#jewish diversity

[magnetothemagnificent]

(apologies in advance if this is a weird or offensive question, I'm just curious about the history)

Is judaica the same across Jewish communities of all global regions? Like do Asian, African, and European Jewish people have different types and styles of judaica, or is it generally all the same? I figured being dispersed across such varied areas would cause some divergences in how different cultural artifacts would look, but my cursory google searches have been unhelpful, both in finding judaica itself and in even getting any information on non-European Jewish communities.

I know this is probably a really ignorant question, but I like learning about different cultures and the history and evolutions of their artifacts.

There absolutely are different styles of Judaica!

Jews have been dispersed around the world, and thus our art has taken on many forms.

I will say though that a lot of Jews don't identify with just "Asian", "African", or "European". We are Jews. Our identity is Jewish. We have different labels that reflect where our ancestors found themselves in the diaspora at different points in history, but the three labels "Asian", "African", or "European" are far too simplistic. Ashkenazi, Italki, and Sephardi Jews have ties to Europe; Sephardi and Mizrachi and Ethiopian Jews have ties to Africa; Sephardi, Mizrachi, Bukharan, Cochin, and Kaifeng Jews have ties to Asia; all while being widely different and diverse subgroups and traditions. (There are far more different Minhagim than the ones I mentioned, by the way, I just mentioned a few as examples.)

Anyway, as for our Judaica.....

Of course it varies! We have had thousands of years to develop different art styles and techniques, although you will find certain motifs that arise often throughout most Judaica styles, such as Stars of David, lions, crowns, pomegranates and all of the rest of the Seven Species of Israel, eyes, hands, and fish.

Since it's almost Chanukah, I'm going to use different Chanukiyot as examples of the variations. I'm by no means an art historian, these are my notes based on what I've learned and read, and from observations.

Here is a classic Eastern European Chanukiyah. Here you can see two lions holding up a depiction of the seven-branched Temple Menorah, with a crown atop. It's made of bronze. This style of Chanukiyah was very popular, and had many variations. Sometimes the Temple Menorah was replaced with other motifs, such as the Ten Commandments, a Star of David, or some other symbol.

Here is a Moroccan Chanukiyah. You can see here that it's meant to be hanged on a platform or wall. It looks like it's made of copper. Already you can see the difference between this one and the previous one. You can see it has the floral and keyhole repeating patterns that are familiar in Moroccan art, and in fact this Chanukiyah here is intended to be lit with oil wicks, not candles, like the previous one.

This Chanukiyah isn't an antique, it's a modern design, as you can see by its oblong shape and reversable nature (it's supposed to be flipped over to serve as Shabbat candlesticks, too) however, it exemplifies the beautiful Yemenite Jewish silverwork. Silversmithing was historically a Jewish profession in Yemen, as Muslims were forbidden from silversmithing. Yemenite Jews acquired a reputation for their incredible silverwork. You can see how intricate the details are, the swirling, repeating patterns and leaves.

Here is an Italian Chanukiyah, likely from the 18th century. You can see the twin lions here again, only this time they're holding a flame. This Chanukiyah is also made for oil wicks, not candles. (Oil wicks are the more traditional and older way to light the Chanukah lights.) On it is enscribed in Hebrew, "Like the flame of Mitzvah and the Torah of light". There's also different designs than on the Eastern European Chanukiyah, such as the leaves and filigree, and the domed "roof".

And finally, here is an elaborate silver Ukranian Chanukiyah from the 19th century. This was once in the Great Suburban Synagogue in Lviv, and survived Nazi occupation. This is obviously a far more elaborate design than an average household would have, as this was in display in a syngogue and was intended to be a prominent peace of art. You can see again, more lions holding up the base of the lamp, and flowers and leaves and filigree, and a bird perched on top. The original Temple Menorah was described as having bulbs and flowers, and thus many Chanukiyah designs embody this by including such motifs in their designs.

These were only a few examples I was able to hobble together, and honestly you're right, anon, there aren't many accessible resources outlining the history and variation of Judaica.

Here's some further reading about Jewish art if you're interested:

Jewish Art: A Brief History

Jewish Art in the Ancient World

Ancient and Modern Art

Goldsmiths and Silversmiths

Jewish Art in Medieval and Modern Times

And this isn't educational, but it's a really interesting article:

Jewelry and Jewish Feminism

[id in alt text]

#jumblr #jewish art #judaism #chanukah #art styles #jewish silversmithing #jewish diversity

[koshercosplay]

ayo, i currently just remebered a story concept i had that has a lot of jews in it and i was wondering if you knew any good recorces about diffrent practices between diffrent groups of jews all over the world?

im familar with basicaly only ashkenazi practices so i think that could be useful.

you'd probably get the most information by searching for specific practices, as opposed to searching broadly. like searching specifically for "moroccan jews" "ethiopian jews" etc. depending on who you want to write.

that being said, you might find some helpful information on JPR's website, as well as the Jews Around the Globe Archives from myjewishlearning.

I know that you probably already know this, but I'm going to put this here in case others find it useful/don't know what you mean by ashkenazi:

generally, the large categories of jewish experience will be grouped geographically into ashkenazi (european), sephardic (originally meant just spain and portugal, now also includes africa and the middle east), and mizrachi (mena - middle east, north africa). please note that these categories don't encompass everyone: ethiopian jews tend to be their own category, among others. but broadly speaking, these are the big groups.

good luck in your search!

