Rabbis in the Talmud used a paternal naming scheme. All rabbis were known by their given name followed by their father’s given name. Despite not being a Rabbi, I often find this convention to be a valuable mental steppingstone when responding to the self-definitional questions on college applications, grant proposals, and personal statements. Accordingly, I am Avi son of Carlos. Well actually, twentieth century feminist theory would probably suggest that I am more Avi son of Batsheva than Avi son of Carlos. To avoid that tedious debate and being a great compromiser; I am Avi son of Carlos and Batsheva.
Flombaum folklore includes the story of Avi son of Carlos and Batsheva’s Bris. Eight days after Avi’s birth, a mo’el recommended by Rabbi Weiss of the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale, was to circumcise Avi. Two days before the momentous event, the mo’el informed Mrs. Flombaum that he would be unable to perform the religious task due to the father’s religious affiliation. Confused, Mrs. Flombaum requested an explanation. Apparently, the mo’el felt that only sons of a Jewish marriage should be included in the sacred bond between God and Abraham. An irate Mrs. Flombaum demanded to know just what exactly made her marriage anything less than Jewish. “Avi son of Carlos,” the mo’el answered. He continued, “Carlos? This is not a Jewish name.” Rabbi Weiss apologized for the insulting implication made by the mo’el and assured the Flombaums that the name “Carlos” does not project a non-Jewish lineage or any Judaic negligence. And to demonstrate his sincerity, Rabbi Weiss took the knife to infant Avi’s peepee.
The anecdote of my Bris may seem trivial in this quest for a description of me. Even with the adorable language, the paragraph does little to enhance the original self-definition, but rather, only pokes fun at my father’s Argentinean heritage. After three paragraphs, I am still regretfully stranded with that initial description of myself, “Avi son of Carlos and Batsheva,” which is just an obvious fact incapable of describing my character. Too proud, too self-involved, and too egotistical to consider a rewrite, I instead inflated the statement with the Bris story. My assumption being that weaving something comic into something introspective would be fun, easy, and effective. I fantasized that this adventure in existential definitions could escape becoming a pathetic attempt at Kafkaesque absurdity by continuing to promise more than just the names of my parents. Sadly, the understanding this essay should have at least begun to communicate is a mere fabrication. My pedantic use of language and neurotic control of grammar are but literary spatial-cues used to create the illusion of depth in a meaningless, indulgent, and extremely shallow self-analysis. All these words amount, thus far, to the first branch of my family tree.
After a well thought out and articulate assault on my inabilities to communicate anything besides basic facts, this essay has successfully joined the tradition of Jewish humor, self-deprecating wit, and bittersweet psychosis. Judaism’s indomitable spirit and astonishing survival is attributed, by some, to that very chain of humor – capable of uniting Jews with laughter and levity while at the same time illuminates issues and character. When analyzed with this consideration and understanding, my character becomes much clearer than the previous paragraph would lead to believe.
I began with Talmudic references to suggest a connection with Orthodoxy and religious studies. This connection is elucidated by the manner in which the material is used, namely, to introduce a meaningful joke. Considering the parallel structures of this piece and sections of the Talmud – an introduction of the supposed topic or debate, a story that mysteriously relates to the introduction, a criticism of the story, and finally a conclusive interpretation of the topic – I also must have a tremendous respect for the modes of thinking exemplified in Jewish texts. Judaism becomes more than a religion or culture for me; it is a way of approaching the world. Thus, in deciding how to describe myself, I correctly concluded to do so in a manner consistent with Judaism; I made it terribly confusing, sometimes intelligent, and always funny. And in this choice another characteristic of mine becomes apparent. While I could have written a more standard essay, I chose to treat the question creatively and in doing so, chose to accept the risk of non-conformity. The tone of this piece conveys a certain, well, self-confident nature, boasting my flaws and triumphs with the same language. That’s me, now figure it out.