spiritual hunger but to also be less of a self-righteous a**hole.

Of course for some of you, Judaism is less about religion than service or the culture we have in common. Thank you to those who find Jewish identity in supporting the Jewish Federation through financial donations and/or serving on the myriad boards and committees required to administrate all of its community activities. Bless the ones who bake up the hundreds of hamantashen for the Purim parties and those who organize the speakers’ series. I appreciate it all. But if you call me to help, I’m going to politely refuse, ’cause this non-New Year non-resolution encompasses not going to meetings when I’d rather be exercising or working on a book proposal or watching American Idol (but if you’re going to feed me, be sure to mention that since I can always be bribed into service with kugel, or even just donuts.) Selfish? Yeah, but you don’t really want me there if I’m there out of guilt because I’ll just scowl and kvetch. On the other hand, if you ask me to help plan the awesome Havdalah rave dance party and I agree, you can trust that I want to be there — I’ll show up on time and maybe even bring the donuts myself.

From here on out, I vow to be a more authentic Jew, even if it means being a bad one. This quest is more than an exercise in boundary-setting or an excuse to duck out of making phone calls on Super Sunday — it’s a balls-out jump smack into the middle of the mystical paradox, a reggae hora danced on the rickety fence between the sacred and profane, a beyond-denominational call for all souls seeking a genuine connection with what moves us. Will you join me?