In one sense, modest fashion is neither new nor specifically Jewish. Religiously observant women of all faiths—as well as secular women not keen on baring their midriffs—have demonstrated that style can include a bit of extra fabric for ages. If all that’s meant is that midi skirts are having a moment, this is not, on its own, earth-shattering. But Kahn argued, convincingly, that the whole look of a somewhat prim Orthodox Jewish woman can now be seen on mainstream run- ways, and on influencers who are not themselves observant Jews, or Jews at all. She distinguishes between Torah-teacher aesthetic and things like the prairie dress revival, which was frillier and girlier. As a fashion development, long denim skirts being the hot new thing felt both empowering and confusing to the Jewish women who grew up wearing these clothes whether they wanted to or not. Indeed, the more clothes-conscious among the former Jewish day school students often discard such garments the first chance they have. So how odd for the very same looks to now be the height of chic! But it’s not only former Jewish day school students ambivalent about the calf-length skirt trend. For Jewish women who’ve never been in such settings, a skirt like this makes us look Orthodox. Which is a fine thing to be, but if you’re not, it might very well not be the message you want to send. Books on the bonfire There is a mood of book-bans afoot. Censoriousness is the vibe across the political spectrum, but in the US, right-wing bans run ram- pant, with content relating to race and gender the primary targets. Free speech group PEN America spoke out against the removal of Ta-Nehisi Coates’s landmark book, Between the World and Me , from a South Carolina high school curriculum, on the basis of its anti-racist content. Jewish books are well-represented among banned content. Art Spiegelman’s graphic novel Maus , about the Holocaust, had too much nudity (mouse nudity?) for some in Tennessee and Missouri. In Florida, meanwhile, a graphic novel based on Anne Frank’s diary was apparently too homoerotic. (The Anne of this book expresses a rather tame sexual desire that would involve the removal of tops.) All of this has implications for free expression generally, but also for the teaching of Jewish history and literature specifically. If you can’t discuss bigotry—or even mention nudity—it gets rather difficult to teach the Holocaust, or indeed any number of historical and present- day conflicts. If young people can’t learn about humanity’s worst moments, how will they know not to repeat them? Politics are the new religion The culture wars wage on, dividing populations in North Amer- ica and beyond. There are truckers who hate Trudeau. There are traditionalists who love Trump. There are new editions of old books— famously, ones by Roald Dahl and Agatha Christie — being issued with sanitized language to avoid using words like fat , and Elizabeth Gilbert decided to postpone publication of her latest novel, which is set in Russia, indefinitely. Who your friends are, what music you listen to, even which light beer you drink, has become a statement about which political team you’re on. A sports analogy is called for, then, or maybe a religious one. Has politics replaced faith? Clearly not, but for some, politics definitely seems to function as a religion, bringing meaning and community as well as an opportunity for ostracizing her- etics. Thus, the “freedom” team’s frequent references to witch-burn- ings. The specific cause at the centre of culture-wars discussions has varied over the years. For a while, starting in 2017, with #MeToo, it was feminism. Then the vibe shifted and in 2020-2021, following
al assault. The problem itself is real, and often poorly addressed within a contemporary progressive identity politics framework, with its emphasis on being materially disadvantaged or visibly racialized. If the idea is to fight privilege, what do you do with a form of bigotry that so often manifests itself as accusations of privilege? In EDI-type contexts, antisemitism is sometimes ignored, and—per David Baddiel and others—not seen as counting. Some of the specific instances causing concern—an allegedly swastika-shaped New York Times crossword puzzle, or a new British Telegraph logo resembling a Nazi flag in colour scheme—have been overblown, but others have not. As for whether the answer is for Judaism to be subsumed into a fight against antisemitism—not in any practical danger of happening, but the message that’s sent when so many communal organizations post and email incessantly on that topic—that is less straightforward. Does better funding for anti-antisemitism campaigns meaningfully reduce the number of attacks on Jews? Seemingly not, as the empha- sis on antisemitism in messaging has coincided with year after year of unprecedented antisemitism headlines. Does raising awareness of historical mistreatment of Jews automatically translate to less of the same? As Dara Horn argued in The Atlantic last spring, when all that people learn about Jews is the various ways we’ve been murdered over the millennia, this does not lead to a populace that’s especially informed about Jewish life. Holocaust denialism is a problem. So, too, are modern-day Nazis who see an upsurge of Hitler references on social media as a good thing. New monarch on our money It was a big year for the British royal family, which as Common- wealth sorts meant a tangentially big one for Canadian Jews. Queen Elizabeth II died, her legacy merged in many minds with that of the whole previous century. King Charles is no longer just a type of span- iel. And then there’s Prince Harry. Oh, Prince Harry. Is he a maligned hero or aggrieved influencer? Have we forgiven him for dressing up like a Nazi at a party that one time? Do we still care about his quasi-exit from the royal clan and now flailing efforts to build a multi- pronged, multimedia bridge-burning campaign? His ghostwritten memoir, Spare , sold like whatever is the British version of hotcakes. (Tepid scones?) Harry’s ego aside, the royal pomp and turmoil revived the question of how relevant kings and queens and the like are in today’s world. Are they a throwback to pre-meritocratic times? Or are they all that stand between Canada and—horrors—the American way? Where do Jews stand in relation to royalty? There were court Jews, back in the day, not that my own peddler ancestors had anything to do with all that. The absence of royals has not, historically, indicated that a particular government will be favourable. But a hereditary system of power will be less meritocratic—and thus less inclusive to Jews. In any event, Britain’s Chief Rabbi was given accommodation to walk to the ceremony (it was on Shabbat), an event that also included other faith leaders from outside the Church of England, and the cor- onation led to the creation of a new Canadian crown, devoid of previ- ous religious symbolism. Not as Jew-friendly as replacing the crown with a kippah, say, or with one of Mayim Bialik’s iconic hats from the 1990s sitcom Blossom , but a welcoming gesture all the same. Modest-chic has a moment In Vogue , the writer Mattie Kahn coined a term no one was ex- pecting: Torah-teacher aesthetic: a no-frills, muted-colours style in which the hemlines are long, as are the sleeves, and the shoes—like the rest of the outfit—are “sensible.” Alongside coastal grandmothers, Jewish day school teachers are now, apparently, fashion inspiration.
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