#i hope those links help you somewhat! #and I'm sorry for taking so long to answer this #as always if anyone has more information or knows some good sources feels free to jump in #asks #answers #jewish diaspora #jewish diversity #writing #jewish tradition #rose-icosahedron

[septembergold]

Jewish Wedding Ring. First half 14th century

German

#germany #culture #medieval #wedding rings #heritage #ashkenazi #jewish #jewish culture #the met #gold #german history #peoples #diversity #old world #14th century

[lawbreaker13]

Flaming hot take, but not every movie or TV show needs to hit every individual diversity mark to be a good movie or show?

Like, please understand, I very much get the concept of intersectionality, and I know the actual statistics of minorities’ presence in the world and there is a whole lot of overlap that would be nice to see realistically portrayed in the media but it’s just like. Sometimes a story is just…A story. It’s one person’s story. And it doesn’t need to hit some specific diversity quota to be a good story.

Accept the movies about Latin people as a movie about Latin people. Accept the queer representation as queer representation. Take the story about the disabled person for what it is. But if it’s a story about a queer couple facing adversity, maybe don’t get up in arms about them not being the “right type” of queer for you. Wild idea? TELL THAT STORY YOURSELF.

Because sometimes that straight couple is dealing with other issues in their universe, and that’s why it’s not gay. Sometimes if you cast a black woman, that makes it a black story. And that Asian storyteller isn’t telling the story of a black woman. They’re telling their story.

So instead of getting mad that this isn’t the story YOU wanted to hear? Tell the story you wanted to hear. Because that one is theirs. And someone deserves to tell yours.

The diversity quota does as much of a disservice to storytelling as a lack of representation does. If you don’t resonate enough, make something we can resonate with more. Let us claim our stories as our own, and leave others to say what they want to say.

If we all tell our stories, I promise. Eventually you’ll find one just for you.

#Truly a sizzling hot take #I’m sorry #It’s just starting to piss me off #Like guys #I’m not the person to tell this black story #I can tell a neurodivergent story or a Jewish one #But I’m not qualified to tell a black story #Let someone else #Storytelling #Movies #TV #Television #Diversity #Representation #Individuality #Rant #Personal #Mine

[rotzaprachim]

i don’t want to be overly essentialist or talk outside my cultural lane but... there is something so intensely not anglo-’murican about the way the way andor treats death and it’s so fascinating and refreshing. like on one level this is a show profoundly about death from the very structure of its narrative, but it’s about how you live knowing you will die rather than the glorious death-from-martyrdom-death-as-redemption narrative, and therefor, inversely, about the profound interconnections between the dead and the living and those on the liminal in-between. now we have maarva’s death, and the very introduction of her death comes through the assembled chorus of communal voices who have come to clean her house and take her to rest. (i also love the fact that maarva died, explicitly, of old age and so many of the other related issues. i don’t think you can make the case that the empire *wasn’t* involved because she’s someone so utterly and clearly destroyed by its actions, but i do like that this was a so-called “ordinary” death, because of the thematic purpose that even “ordinary” deaths are heartbreaking and awful and worth remembering.)

andor makes it canon that there are communal aid organizations- i immediately think chevra kadishas! though many cultures have their own organisations and social structures for how to support the grieving and honour the dead- which is just one of the ways it highlights community and the complexity of interpersonal relationships. the daughters of ferrix are introduced an episode earlier, and i realised on a rewatch with my family that the daughter of ferrix - keezy maybe?- introduced at the beginning of the episode is also mentioned by bee in the first episode as being someone who helps maarva with her dinner and medication. we don’t see maarva’s body go alone, we see her transported through the streets by the women of ferrix. andor makes the case of elder care as communal connection and antifascist work, AND that it is done by the same people as those that bury the dead. and the way that andor is building up t having the season finale be the funeral, the thing that drags cassian home and into the line of fire being his mother’s funeral, the storytelling possible about funerary customs and memorialisation as acts of cultural resistance and aggressive rehumanisation... i’m too verklempt to say much more but i think the way this thematic arc is so intertwined with cassian’s time in narkina 5 and the scene with him and melshi at the end of the episode like! no one is lovingly honouring every one of those men with two-day funeral ceremonies through the streets. NO ONE remembers but cassian and melshi. two episodes earlier ulaf died, but the closest thing he had to the daughters of ferrix was the doctor, the fellow prisoner, who refused to learn his name and quietly euthanised him in the hallway. until we know more there were nearly five thousand other deaths. and the episode ends with melshi saying, it’s our duty as survivors to carry the weight of memory so that other people will know and remember this. they are also carrying the weight of mourning those whose time it was not to die. fuck. this show guys. it has me 

#andor #andor spoilers #andor meta #my experience of funerary stuff is very much in the pinoy/irish/jewish nexus so i'd love to hear other thoughts #but damn this hit deep cored me the Ethnic ness of it all really #maarva andor #melshi's speech as very similar to many jewish rememberences of the shoah too like fuck. we REMEMBER #we force you to remember we are always remembering we are always surviving #cassian andor #ruescott melshi #not being latine i don't want to say something *broad* about entire diverse cultures' conceptions of death but i WAs reading #octavio paz's essay on day of the dead and death and yeah.yeah. many many manyyyy thoughts

[pomegranateandhoney]

words mean things

i got into an argument with someone today because they said not all jews are ethnically jewish, and i said -- yes we are, and they said well converts aren't ethnically jewish. and i said... all jews are ethnically jewish, but we're not all the same race. this person was like well i think of race as a social construct and ethnicity as something you can't change, and like. the definition of ethnicity:

the quality or fact of belonging to a population group or subgroup made up of people who share a common cultural background or descent.

the definition of race:

any one of the groups that humans are often divided into based on physical traits regarded as common among people of shared ancestry

and these are dictionary definitions, not my personal ones. so yeah, man, all jews including converts? ethnically jewish. my rabbi makes a point of this, actually, when discussing conversion -- converts are the same as non converts according to jewish law. you convert into the religion and ethnicity. ethnicity is not about DNA.

i dunno, it bugged me.

