I’ve been binge-watching a 2008 Israeli soap opera called “Srugim,” and it’s sparking some thoughts about religion.The title, “Srugim” [“suh-roo-geem”] is a Hebrew word that refers to a segment of strict-Orthodox Israeli Jews who are identifiable by the knitted kipa [yarmulke] worn by its male adherents. The series follows a group of 30-ish unmarried men and women who adhere to “Srugim” practices. Being single places them outside of the social mainstream of strict-Orthodox culture, where most women marry in their early 20s and begin having large families as soon as possible. The characters are all looking for love, but struggling to balance the cultural pressure toward marriage with their own needs for independence and autonomy. Their adherence to strict-Orthodoxy ranges from total immersion to a variety of adaptations to contemporary styles and social mores.

To be clear, this is not a documentary. Sometimes it’s serious, and sometimes it’s funny. Think of it as somewhat less comedic “Friends” set in a religious neighborhood in Jerusalem. Surely, as a TV drama, it presents a fictionalized view of Israeli religious and romantic life that is exaggerated for dramatic effect. As an outsider, I can neither debunk nor testify to the level of reality that “Srugim” presents. I can say that “Srugim’s” writers present a very sympathetic view of an Orthodox Jewish way of life and of the characters who are living it.

As for me, I am a person who once embraced a form of Judaism [of the Reform variety], and later moved away from the entire notion of religion as a positive force in my life. So, I began watching “Srugim” mostly as a linguistic exercise: It’s in Hebrew, with English subtitles, and as someone who once was semi-fluent, it’s a fun way to reacquaint myself with the language.

“Srugim” has also made me think about the role that religion plays in peoples’ lives. Orthodox Jewish religious customs are a central part of the show: the Friday-evening siren in Jerusalem that signals the beginning of the Sabbath; the prayers, songs and rituals that accompany Sabbath dinner; the rules governing sexual “purity” during a married woman’s menstrual cycle; the taboo on touching between unmarried men and women; and many more.

Watching all of it leaves me with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, I see people for whom strict religious rules create a comforting structure for their lives. The decisions are all made for them: when to marry, what kind of person to marry, and how to live day-to-day—with religious identity and rituals as the organizing principles. And when they’re not sure what to do [e.g., Is it okay to attend a funeral during the first seven days after one’s wedding?], they can just ask a rabbi.   [And if one rabbi gives you a Talmudic interpretation that you dislike, you can just find another rabbi.] I can see the appeal of it: You have a set identity. The strict rules un-complicate things: You live in a cozy cocoon with people who share your identity. You are warmed by a sense of closeness with your deity, and you feel secure from the confusion of outside influences, because the rules are clear, and if you stick to them, everything will be all right. Who am I to scoff at what some people experience as a beautiful, soul-satisfying way of life?

On the other hand, the prescriptive nature of the characters’ lives is suffocating. One character—feeling the constrictions—makes the decision to become, officially, un-religious. I can see that it’s the path of least resistance to accept, as facts of life, the boundaries that these characters adhere to. But, in my view, the women in “Srugim” are far too accepting of dictates that limit their personal choices, and far too accommodating to men. [They cover their hair, worry about dressing modestly, and accept their status as second-class citizens in their religion.] Clearly, I would be a very lousy Orthodox Jew.

Some reviewers—people closer to the Orthodox community, I suppose—have criticized “Srugim” for presenting a negative portrait of religious life. It’s true that some of the religious adherents seem clueless about life and need to consult a rabbi for advice on just about everything. But, as I see it, that’s satire and dramatic excess, not vitriol. On the other hand, the characters who try to leave the religious life are portrayed as the ones who are struggling the most by giving up something of importance. I imagine that religious critics of the series may have been objecting to inaccuracies in the portrayal of rituals and customs, and to the exaggerations that typify the soap opera genre. It would be understandable for insiders to worry that non-Jews might get a skewed view of Judaism from these departures from reality.

The acting and writing on “Srugim” are excellent. The characters seem like real people—and quite likeable, even when they hurt each other.  They do that a lot—but that’s the nature of soap-opera.

And even though I completely reject—for myself—their dependence on religion for meaning and direction, I find myself rooting for their happiness. I even grudgingly respect their devotion to rituals that are inconvenient, limiting, and—to me–absurd.

