By Danielle Levsky
SAN DIEGO — The first time my parents took me on a trip with them I was eight years old and living in Chicago. We were going to Mexico, where I would see, hear, and feel the ocean for the first time (for those that know me, the ocean is one of my favorite temporal experiences in life). But my first memory of this trip — and every trip, henceforth — was sitting before we left.
Yes, sitting. We sat silently on the living room couch, our bags packed next to us, our flight departing in under three hours. I looked up at my mom and dad, squirming. They smiled at me. My mom held a finger up to her lips, the universal signal for “be quiet.” After what seemed like a lifetime but was really only 30 seconds, we got up in a frenzy and took off to the airport.
“We sit in silence for good luck,” my dad explained just before we got in the car.
The sun had yet to rise and it rained in the early hours of dark. My mom pointed at the window, the droplets hitting the glass rhythmically.
“More good luck on your first trip.”
My parents are both university-educated engineers, believers of science, and self-proclaimed agnostics, and yet, they are sticklers for superstition. Whether these superstitions come from Russia, Ukraine, Judaism, or Yiddishkeit, I’m not sure, but my upbringing was peppered with generalized anxiety over how to avoid the evil eye.
Most of my childhood and adolescence was spent around other children of Eastern European/Jewish origin, so though we laughed at these superstitions, no one was phased by the various phrases and actions taken by our families. We could not sit at the corner of the table or we wouldn’t get married. We could not step over someone or they wouldn’t grow (literally or figuratively, I was never sure). We could not leave our bags on the floor if we wanted to keep our money. We knocked on wood (or our heads, if wood was not available) for something to come true. We were not allowed to whistle indoors; if we did, we would have financial problems. We would never wish someone an early happy birthday; it was bad luck for the recipient. We would never have any kind of interaction through a doorpost. We were not allowed to sit on cold concrete; if we did, we wouldn’t be able to have children. We would never name a newborn after a living family member… The list goes on.
As I grew older, gained more non-Eastern friends (and perhaps, everyday rationale and clarity), I realized just how absurd these superstitions could be. And yet, as I continued to laugh at them or roll my eyes at them, there were several I still practiced on my own: knocking on wood or my head for good luck, smiling at the sight of rain when I would leave on a trip.
I am a logical person, a journalist through and through, and yet, sometimes these superstitious actions would reaffirm what I really wanted to occur in the future.
At least, that’s what I think.
The human psyche is a fascinating thing. And it’s even more fascinating to me that so many of the Jewish people I know continue to believe and act ritualistically upon superstition. I wonder if my family’s propensity to knock on wood comes from the Jewish tradition rather than the Ukrainian tradition. It is said to protect one from evil and is considered a non-Jewish practice that relates to the Christian beliefs of the good luck found within the wood slivers of the cross. But some say the origins of it go back farther than Jesus; many cultures and religions regarded trees as magical or godly beings, and so touching or knocking on wood could bring someone luck.
It’s true, though, that my family borrows both Ukrainian and Jewish superstitions alike, and I often do not know which part of our background it comes from. A few weeks ago, my mom and I were having lunch together and I sneezed as I said something to her; she immediately responded that my statement was now bound to happen. This is said to come from a Midrashic legend in which a sneeze announces impending death; that legend has morphed into the belief/superstition that when one sneezes mid-conversation, they are sneezing on the truth. Minutes later, I was about to lick strawberry jam off my knife and my mom pulled it away from me, telling me it was bad luck. This superstition is said to come from a less Christian and more Pagan approach to belief: the knife has a sacred meaning and is not only a laborious tool, but a tool of protection. Using a magical object like this requires special treatment, so by disrespecting it, you could anger the spirits.
Notice how I cite all these superstitions loosely. Because superstitions exist in an oral history, and can appear as customs passed between different cultures, the source is hard to trace. But, it is has been noted and correlated that one recurring superstition amongst Jews, in particular, is the evil eye; notice, too, how most of the superstitions I’ve noted revolve around avoiding evil or enhancing the capacity for good. Between religious Jews who follow the Torah and secular Jews who follow typical psychological practices, the beliefs are often rationalized and justified.
But is this a practice that is fairly new? Or does it extend back thousands of years? Although I am not religious, I do understand the basic tenets of Jewish law, and superstitious practices definitely go against the monotheistic system of belief. In fact, if superstitious beliefs could be linked to Paganism — which in the time of the Torah, could be linked to witchcraft and sorcery — then there was indeed a penalty of death attached to practicing them.
Despite the prohibitory laws of the Torah, Jewish people teetered between declaring certain rituals as Pagan and certain as in accordance with Jewish law. The Talmud — which is the central text of Rabbinic Judaism and the primary source of Jewish religious law (also known as halakha) and Jewish theology — includes many superstitions that originate from Egypt, Babylonia, and Persia. In fact, the Talmud is scattered with opposing ideas, despite its principles standing directly in opposition to idolatry.
Some specific examples of superstition being mentioned in the Talmud:
- It is unlucky to be between two dogs, two palms, or two women; and it is equally unlucky for two men to be separated by one of these. (Pes. 111b)
- Drink not froth, for it gives cold in the head; nor blow it away, for that gives headache; nor get rid of it otherwise, for that brings poverty; but wait until it subsides. (Ḥul. 105b)
- If one of several brothers die, the others must beware of death. Some say death begins with the eldest, some with the youngest. (Shab. 106a)
- It is dangerous to borrow a drink of water, or to step over water poured out. (Pes. 111a)
The ties between superstition, Paganism, and witchcraft in Jewish history do not stop at the contradictory mentions in the Talmud. In the Forward’s article “Jews, Witches, and Sorcery: The Remarkable Tradition That Is Still Practiced Today,” Rabbi Geoffrey Dennis, who writes extensively on Jewish magic and mysticism, said that though Rabbis wrote strongly against witchcraft, Jews did not piously steer clear of it. Jews practiced healing, superstition, and protection from evil spirits through the Medieval ages. This is historically rooted in creating solutions to fundamental human problems.
“Why do infants get sick?” Rabbi Dennis said. “Why do terrible things happen to me? [For centuries Jews were] very engaged with questions of supernatural forces and folk traditions, superstitions and trans-rational practices that really don’t fit the modern mind at all. Everyone was doing it. The pre-modern world was not rational by any measure.”
In fact, though Jews shared a complicated relationship and approach to witchcraft, it may have been Christians in the Middle Ages who accused Jews as being allies to the devil. The impending punishment and ostracism could have fueled an even deeper schism between Judaism and witchcraft.
“Something really strange and amazing happened to us in the late 18th-early 19th century,” Rabbi Dennis said. “Jewish people, seeing the opportunities Western Enlightenment offered them, made an unstated decision to become the most rational people in the world.
Yet here we are, in the modern world, with my very rational, non-religious background. Even if my family isn’t around, I still refuse to do anything through a door post. I do not say goodbye or greet someone if we are standing in a doorway. I make no deals or promises. I suppose this could tie to the idea of needing to be firmly in or out of a space, but if I examine this ritual in a more logical sense, it is a very irrational practice.
And still, there is an old, familial comfort in practicing these superstitions. Though sometimes I do it reflexively, they bring me a sense of calm and grounding that remind me of my family, my heritage, my ancestry. I’ll likely continue to perform these rituals as an instantaneous reaction, then question my rational thought moments after. It all feels very Jewish to me.
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Danielle Levsky (she/her) is an arts and culture writer, clown, producer, and educator based in San Diego whose work features people, ideas, and principles that highlight the experiences of diverse audiences.