#judaism #jews #converts are ethnically jewish #all jews are ethnically jewish #it's an ethno-religion #stop trying to make converts 'less' jewish thanks #jews are RACIALLY diverse

[goose-onthe-loose]

No I'm not frum anymore but I will NEVER shut up about the complete lack of orthodox representation in media. THERE. IS. NONE.

I've never seen an orthodox character in a movie, or book, or tv show, outside of the very niche genre produced BY us, FOR us.

"But what about Unorthodox--" No. That's about someone who used to be frum. That's a completely separate thing.

Do you have any idea how much that would have meant to as me a kid? To see or read about even ONE character in mainstream media who was like me? To know that someone even knew people like me existed?? And accepted it??? It would have meant the world.

And so, to the authors and screenwriters and character designers and podcasters and animators and EVERYONE working in the entertainment industry, I say:

Give me Chaya's and Perel's and Basya's and Devorah's. Baruch's and Chaim's and Avi's and Tzvi's.

Give me girls wearing long-sleeved shirts and skirts that go past the knees.

Give me boys with yarmulkes and tzitzit.

Give me characters saying "Do you wanna come over for shabbos/yuntif?"

Or, "hang on, I need to go daven shachris."

Or, "Is it Kosher?"

Give me bubbes and shuls and cholent and tehillim.

Give me explicitly orthodox representation.

And if you won't do it for me, then do it for all the others who feel invisible.

We're in the theaters and the bookstores and spread across all the internet, and we see you.

Why can't you see us, too?

#jewish #orthodox jew #frum #otd #jewblr #judaism #diversity #inclusion #representation #representation matters

[matan4il]

Some days, coming home, getting on Tumblr and looking at my activity log, seeing people liking and reblogging, commenting in replies and tags on posts I've shared from different fandoms or dealing with different subjects, it's like...

It's like I prepared a buffet before I left my house for work that morning, I opened a gigantic table in the living room and I put there every dish and drink I could think of, just a huge assortment for whatever people's taste in food might be, I sent out invitations to all of my friends and left the door open for them. Then I came back home to find them all eating and drinking in my living room, enjoying the different dishes, chatting away happily... and most days, being disabled, I don't have the energy to join the buffet. I go and lie down to rest in my bed. But I can hear the chatter from the living room. And it makes me happy. It just makes me so, so happy.

Thank you for coming to my buffet, friends.

#fandom #fandom culture #fandom meta #fandom things #fandom love #buddie #mileapo #captain swan #black sails #judaism #feminism #jewish history #gay pride #cute animals #just some of the stuff i post about #at least semi-regularly #and it makes me so happy that the dishes are so diverse and there's always someone that likes at least one #kinnporsche #our flag means death #the blacklist

[neverwritewhatyouknow]

Let’s talk Grey’s Anatomy.

Their Jewish doctors aren’t Jewish. Their major Jewish characters aren’t Jewish.

Was there not a single Jewish 13 year old in LA?

Are there no Jewish men in their late 20s/early 30s?

That’s hard to believe.

Grey’s has a “Jewish consultation” which, I guess is nice because at least you know what you’re seeing has at least been handled with some care. But, that doesn’t just make it okay to still whitewash an ethnic group.

If I hire a “Hispanic consultant” can I make a live-action Encanto starting Dakota Fanning as Mirabel? What if I teach her Spanish? Then that’s okay, right? What if she studies the culture for a few days? Then she can def star in it alongside Brad Pitt, Tom Holland, and Reese Witherspoon.

Finding an actor with curly hair and a “Jewish look” isn’t representation. It’s rude. It’s wrong. It’s lazy.

#antisemitism #Hollywood hates Jews #greys anatomy #lack of diversity in media #Jewish #jumblr

[hebrewbyinbal]

So where are they? How do Arabs live in Israel??

#israel #diversityequityandinclusion #stophate #equalrights

#stop antisemitism #stop hate #stand with israel #israel #diversity equity and inclusion #diversity #inclusion #jewish #equal rights

[ironhusband]

Listen I have no problem with Erik being visibly not white in fanfics and fanworks (well, no problem with his skin colour but more so what it implies; If your reasoning for headcanoning him as Black or Romani or Mizrahi or whatever else have something to do with oppression - I.E. antisemitism doesn’t exist enough in the modern world for your bullshit plot or you think you’re taking some power back from the oppressors - I want you to think for a second about your own inability to emphasise with Jewish people if they don’t look or act how you want them to. However, if you just don’t want Wanda and Pietro whitewashed regardless of who their other parent is in your AU or want Erik to look like you or just cause you think it’s fun - go ahead, I’m cheering you on) but it truly baffles me to see a non white Erik act like an Ashkenazi Jew from then on. That’s like dividing by zero in a calculator - stupid and ultimately pointless. Plus, you basically culturally whitewashed him. I’m all for non-white Erik but if you do that and lazy around about the differences in Romani Jewish and Mizrahi Jewish customs you might as well just stay home or draw him white because what was even the point?