Unfortunately, the series ended after two seasons, without wrapping up the story lines. And although I had a negative reaction to the too-important role played by religion in the characters’ lives, I found myself—surprisingly—disappointed to not know how their stories turned out. Did Yifat and Amir work out their problems and have children? Did Hodaya get sucked back into the religious life? Would Reut ever find love? We’ll never know.  And I have to ask myself: Would I care as much if the characters were fundamentalist Christians, or Mormons, or Muslims?

Maybe I would. The bottom line is: I’m a sucker for a well-written, well-acted soap opera, no matter what language it’s in, where it’s set, or how different a life the people live from my own.

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I was super-excited for the launch of “Halal in the Family,” a web series that the creator, Aasif Mandvi has described as “an exaggerated sitcom style to poke satirical fun at the racism and prejudice Muslims often experience in the United States and beyond.” It is a four-episode series, each episode lasting about five minutes and tackling a different theme/problem Muslims in America face.

Naturally, I was impatient to get to watch it. The series was advertised as taking on stereotypes of American Muslims, challenging norms of bigotry, and addressing “larger social and political issues.” And doing it in a fun, light-hearted way that emphasized change through the universal medium of humor.

However, “Halal in the Family” failed to excite. I wasn’t entertained, I wasn’t pleased, I wasn’t informed. In fact, I was borderline dismayed and angered. I was underwhelmed by the series; it was excessively mediocre. As a Muslim American, I didn’t feel I was represented at all. And any real social commentary was drowned out by stupid jokes, borderline sexist/racist remarks, and an incredibly narrow definition of “Americanness” that refused to allow Muslims to have any part in it.

The series tries to address stereotypes facing one group (American Muslims) by playing on stereotypes of other groups (women, Sikhs, “Americans,” conservatives, etc.). That doesn’t help anyone. Someone watching “Halal in the Family” without any real background knowledge might actually walk away with more stereotypes than they had when they sat down to watch, not just of other groups, but also of Muslims– which is exactly what the series was meant to combat.

The worst stereotype was that of Americans, who were portrayed to be all Islamophobic, white, conservative, bigoted people. If at its core, “Halal in the Family” seeks to prove how Muslims can be “all-American” as it claims, this portrayal of Americanness leaves no room for a Muslim identity. In fact, in the episodes, the characters are actually advised by the patriarch of the family (Aasif Mandvi) to downplay their Muslim identity by eating pork, advocating to ban Sharia law in high school, etc. so that they can be better Americans.

The first episode is meant to highlight the increasing trend of FBI moles inserting themselves into Muslim communities in order to report back on potential “terrorist” activities. It does an adequate job of highlighting this, if you know that; otherwise, you’re left awash in quasi-racist sentiment (Jordan Klepper guest stars as a Muslim, and repeated insinuations are made that Muslims aren’t/can’t be white).

In the second episode, the family turns its house into a “haunted terrorist camp” in a Halloween decoration contest, to beat their neighbors, who had turned their house into a mere haunted house. As a result of the “decorations,” the community stages a protest in front of the house, because they mistake it for a mosque and don’t want to see one built in their community. Again, if the viewer knows that the purported is that Islamophobic protests are stupid, the series is “meh;” but otherwise there’s just an underlying “Muslim houses=terrorist camps” assertion that isn’t overtly denied.

In the third episode, Aasif’s daughter is cyber-bullied. A classmate Photoshops a turban onto her head and depicts her driving a taxi. Aasif is upset, not that she is being bullied and stereotyped, but that she is being stereotyped as Sikh. The use of other stereotypes common (and which remain undisputed) in American society does not contribute to a sense of social justice in the series, but a sense that something is fundamentally wrong with the way the series (not us) depicts everyone.

In the final episode, Aasif’s son attempts to run for class president. His initial speech, according to Aasif, emphasizes his Muslim-ness too much, so he has his son dress up in red, white, and blue from tip to toe and emphasize a policy of banning Sharia law in his high school. In the end, a family (Muslim) friend prudently recommends that the son dismiss the anti-Sharia platform because, although it garners political votes in the national syste, it’s stupid; the son should just “say what’s in his heart,” to which the son responds that his real platform is the objectification of women (he wants to be able to ogle the female swim team during practice by making it open to the public). Yes, there is a real sociopolitical message in the commentary on anti-Sharia political platforms. But it is so short and unenthusiastic that it is overwhelmed by the final sexist remarks in the episode.

I wasn’t wowed. At all. It was a great idea, y’all, but it didn’t succeed. The execution of the plan left a lot to be desired, and I wouldn’t watch any more episodes if they came out. Sorry. If I was being generous, I’d give it 2/5 stars. I wish I had better things to say because we– as a society– could really use a tool like this that conveys information about serious issues through something as mundane as humor. But this series isn’t it.

