Jewish Life, Passover, and Pop Culture

The premiere issue of Jewish Family & Life includes a recipe for Matzah Brei.

You need six eggs, beaten, two cups of half and half, four matzahs and four tablespoons of vegetable oil. The rest is simple: soak the broken matzahs in the milk and cream for two minutes, then remove and soak in the eggs. Fry the results until golden and you have what amounts to Jewish french toast.

This is rather standard fare for a Jewish publication during Passover, which began Tuesday at sundown. However, this isn't just any Matzah Brei -- it's Steven Spielberg's recipe.

"We're not going to turn this into the Jewish version of People or something," said editor-in-chief Yosef Abramowitz. "But face it, most Jewish magazines are boring. ... Our younger readers know who Stephen Spielberg is. While they're reading about his Jewish life we can pull them in and start talking about their Jewish lives."

That sounds simple. However, this is the 1990s and both Abramowitz and publisher Susan Laden know it will take skill to publish a breezy magazine called Jewish Family & Life! amid raging debates over the very definitions of words such as "Jewish" and "family." Thus, their advisory board includes well-known Jewish names from across the theological spectrum.

"What we care about is rejuvenating homes and helping them become Jewish homes," said Abramowitz. "It isn't in our interest to try to define Judaism for our readers and to say what is and what isn't a family. We're interested in promoting Jewish life, not Jewish arguments. ... We'll be working with everybody except Jews for Jesus."

One statistic looms in the background. As the '90s began, the intermarriage rate between Jews and non-Jews stood at 57 percent, up from 40 percent in 1980, and those who intermarry are much less likely to raise their children as Jews.

It's impossible to avoid the intermarriage issue, said Laden. However, the magazine will try to focus on how this affects homes, not Jewish institutions. The goal will be to help parents learn to say bed-time prayers, handle grandparents who celebrate Christmas or advise a teen who wants to date a non-Jew.

"We want to talk about the spirituality of daily life, the kind of issues that come up when children start asking real questions and parents try to answer them," said Laden. "I think young families are searching. They don't know where to find help. ... So we'll start at that point, instead of trying to impose some kind of rigid structure from on high."

The magazine's target audience consists of parents between the ages of 25 and 49. Surveys indicate that readers in an initial controlled circulation of 200,000 are "an advertiser's dream," said Laden. Ninety percent have college degrees and 90 percent own computers. (Yes, the magazine has an Internet address: JFLeditors@aol.com.) The average household income is $112,000.

Starting next fall, the quarterly magazine will offer a few longer reports about some events and trends. However, Israeli court decisions don't have as much impact in urban homes as new World Wide Web sites offering Jewish computer games, said Abramowitz.

"We're not going to apologize for our approach," he said. "We accept that mass media and popular culture are a powerful part of life and it wouldn't make sense to ignore that. That's just the way it is. ... So we may offend a few people, from time to time, but we know this is going to get the attention of younger readers."

For example, the first issue's "LIFE!Cycles" column included a chatty item about Roseanne Barr Arnold Thomas' new baby, Buck. Since he is the product of in vitro fertilization, the editors modestly suggested that he be given the Hebrew name "Binyamin," or "son of my right hand." After the issue came out, the staff heard from Roseanne's rabbi in Brentwood, Calif. Sure enough, the baby had already been given that very Hebrew name.

"What can I say? Warped minds think alike," said Abramowitz. "We must be on the cutting edge."

Leighton Ford and the 'Evangelism' Debates

SEATTLE -- Outside the Golf Park club house, rows of men are hitting practice balls into the Northwest's chilly morning mists.

Inside, the Rev. Leighton Ford is warming up, too. After nearly 50 years as an evangelist, the longtime leader in the Lausanne Committee on World Evangelization keeps seeking the right set of images to reach new listeners.

On this day, that means digging into what he calls "a rather New Agey" novel called "The Legend of Bagger Vance: Golf and the Game of Life." Instead of a stadium crowd, Ford is facing a pack of golfers invited by people in a local church.

"All sport is holy. ... But golf is supreme," says Ford, reading. "The golfer ... comes to realize that the game is not against the foe, but against himself. His little self. That yammering, fearful, ever-resistant self that freezes, chokes, tops, nobbles, shanks, skulls, duffs, flubs. This is the self we must defeat."

Ford shrugs, an editorial comment that this is fascinating, but not the whole story. "Well," he says, after a long pause, "that's a good place to start."