#this post is for non goys. I mean Ashkenazi Jews shouldn’t culturally whitewash him either but I doubt it happens as often as with gentiles #simply cause of misinformation #anyways I encourage non white erik if the reasons are anything other than ‘the police should beat him up’ #but do the research! it’s fun! it’ll make your Erik better! it’ll teach you new things! it’ll make him stop speaking German! #feeling very emotional about Jewish diversity in this chilli’s tonight #also if you use non white Erik as an excuse to erase his Jewishness (Christianity esp but others on thin ice as well) YOU are the PROBLEM #ramble rumble #jewish #jumblr #judaism #erik lehnsherr #max eisenhardt #magneto #magento #x men #x-men #marvel

[multigenderswag]

Hello S. Did you mean to reblog bark mitzvah to your multigender blog /silly

No I did not! Wrong blog incident 69 dead 420 injured

#diversity win the jewish dog is multigender now

[roystonvasey]

as an antizionist jew i hear and see calls for jewish unity, the thought that the jewish people must be united / jewish solidarity is the only way to survive, and this is probably controversial but: no. i will not be in unity with colonizers, genocidal nationalists who happen also to be jews. they are not my family, not my tribe. we do not worship the same g-d. does your g-d look upon the massacre of civilians and smile? mine does not. mine is an ancient divine of justice and covenant. the soul of judaism dies with you. it lives in me, in diaspora, in palestinian jews and black jews and queer jews and trans jews and converts and magic-workers and in the mighty community we make and care for. THAT is jewish unity. not the destruction of yiddish and ladino and all of our ancestral tongues. not the genocide of a people for the sake of nationalism and power. not the silencing of jews who speak out against the zionist project and their allies in liberation. you bring us further from olam ha-ba, not closer to it. heal your hearts. listen to the voice of hashem who calls you home to love and true liberation. listen to shekhinah who cries out with the grief of a mother for all those you have destroyed.

#im furious can you tell? #tired of being told that being jewish means i need to be in community with all jews. #my judaism is expansive not exclusive. it grows and thrives on diversity and justice.

[adhdsocialist]

I know we're well past this at this point but the actual issue with a lot of the coverage both activists and like regular news organizations have on the Palestinian Genocide is that people keep misconstruing it as a Jews vs Muslims War.

#flattening down Israel to “Jews” benefits their state in so many ways #it has been a continued justification for its perpetuation internationally #but Israel has no protections for Holocaust survivors or SWANA jewish people #who frequently live in poverty and are sterilized respectively #If instead you are focusing on whether you believe Jews or Muslims deserve to live more you are deciding on an arbitrary factor #that doesn't even influence whether the state DOING GENOCIDE protects the people you are talking about #I think of the Blonde Palestinian Children who were kidnapped because they're white passing so they must secretly be Israeli #and how they have been permanently ripped from their families and deposited in Israel #and I think of the jewish man who was killed by the IDF who had been trying for years to be granted israeli citizenship #but had been rejected on the grounds of Palestinian allegiance #Remember that part of what you are fighting for is the inherent diversity of the Levant #and if you ignore it Israeli propaganda that relies on you caring about one group over the other and dictates to you who is in what group #succeeds and gains international legitimacy #Free Palestine

[couriernewvegas]

everything online is so annoying right now being jewish . cant go like 3 steps without someone being like “jewish people ___” like u are not speaking for me shut up lol

#both random ppl and jewish ppl i disagree with suddenly deciding a diverse group of ppl is an entire monolith hivemind like anything they #can in order to justify whatever horrible things they have to say next

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicmas23 Day 11: Mad World

Good evening!

Today we have some of Mad World which I don't seem to have posted much of? Despite writing a decent amount of? Very strange.

This fic is based around Alice being Charlie's estranged niece, and being sent to live with Bella and Charlie to finish high school after an incident at her boarding school.

Of course, Alice's paternal extended family happens to be Romani, and of course, she gets mixed up in some very mysterious happenings that keep leading back to the Cullens and the Res.

It's a very rough draft, and I think will involve Alice thinking there's a murder mystery but instead, vampires and werewolves.

I hope you enjoy it!

You can find the first part of Mad World right here.

mad world. 

Mami is singing to me and brushing my hair out. I’m drawing, my red crayon skating over the paper. We’re ready to go - the flowers are in the kitchen sink, and I’m dressed - no more black, Mami said. Instead, my dress is dark blue with flowers all over it; Mami made it herself. She’ll put red and white ribbons in my hair, and we’ll go to the cemetery. 

“What have you drawn for your papa, angel?” Mami leans over my shoulder. 

“Me and Daddy,” I say quietly. For an eight-year-old, the drawing is good. My memory of us is clear, and I have rendered it as accurately as I am able. 

Mami frowns and takes my drawing. “It’s very good, but perhaps something happier?” she says gently. 

“Okay, Mami,” I agree, and start a new drawing of Daddy and I in Mami’s garden, smiling as Mami folds the drawing and slips it into her apron and resumes fixing my hair. 

The cemetery is within walking distance, and we find ourselves there before lunch. It’s quiet, and there are a few people around. We find Daddy easily - under the tree, where we put a bench. We are not his first visitors and Mami scowls at that. She sweeps the offerings away without care - people who never met Daddy, leaving behind little paintings, brushes and pigments, flowers and flameless candles. She arranges our flowers, props up my drawing, and then lights our candles. She holds me tight and kisses my head, and I breathe in her scent of rosewater and thyme. 

Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, my father died, and the sadness has settled into our bones, into the foundations of the house. He's never coming back.

Everyone leaves me in the end.

//

I met my cousin Isabella first thing the next morning. I had woken up in desperate need of a shower, grabbing my last clean outfit and toiletries as I stumbled out of bed - and practically ran into her on the stairs. 

She was taller than I was, with long brown hair and a few faint freckles over her nose. She wore what I was beginning to suspect was the unofficial Forks uniform of jeans, boots, and a not-inexpensive spray jacket. She definitely looked like my mom, though not as much as she did in the photos, but one thing that could be said was that she had the girl-next-door type of soft, easy prettiness.

And she did not look eager to meet me.

“Hi,” I said as brightly as I could, considering my hair was tangled, I was still filthy, and wearing a pair of ancient pajamas printed with duckies that had a rather vile but permanent blood-stain across the leg. “You must be Isabella. I’m Alice.”

“Hey,” she said, and I turned, to follow her into the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t meet you last night, I was really tired,” I said as she moved around the kitchen to get her breakfast - she walked with a slight limp. “It’s a long way from North Carolina.” Especially when Mommy Dearest won’t spring for airfare. 

“Mmm,” Isabella said. “Charlie said you had some paperwork for school that I needed to take in?”

“Oh, sure. I’ll just grab it.” I slipped back through the house and grabbed the manila folder from my desk. I’d filled it out on the journey to Forks, and it was a little smudged and crumpled, but still perfectly legible. 

Holding out the folder to my cousin, I wondered if she’d snoop on the contents - I didn’t really want her knowing all of the stuff in the there. But then, how sneaky did you have to be to page through someone’s school enrolment paperwork?

“Thanks for taking it in for me,” I said, as Isabella slid it into her backpack. 

“No problem. Charlie had to leave early this morning, but he might come home for lunch,” she said, as she sloshed some coffee and milk into a thermos. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” I called, as she high-tailed it out of the kitchen.

So that was my cousin. 

I had other cousins, of course. Aunt Simone had five kids that I had seen during vacations with my grandmother and father in my childhood; I hadn’t really seen them often enough to be close to them. And Stephen had a brother with kids, whom I was supposed to consider my cousins. We had seen them too often for my comfort. 

And Isabella. Isabella who either looked too hard or away from me; who didn’t like me, who was so uncomfortable with my presence, and who wore my mom’s face.  

Seventeen months, twenty-nine days. 

Isabella and I would be the best of friends, it would just take time.

It was going to be fine.

//

Uncle Charlie and Isabella got home together, just after six. I was going a bit stir-crazy - the rain put me off going outside, and I still felt a little uncomfortable outside of my own bedroom. I had cleaned up the kitchen and bathroom, done a load of household laundry to help out, and contemplated making a batch of brownies, but Charlie’s oven and stove were on the older side, and the whirring and rattling when I touched the knobs had put me off baking anything. 

I tried to chat with Isabella and Charlie before dinner, but Charlie seemed eager to watch TV with a beer. Bella was absorbed in cooking dinner - and had been completely unimpressed when I admitted that I wasn’t much of a cook. 

“I was in a dorm, and outside of home-ec classes, there weren’t any opportunities to really cook,” I said hurriedly, but I was slightly annoyed - other than the bread and peanut butter I had been sustaining on, there hadn’t been any food in the house I could have used to prepare dinner. Isabella had brought some groceries home with her.

“The stuff you learned in home-ec should be fine,” she said, putting spaghetti into bowls. “And, um, call me Bella.”

I shrugged. “Okay, Bella. And if you and Charlie aren’t picky, I’m happy to practice,” I said, unconsciously rubbing my arm, and mentally skimming the few basic recipes I’d learned at school. Most of the cooking had been camp-style basics that were just varying combinations of food plus fire. Now, if she wanted me to roll a cigarette or pick a lock, then I could have been useful. 

“We can talk about it later,” Bella said, handing me a bowl, and picking up two others.

Bella seemed completely disinterested in my presence as we sat down to dinner. Uncle Charlie was exhausted, and made a point of loudly praising the chicken and broccoli alfredo Bella had made, but ate it mechanically. Neither of them made conversation, so I gave up, nibbling at the food, and volunteering to clean up. After dinner, Charlie did take the time to show me the chest freezer in the screened porch, disguised by a blanket and stack of old board games. 

It was packed with a fairly obscene amount of fish, and vegetables, with a few TV-dinners packed in the corner, as well as a couple of loaves of bread.

“We don’t eat anything fancy,” Charlie said, as I helped him pack some of the groceries into it. “Bells has some cook books if you want to learn. You don’t have any allergies?”

I shook my head. “Nope,” I said. “I just hate mac and cheese.”

Charlie smiled at me. “Yeah, I never liked the stuff either.”

I followed him back into the living room, where he handed me a set of house keys. 

“Good luck at school tomorrow,” he said, as I stuffed the keys into the pocket of my sweatpants. “Bells will give you a lift.”

“Thanks Uncle Charlie,” I replied. “It will be nice to be back at a normal school.”

Charlie chuckled and wandered off towards the television. I slipped back into my bedroom, pulling my cell phone out and jabbing in the number I knew by heart.