For better Islamic humor, check out this list of recommended You Tube videos.

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In many progressive circles, it’s become open season on CNN. The oldest cable news network has become the recent whipping boy of humorist Jon Stewart as well as many others who see the network as bumbling along with one error after another.

While Fox is deservedly viewed with great disdain by progressives, there are many who consistently toe the line with MSNBC. I am among the many who frequently find it affirming to watch MSNBC to receive reinforcement for the views that I have held for numerous years. I’m also among those who find it to be as boorish as it is insightful.

CNN is different from the two aforementioned. It is a news channel, or at least it tries to be one. When visionary Ted Turner launched the network on June 1, 1980, he set out to bring the United States and the rest of the world immediate news from wherever it occurred. This required a large staff of reporters, cinematographers, producers, editors and managers. Miriam-Webster refers to news as “new information or a report about something that has happened recently.” The presumption here is that it will be presented in an accurate fashion, or as Fox mistakenly says about itself, in a “fair and balanced” way.

Except on weekend nights, CNN is 24/7 news. It broke us through the barrier of having to wait until 5:30 PM (6:30 PM in the East and West) for what became commonly known as “breaking news.” CNN had the capability to turn live to any story in which there was breaking news. When the U.S. went to war in on August 2, 1990 to kick Iraq’s Saddam Hussein out of Kuwait, CNN brought us the “green jello” from many angles and many reporters. We heard from soldiers with boots on the ground, from military leaders, from Iraqi citizens on various sides of the dispute, from Kuwaitis and other interested parties in the Mid-East and around the world.

In 1992, when Bill Clinton energetically captured the Democratic nomination for president by plodding through dozens of primaries and caucuses, CNN was there. We the viewers received far more information on political strategies from key personnel than we ever had before in a campaign. When Clinton made himself a political fool and legal target in the Monica Lewinsky escapade, CNN was also there.

Through these stories and many more in recent years, CNN has worked to fill up 168 hours a week with news. The result is that many of us are far better informed than we previously were, but we also have been provided with unintended comedy. The station that tries to cover every story from beginning to end intended to do so with missing Malaysian Airline Flight 370. Regrettably for CNN, this is only the latest story in which the network becomes a parody of itself. Initial coverage was thorough, albeit it halting because of the misinformation of the Malaysian government as well as the overall paucity of facts. Traditionally when real breaking news occurs, CNN’s ratings double, allowing it to surpass Fox and MSNBC combined. It was in the network’s interest to keep the story of the missing airliner in the category of breaking news, so it made every attempt to do so.

But the story dragged on day after day and week after week. Now two months later, we really know no more than we did the day of the disappearance, perhaps less. CNN has laid itself on the line repeatedly, and generally come up empty. The low-point may have come on the evening of March 20 when anchor Don Lemon raised the question of whether the plane had disappeared in a black hole. “That’s what people are saying,” Lemon said. “I know it’s preposterous – but is it preposterous you think, Mary?” (to former Transportation Department Inspector General Mary Schiavo). Schiavo calmly responded “A small black hole would suck in our entire universe, so we know it’s not that.”

Many laughed at Lemon’s questions as many had laughed the previous year at CNN’s round-the-clock coverage of the Boston Marathon bombings which included a number of false theories, albeit all of them were qualified as not properly sourced.

CNN has made a fool of itself. But it’s also doing something that no other network has done – work to provide up-to-date news 24/7. This means that situations arise such as when Lemon was repeatedly asked to go on the air hours at a time and talk about the missing plane, while no news was happening and the only thing left to talk about was discredited theories and wild hypotheses. He was a good soldier to go out and try to keep alive the illusion of breaking news.

It finally became so farcical that the network essentially gave up coverage of what had become a non-story. But they were right that it was an unsolved mystery, and experts from around the world were faced with a challenge the likes of which they had never previously seen.

Joking about some of CNN’s on-air embarrassing moments is fair. But to use these moments to characterize their entire body of work is not fair. They have taken on a challenge that none of the other networks have attempted to duplicate. Perhaps CNN would vet their stories better if they had real competition in the round-the-clock news business. In the absence of that, I’m certainly willing to give them a break and would find it terribly disappointing if the mockery of their mistakes became so widespread that they gave up their mission of trying to bring us timely news.

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