It was back in 1949 when Ford, a lanky Canadian teen-ager, first met a young evangelist named Billy Graham. A few years later, Ford met and married another Wheaton (Ill.) College student -- Graham's sister, Jean. After years as a Graham associate, Ford eventually began his own global ministry based in Charlotte, N.C., training young church leaders. During a recent week in the Seattle area, the Presbyterian preacher worked with evangelists who speak in settings from Moscow to Australia, from a woman in suburban Florida to a man from the Dakotas' High Plains.

"Most people say, `I know evangelism is something I'm supposed to do, but, to tell you the truth I don't do it very often,'" says Ford. "They'll say they're scared to do it, or that they don't know how to do it. ... It's like the old joke: What do you get when you cross a Jehovah's Witness with a Presbyterian? Someone who knocks on doors, but they don't know what to say."

Some churches, Ford explains, try to reduce evangelism to social work or outreach, while others assume they can save souls without addressing the often painful realities of daily life.

In the post-war era, Graham and others built parachurch groups that reached the GIs and their children in growing suburbs. Others stressed one-on-one work. "For many, the key word `saved' meant an introduction to the Christ of the American way, who wore a gray-flannel suit," said Ford, in a late 1980s address.

Soon, some turned to small groups and "relational" evangelism, especially on campuses, while others tapped into '60s debates about justice and racism. The '70s "Jesus Movement" made headlines emphasizing a Jesus with long hair and sandals. Next came megachurches and charismatic groups that specialized in reaching others who felt uncomfortable in traditional churches. In the '80s, many conservatives focused on politics -- as mainliners did in the '60s -- in some cases leading to a "backlash which created fear ... and made evangelism more difficult," said Ford.

Through it all, researchers found that the vast majority of those who make religious decisions are brought to gatherings by friends or acquaintances. Trends come and go, but the key remains the same: friends talking to friends about their faith, forming webs of trust.

Still, there is more to this mystery than friendly people shaking hands, or church committees that deliver fresh bread and cookies. At some point, truly evangelistic churches challenge people to make decisions that affect this life and eternity. Words such as "sin" and "repentance" must be spoken, especially in an age of broken homes and wounded spirits, says Ford.

"This is why some people remain scared to even talk about evangelism. In many mainline churches, you can go decades without hearing anyone talk about conversion. ... You have a silence there that has lasted for a generation or more. That's the worst of all possible options. Silence never works."

Regent and the Politics of Entertainment

VIRGINIA BEACH, Va. -- Anyone seeking Middle America's true marketplace of ideas need only click on a television.

Thus, one political cartoonist summed up the '92 White House race by having a husband study the TV listings and then tell his wife: "We can watch Clinton on MTV, Bush on `Letterman,' Perot on `Arsenio' ... or Madonna on `Meet the Press.'"

That's entertainment and, today, that's politics. Many of America's hottest debates about morality and public life are staged in sitcoms, movies, music videos and talk shows. Reaching the masses means finding niches in pop culture.

Ponder this question: How should strategists at the Christian Coalition respond if President Clinton shows up on "Friends"?

It could happen. Meanwhile, this is precisely the kind of laugh-to-keep-from-crying question that film scholar Terry Lindvall keeps asking at Regent University, a graduate school founded in 1978 by religious broadcaster Pat Robertson.

Obviously, millions of religious conservatives have shed decades of inhibitions and waded into politics, said Lindvall. However, many continue to have trouble acknowledging the major role that mass media and entertainment play in American life.

"It's all about telling a story, isn't it? ... You have to capture people's imaginations," said Lindvall, who, to the shock of many, was named Regent's president in 1993. "When you shape someone's imagination, you eventually shape their actions. That's the power of media and the arts -- they seduce imaginations. ... No one has ever won a debate that really matters through an argument. Arguments only polarize people and make them hang on to what they already believe."

In the months ahead, President Clinton and Sen. Bob Dole will spend millions trying to tell their stories. Dole's is a story of war, sacrifice, courage and service. This will be a tough sell, because so few Americans identify with this story and because Dole isn't a good storyteller. Meanwhile, Bill and Hillary Clinton have become the Jim and Tammy Bakker of American politics.

"The president's story may be a soap opera, but, hey, at least people are watching," said Lindvall. "The problem for Dole is that many people are simply going to turn him off. End of story."

This tension between politics and entertainment, between the systems of government and the symbols of mass media, is very much in evidence at Regent, a stately, neocolonial campus that critics and supporters alike often call the "Harvard of the Religious Right." It would be impossible, with Robertson as chancellor, to hide the ties that bind the school to the Christian Coalition and to the conservative powers that be in Washington, D.C.