“Hullo?” My mami’s voice filled my ear, weaker than I remembered, but with her odd accent that was a little bit French, a little bit Canadian, and a little bit of the old country. 

“It’s Alice, Mami,” I said, lying down on my bed. 

“Oh, my Alice,” she cooed in my ear, pronouncing it the Italian way. “Sweetheart, are you okay?

“Yes, Mami. I’m in Washington, with my Uncle Charlie,” I said.

My grandmother Miriana was living in a care home in Florida, with my grandfather Thomas, and nearby my Auntie Tate, and my aunt Nicolette. I hated how far apart we were - I missed our little house with the crazy garden, I missed her standing in the kitchen, feeding the birds on the window sill, her strange amulets hanging from door frames and windowsills. 

“Charlie?” Mami said sharply. 

“Mom’s brother,” I said, calmly. “He’s a police officer.”

“Pfft!” I heard Mami spit. “You call me if he doesn’t treat you well, understand?” As if she could do anything to help me - custody had reverted to my mom, and Mami wasn’t strong anymore. But it still felt nice, hearing that declaration of protection. 

“Yes, Mami. But how are you and Grandpa?” I closed my eyes; I could almost smell her homemade hand cream, fell her hands braiding my hair. God, I missed her. 

“Good. Nicolette brought the children to see us,” Mami’s voice tapered off. 

“That’s good, you always wanted to see more of them,” I said encouragingly. 

“Yes,” Mami sounded distracted. “You should call Tate.”

“I will tomorrow,” I said. “After school, so I can tell her all about school. They won’t let her talk on the phone this late.”

“Yes. She will like that very much,” Mami’s sounded dreamy, but on the phone I couldn’t tell if it was the stroke damage, or just Mami being Mami. “Always put love out there, Alice. Even if it doesn’t seem like it, it will come around back to you. Remember that, Alice.”

“I will,” I said.

“Write it down,” Mami said sternly, before falling silent.

“I have to go now, Mami,” I said, after waiting a minute. Her mind was going - Grandpa had dementia, I knew the signs. “I’ll send you a letter, okay?”

“Draw me all the pictures, little one,” Mami said vaguely. “Sleep deeply.”

“You too. I love you,” I said, as Mami hung up. I missed her like crazy, but not like this. I missed my old, half-crazy grandmother, who taught me to read tarot and told me stories from the old country. Now, she felt like a ghost of her old self. 

My little bed was very comfortable, and I curled into a little ball, opening up the old photos I had saved on my phone, of Mami and me when I was little. I wish...

I wished for a lot of things, all of them utterly impossible, and thinking about them just made me sadder.

//

Jasper Hale had, in the period of forty minutes, deeply endeared both himself and the town of Forks to me.

My shoulders were pressed against a low-hanging branch, whilst I perched on the edge of a boulder, my legs hooked over both his hips. One of his hands was sliding up the back of my shirt, and the other one was sliding under my skirt. His mouth grazed my throat, and I giggled, twisting my fingers in his hair. 

“Is this weird?” I asked, as he pulled away, his eyes dark. “We’ve just met.”

Jasper chuckled, and the hand gripping my thigh slid up further. 

“It’s just,” I said, my voice wavering, “I don’t want to you think that I am … the kind of girl that does this… with the first boy who smiles at her…” I was very much regretting not taking Jasper back to the Swan house, though I’m sure my bed there would have collapsed with the weight of both of us on it. 

Jasper pulled back and stared at me. Actually considered me, like a painting on a wall. The hand resting on my back came up, and traced my face. 

“No. No, I would not,” Jasper said softly. “I don’t do this sort of thing either. It’s … out of character, that’s for sure. I didn’t think… I think we both took a chance on each other. A meeting of the minds, I suppose.”

“Amongst other parts,” I said with a grin, and he chuckled. 

“My brothers are always telling me to be more spontaneous,” he murmured, leaning back towards me, and I smiled, pulling him closer towards me.

//

I stumbled home after dark - both Jasper and I had lost track of time, defiling each other. Most tragically, neither of us had anticipated exactly how the day would end, and even a boy that looked like Jasper Hale wasn’t convincing me to do anything without a condom. A problem I planned to rectify the next day at Forks’ only drug store. God, wouldn’t that be a treat for the gossips - ‘Chief Swan’s estranged niece, Annette’s girl, was buying contraceptives a week after she arrived in town!'

The knees of my tights, and the back of my skirt were filthy, as I clattered in the front door to find Bella setting the table, and Charlie watching TV with a beer. Ignoring Bella’s accusatory look with a breezy greeting, I dashed into my bedroom to get changed. I still had a mountain of homework, and I was desperate for a shower. 

//

I managed to wake up before my alarm the next morning, more antsy than sleep-deprived. I wanted to look good today, in case Jasper was having second thoughts. But not like I had put in any effort at all. I had one v-neck sweater, in a fantastic blood red colour that made my boobs look more impressive, and a brand new pair of jeans. I ended up wrestling with my hair longer than was appropriate, and decided against a full face of make-up, and just added eye-liner and lipstick. 

The result was… acceptable. It was a lot less interesting than I normally would have opted for, but I almost looked cute. 

I’d spent far too long, the previous night, contemplating suggestions for the weekend - he had both a car and a driver’s license, so I was thinking the safest option was a movie and dinner. Or we could skip right to dessert, I didn’t mind. 

I had to remember to double-check with Uncle Charlie to see if I had a curfew. 

