You’ll know the saying, ‘two Jews three opinions’. It is an undisputed fact that opinion flows through our veins. Bad ones, good ones, and the stuff in between.
I like to think we could see them, if we were transparent. Think of the cartoon Inside-Out Boy and opinions as the substance keeping our heart pumping, the key to our living energy.
I’ve always relished the rows across the dinner table and the tales of family broiges made and solved over a cup of tea and cheese cake, from the big stuff to the insignificant. While other families wince at conflict and debate, I think it’s the heart of healthy relationships.
The release you get after a good row is like the first sip of chicken soup when you’re sick. There’s perfect comedy in watching a relative’s brow pulsate in frustration. Young vs old, right vs left — it used to feel so fun.
Yet here I am with a very unJewish confession. My latest opinion is … I don’t have any.
It feels like a very serious problem for a Jew. Even more so for a JC columnist. I’d like to update the list of Covid symptoms to include temperature, loss of taste, loss of smell, and loss of very Jewish opinions.
Perhaps it is a January thing, a malaise brought on by a pandemic stretching out for two years, in which I’ve been pregnant, had a baby, missed many hours of sleep and devoted countless others to wondering if I’m doing everything right.
Oy vey, don’t attempt to get my views at the moment on topics of national importance. I can just about decide if my son should have pizza or pesto pasta for dinner.
I’m at a point where I’m so over everyone else and their strongly held views that the only one I seem to have is ‘I don’t know’. I’m suspicious of all these people so wedded to beliefs made in the moment. And why is no one changing their minds? I can’t decide what to eat at a restaurant and yet others have been going hell for leather for weeks over whether a famous actress — who none of them know personally — is an antisemite because she allowed some other people control of her Instagram and they posted a poem.
Instead of it being a raging example of antisemitism, or even a subtle example of the pervasive crossover of celebrity social justice causes and anti-Israel culture, isn’t it just another celebrity Instagram post? How much do these things actually matter? Perhaps they do. But in a world that is upside-down, I’ve struggled to understand why so many were talking about it.
And then we’ve had the big one — should Golda Meir be played by Jew? Probably. No, don’t be ridiculous
‘I don’t know’ is where I’m at again. Although, at least with this debate I’ve found the arguments on both sides interesting.
They say there is no such thing as bad publicity. But spare a thought for poor Helen Mirren, a national treasure, minding her own business turning up to work to do her job, which is pretending to be people she isn’t, only to find herself debated on Lorraine.
Perhaps I’m in need of some sort of rabbinic intervention. There must be a relevant parshah. It is as though I’ve fast forwarded 40 years and I’m a cantankerous Jewish grandad flicking through the pages of the JC in my armchair, sun pouring through the window, while muttering to myself discontentedly. Even if I had an opinion, would anyone listen? Are we all too wedded to our own views to hear anyone else any more?
I’ve been waiting for that story, the one that lifts the lethargy. Harry and Meghan want to pay for police protection when they are visiting the UK, you say? That hasn’t done it for me.
But what’s this? Downing Street spending the pandemic hosting boozy office parties? When I was becoming a new mum cut off from a physical support network — at the same time as looking after my own mum, who was going through chemotherapy? My heart is beating faster. My brow is furrowing…I can’t believe it. I actually care.
I’ve got an opinion again, thanks to our Prime Minister. But now I’ve got a new problem — is it too rude to print in the JC?