Yes, students from Regent's school of government help draft legislation and work on congressional staffs and campaign teams, said Lindvall. But it's also important that Regent graduates are working on projects for HBO and PBS, for Disney and Fox.

"You have to do both, today. ... Of course, it says a lot that most people around here feel more comfortable talking about working in the government than they do working in the media," he said. "Most Christians have always considered the arts and entertainment to be out there on the edge. It's the artists who want to color outside the lines and break the rules."

Thus, most conservative attempts to compete in the media marketplace produce what Lindvall called "happy little Christian films" that bore most Americans -- including believers. Others cling to the belief that they can cause sweeping moral changes by winning a few elections or creating a few evangelical films or television shows. If only things were that simple.

"Laws will not change people's hearts when you're talking about issues like abortion. Now, I'm not saying that laws aren't important. I am saying that even more important changes have to occur elsewhere," he said. "Laws can't change the fact that people's imaginations have been shaped by millions of images and stories. ... We have to create new images that will haunt people and seduce their imaginations. We have to tell some new stories."

Oprah, 'Babe' and Religious Liberty

It's hard to debate religious liberty issues with a superstar pig from Hollywood.

The star of "Babe, the Gallant Pig" made a cameo appearance during the recent taping of an Oprah Winfrey show about Bible readings and prayers in public schools in Pontotoc, Miss. The talking pig -- on video -- interrupted the host's opening narration about "people who have been made to feel like outcasts in their own communities."

While plugging the movie, "Babe" stressed its timely message -- the importance of loving one another and having an "unprejudiced heart." Sure enough, this sound bite later fit perfectly in yet another television drama about the Religious Right. The episode is scheduled to air Tuesday, March 19.

"There's really not much you can do," said Michael Whitehead, a Southern Baptist attorney representing the school district. "You can either play their game and look like a cad or be silent and not defend yourself. ... If you choose to take them on, then it's really hard not to appear angry. After all, the whole game is set up to produce fireworks."

In this case, the local school board allowed student-led prayers and Bible readings, resulting in a lawsuit by the American Civil Liberties Union and People For The American Way. In addition to attorneys, the "Oprah" show featured citizens who back the school board as well as those who contacted the ACLU, Lisa Herdahl and her son, Kevin.

Beforehand, Whitehead said that Winfrey's staff seemed surprised that many in the studio audience supported voluntary prayer. Thus, they hunted for those willing to take the other side in a "spontaneous" debate.

Producers have to find out who will do the best job of stating strong opinions on the air, said Jill Almquist, an "Oprah" publicist. Also, it's customary to move these people to designated chairs, to help the camera crews. "We do ask, `Who can we go to?'... But we don't like people to do too much talking ... because we want to save the excitement for the show itself," she said.

From Whitehead's perspective it appeared that the producer, after generating "passionate and heated exchanges," then set out to tape a show about "how awful it is that people in Pontotoc have ... strong, passionate convictions." Also, Winfrey's script suggested that Christian activists engaged in, or condoned, alleged death threats and harassment.

"People are seeing images of students praying around a flag pole or holding a rally," said Whitehead. "But Oprah's doing a voice-over that says something like, `How would it feel to get up in the morning not knowing if this day would be your last or to wonder if you'll be shot on the way to the supermarket?' "

Ironically, recent research -- including work by conservatives -- indicates that "Oprah" is now one of talk TV's least sensationalistic shows. Also, Winfrey openly embraces religion. While her beliefs may be unorthodox, and her personal life is tabloid territory, she often goes out of her way to use language such as "the God that I love loves all of us, no matter what" or to say that she is a practicing Christian.

"The studio audience always ends up applauding as Oprah defends Christianity," said Whitehead, who was making his second appearance on Winfrey's show. "She's the champion of a loving Christianity and, obviously, anyone who takes a different approach represents a mean, judgmental Christianity."

The result is a powerful form of television that addresses serious public issues, while emphasizing entertainment, opinion and, above all, visual images. While it's hard to know what editors will choose as a finale for this show, Whitehead predicted it will be an emotional statement by Kevin Herdahl, followed by Winfrey's reprise of the gospel according to "Babe."

"It's a classic. You have a teen-ager saying `Can't we all just get along?', with tears running down his cheeks," he said. "You can't argue with a teen-ager's tears. So much for student-initiated, student-led prayers and Bible studies. So much for a fair debate. ... It all comes down to tears and a Hollywood pig."