Bella had already left by the time I sloshed some coffee into a thermos cup; luckily, a bus ran right past the corner, and dropped me off close to school. I really had to get some driver’s ed classes. 

I didn’t see the Cullens - or Bella - until after the bell rang. Spotting them in the hallway, I smiled and straightened up, ready to snag Jasper away from the rest of his weird family. 

“Hey,” I began with a smile on my face, but I already knew. The stoic expressions, the sneer on Rosalie's face, the vaguely disgusted look on Edward’s, and the fact that Jasper was staring dead-ahead, even turning his head away from me.  

The Cullens and Bella pushed past without even acknowledging me. 

For a second, it was like I was outside of reality. That this wasn’t happening to me. 

And then I was back, watching them walk away. 

I would have thought Jasper was better than that. To blow me off, after we… after everything he said to me…

Steeling myself, I turned around and headed to my first class, trying to get my heart to stop thundering in my chest. This wasn’t new. I hadn’t had any friends at my old school either. Friends were something other people had, and I was fine on my own. Boyfriends were useless, too, unless you needed protection.

I had to focus on what I did have, not what I didn’t have or need: I was out of North Carolina, I was out of my mother’s house, and I had a year until graduation.  

Whatever. Rolling my eyes, I kept walking. Friends were something other people had, and I was fine on my own. I was out of North Carolina, I wasn’t living with my mother, and I was nearly done with high school. 

It still hurt.

//

Uncle Charlie came out to the back porch after dinner. Bella had made lasagna, and conversation had been stilted - obviously whatever Bella thought she knew about Jasper Hale and I had earned me the silent treatment. Or as close as she could get without Uncle Charlie realising. 

I’d finished my homework, and come out to sketch, which had gravitated from my sketchbook to doodling a new tattoo on my thigh, over the top of one of my last uncovered scars.  

“How’s it going, kid?” he asked, leaning against the railing.

“It’s going pretty well, Uncle Charlie,” I said, looking up from where I was shading the sun.

“How’s school? Making friends?”

No, but I am fucking douchebags in the woods. “Not so much,” I said honestly, capping my pen. “But I don’t really make friends well.”

“Bells can introduce you around. She knows some good kids,” Charlie said, taking a swig from his beer.

“Nah, I don’t want to cramp her style,” I smiled brightly, imagining what Bella would say if I made such a suggestion. “We already have to live together.”

Charlie didn’t reply, just watched as I sketched the tree of life onto my leg. I liked it better than the sun. 

“You need anything, you just have to say something, okay Alice?” Charlie looked serious. 

I nodded. “Thanks Uncle Charlie. Really. You didn’t have to take me in and I just wanted to let you know that I’m grateful,” I said quietly. 

“Of course. You’re family,” Uncle Charlie studied me. “Your mom didn’t mentioned much about your dad or family…”

I looked back down at my pen-drawn tattoo. “Dad died when I was a kid, after he and mom split up,” I said, adding a few more leaves. “I stayed with my grandmother for awhile, but she had to go into a home. That’s when I moved back with Mom.”

“I never met your dad,” Uncle Charlie sounded genial, but he was a cop. He’d know how to get kids to talk. “He came after your mom left Forks.”

I nodded - that wasn’t a surprise. Mom never really spoke about her life before she left the Swans - she always spoke of her family as if she wasn’t apart of them - and she certainly never would have tolerated a tag-along boyfriend, someone who knew her ‘before’. 

“Dad was great,” I said softly. “He lived with my grandmother, Miriana. They were the best.”

“You miss them a lot, huh,” Charlie said as he finished his beer.

“More than a lot. Dad dying was like my world ended,” I said, staring off into space. “But Mami was there and made things better. Then she had a stroke and Aunt Nico put her in a home. In Florida.” It did make sense - my grandfather was in the same home already, and Aunt Nic lived in Florida with her family. It still broke my heart. 

“So, your dad’s side of the family was just his parents and a sister?” Charlie asked. 

“Hmm? No, he has three sisters. Nicolette, Simone and Tate. But none of them could take me in,” I said. “Nic’s got five kids - one who has major special needs; Simone lives on a weird commune in California that I’m 99% sure is just an elaborate weed farm, and Tate lives in a care facility. Plus Mom has no way of contacting them.” Well, she’d been conspiring with Nico for years, but had never admitted to it. 

“I wasn’t criticizing, Alice. I’m glad to have you. I was just wondering who’d been looking after you all these years,” Charlie really was very kind. 

“I look after myself,” I said staunchly. “And Mami did fine right up until the stroke. She cooked and cleaned and took care of me. And she had Tate in a residential care place nearby for years. We’d visit her once a week and at Christmas. When Mami moved, Nic moved Tate as well.”

It was hard to explain my father’s side of the family. Mami had come from a huge Romani family, and had scandalised everyone when she ran off with a French-Canadian college student in her youth. Grandpa Thomas had always had an amused sort of tolerance for Mami and her beliefs. He had loved his family, loved her traditions even when he couldn’t understand them, and fiercely protected all of us from bigotry, with his words, his fists, and his nice, plain surname.

Dad had met Mom in Biloxi, and that’s where I’d spent my first three years of life. I didn’t really know much more than that; Mom had rarely mentioned Dad, and when she did, it was mostly to insult him. I just know Dad had hated Biloxi and when the marriage was over, he took me with him when he went home.

//

The art teacher’s slide show was never-ending, and I needed it to end. But the last slide was the worst. Dad’s portrait, looking thin and haunted, along with his last painting.

“Nico Brandon committed suicide July 11th that year, at the age of 34,” my art teacher droned on. “It is generally accepted that the suicide was planned in great detail, as the final act itself completed his final painting - according to his agent, one of the few people to see that painting in person.”

Maxine. I had loathed her. 

“How did killing himself finish the painting?” Ashley asked, confused. 

“Brandon shot himself in the head,” Ms Cage said. “The blood and matter transferred to the canvas behind him.”

I was 7. I had escaped Mami’s eye for a minute and slipped out to the studio to see him. He was sitting on a stool in front of the canvas - the Big One, he called it. 

The gun was already in his mouth.

His finger on the trigger. 

“Daddy?” I asked, confused, but his finger was already closing over the trigger, his blue eyes on mine.

Bang.

“… no, the painting has never been displayed,” Ms Cage said patiently. 

“So gross,” someone said.

Bang.

I didn’t scream.

Mami did, when she found me.

Maxine wailed. 

“Alice?” I looked over at Angela beside me. She looked worried. “Are you okay?”

I was crying, I realised, in the middle of class.

The teacher had spotted me, and looked concerned. It would take her another few moments to realise she’d just presented a lecture on my father’s suicide. It was no secret that it had been his daughter that had found him. 

Everyone still thought of me as Annie Swan’s daughter. 

The whole class was staring at me now, and Angela pressed a tissue into my hand. 

I opened my mouth to tell Ms Cage I was going to the nurse, but instead, my traitorous mouth said, “We didn’t know he had the gun.”

Ms Cage looked confused, then horrified, going white and then red. 

“M-Ms Weber, can you take her to the nurse?”

//

The thing with living in such close quarters in the middle of puberty is that affection burned fast and hard. I'd had boyfriends - and a girlfriend - at school, and none of them lingered in my mind fondly.

Hearing Charlie rant about some poor girl’s injuries from her boyfriend made me feel… antsy. Irritable. And kind of amused she’d made such a fuss. 

“If anyone ever lifts a hand to you girls…” Charlie shook his head. I snorted.

“It’s okay Uncle Charlie,” I said, “I wouldn’t even bother mentioning it to him, let alone get the police involved.”

Charlie’s knife scraped against his plate, and he was staring at me. 

“Alice, if a boy so much as looks at you funny, I want you to tell me,” Charlie said slowly. “If anyone tries to hit you, I want you to call 911 immediately. Boys aren’t supposed to hurt you.”

I wanted to laugh. That’s all boys did. Dad swallowed a bullet in front of me; my stepfather had hit me; the school director admitted me to that hellhole; the faceless boys who stalked me at school...

And Jasper Hale had ghosted me.

All boys ever did was hurt me. Uncle Charlie hadn’t yet, but I hadn’t known him very long; he still had a year and a half to prove my hypothesis.

Of course, girls hadn’t exactly been kind to me either. Maybe it wasn’t them, maybe it was just me.

“I just don’t like a lot of fuss,” I managed, but Bella and Charlie exchanged looks. 

//

Jasper didn't look amused as he took a seat beside me in History. The junior class wasn't big enough to avoid someone forever - this moment was inevitable.

"Alice..." Jasper began stiffly, and I shook my head.

"We have four weeks to get this paper done. I vote we do it fast and then pretend it never happened," I said without looking up, my fingers twisting through one of my necklaces - a saint's medallion that my Catholic grandfather had given me. Hopefully, it was the patron saint of avoiding awkward moments. "You don't even have to talk to me in school - we can do it all over email or in class."

Jasper stared at me and for a moment, I felt sad. Disappointed and almost oddly longing. And then it passed and he nodded.

"That's probably best," he said finally and pushed his notebook closer, offering me a pen. "Your email?"

I scrawled my details down, ignoring the way he watched me, his eyes darting when the tattoo on my arm was revealed. He'd seen it before, and the others, when I'd started school.

The bell rang and I nearly threw the pen down in my haste to leave.

If Jasper hadn't wanted to be with me, we could have just been friends. I would have liked a friend.

It didn't matter; the school year was almost over. I probably wouldn't cross paths with Jasper much after this. Mom had already informed me that I was being sent to some summer camp to get me out of Uncle Charlie's hair; and what were the odds that one of the amazing Cullens and I would share senior year classes? They were all outstanding students, and I was just happy to be graduating on time.

//

The next day, when I get my laundry in, I find the red hair again - long, curly strands tangled around the branches of the tree near the clothesline at the back of the property. It was so odd, and I wondered if it wasn't the wolves howling that was keeping me awake, but whatever weirdo was prowling around the Swan backyard late at night.

I needed to mention it to Uncle Charlie or Bella. It just seemed so silly. None of my clothing or underwear was missing, I just kept finding the strands of hair.

Maybe there were campers or something nearby. Or the wind was blowing hair from the salon dumpster around town. It sounded dumb but a lot less ridiculous than the idea that someone was so fixated on the Swans that they were hiding in the trees.

#alice cullen #jasper hale #jalice #my fic: mad world #jasper having the biggest crush but the family outvoting him getting closer to alice #alice being hurt and angry #charlie being confused but trying to be a good uncle #and bella just constantly worrying alice is going to figure out edward sneaks into her room #it needs a ton of research into the jewish romani community plus romani immigration which i only did very briefly for the draft #diverse twilight is fun